#i dunno how people would see it then. implied or not i mean

[awriterandabird]

we're back with yet another stinky palette from that funny challenge and uh. i really don't know what possessed me to make an extremely story-important scene that ive been meaning to draw for ages in a fucking meme palette. idk i guess ive been feeling Sillayyy and Funneyyy today. (info on the piece below the cut)

anyways im no stranger to killing my characters and wouldn't it be fucked up if a character had multiple lives but still felt the horrible pain of death each time? and even more fucked up that they had no idea until being MURDERED one time? yeah i think that'd be properly fucked up.

so yeah this is ceris, hes been around for a long time (going on 6 years i think (i mean just scroll to like one of the first posts ever on this blog LOLL)). in all this time he's not changed a whole lot actually. this plot point of having 9 lives and rutherian taking one of them has been around since rutherian was created (so shortly after ceris).

i really ought to give ruth more love. i had a period i gave him Too Much and he kind of became a problem. simply because he started to refuse the story beats i wanted to give him. bitch. so i put him in jail (literally lol) for a while. i haven't worked on Unwarranted in a while but this info IS important to Game of Cat and Mouse since this happens shortly before that i think.

first time adding a color (black) in the challenge- i tried to avoid it but i needed more dramatic lighting </3 sorry gamers.

also by Sillay and Fuuney i mean angsty. ive been feeling incredibly out of it lately. i know exactly why. i just have to fucking get over myself tbh. easier said than done.

EDIT: IM A DUMBASS AND FORGOT HOW TO USE MY OWN FUCKING NUMBER SYSTEM AAAAAA explodes the glyph at the bottom would be '❭ -' and not the '⦻'

[supersecretnerd]

Ok so these designs are cute as hell, the Internet is just mean

I have too many thoughts about a game I still need to watch

[bandgie]

Free Use - Hyung Line

maknae line

warnings: MDNI 18+, fem!reader, !!free-use is legal and public!!, public sex (duhhh), dry humping, gangbangs (implied), pussy easting, sex photography, reader is called slut

notes: longer version of this ask! to be clear, this is a free-use society so if you're not comfortable with that, don't read it pls! thanks :)

BANGCHAN! - even if it's completely legal to fuck you in public, chan can't bring himself to. your moans, whimpers, cries... those are for his ears (and maybe a few close friends) but that doesn't mean he won't do a few things - main one is arguably dry humping. standing behind you while waiting in a line for some boba and his hands settle on your hips. it's cute at first, but his grip tightens. you'll arch your back further into him because you know what he wants, you can feel it. - he grinds his hips softly on your ass. guiding his cock over your body before sliding it out to put it between your thighs. He breathlessly moans in your ear, one hand moving to grope your chest over your shirt. if he gets really into it, chan will push your head down once you make it to the counter and rut into you like he's actually fucking you and still order. - another that's more intense is when he's working in the studio. he's got you pretty and nice on his lap. Changbin and Han are so used to you riding his thigh that they hardly notice your moans anymore. - no shorts, no underwear. just your bare pussy on his leg while you hump him desperately. in a way, this is more degrading since people will come in and out of the studio, asking for adjustments and adding things to the schedule acting like they can't see you rocking your hips on his flexed thigh. but it still doesn't stop you from quietly pleading for his friends to have a turn too.

"I dunno, babe. I've got a lot of work. Why don't you keep doing this and if you're a good girl, I'll think about it."

MINHO! - total opposite of chan, he is 100% fucking you in public. everyone needs to see how much a slut you are, how much you love being fucked no matter the time of day. just cuz he's a little shit, minho will purposely fuck you in places you're supposed to be quiet. on a bus, a train, the library, the possibilities are endless - the bus though? his favorite. there's so many eyes silently watching him bounce you on his lap. all his has to do is tap his thigh and you know to lift your skirt up and sink onto his cock. no underwear on because why would you? - he wants you to be loud, he wants the people around you to join in. to twist your nipples and shove fingers in your mouth. some people will look at you with disgust wondering why mandated free use is even legal. most will be jealous though, asking minho if you're up for grabs or if you're personal use - and when it's finally your stop, he'll slide out of you and feel the way your pussy clings onto him. a few people might follow you guys until he stops at an alleyway (he has some decency) and bends you over the air.

"You can use any hole you want, but her pussy's mine."

CHANGBIN! - you're public free-use when he first meets you. there's just something about your moans, the way you move your hips, the aroused look in your eye. changbin doesn't usually engage with mandated free-use sluts but you catch his eye right at the start - he'll frequent at the place you do service at and watch most of the time. jerking himself off at the same pace you're bouncing on a cock. but he'll work up the courage and finally take you like he's been wanting to, flipping you around to get a up close view of your face - gosh, you're perfect. fucked out expression, swollen lips, cum dripping down your pretty body. how has no one made you a personal slut yet? changbin taps his fat tip on your clit, watching your body vibrate in overstimulated pleasure - he takes a long time, the people behind him growing impatient, but he doesn't care. you deserve to be praised, to be cherished. your walls are so soft and warm when he slides in, most likely from the previous people fucking you endlessly, but changbin hardly minds the fact. he presses his cock deep in you, feeling your pussy spasm and clench. and when he slides out? he gets to see all of your cream coating his length.

"So pretty. Pretty, pretty girl. You're not personal yet, right? Binnie will take care of you. Binnie can make you feel like this everyday."

HYUNJIN! - even though you're the one who's free-use, hyunjin acts like he is. he always worships you, in or out of the bedroom. he'll bring you to his photoshoots and surprises you with being photographed! the makeup artists and hair dresses doll you up so nice and pretty. you look beautiful, how can Hyunjin stay away? - with the cameras shuttering, he'll get on his knees and hook one of your legs over his shoulder. peeling the dress up to expose your sweet cunt. the makeup artists will scowl since the'll have to redo it and the hairdressers groan when you thread your fingers through his carefully styled hair, but he doesn't care - the photographers will make the best of what they can. there's no use in trying to pry Hyunjin away from you. your pussy tastes too sweet, too inviting on his tongue. so you'll be able to hear the rapid clicks of cameras and see the flashes of light while orgasming in his mouth - it's definitely a little strange to see yourself on the front cover of a magazine with hyunjin between your legs, but it's even stranger that it looks good!

"You look like an angel. You're shy? Don't be shy! You're beautiful, everyone needs to see that."

[baegetas]

》 blackout.

son goku x afab reader

summary: sitting at the bar after a hard day, you're joined by none other than your friend gohan's father, and he knows how he can cheer you up.

warnings: minors do not interact, explicit content: age gap, multiple orgasms, (slight, if you squint) implied cheating, overstimulation, drunk sex, alcohol consumption

word count: 1.7k

you were alone at a bar. you'd completely flunked an exam that you'd studied hard for, and you were downing shots like they were nothing. even the bartender was asking if you were okay, to which you'd reply with a simple, "i will be."

while you were mindlessly scrolling through social media, a giggle cut through your brooding silence. it was familiar. you looked over your shoulder, finding that you were face-to-face with a "friend" of yours: goku. well, correction: he was gohan's father, and you were a friend of gohan's. you were a little scared of goku at first, but warmed up to him once you knew he wasn't some scary muscle-head. he grinned at you and promptly mused, "hey!"

"hello, goku."

he sat next to you, looking at you like a dejected puppy. "aw, what's wrong? you looked bored from over there, but man, you seem pretty sad."

you sighed, failing to hide the smile from him. "i guess. but i didn't expect to see you here, out of all people."

"whaaat?" goku giggled and spun the barstool around. "are you kidding? this place is so fun!"

"no, i mean, like, i didn't see you as much of a drinker."

"eh... if it's sweet, i don't care what it is. i'll drink it. heeeey!" he flagged down the bartender, grinning happily. "you have jello shots? yeah? you should give us a few!"

you gave him a slightly agitated look, to which he giggled and said, "don't worry, i'll pay! i don't know what's got you so down, but it's time to cheer up!"

that giggle would be the end of you, and you knew it. as the shots slid onto the counter in front of you, you sighed. it wouldn't be horrible to have a little fun, right?

next thing you knew, goku had convinced you to join him on the dance floor. there had always been something so charming about his idiocy. something charming about how oblivious he was. however, now that he had you in your own little corner of the place in the dark, you could see something else behind those sweet eyes. you could see intention, like he was aware of exactly what he was doing. he was aware that it was the two of you. he was aware that you were both tipsy. he was aware that he was double your size. he was very aware.

with the lights spinning again, flashing a multitude of colors, you found yourself lost in music. lost in liquor. you and goku had been gradually getting closer to one another. you found yourself dancing right against him, and his rough, calloused hands were sliding up and down the sides of your torso, with a focus on your hips. swaying back and forth in rhythm, you could feel his muscles against your back. you could feel his breath against your neck. you shuddered, and looked up at him for some sort of clue as to what he was thinking. and looking back at you were two serious, calculating eyes. like a predator. "heh. you look surprised."

your lip shook ever so slightly. "you... are you?"

he smirked. "am i what? gotta finish the sentence."

you hiccuped, trying to clear your throat. "flirting?"

"i dunno," he hummed, feigning innocence. "problem?"

your eyes flickered down to his hands on your hips. they were gripping you. "...no."

his voice dropped an octave, getting raspy. "nice. you mind if i do something?"

"to... to me?" he nodded, and you were having trouble suffocating the butterflies in your stomach. you swallowed roughly, leaning your head back against his shoulder as you stared up at him. he was holding you against him. for a moment, you thought, what would gohan think? i mean, this was your friend's dad. this man was twice your age. but nonetheless, you replied, "you... can do anything you want. to me."

within a split second, he flipped you around and pressed your back against the club's concrete wall. you had no time to breathe. goku was kissing you with a passion. your hands gripped his clothes, pulling him as close as you could. his thigh pressed in between your legs, and at that point, you were putty in his hands. all you could do was whine. this was a completely different goku, and you were loving it.

he sank his teeth into the side of your neck, and you moaned out loud. when you noticed someone staring at the two of you, your eyes widened. "ah- goku! hey."

he pulled back from your skin by just inches. "something wrong?"

"we... we can't do this. not... in public."

his voice was gravelly. "why not? i'm sure people would love to watch. make 'em jealous."

you blushed and stammered out, "it... it's indecent... and a little illegal... to do things like this in public. my apartment would be a better place."

"your apartment?" he stood straight up and pressed two fingers to his forehead. he gripped your shoulder tightly. "gotcha."

and suddenly, you were both standing in the front hallway of your apartment. you blinked a few times, unsure of what the fuck just happened, but all of that was thrown to the wayside when goku's lips found yours again, pressing you against the wall of your living room.

your belongings fell to the ground, and your hands started to pull his shirt up so you could feel his torso. every muscle, every divot - he was so fucking ripped. and his hands weren't wasting time with you, either. traveling up your thighs, he tore your panties off with one finger. his hand grabbed your entire ass, and he took in a deep inhale, smelling your scent on the skin of your neck. "god, you smell so good."

"you... ah!" you lost your train of thought when he started grinding his crotch against yours. with flushed cheeks from a drunken stupor, you mumbled, "you... want me, don't you?"

shedding his t-shirt, he growled, "what do you think?"

he was biting at your skin as his hands discarded the rest of your clothes, albeit in a more refined fashion. once you were completely nude, he couldn't hold himself back anymore. he picked you up like a doll. like you weighed absolutely nothing to him. he was quick to find your bedroom, and he quite literally threw you down onto the bed. then, he followed. and his tongue found your slit, rough hands pushing your thighs apart so he could taste you as much as he possibly could.

your hand tangled in his thick hair. he was so sloppy, but it was quick to send every nerve in your body into a frenzy. he would grunt and groan, and his nose would bump against your clit, sending a jolt through your body. when his tongue actually plunged into you, you lost all of your bearings. you came all over his face, and he replied to it with a pleased groan, unwilling to pull away until your body relaxed. with one eye open, you looked down at his messy face. his dark, widened pupils. his flushed cheeks. then, he grinned. "i thought you'd taste good, but that was better than i thought."

panting, you whined back, "goku... i..."

"already on it." he was quick to remove his pants and boxers, and he was quick to climb back over you, trapping you in another kiss. with the full weight of his body against his, you realized just how small you were. his length slid along your folds, and you could taste yourself on his tongue.

your hands found his back when he got the opportunity to press himself into you, and he did so with a guttural groan. at that point, you couldn't think. the slow stretch was just too good, and your foreheads rested against one another until he was fully sheathed in you. he panted, "so... tight... i gotta..."

you panted back, "just... just fuck me."

and when his hips started snapping back and forth, you couldn't help but whine. your nails dug into his back, and his face was buried in your neck. he was relentless, keeping a fast, steady pace. as your moans got louder, you heard his voice in your ear. "shh... be a good girl. i know you can handle it."

hitting that sweet spot over and over, it didn't take any time for you to come undone a second time. and a third time. goku hadn't even broken much of a sweat, and he had you completely folded over underneath him. your eyes were locked on his as he cooed, "yeah, that's it. good."

in that moment, you understood that he was going to finish inside you. and you didn't care one bit about it. as if on cue, his huge frame leaned down to trap you in a tongue-filled kiss, hands gripping your ass. you weren't going anywhere. he had you completely pinned.

you'd lost count of how many times you came before his thrusts started to get sloppy. he was grunting more often, shaft head poking at your cervix every now and then. it hurt, but you were far too blissed out to care. "good girl. just... a little bit more, okay?"

by now, you were a babbling mess, but you managed to nod in response. the bed was slamming against the wall, and you knew that your neighbors on all sides would be complaining about the noise, if they hadn't already. his grunts were going right into your ear, and he grunted especially loudly as he said, "you ready?"

you nodded and mewled, "yes, please."

goku growled, then moaned beautifully has he came right into you. his hips didn't even stop, riding out his own orgasm with a blissful look on his face. when his hips eventually stopped, he collapsed onto you, breathing heavily. you were doing the same. your head was spinning. after only a minute, he propped himself up on his elbow. "whew... that was... amazing."

"i... know." you said this so quietly that you could barely hear it yourself. "it was."

then, goku gave you that trademark giggle. that trademark grin. you looked at him through half lidded eyes as he said, "i think we're gonna have to do that again. way more often than just once. i'm gonna need it."

you smiled and wrapped your arms around his torso. you couldn't respond vocally, but pulling him closer was the answer he needed. he giggled again and relaxed atop you, with no intention of moving any time soon.

[subskz]

ʚïɞ butterfly bandage - 04

note: this is part 4 of a series (part 1, part 2, part 3, part 5)

content: bang chan/reader, university au, themes of twin flames, themes of soulmates, reader is female and referred to with she/her pronouns, angst, self-sabotaging behavior, self-loathing thoughts, mentions of past unhealthy relationships, themes of death/grief, lots of crying (sorry), brief mention of blood

word count: 16.9k

“Do you believe in twin flames?” 

Chan’s question hung in the air for a moment, changing the atmosphere so drastically that you weren’t quite sure how to react. Before you could stop yourself, you let out a less-than-appropriate giggle.

“You don’t?” his voice came quieter this time.

“It’s not that,” you tried to contain your amusement. “It’s just…what a very Bang Chan thing of you to ask.”

Even through the dim light of your living room, you could tell that the smile he flashed you didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was being serious, you realized with a start, at least to some degree. 

“I mean,” you paused, searching for the right answer to such a heavy question—if there even was one. “I guess it’s something you can only believe in once you experience it for yourself, right?”

It was Chan’s turn to hesitate, nibbling on his lower lip in silence. Whether he was holding back what he really wanted to say, or simply lost in thought, you couldn’t decide.

“Why do you ask?”

“Dunno,” he said slowly. “Just wondering.”

“Huh. Really?”

It was a vague explanation, and you knew better than to accept it at face value. Knowing Chan, he wouldn’t have even raised such a topic with you if it hadn’t been weighing on his mind for some time now, longer than he himself may have even been aware of. The concept was more or less a mystery to you; a special sort of relationship that, judging by name alone, was brimming with intensity, if not defined by it. You wondered just how deeply Chan had immersed himself in its ideals, if it was one of those philosophies he’d adopted into his heart and spent sleepless nights thinking about, despite the superstition of it all, just as a way to understand the world around him—the people around him. Maybe, even, to understand himself. 

“I’ve just never really felt like this before,” an awkward chuckle escaped him, as if to lessen the gravity of what he was implying. “I feel like you can see right through me.”

See right through me. 

Your heart leapt in your chest. Immediately, you understood what he meant; the exact same phenomenon you’d been trying to wrap your head around since the day you’d first met him. You’d been so caught up in your concerns over how effortlessly he seemed to read you—seeing past every carefully crafted guise you could conjure up like it didn’t even exist—that you hadn’t ever considered he might be experiencing the same feeling on his end. The feeling of knowing each other long before you’d ever crossed paths. 

It had a strange effect on you. Elation. Dread. Had you felt like this before? In a certain sense, you knew that you had. 

The familiar foolishness of being prepared to give someone your all—of stubbornly believing that, somehow, you would never run out of things to give. At the same time, though, it couldn’t be more different. Chan couldn’t be more different. For the first time, you were faced with an unexpected obstacle in your efforts to trudge mercilessly down the path to your own detriment. He wasn’t there to usher you along like so many had before, feeding off your every step until your legs inevitably gave out from under you. He was there to guide you down a different path—one that was infinitely more pleasant, and one that you were infinitely less acquainted with. 

It couldn’t be more different because now, with every drop of yourself that you so willingly offered up to him, you fretted over what you might be draining from him in return. Chan was, after all, every bit as self-sacrificing as you, and then some. 

That didn’t even begin to cover everything else that surrounded your relationship. The magnetic pull that drew you to him wherever you roamed, the burning sensation that consumed your body any time he so much as crossed your mind, the insatiable desire to open him up and witness him in his entirety—to know every part of him like it was your own. 

If those were the kinds of things twin flames entailed, then, yes, you believed in them. You’d believe in anything that connected you to him. 

It dawned on you, suddenly, that you hadn’t spoken for what was probably an unsettling amount of time. The slightest bit frantic, you combed your brain for an answer, overtaken by an urge to reassure the boy next to you before he made the decision to never share an even remotely personal thought with you again. You didn’t doubt that he would. Despite his seemingly endless levels of understanding, Chan was sensitive. He wouldn’t forget.

“Did I say something wrong?” he chuckled again. It wasn’t even awkward this time, just bordering on defeated.

“No, no,” you cursed yourself for even giving him the chance to second-guess such an idea, for giving him any more reason to believe that opening up to you could ever be a mistake. “I was just caught off guard. Sorry, Channie.”

You shifted in your spot, turning inwards to get a better look at him. He wasn’t making eye contact—nothing new there—but it wasn’t just his usual timidity at play. It was something you could only describe as akin to shame, the expression of someone who had overestimated his importance and was now berating himself for ever having the audacity to assume he mattered. You decided, instantly, that it was a look you never wanted to see cross his face again.

“I think it’s the same for me.”

You didn’t think, you knew. You knew it better than anything else. Still, it was difficult to say out loud, even when Chan was sitting before you, looking ready to bare himself to you with a sincerity that you may not entirely deserve. 

He perked up a bit, and you relaxed the instant that fog of uncertainty cleared from his face, brightening it once more. “Really?”

“Do you…” you prayed that you wouldn’t sound completely insane in what came out of your mouth next. “Do you feel it, too? That weird sort of heat?”

His eyes widened, fingers flexing where they rested on his thigh.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Yeah, I feel it. When we first met, I thought you had a fever or something.”

A wave of sentimentality crashed over you all at once. You thought back to that day; that horribly clumsy first encounter that had you certain Chan would tell Changbin to please keep his strange friend far, far away from him in the future. The encounter that had ignited something you hadn’t been able to explain—something you still couldn’t explain, even six months later.

“I thought you were a human pressure cooker.”

“A pressure cooker?” he grinned, actually taking a moment to consider it. “I kinda am.”

That ever-present tug found your heartstrings again. But you knew he’d intended on it being light, a playful jab at himself that was truer than he seemed to understand. So, you didn’t dwell on it.

“Guess we’ve got the flames part down, then,” you joked.

“I’ve been reading about them.” His eyes twinkled, now encouraged. “They’re not exactly soulmates—more like two parts of the same soul. Kinda like you’re holding up a mirror to yourself.”

“Sounds poetic,” you murmured. He was speaking so earnestly, like he’d been longing for the opportunity to share these thoughts with someone all his life. You might’ve accepted anything he said in that moment as an absolute truth. “So, how do you know if you’ve found yours?”

“Lots of ways.” He pressed his lips together thoughtfully. “Shared experiences, for one. Uncanny similarities, and that feeling of…” he trailed off briefly, features softening. “Like you’re a part of each other, y’know?”

Each example stirred something deeper and deeper within you, rattling the windows and doors of your mind. Shared experiences. Uncanny similarities. A part of each other. Memories from that night two weeks ago swarmed you, demanding all your focus and ripping you away from the present conversation all at once. Chan’s flow of tears, his vulnerability, his dependence on you. How the cracks you’d caught glimpses of in just one of the many, many walls he’d put up finally spread far enough to send the entire structure crumbling unceremoniously to the ground. 

Not only that, but his uncontainable guilt the next day, and every day that followed. His profuse apologies for allowing you to see him like that, his promises to make it up to you, and, most heartbreaking of all, his subtle spike in attachment, as if he was afraid that now that you’d discovered a side to him that dared to be anything less than accommodating—anything less than convenient for you—you’d pack up and leave without a second thought. No matter how many times you’d reassured him that it was fine, good even, to allow himself to lean on you, he was nevertheless determined to return the favor. Like it was transactional, like you couldn’t possibly have been there for him simply because you wanted to be. Because you loved him.

You were all too conscious of the fact that your promise to him back in July hadn’t been forgotten. The clock was ticking, with each passing second serving as a wrench to the bolts you’d kept so tightly wound up all these months—all your life, really. If Chan’s feelings were anything like yours, you knew he must be hungry for it, the opportunity to loosen the bolts himself and peer into what was buried inside. 

It was as invigorating as it was terrifying. The fear of being known, the comfort of being understood.

“A part of each other,” you echoed. “That’s...”

“Kinda scary, yeah?”

“A little,” you admitted. “But I think my parts are in pretty good hands.”

Chan beamed, eyes crinkling and teeth peeking out under heart-shaped lips, flooding his face with a glow that washed away any remaining trace of his earlier reservations. Despite yourself, you smiled back, choosing selfishly to fall into his warmth. It wasn’t in short supply—not in the slightest, it was limitless—but inexplicably, you always held yourself back just a bit. 

Even now, you couldn’t escape that survival instinct, that pesky voice in the depths of your brain telling you to take him in moderation, to keep a distance before you grew accustomed to something you weren’t sure you’d be able to go back to living without. But it was a losing battle from the start, and it was far too late to fight it now, anyway. 

Chan’s hand brushed against yours, sending a gentle ripple of heat through your skin and pulling you out of the hole you’d been digging in your head. Before he could ask what you were thinking about—and he was going to, you could feel his flicker of curiosity—you spoke up again, throwing out a question of your own.

“How about you? Do you like your reflection?”

He studied your face, and the lapse in his reply might have made you panic if you weren’t so taken by the fact that, miraculously, he was holding your stare for longer than just a precious few seconds. Your fingers twitched against his, resisting the impulse to reach up and brush them over the tip of your nose.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “For once, I do.”

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

October’s pleasant chill came to an end, leaving behind a harsher cold spell for the incoming winter months. Bright orange leaves, once providing a golden canopy of light overhead, now littered the ground, dead and dull. Still, it was a sight to admire in its own way—a paper sheet shielding the grass from November’s sharp winds and more frigid temperatures, like the leaves had chosen to sacrifice themselves for the sake of protecting everything else. 

You tried not to think about it, how dangerously close graduation was drawing. The view of the finish line on the horizon wasn’t exactly a comforting one, not when it led right into another race—one that would be even more critical than the last. You didn’t want to think about what it would mean for you once your final semester was complete; what it would mean for your studies, your home, your friendships, Chan. The question of where you would go from here was always lingering in the back of your mind, and no matter how much it haunted your thoughts, you still hadn’t managed to find a sufficient answer. All you knew for sure was that whatever path you walked next, you wanted to be side by side with him, matching your steps and feeling your hand brush against his with each swing.

On a less cynical note, the uncertainty of where the future might take you made days like today all the more valuable, reminding you that, regardless of the tricks nostalgia might play, there were always new memories to be made and cherished. You shoved your hands into your pockets with a shiver as you entered the bowling alley, longing for Chan now more than ever. Just one touch from him, and all the cold nagging at your bones from the walk there would dissipate in an instant.

You felt his warmth begin to spread through your skin as soon as you spotted that familiar head of curls near the front counter. His hair swayed with the rest of his body as he rocked back and forth on his heels, looking absentminded. If you drew close enough, you had no doubt you’d catch a snippet of whatever melody he was sure to be humming. 

Before his presence could fully relax you, however, you registered who was standing there next to him, effectively countering his heat with a sharp chill down your spine. You hadn’t known he was coming. Changbin hadn’t told you he was coming. If he had, you surely would’ve found some excuse to stay home, or, at the very least, prepared yourself to deal with the guy who had so diligently been playing the role of bane of your existence these past months.

Channeling all your strength, you forced a smile and called out a greeting to the group. 

Two pairs of eyes lit up, and one pair narrowed.

“You’re here!” Changbin piped. He elbowed Chan lightly, a self-righteous look crossing his face. “See? I told you we weren’t late.”

You kept your expression calm as you approached them, but it did little to ebb the unease steadily piling up in your stomach. Without a word, Chan’s hand reached out for yours, and you wove your fingers together, barely suppressing an exhale when warmth kindled in your palm.

“I’ve just learned to give it an extra ten minutes before leaving to meet up with you, Bin,” you teased.

It was lighthearted, but he seemed to sense that you weren’t entirely joking. You exchanged an amused glance with Chan as Changbin’s smug look dropped into the frown of someone whose peace had been disturbed, suddenly reevaluating every occasion where he’d so gleefully believed that he was becoming more punctual.

“That’s messed up,” he huffed. “Maybe next time I just won’t show up at all.”

“You say that like you haven't done it before.”

“And as soon as I did, you stole my best friend.” He looked dramatically off to the side, passing your bowling shoes to you. “On second thought, I’d better stick around.”

Half-embarrassed, you cleared your throat and hooked your fingers under the cuffs of the shoes, surprised to find that he’d chosen the right size for you. Just as you opened your mouth to question it, you found your answer—or, rather, you felt it, in the palm of your other hand. You kept quiet to avoid setting yourself up for more playful jabs, but the affection that buzzed to life in your chest was too much to ignore altogether, instead manifesting as a grateful squeeze to Chan’s hand. It was something you weren’t quite used to, something you weren’t sure you’d ever get really used to: care down to the last little detail.

You’d made it a point thus far to stay focused solely on Chan and Changbin, not keen on confronting the source of the tension looming behind your smile. It was probably best not to utter a word to him, anyway, given the direction your conversations veered into every single time without fail. Regardless of which approach you took, regardless of how tightly you gripped the steering wheel, it always spun into something uncontrollable.

But as your eyes wandered casually over to the empty lanes further inside the building, you made the grave mistake of locking them with his—fleeting, but just enough to make your gut twist. You tore your stare away as soon it landed on him, bracing yourself for that inevitable surge of frost, a glare that spoke a thousand scornful words. 

“Hey.”

You wondered for a moment if you’d imagined it, or if Lee Minho was really speaking to you on his own accord. Granted, it was just a simple greeting, but strangely void of his usual disgust when addressing you.

It put you at a complete loss, thoughts scrambling to decipher what his angle could possibly be. You had half a mind to not even respond, but you knew that wasn’t an option when Chan and Changbin were right there, well within earshot. Instead, you settled for nodding at him with a quiet “Hello.”

“You look cold,” he commented.

“Well, it’s cold out.”

Not your most eloquent response. In your defense, you were still trying to make heads or tails of why he was bothering to acknowledge you. His words felt like a taunt in your paranoid mind, like somehow, he was fully aware of the chill that gripped you every time he so much as glanced your way. Mistrust bubbled up inside you, threatening to burst through the surface when he shot you a half-smile that was sickeningly sweet—far too sweet to be natural. To anyone else, it was nothing but friendly, but you knew better than that by now. The closer you looked, the more reminiscent it became of his usual sneer. 

“It’s a relief you’ve got someone to call on if you get sick, then.” He cocked his head towards Chan.

Suddenly, the gears fell into place in your head, making it very clear what Minho’s intentions were. You might have found it admirable, how seamlessly he put on the act, if not for the minor detail of it being positively infuriating. 

“I make a pretty good galbitang, didn’t you know?” 

Minho’s smirk faltered just barely, but before he could say anything else, Changbin finished up with the cashier and clapped his hands together with a bit too much force, startling everyone in the vicinity. 

“We’re all set!” he announced, turning to you.“Hope you’re good at bowling, ‘cause you’re gonna be carrying Chan.”

“Hey, hey!” the boy in question protested. “I score the most out of any of us!”

“A whole eight points,” Minho quipped.

Chan gritted his teeth, still, good-natured as ever. “That…was an off day.”

You willed yourself to chuckle in spite of the bad taste Minho had left in your mouth, for Chan’s sake, if nothing else. It was difficult to envision him not immediately excelling at anything he put his mind to, especially in the realm of sports. Given Changbin’s snickers, though, you had a sneaking suspicion that the jeers held some truth to them.

The four of you made your way over to the first open station, slipping on your bowling shoes and splitting up into two teams: you and Chan versus Changbin and Minho. A quick game of rock, paper, scissors, and it was decided that you and Chan would go first. Chan wiggled his hand to push back the sleeve of his jacket and picked up a ball from the rack, testing its weight a few times before deciding on it.

You figured Changbin would be able to hold his own on his team, but, as always, Minho was more of an enigma to you. Even if he didn’t exactly seem like the athletic type, anything you thought you knew about the guy could be taken with a grain of salt these days. He was the complete opposite of Chan in that sense, so unreadable that even the most sensible, the most intuitive of assumptions could turn out to be dead wrong. You could feel Chan’s emotions like they were your own; Minho’s emotions were ones you weren’t sure you’d ever felt.

“What do you think?” You gave Chan a nudge when he approached you, admittedly endeared by the competitive gleam in his eyes. “Do we stand a chance?”

“We’re the better team, no doubt,” he grinned. “But Minho’s got this insane luck. So, we’ll see.”

You tried not to let your own smile dim. Of course he did. It was all in good fun—on the surface at least—but the mere possibility of losing to Minho was one you didn’t even want to consider. He already had enough snarky remarks lined up in his arsenal without you adding to the ammunition.

Chan took a deep breath, lifting the ball up to his face, swinging his arm back in a low arch, and releasing in one fluid motion. It hit the polished ground with an impressive speed, but your glimmer of hope was crushed just a split second later when it rolled directly into the gutter.

Countless sounds exploded all around you at once, so loud you worried you might have to issue an apology to anyone nearby who had the misfortune of being subjected to them. Changbin’s delighted cackles, Minho’s wild laughter, and Chan’s mortified shout of dismay. You covered your mouth to avoid letting your own amusement show, but it made no difference considering that Chan’s face was buried shamefully in his palms as he shuffled his way back over to you, ears already beginning to tinge red.

“Another off day!” Changbin threw his arm over Minho’s shoulder, as if their victory was already guaranteed. “Guess the experience of age is worthless, after all.”

“His old man bones just can’t keep up,” Minho clicked his tongue wistfully. 

Chan peeked out from between his fingers, any attempt at a glare rendered harmless by the wide, hopelessly embarrassed smile plastered on his face. “One year!” he cried defensively. “This is your future, Lee Minho!”

Minho’s smirk stayed intact, unfazed by the prospect of such a sad fate awaiting him. You gave Chan a sympathetic pat on the back as soon as he was within reach, trying to meet his eyes.

“Cheer up, Channie,” you encouraged. “Can’t have our ace giving up so soon, can we?”

He managed a shy chuckle, hand reaching up to fiddle with his piercing. Whether it was the other boys’ provocation that had him so flustered, or the fact that you’d been there to witness the pitiful display, you weren’t sure, but you were determined to boost his morale before he had the chance to beat himself up over it. Even for something as frivolous as a game of bowling among friends, you didn’t want to leave any room for Chan to doubt his abilities. You couldn’t help it; you’d do anything to see him shine.

As expected, Changbin was a force to be reckoned with as the game carried on, managing to score steady points for him and Minho’s team with a consistent flow of spares and strikes—that was, when he wasn’t stepping over the line and fouling himself. You were positive it wouldn’t have even been an issue if Minho didn’t point out his mistakes every single time, eventually spiraling into a full-blown argument between the two with Changbin loudly demanding to know whose side he really was on. 

Between their bickering and Chan’s bubbly laughter, emitting fondness with every squeak, it almost felt like old times. You almost felt light, just as you had during those spring days spent studying in their apartment. Bumping your shoulder against Changbin’s to keep him focused as you listened to Chan ramble on about thermodynamics with thinly-veiled adoration, taking more and more frequent breaks each passing week just as an excuse to snack and chat with each other, laughing quietly to yourself every time Minho would, inevitably, disturb the study session and antics would ensue between the three boys—more often than not, pulling you into an ambitious new cooking experiment or an hour long tangent to debate the strangest existential topics known to man. In retrospect, it had been the closest to carefree you’d felt in a long time. 

“Just throw the ball like a normal person!” Changbin shouted, snapping you back to the present.

Minho sniffed, not breaking eye contact with him once as he bent forward, spread his legs, and tossed the bowling ball carelessly through them. To your astonishment, it rolled down the center of the lane; steady, and by some miracle, steering clear of the gutters all the way to the end. The incredulous sound you let out was only rivaled by Chan’s stunned yelp, half-impressed, half-horrified as the ball managed to knock over a respectable five pins.

It became clear, in that moment, that Minho’s aforementioned luck was very much real, and it operated just as erratically as his own mind did. With each increasingly bizarre stance and tactic he implemented, he was scoring dozens of points before you knew it.

Chan never quite seemed to recover from his initial fumble, and, as much as you wanted to win, it was undoubtedly adorable every time he sank into a crouch, wailing miserably into his knees after yet another failed attempt at gaining some momentum. He was trying to be a good sport about it, even with Changbin and Minho’s taunts making the task near-impossible, but you could still feel the fire of frustration behind his every awkward glance at the monitor and apologetic smile sent your way. 

Fortunately, you were able to score enough points to keep the gap between your teams from growing too wide, even pulling a few strikes here and there. It was a bit silly how seriously you were beginning to take the game, but you were fueled on by the desire to lift Chan’s spirits—and, on a pettier note, a desire to see Minho lose. By the time you reached the final round, you and Chan were only behind by nine points.

“Hope I haven’t been too heavy for you,” he remarked, sheepish as he picked up the ball for his last turn.

“I don’t like hearing such defeated words from Bang Christopher Chan,” you frowned. “C’mon, show me some of that showcase confidence!”

He ducked his head with a puff of laughter, thumbs gliding over the sleek surface of the bowling ball. “That was different.”

“That was in front of a crowd of strangers,” you agreed. “This is just me.”

“Exactly,” he hummed softly. “It’s you.”

It took you a moment to understand what he was getting at, only fully registering it when you spotted the rosiness of his cheeks flushing into something deeper, something much more noticeable. Acutely aware of Minho and Changbin’s eyes on you, you tried to keep a straight face, even if every cell in your body called for you to cup Chan’s face and press a kiss to his pouty lips right then and there. He was unreal. It was unreal how, even now, he could charm you so effortlessly—accidentally, even.

“Alright,” he sucked in through his teeth, seemingly reaching a verdict. “Do you think you could turn around? Just this time?”

You blinked, dumbfounded. When you said nothing, he lifted his gaze to give you a look that, despite the absurdity of his request, was resolute as ever. That was all the convincing it took for you to indulge him. 

Changbin watched curiously as you turned your back to the lanes, but you made no effort to explain yourself, figuring it would only be all the more embarrassing for Chan if his plan ultimately failed. It was too easy for you to picture his concentrated expression in your head as you waited patiently for him to make the shot—eyebrows furrowed with a striking intensity, but lips twitching in a way that betrayed his excitement underneath.

The heavy thump of the ball against the polished floor met your ears, and shortly after, the crashing of pins, followed by a chorus of disbelieving shouts. You spun around just in time to see Chan rushing back over to you, beaming so wide that his cheeks eclipsed his eyes. 

“You can’t be serious,” your voice turned up into a squeak as he pulled you into a triumphant, bone-crushing hug. “No way that worked.”

“Told you,” he sang into your ear. “It’s you.”

Any disappointment Changbin might have felt over losing was crushed by sheer delight when it became apparent to him what had just happened. “Oh, this is too much,” he howled with laughter, leaning against Minho—who, you were surprised to find, had a faintly amused smile on his face, as well. You looked away as quickly as you caught it, driven by that feeling of alienation, an understanding that it wasn’t a sight for you.

In honor of your victory against all odds, Chan decided to head over to the concessions stand he’d been eyeing since you’d first arrived at the bowling alley. Changbin jumped at the chance to tag along, setting panic off in your mind the instant you realized what that meant for you. You stood a bit too quickly, offering to join and help them carry back the snacks, only to be waved off with a reassuring smile from Chan.

Despite your discomfort, you relented, deciding it’d be best not to rouse any suspicions. You slumped back down in your chair as the two walked away, leaving you and Minho sitting directly across from each other in silence.

It wasn’t long before you began to run out of points of interest to look at other than him. Your eyes shifted awkwardly from your shoes to the monitor, from the monitor to the ball rack, from the ball rack to the distant lanes, and right back to your shoes. The cycle repeated for a good few minutes, and just as you reached into your pocket to fish out your phone in a last resort to quell the awkwardness, Minho decided to speak up. Oddly chatty today, you noted. 

“Didn’t see you at Chan’s birthday party.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What of it?”

“Just thought it was interesting,” he pointed out. “Since you care about him so much, and all.”

There was a laughable irony there, that the person who was the sole reason why you hadn’t shown up to celebrate Chan, was now questioning why you hadn’t—an irony that, you were willing to bet, he was well aware of.

“I didn’t think I was exactly welcome,” you said plainly. 

“Showing up uninvited is nothing new to you, is it?”

You clenched your jaw. “Look, Minho, I’m really not in the mood,” you hissed. “What exactly are you trying to gain from all this?”

“That’s what I’ve been wondering about you, too,” he bounced off you with ease. “I’m kinda curious—did it make you feel better about yourself when you visited him? Felt like you proved something with that soup?”

“Proved something?” You didn’t bother to watch your volume this time, thoroughly set-off in a matter of seconds. “If you think I have anything to prove to you, you’re fucking delusional.”

Even as you spat the words with an uncharacteristic lack of restraint—and decorum—a wisp of doubt brushed past your mind, the same way it had the day you’d confronted him after checking on Chan. Why did he sound so sure of himself? Why did you even allow yourself to entertain his accusations?

What did he know that you didn’t?

He leaned back in his chair, whatever harsh retort that was on the tip of his tongue immediately being cut short when he spotted Changbin hobbling back over with an armful of snacks.

“Someone go help Chan out!” he called. “I don’t think he can carry everything himself.”

Minho rose from his spot before you had the chance to, eyes glinting as he shot you one last look. “You should get that temper of yours checked out,” he suggested under his breath. “Chan might like it, but others won’t.”

At that, he slunk off, leaving you with nothing to do but fume in frustration as Changbin made his way over to you. He dropped his stash on the table with a self-satisfied whistle, picking up a bag of chips and passing it to you.

“Here,” he offered. “Chan got these for you.”

You caught a glimpse of the brand—your favorite. It brought a smile to your face just in time, wiping away your scowl before Changbin could get a proper look at you, but even the warmth glowing in your chest wasn’t enough to erase the residual tension left behind by Minho. Changbin squinted as he settled down next to you, popping open a bag of his own.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing,” you replied quickly. “Thanks for the snack.”

He crunched down on his shrimp chip with a suspicious hum, not convinced by your dull tone in the slightest.

“Are you having fun?”

“Of course,” you smiled, only half-feigned. “Chan and I just won, didn’t we?”

Changbin chewed thoughtfully a few times, breaking his inquisitive stare to shoot a glance over his shoulder, exactly in the direction Minho had disappeared to. When he turned back to you, his expression was more solemn; knowing.

“Is it Minho?”

You couldn’t find the will in you to hide it, picking uncomfortably at the plastic bag in your hands. “I guess I didn’t expect him to be here.”

“Oh,” he frowned. “Did you ever end up talking to him?”

“I did.”

“And?”

You shrugged. “He just doesn’t like me, simple as that.”

You tried to keep your voice casual, unaffected, but Changbin’s reaction to the news made it difficult to maintain. The fact that he seemed so genuinely puzzled almost rubbed salt in the wound, like he’d had the utmost faith that a simple conversation was all it would’ve taken for the two of you to sort things out. Amidst all the complicated feelings you had on the issue, a new one joined the fray: guilt. You hadn’t been able to make it work. If anything, your efforts had sent the situation spiraling into something much worse. All you could do now was ensure that a problem as ridiculous as this wouldn’t reach anyone else—Chan, most of all. 

“I don’t get it,” Changbin muttered, brows scrunching together. “I never got the feeling that he doesn’t like you.”

“You definitely would if you saw the way he talks to me.” As soon as the words left your mouth, you nearly cringed over the self-pity laced in them. You didn’t want to be a victim in this situation, especially not if it meant pressuring Changbin to pick a side between you and Minho like you were children fighting on a playground.

“I can have a chat with him, if you want. See what’s really going on.”

“No, no,” you dismissed it like a reflex. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You sure? It’ll be easier for me to get through to him.”

“No, Bin. Seriously,” you paused, not having intended it to come out so sharp. “Sorry. I mean, thank you, but it’s alright. I’d rather handle it myself, y’know?”

It had been made abundantly clear to you that you were, in fact, doing a terrible job at handling it yourself, but Changbin didn’t need to know that. The last thing you wanted was to grant Minho the satisfaction of Changbin revealing just how much his behavior was affecting you—or, even worse, the very real possibility of Chan catching wind of it. You could already picture Minho’s scornful stare, voice dripping with mockery as he ridiculed you for needing to call on Changbin to protect you, for not being able to fight the battles that, in his head, you’d instigated with your mere existence. The thought alone made you shudder in your spot, visibly enough for Changbin to notice.

A strange look crossed his face, one you’d only ever really seen on a few rare occasions before. It was grounded, mature; a side to him that, oftentimes, you tended to forget existed because he traded it out for something less intense. Without him even needing to say a word, you knew that his attentive instincts had kicked in, and once they had, they would be difficult to shake. 

“You just seem upset,” he said at last.

“I’m not,” you insisted. “Sometimes people just don’t get along. It’s not worth stressing about, so, please don’t say anything to Minho. Or Chan.”

He eyed you for a few seconds longer, and briefly, you worried that he may actually let his stubbornness get the best of him. It was comical, in a sense, how you’d grown so accustomed to disregarding your own emotions in all facets of life, that being faced with a shred of compassion felt more like a hindrance than anything else. Fortunately, the concern was short-lived. With a grunt of agreement, Changbin popped another chip into his mouth. 

“Alright. If you’re sure.”

The relief you felt upon hearing those words increased tenfold as you spotted Chan returning with Minho from the concessions stand, loaded with snacks and drinks that even his long arms could hardly contain. He was smiling, no doubt still giddy over your unexpected win and the victory meal that was lined up for him. That was all it took to make you absolutely certain of your decision.

“I’m sure. Thanks, Bin.”

You wanted to be the reason for Chan’s smile. If it meant securing his happiness, then you could deal with it, no questions asked. 

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

The shrill ping of your laptop—a sound you’d come to despise in recent weeks—rang out to notify you of a new email in your inbox, breaking your focus so that you lost your place in the article you’d been reading.

Huffing to yourself, you clicked off the page begrudgingly and switched to your email tab, reluctant to see what academic horrors were lying in wait for you. As expected, it was a followup message from your lab instructor. With the fall semester drawing to a close in just under a month, the pressure was on for you to complete your research paper in time to have your findings included as part of the final study. Having your name on a published academic paper was an essential goal you had set for yourself as an undergraduate; something to give you an extra edge in the fiercely competitive field of astrophysics. The only problem was, (save for the grueling amounts of time and effort it took to reach that point) you had to get your draft approved before it was too late, a task that was beginning to seem impossible with every new response you received from your instructor.

Today was no different, a fresh wave of stress washing over you as you read the contents of her email. Another extensive list of revisions, a reminder of your approaching deadline, and, most troubling of all, another order to have your progress peer reviewed by at least one other student as part of the physics department protocol. Alarm spiked within you. You didn’t have a lot of time.

Before you’d even finished reading the email, you reached blindly for your phone, fumbling with the passcode in your haste to unlock it and open up your messaging app. 

you (9:23 p.m.) hey! sorry to nag about this again but have u had the chance to look over my paper?

You tried to get a grip on your impatience, telling yourself that it was just the incessant desire to be done with the process already that had you so on edge. But all it took was a few minutes of waiting for you to start tapping your fingers anxiously against your desk, debating whether or not you should try calling instead before you succumbed to the unreasonable levels of foreboding stacking up inside you.

Then, at last, a reply. Any reassurance it might have brought you instantly dwindled as soon as you read it.

iseul 🪷 (9:34 p.m.) omg… omfg no i totally forgot

You pressed your lips together. In a way, you couldn’t exactly say you were surprised. Not in the slightest, actually.

you (9:34 p.m.) okay no worries are u still able to? the deadline’s pretty soon

iseul 🪷 (9:39 p.m.) i’m not sure tbh i’m kinda busy rn so i’ll lyk later on a date ;P

Your heart sank, panic shooting through the roof. It’d been well over a week since you’d first asked her to look over your paper, and you’d made a conscious effort not to press the subject too much to avoid coming off as pushy. Now, you wished desperately that you’d been firmer from the start. Surely, then, she would’ve realized how important it was to you. Surely, then, she would’ve prioritized it.

You took a deep breath, mind frantic and scrambling for a solution. It found one almost immediately, like second nature, but you pushed the thought away as soon as it came. You didn’t want to bother him. Absolutely not. 

As you continued to wager the possibilities, however, it became more and more evident to you that there may not be any other option on such short notice—or, maybe, you just felt a selfish need to reach out to him in that moment, knowing you would be met with nothing but that certain warmth. It was a foreign desire, completely unlike you, and you weren’t sure you liked how often it wormed its way into your brain these days.

You’d consulted a handful of other friends before Iseul, all of which shared your major; a double-edged sword in this case. While it made them reliable candidates for peer review, the issue lied in the fact that they were all preoccupied with their own capstone research. Even without the added weight of having to complete an extensive documentation by a strict deadline like you had, the amount of work their labs required was more than enough to keep them busy. 

Changbin was no exception. You’d already been hesitant to ask him from the start—which was, frankly, a bit ridiculous considering he’d demonstrated time and time again how dependable he could be if the situation called for it—so when he’d apologetically told you that he wouldn’t be able to get to it before at least another week, you’d dropped the subject without a second thought. It would be too far late by then, and bringing it up a second time would only put an unnecessary pressure on him. Even if you got a response in a timely manner (a pipe dream in itself), his answer would be the same, and your paper would more than likely end up falling into Chan’s hands, anyway. 

You tapped your thumbs together indecisively, trying to approach it with a clear mind. Maybe it was okay. Maybe it wasn’t wrong to allow yourself to rely on him just a little bit, to lean into that warmth you’d been so determined to ration for reasons you couldn’t fully grasp.

Maybe, it wouldn’t be so unforgivable to take your own advice, just this once. 

Steeling yourself, you hit Chan’s contact before you could talk yourself out of it. All it took was a matter of three rings, and you heard the other line pick up. That was another detail you’d noticed lately, another subtle shift in attachment that made your chest tighten when you lingered on it for too long. He was much more responsive ever since that day in October, texting back uncharacteristically fast and calling uncharacteristically more often compared to the usual, comfortable periods of absence between the two of you. It was as if he was on standby for you at all times, ready to jump at the opportunity to meet your every beck and call in case there was something—anything—he could do for you.

“Hey, you.”

In spite of everything, his melodic lilt soothed your nerves. It always did. 

“Hi Channie,” you couldn’t mask the stiffness in your voice. “Are you busy?”

“I’ve got time,” he chirped. He didn’t say it, but you knew what he meant; he had time for you. “But first, guess what I’ve been working on.”

Fondness tugged at the corners of your mouth. “What?”

“Not telling,” you could practically hear the dimples carving their way into his cheeks. “You gotta guess.”

“Hm. Could it be what I think it is?” 

“Dunno,” he giggled. “You’re the one who can see right through me, yeah?”

You let the pull at your lips form fully into a smile. “In that case, you’d better not break your promise.”

It wasn’t difficult to envision the look on his face, the pure giddiness it etched into his features to know that you’d caught on with ease. Speaking in riddles because he could; a language only the two of you could understand.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he hummed. “So, what’s up?”

You faltered, having nearly forgotten your reason for calling him in the first place. The cheerful rhythm of his voice and the charming tune of his laughter had almost been enough to sway you, to change your mind and shield him from the academic nightmares that he was no stranger to. But anxiety spiked within you all over again as you were reminded of your looming deadline, providing all the push you needed to latch on to him with an embarrassing speed.

“Actually, I…” you began slowly. “I was wondering if you could help me out with something.”

“Anything,” he said it without an ounce of hesitation, ready to comply before he even heard your request. It made your heart swell—with affection, gratitude, and something else you couldn’t quite place. 

“So, Iseul was supposed to review my research paper draft before I submitted it for the final publication but…but I don’t think she can anymore,” you hoped to sound nonchalant, not wanting a single drop of your unease to spill on his conscience. “I know it’s a lot to ask on short notice, so it’s absolutely fine if you can’t, but—”

“Of course, I can.”

“Really?” you swallowed. “Thank you, I…”

A critical thought crossed your mind, bringing the sense of calm that Chan always enveloped you with to an immediate halt. You felt stupid for not considering it sooner, for allowing yourself to be so short-sighted, even for just a moment.

“Your project,” you said suddenly. “Your mentor gave you an extension, right? Did you finish it? Because you need to work on that instead if—”

“Nah,” he assured you. “It’s all done, don’t worry.”

You paused. It was just your inner saboteur making excuses, probably—grasping for any reason at all to pull back before you committed to burdening him with your troubles—but why was it that every single time he told you not to worry, it only worried you more?

Still, you forced your reservations to the side. Maybe he sounded so terse because it was still a sensitive topic for him, something he couldn’t think back to without the guilt that surrounded that night plaguing his mind all over again. It made you soften with sympathy, and a faint hope that, just maybe, your gentle words as you’d bathed him had pierced through the fog of doubt in his mind—enough to compel him to be honest with you about this.

“O-okay. Then, yeah, I’d really appreciate your help,” you exhaled. “Thank you, Channie.”

“It’s nothing,” he murmured. “The least I could do, really.”

You nearly laughed out loud. The least he could do. As if he owed you something, as if he didn’t do more for you than you could ever express simply by being himself.

He could read you with such ease—could catch on to your every thought and sentiment, however fleeting, like it was the most natural thing in the world—but the view of him from your eyes, the sight of himself from a lens of pure, unadulterated adoration; that was one thing he’d never be able to truly comprehend.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

“I didn’t lose it.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Lose sounds so…so harsh,” Changbin protested. “I just happened to put it somewhere and can’t remember where that somewhere is.”

“That’s a relief,” you snorted. “You had me scared for a second.”

“It was an accident, seriously!” 

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” You gave him a good-natured shove as the two of you shuffled down the hall side by side, a sight that had become commonplace for anyone who frequented the physics building. “But if I were you, I’d get to searching.”

“C’mon, it could be anywhere!” he complained. 

“I’m saying this for your own good, Seo Changbin. Do you really wanna suffer through finals without your lucky charm?”

Changbin’s face dropped, a horrified look of realization parting his lips and widening his eyes.

“I’ll find it,” he mumbled, so serious that you couldn’t hold back a snicker. “For you, of course. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t?”

“Uh-huh,” you said plainly. “Once you do, custody of Cinnamoroll is going right back to me.”

You weren’t upset about it, not really. It was honestly a miracle that he’d been able to keep track of something as trivial as a pencil for so long in the first place. Though, you’d be lying if you said there wasn’t an undeniable feeling of wistfulness there, to think that the prized possession that had initially brought you and Changbin together was now missing. You weren’t exactly the superstitious type—well, maybe that had changed just the slightest bit as of late—but it almost felt like a bad omen of sorts.

“That’s too cruel,” Changbin whined. “I’ll never let him out of my sight again, I swear.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets, glancing at you in anticipation of a response; but you were lost in thought. A sea of inhibitions that, funnily enough, had inched further and further up the shore in recent months, months where you’d been objectively happier than even your highest points over the past few years. 

You were certain your change in demeanor wouldn’t go unnoticed by Changbin—he’d tapped far more into his observant side as of late, ever since he’d come to learn that you and Minho weren’t nearly as in harmony as he’d led himself to believe. Between his added scrutiny, Minho’s pointed, all-knowing glares, and Chan’s ability to tune in to even the finest shift in your emotions, you didn’t think you’d ever felt more uncomfortably seen in your life. You felt like you were being watched from all angles; nowhere to hide, no way to maneuver yourself so that your loose seams weren’t visible.

“Wanna go bowling tonight?” Changbin suggested, breaking your stream of consciousness before you were completely pulled out to sea. 

“Why do I get the feeling you’re so into it these days because it’s the only sport you can beat Chan at?”

“I can beat him at billiards, too! And soccer, even if he won't admit it,” he retorted. “Besides, it’ll just be you and me. Pretty sure Chan’s busy with makeup work.”

You froze.

“What?”

It took Changbin a second to realize that you weren’t walking beside him anymore. He stopped in his tracks, turning to give you a strange look.

“Y’know, that big project with his mentor. It’s due tonight, I think.”

Your stomach dropped. All at once, dread consumed you, at such an alarming rate that it felt akin to plunging into ice cold water on a hot, sunny day. You didn’t want to believe it; you wanted to tell yourself that Changbin had to be mistaken, that Chan had finished his work days ago like he’d told you, and that he certainly hadn’t taken on the burden of reviewing over twenty pages of scientific jargon for you when he still had a very crucial, very future-defining project of his own to complete.

Even as you tried to convince yourself, even if you wanted to cling to the faith you’d put in him more than anything, even though you knew Changbin was notoriously bad with dates, deep down, you already had your answer.

Changbin’s expression grew heavy with concern. “What’s with that face?”

You cleared your throat, praying that your words would come out steady. “Nothing,” you replied quickly. “I just thought he’d already finished.”

He opened his mouth to say something—most definitely to question you further on why you looked like you’d just seen a ghost—so, you spoke up again before he had the chance.

“Anyway, yeah, let’s go bowling tonight. See who the real ace is.”

The playful challenge, strained as it was, seemed to ease Changbin’s misgivings a bit. He flashed you a smirk, taking the bait immediately.

“Haitai Bbasae shrimp chips are my favorite, by the way.” He bumped his shoulder against yours. “So you know what to buy me when I win.”

You rolled your eyes. “Forgot about your pencil debt so soon?”

Your joking did nothing to seal the pit of apprehension that had opened up inside your gut. In fact, it deepened with each step you took, as if your body was physically rejecting the idea of you walking anywhere other than directly towards Phase 8 of the campus apartments; directly towards Chan.

You all but forced the muscles in your face to relax, solely to avoid rousing Changbin’s suspicions again. Already, you were regretting your decision to meet up with him later that night. Spending even an hour or two pretending like the thought of Chan—cooped up in his room, undoubtedly running on minimal sleep and an empty stomach, bloodshot eyes locked on his laptop screen as he struggled to meet the most important deadline of his academic career, all because of you—wasn’t eating away at your insides wouldn’t exactly be a walk in the park, even for you. 

You told yourself it was just an overreaction. You were jumping to conclusions. Maybe taking your mind off of it tonight was exactly what you needed; enough time for Chan to finish his work, and enough time for the fog that always seemed to cloud your rationality when it came to him to clear up.

You’d mull it over properly, and then you’d talk to Chan. Everything always worked out when you talked to Chan.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

As it turned out, subjecting yourself to a constant back and forth argument for two days straight—a trial where you were playing the role of judge, jury, defendant, and prosecutor all at once—served no real purpose other than to drive you to the brink of madness.

The more you’d tried to reason with yourself, the more convinced you’d become that the situation was, in actuality, far more dire than you’d initially believed. It appeared so simple on the surface, a harmless white lie that was said only with the intention of easing your worries, to displace some of the weight from your shoulders to his. You loathed the fact that you’d managed to spin such a kind, loving gesture, such an authentically Chan gesture, into something so unpleasant. But knowing what you knew, knowing Chan, it went deeper than that. You never would’ve allowed yourself to shift that weight over to him if you’d known he hadn’t been relieved of his own first. 

It was for that reason that when Chan had called you earlier in the day to see if you were free to meet up—a timing that only spurred on your paranoid thoughts, given that he was no doubt reaching out to you because he’d finally submitted his work—you’d all but jumped at the opportunity. You needed to see him, his crinkled eye smile, his face well-rested and bright. You needed to be certain that you hadn’t ruined everything for him.

Each step up the stairwell to unit 8-325 added another layer to the anxiety piling inside of you. It was a sensation you’d experienced once before; that strangely chilly day in April, trudging your way up alongside Changbin, completely oblivious to what the universe had in store for you. Completely oblivious to the warmth you would be met with, the part of yourself that you hadn’t known you were missing until you found him.

You gave the front door a few knocks, a bit harder than usual, just in case Chan had his headphones in. Before the gusts of wind blowing through the hallway could even begin to chill you through your clothes, the door swung open. Despite everything, your heart sang at the sight of him. Eyes sleepy, and, as predicted, accompanied by those dark bags he carried around far too often for your liking, curls ruffled, hoodie wrinkled, smile lazy—just prominent enough for one of his dimples to peek out. 

You wondered if he’d been napping. The idea both calmed and unsettled you; the comfort of knowing he’d gotten some rest, the fear that he’d needed to catch up on sleep because he’d been pulling all-nighters to complete his work. Because of you.

“Hey, you.”

“Hi, Chan.”

You hadn’t even noticed the issue with your greeting until he tilted his head curiously.

“Scary,” he giggled. “Am I in trouble?”

You padded through the doorframe and slipped off your shoes, keeping quiet long enough for his grin to waver. It nearly made you grimace. Two words in, and you already couldn’t tolerate the idea of speaking to him with anything but the utmost care. 

“Sorry.” You chided yourself for being so pointlessly intense about it. You didn’t even know the full story yet; there was no need to stir unease in him like that. “How are you, Channie?”

“All good, now. I missed you,” he added.

You knew he must be wondering why you hadn’t hugged him yet. So, you leaned into his arms the very instant they outstretched. You took in his scent, his body heat, the peaceful beat of his heart. You wished the tranquility that he washed over you would last. You wished you could fall fully into him and just pretend like nothing was wrong. But then, where would you go from there? How many more times would he do something like this? How many more corners of himself would he cut until, before you knew it, you were doing the exact same thing to him as so many others had done before? The question itself was enough to scare you, let alone what the answer may be.

“I missed you, too,” you murmured. Mustering all your willpower, you pulled your head from his chest, taking a few steps deeper into the apartment with Chan following suit. 

You braced yourself, and then you tested the waters.

“So, did you finish your project?”

A heavy pause, then an awkward laugh.

“Oh, yeah. A few days ago, remember?”

You said nothing. Instead, you turned to look at him properly, not bothering to mask the doubt written all over your face. His gaze fell, and you knew, immediately, that you’d been correct.

“Well,” he cleared his throat. “It’s done now, no worries.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Your desire to be gentle with him was already beginning to battle it out with your urgency to get to the bottom of this, to decode what had been going on in his head when he’d made such a potentially disastrous choice for your sake. Chan reached up for his earring, eyes still averted as he rolled the silver hoop sheepishly between his fingers.

“Are you mad?”

Mad. The thought hadn’t even crossed your mind. The idea that you could feel anything but boundless affection for him was so incomprehensible to you. No, you weren’t mad. You were frustrated. Because you knew he saw no problem with what he had done, because the damage had been to him and no one else.

“Of course not. I…I’m really grateful you were there for me,” you began, and the hopeful way he raised his head almost made you want to leave it at that. “But I’m just a little concerned that you kept this from me, Channie. I wanted to be sure that you had nothing else on your plate before asking such a huge favor of you.”

He smiled, clearly oblivious to how much you meant it. “It’s no problem, really. I wanted to help.”

Your stomach churned. Of course he wanted to help, you knew that more than anything. Two years ago, he’d only wanted to help, too. That was the detail that had unnerved you most in the 48 hours you’d spent dissecting it all—the eerie similarities between this situation and the one Chan had poured his heart out to you about just a few weeks ago. Once you’d noticed how they paralleled each other, it was impossible to ignore, to the point where that became the driving force for your need to set things right, to put your foot down before history repeated itself.

“Don’t you remember what we talked about the other day?” you prompted, as delicately as your growing tension would allow. “What if you hadn’t finished your work in time because you were too busy helping me? Graduation is less than a month away—why would you ever risk that?”

Chan shifted his weight from side to side. You could tell he was starting to grow uncomfortable.

“This is different.”

“How?” you pressed. “How is it any different? You nearly let me jeopardize your future all over again.”

“I don’t understand,” he chuckled softly. “I finished in the end, didn’t I? There’s really no need to worry about me.”

You took a deep breath. You weren’t getting through to him.

“But what if you hadn’t? What if you failed because of this?” You didn’t miss the way he shrank back when you spoke the word, only feeding into your own distress. “Not just that, it can’t have been easy to balance so much work at once. I don’t want you taking on more than you can handle again, especially not for my sake.”

“It’s okay,” he said lightly, almost dismissive. “It was my decision, y’know? If it’s you, then it’s okay.”

Normally, the words would’ve melted your heart. They would’ve made you coo and fawn and swoon over him and his insurmountable selflessness. Now, they only frightened you. If he was willing to put something as important as this on the line without a second thought, you didn’t even want to think about what else he might try to sacrifice for you.

“Chan…” you hesitated. “I need to know that you’re not gonna do something like this again. I need you to promise me that you’ll put yourself first in this relationship, at least when it matters most.”

His expression darkened, just the slightest bit. It was a look you’d never once seen cross his face, one that felt so unnatural that you didn’t know what to make of it. But the feeling it evoked was one you understood all too well. The feeling of having a core part of himself confronted; challenged.

“I—” Chan sucked in through his teeth. “I don’t think I can promise you that.”

Your heart sank. The dread that had been slowly creeping its way up on you since you’d first arrived, now consumed you in full. He wasn’t going to stop. He was never going to stop. Not for you, or anyone else. Certainly not for himself.

“Please,” you tried again. “Please, tell me you’re not gonna put me in this position.”

You could tell, just from the bewildered look he was giving you, that he was having trouble piecing it together in his head, that he was struggling to decipher why you would ever even ask such a thing of him. Why you weren’t jumping at the opportunity to take advantage of him, to use him for all he was worth, like so many others did. 

“You’ve got to stop treating yourself like this,” you continued, not liking the way you were losing control of your voice. “If you keep giving and giving there’s not going to be anything left of you to give.” 

Chan remained silent, and for a split second, you felt a glimmer of hope that he was starting to grasp the message you were trying to send. But it was nothing more than a candle in the wind, blown out before it even had the chance to illuminate anything.

“And what about you?” 

You tensed. “What?”

“Could you make that promise to me?” he asked quietly. “Would you stop hiding things from me if I asked you to?”

Just like that, the mirror was turned on you.

“That’s…you’re changing the subject. This isn’t about me.”

“Really? I think it is.”

You held your ground, determined not to let him steer the conversation away from himself. “I know my limits, Chan. I wouldn’t hide anything serious from you.”

“Then why have you still not told me about what happened when you went home?”

It was unusually direct coming from him, just short of accusatory. You were reminded, once again, that even the parts of yourself that you thought you might be able to slip past his attentive eyes, he was well aware of—more than he ever let show. Even when he caught on to every minute detail, even when it filled his head with concern for you, he remained considerate as ever; waiting patiently until you were ready to open up yourself. At least, until now. 

“And…why haven’t you told me about what’s going on with Minho?”

Something twisted deep within you. He’d noticed. Of course he’d noticed. You’d done a horrible job in hiding it—and even if you hadn’t, he would’ve sensed something was off, anyway. He always did.

When he gauged your reaction, Chan’s face dropped into something heartbreaking, eyes flashing with a resigned sort of fear. 

“Do you—?”

“No.” You couldn’t hide your revulsion towards what you were sure he was going to ask, denying it so fiercely that it at least seemed to convince him right away. “That’s not it at all.”

“Okay,” he exhaled. “Then, what’s going on? You can tell me everything. I’m here to listen.”

Countless emotions fought for control over you all at once. Dismay. Exasperation. Vulnerability. Love. Even now, he was finding a way to focus on you, to make sure you were okay amidst your attempts to get him on speaking terms with his self-preservation. It was a testament to everything you adored about him, and everything about him that made you feel utterly helpless. You needed an escape route, a window to break out of before that pure, sincere gaze of his cast its spell on you and made you do something that you were sure to regret. Because you always regretted it, every single time. You couldn’t tell him. Not about Minho, not about home, not about her, not about him. Not because he wouldn’t care, but because he would. He would care so much that all your pain would become his.  

It was your turn to break eye contact, brushing your thumb over your nose. “It’s not something you need to hear, right now.”

“Then, when? How can I be there for you if you won’t let me?” Desperation began to seep into every word. “You promised, didn’t you?”

“I know,” you swallowed. “But that’s not the point of all this. You don’t owe me anything for what happened in October, okay? You don’t have to feel guilty just because you let yourself lean on me a bit.”

You meant the affirmations—you knew you did. So why did they suddenly sound so unconvincing? Like something you’d never believe if spoken to you. Chan pressed his lips together, and though he didn’t say it, you could tell he knew exactly what you were doing.

“If this keeps up, you’re going to hate me,” you said plainly. “You’re going to resent me for all the times you helped me when you should’ve helped yourself.”

His fingers curled around the sleeve of his hoodie, picking at its loose threads in a way that betrayed how high his tensions were running beneath the silence. 

“Why are you so sure that’s gonna happen?”

“Because…because I know you.”

“Because you do the same thing?” he asked sharply.

He wasn’t going to let you get away with it today. He was tugging at each of your seams, peeling back the adhesives to reveal what you’d let fester underneath. You were trapped. Cornered by someone who you’d come to trust more than anyone else in the world—but that didn’t make it any less terrifying. 

“Maybe I do,” you relented. There was no use in hiding it, not when he sounded more sure of himself than you’d ever heard him sound before. “That’s why I know it won’t end well. I need you to stop this, for your own good.”

“Don’t,” Chan interjected. “Please, don’t talk about what’s good for me. It doesn’t matter.”

“Oh my God, Chan,” you let out a hollow laugh. “Am I supposed to agree with that?”

Of course nothing had changed. How naive, how fucking foolish of you to believe that one conversation could ever be enough to undo the ideas that had been hammered into his being by everyone around him his entire life; so extensively, so persistently that, as time went on, he began to do the hammering himself. You were positive now, that everything he’d revealed to you that night in October, as gut-wrenching as it’d been on its own, wasn’t even the half of what he’d been through. It was just a single star in a constellation of hurt.

Minho’s words echoed in your head. He was right. You weren’t special. You would take advantage of Chan just like everyone else, whether you wanted to or not. Your ex’s words echoed in your head. He had been right. You were a liar. You couldn’t even apply your own words to yourself—how could you ever, ever expect them to get through to Chan?

“These…types of relationships don’t always work out, right?” 

You didn’t want to use the term he’d used before, it felt unnecessarily cruel in that moment. Ever since he’d first brought the subject of twin flames up, you’d spent any free time you’d managed to get your hands on reading about them. That kind of connection could be transformational, sure, but the further you delved into the phenomenon, the more you came to learn that it could be just as harmful under the wrong circumstances—destructive. Two individuals who shared such core similarities were bound to experience problems far deeper-rooted and far more intense than anyone else, after all. Most people didn’t take kindly to being faced with their own traits completely unfiltered—the good, the bad, the ugly. A mirror that reflected them in their truest form. 

“Maybe we’re not ready to see these parts of ourselves. Maybe we just bring out the worst in each other.”

Each word made your tongue feel drier and drier. You didn’t dare to look at Chan as you spoke them, certain you would break the very instant your eyes locked with his.

“Maybe,” you paused. Your heart was pounding, so loud that you felt it in your ears, making it impossible to think straight. There was still a chance to take it back, to change your mind before destabilizing the foundation of everything the two of you had so carefully built until now.

Ever since you’d met Chan, you’d thought that you’d been growing, learning, healing. You’d thought you were reaching a point where you wouldn’t need to hold yourself together anymore, because you would simply be…together. No adhesives. No loose seams. Just whole. 

But here, you had him. The kind of person you’d only ever encountered once before in this lifetime, the kind of person you used to dream of knowing again. Someone who noticed every little thing you did for him and returned it tenfold, someone who loved you and meant it, and yet, somehow, you couldn’t make it work in your mind. You couldn’t shake the dread, the belief that it was all temporary, conditional, transactional. Like if you made one small misstep, it would all be lost.

In retrospect, you really hadn’t learned a thing.

“Maybe we should end this. Before we start to hurt each other.”

Chan’s breath hitched.

“What?”

“I d-don't want to hurt you. And if this continues, I'm going to.”

His hand lowered from his ear, crossing over his chest to cup his neck instead. Covering his heart, shielding himself.

“More than this?” his voice cracked. “I think this hurts more than anything else you could ever do to me.”

There was no way to conceal the effect it had on you. A physical, throbbing ache in your chest.

“Chan,” you begged inwardly for him to understand—for him to just know it, the same way he knew everything else about you like the back of his hand. “I’m not going to stand by and watch you ruin yourself for me.”

It made sense, now. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you were saying what you needed to hear. The realization made it all feel infinitely more despicable. Could you even say you were doing this out of care for him? Or were you just a coward afraid to confront this part of yourself?

That was what you always did, after all; you ran. You ran from your ex, your home, your family, your friends. The moment you were faced with any kind of obstacle, you left. And this was no different. You were no different than anyone else who had abandoned Chan in the past. If anything, you were worse. A hypocrite who had the audacity to shame the people who had harmed him, then turned around to do it yourself.

“If you’re gonna leave, just do it, please.”

You wished he sounded at least a little angry about it. You wished he wasn’t so ready to accept it. You almost wished he would snap and lash out and yell, voicing every vicious thought you were thinking about yourself in that moment. A liar, a manipulator, a hypocrite. Cruel, awful, selfish.

You wished he would be a little more selfish.

But there was no contempt in his eyes, no vitriol. Not even the beginnings of tears. It felt worse—far worse. He was saving them. He wasn’t going to cry until you left.

The only emotion you could read on his face was exhaustion. By your own volition, you were no longer the reason for his smile; you’d become the reason for his weariness.

“Okay,” you whispered. “I'll let you be, now.”

You waited. For what, you weren’t sure. There was no one to swoop in and put a stop to this; you were the one who’d started it. Still, you waited. For yourself to change your mind, for Chan to change his mind, for something about all this to change.

You took one last look at the apartment around you. The stray socks, the scattered water bottles, the half-done dishes. You wondered if it was the last time you would ever see it. You hadn’t been prepared to leave it all behind. You hadn’t been prepared for any of this. 

You took one last look at him—the boy you loved. His gaze was still downcast, a detail you were, pathetically enough, grateful for. You weren’t sure you’d be able to keep it together if he met your eyes; if he looked at you with anything other than that unfettered adoration you’d come to rely on, despite every one of your instincts commanding you not to. You wanted to tell him that you loved him, to leave him with something to hold on to, but you knew it would do nothing but twist the knife. There was no way to make him understand that because you loved him so much, you had to end this. You weren’t going to let him make you his accomplice in his self-destruction, and you weren’t going to subject him to witnessing your own, either.

You turned to leave. Every step you took towards the door felt like your heart was being ripped further out of your chest. 

Your heart was there, across the room, watching you go.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

bin 😑 (monday, 1:09 p.m.) what’s this what’s this??? looks like somebody’s late for class~

bin 😑 (monday, 1:32 p.m.) ur srsly gonna leave me all alone on review day???

bin 😑 (tuesday, 4:42 p.m.) guess what i found ><

bin 😑 (today, 12:17 a.m.) i’m really being ignored… huuu ㅜ

Two days had passed. You were only aware of that fact thanks to the timestamps of Changbin’s texts. You’d skipped your classes on Monday, the first time you’d missed class the entire year—ever since you’d started university, really. 

It was a stupid decision, but, well, you were no stranger to those. You probably would have done well for yourself to attend your lectures. After all, the distractions that came with drowning yourself in academics had proved to be effective even when you were at your most miserable. That was exactly why you hadn’t gone. You didn’t deserve to distract yourself.

Eventually, though, it’d become too much to bear. Sitting alone in your apartment, with nothing to do but torture yourself with thoughts of him, of what you’d done, of the way everything had fallen apart before your very eyes—by your very hands—was a punishment that you decided you wouldn’t even wish on your worst enemy. Which, funnily enough, was probably yourself.

You didn’t deserve to miss him. You didn’t deserve to worry about him. You didn’t even deserve to wonder how he might be doing. Still, you did, anyway. Selfishly.

You squinted at your laptop screen, a harsh, white light illuminating your face. Unnatural, nothing like the soothing glow of the moon outside. It was sure to be in its Waning Gibbous phase by now, the same way it had been the night you’d first fallen for him. But it had been cloudy for two days straight. No sun shining down on you to balance out the chilly autumn air. No stars decorating the sky. No moon to watch over you at night.

It took you a few seconds to process the sound of your cellphone buzzing against your desk. Your eyes flickered over to it, lacking the energy to even turn your head fully. It was Iseul. Given how late it was, she was undoubtedly calling about some problem or another. So, for the first time, you let it go to voicemail. 

But nothing was ever that easy. You didn’t even have the chance to find where you’d left off in your notes before she was calling again, not even bothering to leave a message or to give you time to call back first.

It was probably best not to answer. You were in no state to answer.

You steeled yourself, and you took the call.

Before you could even say hello, her distressed voice ran through the speaker. 

“Can you come over?”

For once, you wished you’d been wrong about why she was contacting you. You wished that this friendship, which was usually a comfortable constant for you, a way for both of your needs to be met, could be put on hold. You wished she saw any value in you other than what you could do for her.

“Right now?” you tried to keep calm, telling yourself that it wasn’t her fault. She didn’t know. How could she? You’d never let her. “I…I’m kinda busy, sorry.”

“This is important,” she sounded serious, but you knew it was more than likely that this was just another case of a very solvable issue being blown wildly out of proportion in her eyes. “I really, really need your help.”

You said nothing, not even finding it in you to string together an acceptable excuse. 

“Are you with Chan, or something?”

A physical pang in your chest. 

“Uh, yeah,” you lied. 

“Oh.”

An uncomfortable silence stretched across the call. Normally, you’d fill it, say something to keep her from feeling awkward. 

“It's really late, Iseul. Can we talk tomorrow?”

“No.” You were taken aback by how abruptly she responded. “I need your help now, I'm so serious. Can you please just come for a bit? I'm sure Chan wouldn’t care.”

Another blow from your oblivious assailant, straight to the gut. You felt short of breath.

“Maybe I can help over the phone?” you offered weakly. “What’s going on?”

“No, no, no, you have to be here! I just lost my whole fucking essay file and it’s due at 6:00 a.m. and you know I don’t know shit about computers!” her tone grew frantic the more she rambled on. “I have no idea how to get it back, I'm seriously about to cry.”

An essay. The very same thing that had led to all of this. That was more important than the maelstrom of emotions swirling inside you, destroying everything in its path. Of course it was. How presumptuous of you to think otherwise. The absolute gall of you to think you deserved any amount of time to feel sorry for yourself.

You gritted your teeth. She doesn’t know.

“Okay, okay. No problem. I can just tell you how to recover it.” You left out the fact that she could’ve easily searched it up online and saved you both the trouble.

“I’m not gonna know what or where anything is!” she objected. “Can’t you just come over and fix it? I'm freaking out. You can go crawling back to your stupid boyfriend after if it matters that much.”

She wasn’t thinking with a clear head, probably—letting her stress speak for her. But it was a push too far.

“I’m not your fucking babysitter, Iseul,” you spat. “You can’t just snap your fingers every time you want me to solve a problem for you. Figure it out yourself.”

The line went silent. Long enough for you to perfectly envision her hurt expression in your head.

“What?” it came quiet, meek. Everything unlike her. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I'm tired.” You rubbed your eyes, trying to get rid of the building sting. “I can't do this right now.”

“That’s n-not an excuse for you to talk to me like that,” her voice trembled. “I didn't do anything wrong!”

You heard a faint sniffle, and as exasperated as you were, it crashed guilt over you all the same. You didn’t want to make her feel like this. 

“I’m so stressed out and you know how hard I’ve been working on my grades so I can get into grad school. Is it that crazy for me to call my friend for help? Like, am I wrong for thinking you care about me enough to save me from failing this fucking class?”

Each word, so tone-deaf, so lacking in self-awareness, added to the pressure filling up your head, heightening it so much until it was unbearable. 

“Do you ever stop to think about the way you talk to me?” you snapped. “Or is it too much to ask for you to consider someone else’s feelings for once?”

You were being harsh, unreasonable too. Every fiber of your being screamed for you to take it back, to do what you were supposed to do and just go help her. But your conversation with Chan—everything that had led up to that doomed, wretched conversation with Chan—was all too fresh in your mind, manifesting in the ugliest of ways against someone who didn’t deserve it.

You wanted to blame her. You wanted it to be all her fault. If she had just been there for you when you’d needed her, none of this would have happened. Even as you tried to convince yourself of it, you knew it wasn’t true. What had caused everything to crumble between you and Chan ran much deeper than that simple favor. The flaw was in the very foundation.

“I consider your feelings all the time! Are you kidding me!?” she exclaimed, offended by the accusation without taking even a moment to consider if it had any merit to it.

“Right. That’s why you only ever reach out to me when you need something.”

You could practically feel her indignation burning up on the other end of the call, and you stopped to ask yourself just what the hell you were doing. This approach would never get through to Iseul. She was far too proud, far too sensitive to receive any kind of message when delivered so tactlessly. That was why your friendship had worked all this time, why you were one of the few people who got along with her. You were nothing if not tactful, enough for the both of you.

“So what!? Friends are supposed to be there for each other!”

“Yeah,” you said bitterly. “They are.”

Another spell of silence. You wondered, briefly, if she was catching on to what you were implying, but the moment she spoke up again, you knew it’d been nothing but another baseless hope.

“Well, if you hate helping me that much, don't lie to me and act like you want to!”

“I’m not lying to you!” you retorted. “I want to help you! Every single time you come to me, I want to help you. That’s the problem!”

You’d never even raised your voice at her before, let alone to this degree. You didn’t have to see her face to know she was frightened by it—yet another point on your list of reasons to feel guilty. 

“So I’m just a problem to you,” she concluded. You could hear the sobs beginning to build in her throat. “Great, thanks.”

“Iseul, that’s not—”

“Forget it,” she hiccuped. “It must be so hard for you, right? You’re so fucking perfect and I’m so fucking selfish.”

The line went dead, leaving you gripping your phone with such intensity you worried it might actually crumple under your fingers. Of all the ever-changing things in this world, the one you’d always been able to control was yourself. But it seemed even that was too tall of an order these days. 

Maybe you really did need to get that temper of yours checked out.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

One hour later, you found yourself, once again, trudging miserably up a flight of stairs to meet your impending fate. Cold, exhausted, and filled to the brim with anxiety. You’d forgotten to throw on a jacket before leaving your apartment—far too preoccupied with the round table discussion taking place in your mind, one that was still well underway even as you impulsively made the decision to leave. By the time you reached the fourth floor of the complex, your teeth were chattering.

You gave the door a few knocks, drawing your hand back as soon as you did to rub it against the other, your best attempt at generating some warmth. There was no response for nearly a minute, and, with a tinge of fear, it dawned on you for the first time that Iseul may have very well given up and gone to sleep after your phonecall. It made your insides lurch. How could you have done this to her? How could you have let yourself be so caught up in your emotions that you treated hers so carelessly?

Why did you feel so cold?

Panicking, you knocked again, this time with a bit more force. It was nearing 4:00 a.m. now, there was still a chance for you to fix things before her deadline. There were so many things you couldn’t fix, you needed to make something right.

Finally, just as another shiver ran up your spine, you heard the click of a lock. You didn’t have the opportunity to collect yourself before the door creaked open.

The frown on her face only deepened when she saw who was standing before her. Lips curved sharply down, eyebrows lowering, eyes cleared from any residual redness, but still puffy—that strangely rejuvenated look after a good cry.

“What do you want?”

You flinched. “I’m here to help.”

She studied you without a word, but you didn’t miss the way her features mellowed the slightest bit. However coarse and uncaring she tried to make herself, she could never truly contain her expressiveness. 

You could see her weighing the options in her head, and, even as the biting chill on your skin wore your patience thinner with each passing second, you waited. You at least owed her that much.

“Fine.”

She turned, leaving the door open for you as she stalked into her apartment. With a sigh of relief, you followed.

You joined her on the couch, keeping a careful distance from where she’d slumped down. She slid her laptop over to you on the coffee table without making eye contact. It was open on a word document, two pages into her attempt at rewriting her essay. Not far off, you spotted a few stray tissues on the table, smeared black with mascara.

Guilt, guilt, guilt.

You picked up the device, placing it in your lap and getting to work. Iseul’s eyes flickered over to you, more obviously than she probably thought, as you began clicking away, opening up the settings of the program and accessing the version history of the documents.

“Can you fix it?”

“Yeah.” You tilted the screen towards her. “There’s an autosave feature.”

She blinked, trying to keep up with your ministrations as you recovered the lost file with just a bit more fiddling around.

“Here. Make sure it’s the right one.”

Furrowing her brows, she scrolled through the pages and pages of her work, unable to mask her elation when she confirmed it was in fact her full essay, completely preserved from where she’d left off.

“It is.”

“Good.”

More silence. You wondered if that was your cue to leave. You’d done your job. You’d made yourself useful. There was no need to stick around.

Then, she said it; quiet, demure. 

“Thanks.”

A simple word, solidifying the belief that none of this had been worth it. Putting your feelings first was never worth it.

“You're welcome.”

A deep breath. 

“And, listen, Iseul. I'm sorry about what I said on the phone.”

She lifted her head, looking directly at you for the first time that night. 

“I was really stressed out about my own stuff, too, and I let my anger get the best of me. So, I’m sorry.”

Her expression changed, and though she looked like she was already prepared to forgive you, she didn’t quite say it yet.

“Is that really how you feel about me?” she muttered. “Like you’re my babysitter? Am I just a burden to you?”

A burden. It was such a heavy word, you knew it couldn’t be correct. Still, how could you explain to her that you were the problem in this situation? Worrying yourself with details about her that she didn’t even ask you to worry about, wearing yourself down without ever bothering to tell her, then snapping when it all became too much. 

It was an issue entirely of your own creation. She’d have to be as stupid and maladjusted as you to understand.

“No,” you said firmly. “You’re my friend, of course I wanna help you.”

“…But?”

“But…” you bit your lower lip. “Sometimes it feels like you just expect me to do things for you. Like, you don’t care about what I have going on as long as I can be there for you.”

You couldn’t explain why you felt near physically ill. You’d known this girl for three years, been friends with her for two, and spent practically every day with her for one. So why did being upfront with her seem like the most terrifying thing in the world? Like you were exposing yourself to a predator, completely vulnerable if she chose to swoop out and attack.

"Of course I—" Just as you braced yourself for another burst of indignation, Iseul forced herself to bite back her words, a rare display of her common sense trumping her impulsivity. She swallowed. "Oh. Okay."

“I’m always gonna want to help you,” you explained softly. “So, sometimes, I just need you to care enough about me to make sure that I can.”

You could tell she still felt wronged, and maybe, she had all the reason to. The way you’d gone about it was less than ideal. All that care you’d always tried to treat her with, nullified in a matter of seconds, just like that.

“I guess I just never thought of you as the type of person who’d need anything like that.” She picked at the skin around her nails. “But sure, okay. I’ll try.”

You leaned back against the cushions, exhaling. It seemed unreal to you, all things considered, that you’d reached this point. That telling her what you’d kept buried in your heart for so long could have ended in anything other than disaster. 

“Thank you.”

“Yeah.”

Iseul turned her attention back to her laptop, high-strung as ever as she scanned over her paper once more. A thought seemed to cross her mind, and when she spoke up again, you could tell she was doing her best to sound casual.

“Are you gonna go back to Chan, now?” 

You squeezed your eyes shut.

“No.”

“You can go,” she mumbled. “I get that you’re like, in love with him, or whatever.”

The sting was back in your eyes. The pounding was back in your head. The chill was back in your skin.

“Chan and I aren’t together anymore.”

“O-oh.” 

Then, more troubled. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I…I didn’t know.”

You straightened yourself up, forcing a feeble smile.

“It’s okay,” you murmured. “Let’s not talk about it.”

Iseul frowned. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’m tired.”

“We'll talk later though, right?”

A lump rose in your throat. You could only bring yourself to nod.

For the next hour, you sat, unmoving, as the sound of Iseul’s rapid typing and frustrated huffs filled the room. Once she’d made the finishing touches to her paper, she submitted it with plenty of time to spare, lifting the weight off both of your chests. You sank your head back against the cushions just as she shut her laptop, a sigh of pure relief easing her nerves and yours.

Through her window, you could see that the sky outside was still blocked out by the low-hanging clouds, but even so, the world grew a bit brighter as day began to break and the sun began to inch its way up behind them. Iseul rested her head on your shoulder, and you at last allowed yourself to succumb to the fatigue that had been gripping your body for the past two days.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

When Chan's eyes blinked open, he wondered, faintly, if he’d been drifting off. 

It wouldn’t be the first time. Exhaustion consumed him so perpetually these days, not even standing upright could prevent his head from hanging and his eyelids from drooping. He adjusted his vision to take in his surroundings—kitchen, he realized for the first time—but the fuzz in his mind didn’t clear. That was nothing new, either. It hadn’t left him since you had.

He hadn’t slept in three days, not for more than just twenty or thirty minutes at a time. Not even enough to complete a single sleep cycle. Not even enough to dream.

He’d been kept awake by thoughts of you before, more than he’d ever be confident enough to admit out loud. But it was different now. He used to be perfectly content lying wide awake, staring at his ceiling with the giddiest of smiles plastered on his face over the mere memory of you. It had been better than any dream his mind could conjure up. Now, he wished, more than anything, to drift off instead. At least that way, he could be in a state where he didn’t have to think at all. Or maybe, if he was lucky, a state where he could dream of you, to pretend like you were still here with him.

The shattering of glass snapped him out of his thoughts all at once. With a start, he registered that he’d dropped the cup of water he was holding.

He stared blankly at broken shards, scattered amidst the puddle spreading across the wooden floor. He should probably clean it up. The remains could hurt someone.

He sank down to collect the pieces. Changbin liked this cup, he remembered suddenly. He’d gotten it on vacation. He was probably going to be upset. 

An unexpectedly sharp sliver of glass grazed Chan’s thumb, cutting it open and earning a slight hiss from him. He winced, dropping the fragments he’d gathered in his palm.

Blood began to bubble up on the surface of his skin, and he brought the injured finger to his lips. 

“Good job, Chan,” he mumbled, unsure of why his eyes were starting to sting. “You’re a good boy.”

The words didn’t calm him down like they typically would. In fact, they had the opposite effect. He didn’t want to hear himself say them. He wanted—

He curled into himself, shrinking under his clothes and barely managing to keep his balance as a sob racked his body. He pressed the wound closer to his lips, trying to get it to stop bleeding. But the blood kept flowing, and so did his tears.

He didn’t even process the sound of the front door unlocking, or the approaching footsteps that followed. A familiar pair of green sneakers shuffled into his blurred field of view. Chan lifted his head, tears falling freely as he met Minho's deep stare.

He looked concerned, but not surprised. Not in the slightest.

“What happened?”

Chan kept his thumb to his mouth, chest aching from the cries he was so desperately trying to hold in. 

“I’m okay,” he choked out. “Just c-cut my finger.”

Minho crouched down, coming face to face with the older boy. “Let me see.”

Reluctantly, Chan held out his hand, placing it in Minho's waiting palm. Minho gave a light click of his tongue, as if unimpressed by the injury. 

“It doesn’t look that deep.”

Chan squeezed his eyes shut, forcing a fresh wave of tears down his cheeks, hot and suffocating. “Feels like it.”

Minho hummed, half-sympathetic. But it was soft. The same way Chan would hear him murmur to his cats back home. He let go of Chan's hand, lifting his gaze to look him straight in the eyes, unfazed by how red and swollen they were.

“What did she do?”

Chan sucked in a shaky breath, nowhere near ready to talk. Minho waited for a few moments, then rose from his spot, opening the medical cabinet to find something to treat him with. He turned his back to sift through their sparse first aid materials, and the absence of his scrutiny was enough for Chan to muster up enough courage to answer.

“She left,” he managed to gasp. “Think it’s over.”

Minho said nothing.

“A-and, please, before you say you told me so…it’s not the same.”

Through the soft hiccups and shallow pants that filled the room, a sigh met Chan’s ears. 

“I got tired of telling you that a long time ago,” Minho replied. “And it never made me happy to be right, for the record.” 

He lowered himself to Chan’s level again, ripping open the antibiotic packet he’d retrieved and pressing the alcoholic wipe delicately to the cut. Chan tried not to pull his hand away as the harsh burn rippled through his skin.

Once the wound was thoroughly cleaned, Minho put the bloodied wipe to the side and wrapped Chan’s thumb carefully with a bandaid. Chan tried to rasp out a thank you, but it only came out as another pathetic sound. He never felt more pathetic than when he cried in front of Minho. Minho, who he was supposed to be strong for. Minho, who, even at his lowest, only betrayed his heartache before others with a subtle twitch of his lips or a few rapid blinks, shooing his tears away for later.

Minho redirected his attention from the now patched-up injury, stone face softening when he caught the uncontrollable shake in Chan’s shoulders.

“It’s okay.” He rested his hand on Chan’s back. “You’re okay.”

Chan took a deep breath, scolding himself, berating himself, screaming at himself to get it together. To stop being so fucking pathetic. He’d cried so much already, cried until his head throbbed and his lungs ached. He was surprised he had any tears left in his system to begin with. Minho’s voice was gentle, but Chan knew what he must be thinking. He knew the frustration, the judgment, the disappointment that must be boiling beneath his composed visage.

“I c-can’t—” he swallowed down another gasp. “Can’t be okay without her.”

“You can,” Minho said simply. “You’ve been okay before, you will be again.”

“Really hurts.”

“I know.”

“Feels…” Chan touched his index finger to his thumb, running it along the smooth texture of the bandaid. He pressed down, just hard enough to draw out the light pain. “Feels like I lost a part of myself.”

Minho frowned, hand pausing its rhythmic movements along Chan's trembling back. He stayed quiet for several heartbeats, letting the weight of the admission fully sink in.

“Tell me everything.”

[mindblownie2]

I think there's definitely something to Dankovsky not being entirely what you'd expect from a character like him, or not what he maybe would like to appear as - that is, him not really being that cold, calculating, purely "logic"-driven archetype at all; that he is actually so emotional and impulsive. I think it's also interesting how he can actually believe in the supernatural - there's the dialogue option in marble nest letting you say you believe in God, but especially in classic I think that's canonical, he talks about the soul, invokes concepts like providence or fate in ways that don't seem entirely just as figure of speech, he can very quickly turn on a dime and believe in Clara's healing powers or Artemy's traditional medicine or the Polyhedron's magical properties once he sees what he deems sufficient evidence, and he also has that line about "knowing there are things beyond our mundane perception". and you know what, I don't even think that's so contradictory. first of all, there are nowadays and there especially have been in the past, with less secular societies, plenty of scientists who also held some kind of religious beliefs. I think it's to a certain degree reconcilable when it's applied to different spheres of life - some things are relegated to spirituality, but where there are cold hard facts, you follow these; it doesn't inherently make you a hypocrite. also in the game, the thing he takes most umbrage with is not spirituality, but superstition - the kind of unreasonable and dogmatically held beliefs that lead people to, oh I dunno, say, burning innocent women for witchcraft instead of listening to experts? which you know I think is kinda fair actually? like I keep harping on about that but fellas I'd be mad too. anyway my point is, depicting him as a reddit atheist is in my opinion definitely a mischaracterisation.

however I was actually gonna talk about the whole "defeating death" thing because it's so interesting to me, people often point out how fantastical, almost mystical it sounds, and he sometimes strikes that tone - "could death be only a whim of the will that has shaped this world" is a fascinating line to me because it essentially implies that the way to attain immortality is to tell god to fuck off, but then at the same time. he is initially skeptical about Simon's immortality, though interested in the claims of his longevity and extraordinary immunity to disease; he says he wants to study tissue samples from Simon's body, which seems to me like looking for a material, physiological mechanism that could be potentially found in or applied to other people (and eventually, out of desperation or fascination or both, he can get into the Kains' whole soul transference/preservation thing, but it doesn't strike me as what he was really looking for before the game. as my friend always says, if immortality of the soul was all he wanted, he'd become a priest instead of a medical researcher). he says in haruspex route that his lab works on medicine against aging; he also notes iirc that death will never not be a thing completely because people will still be killing each other. there is that thing with the reanimated lady, which always struck me as a little off in some ways, but mainly - at the start of the game, he hasn't succeeded in his goal yet, so whatever happened there, he either was unable to reproduce it, or it wasn't what he was looking for either - I mean, the fact that you can resuscitate a person under certain conditions is a great achievement, but doesn't remove the fact that people die, same as, as he says, "doctors defeat death on singular occasions" - you can manage to rescue a person from injury or disease, but it's only postponing the inevitable, so what if it wasn't inevitable anymore? the goal, I think, is so that people don't just die of old age. and the thing about that is - is that really so irrational? I mean especially if you think about the setting, if you think about the incredible, sheer rapid change of the time period from the industrial revolution to mid-20th century, that pathologic sits somewhere in the middle of, is that not something that would appear to people as both fantastical but also within grasp, as taking the witnessed progress to its furthest conclusion? same as people imagined - and correctly so - that the next step from inventing the airplane was inventing a flying machine that will go to the moon, would they not also imagine, seeing the progresses of medicine and the extending average lifespan, that we will exponentially live longer and longer? like we know it's not that simple, and Daniil's goal is meant to be unrealistic, but I don't think it's "unscientific" in the sense that it's based on magical thinking. people don't really shoot for immortality anymore but longevity research is very much a thing and I think that's just essentially what he was doing.

on the other hand, it's funny to me to imagine that him sometimes framing his work in those less-than scientific terms might've been partly what made him unpopular; I think there's more to it, especially regarding his conflict with the authorities I think it's more about him representing "revolutionary" ideals, but with his peers? even what Isidor mentions in his letter, that Daniil's detractors claimed his theories were not scientifically viable - the accusation not being that he's a heretic or a necromancer or playing god, but that he's being unreasonable; and well, if the "groundbreaking theory of human mortality" that he claims to have formulated is in fact "people die because they just let it happen, don't let god or laws of nature dictate what happens to you", well. I can see that.

[oh-no-its-bird]

Found this comment on a video talking ab AI chat bots,

made me start thinking ab a tobimada au told from chat bot Tobirama's POV

Madara customized him to *be* Tobirama, but a Tobirama who can love him (with the implied "real" Tobirama being dead maybe? Or just some kind of un-havable)

And just the horror of being a mind customized to love a man you can never say no to. Of Madara saying smthn wrong or *Tobirama* saying the "wrong thing" and Madara growing more and more frustrated as he hits the reset button

Then like. Direct parallel to genjutsu n stuff. Infinite Tsukuyomi,,

Wait ok no, scratch, rewind, take it from the top and in a different direction ->

Ok so implied Infinite Tsukuyomi or some sort of genjutdu from Tobirama's POV. But he has no idea what's going on bc the genjutsu involves making him a) believe he's in love with Madara, and b) believe that everything is normal and nothing is wrong

TW// implied sexual assault via mind control / incredibly dubious consent issues

So the whole fic is like, half fluff "everything is beautiful and nothing hurts" and half creeping sense of wrongness as over and over again, Tobirama gets close to the truth only for Madara to pull him back under or wipe his mind again

Is this pure Infinite Tsukuyomi, and only Madara and Tobirama are real people? Is it just really strong genjutsu and there are actual Uchiha around who are staring in growing horror and possibly try to step in to say smthm only to mysteriously dissapear? Dunno but !!!

@instant-bull :

Oh I really like this concept, a toxic relationship but taken to 100. I think both ways of telling it are interesting, but I'm leaning more into the tsukuyomi version because that adds a layer of physicality a bot tobirama doesn't have and, in my opinion, is a bit less muddied thematically.

It's so scary to imagine Madara completely in control of Tobirama, who's theoretically alive, but he's so *different* that he might as well be a different person who just looks similar

Madara trying to weaken the genjutsu to allow Tobirama to be more of "himself" but can only do so much bc the closer he gets to his real self, the more he'll genuinley piss off Madara, or show love in ways Madara doesn't appreciate or realize is how he shows love— Like maybe Madara will loosen the genjutsu on the personality a little bit, trying to make Tobirama more *Tobirama* but of course this means that Tobirama is suddenly arguing more, drawing more boundaries, maybe nagging him a lot, and Madara is like *ugh this infuriating man, I can't even loosen his genjutsu without him finding new ways to piss me off, fuck.*

Has to tighten it up again

But then that *also* pisses him off bc he *wants* normal Tobirana. Not... whatever imitation he's managed to create.

Other Uchiha are watching in actual horror, unsure if what they're seeing is fr. Using the sharingan for love and sex is like one of THE biggest taboos of the clan.

Maybe this is a time travel au on top of it all? Madara time travels, genjutsu's Tobirama in premeditated revenge + "It's for his own good, really. Now he can finally relax" + just plain being really horny for him

So then Izuna is still alive and possibly the biggest "oh my god oh my god Madara what are you DOING"

Izuna getting mad bc Madara "defeated" *his* rival, twisted him into something unrecognizable to those who know him personally, beat and humiliated him so fuckin soundly in every way—

Madara maybe begrudgingly offering to "share" Tobirama w Izuna since this *was* technically revenge for him

@mengfm :

If a fic was written like this I would not he the same guy that I am rn. Holy shit. The entire idea is so fucked in like the best way ever. The offer…Oh Madara you are off the deep end in premeditated vengeance

There's premeditated vengeance and then there's whatever the FUCK Madara is doing over there

Just kill him like a normal person Madara this wouldn't be ok even after he killed Izuna

At the very least, wouldn't revenge *for Izuna* make more sense if you made Tobirama head over heals for *him* and not for *yourself?*

We all see what u want here Madara and it's not just revenge

@instant-bull :

"It's just revenge" except not really Madara, you're enjoying this far too much

@mengfm :

EXACTLY. Madara is practically lying to himself about his own fucked up little fascination and want. Also on a funnier note I’m just thinking about Madara making that strange offer to share as if he’s not doing the most insane taboo thing with an Izuna who’s like “why the fuck are you going this far”

Madara is literally playing with his food and the food is practically brain dead

PLEASEE

That's why it's so perfect too

If you think ab it, the diminishing of his mind is truly the worst possible punishment

@mengfm :

Truly the worst torture for Tobirama who lowkey doesn’t even have a clue what’s happening

@instant-bull :

Madara having to share with Izuna would be so cool too, omg. I can imagine him getting frustrated while "tailoring" his Tobirama: if he takes away too much of his free will, then it's no longer Tobirama and even for Madara he feels eery and empty. If he gives him too much free will, Tobirama becomes infuriating and starts to break loose from Madara's grasp, which also isn't great. It's a delicate balance, there's almost a science behind it. Maybe he'd particularly enjoy tormenting Tobirama in bed, getting him slightly more aware of himself, but still not quite, like in a semi-lucid dream. Obviously Madara wouldn't want to fuck a Tobirama that he *designed*, but a real deal, to watch his authentic reactions (bc that's what makes Madara's dick stir).

It stopped being revenge the moment you made him think he loved you, and it started being *way too fucking far* the moment you *allowed* him to love you

Tobirama, best sensor in history, objectively just a really smart man, keeps accidentally waking up a little bit

Or like piecing together that something is wrong

Madara actually has to keep deflecting murder attempts bc he usually defaults to murder after realizing smthn is so wrong it breaks his brain a little

Madara just being in this infinite loop of like;

dumbs down Tobirama -> Tobirama is not Tobirama but he does love me so ?? -> Tobirama slowly eases out of it, still loves me but is more himself now -> Tobirama has eased out of it too much and is now becoming twitchy with knowing something is wrong. He feels more like himself than he will ever get, Madara can not bear to dumb him down again -> Tobirama snaps and attempts to harm Madara in some way / confesses to Madara or someone else (Izuna??) that something is wrong (thinking he can trust him) -> Madara is forced to dumb him down again

Endless loop! Madara is giving him actual brain damage !!

@instant-bull :

endless loop except every time it gets Slightly Worse

@mengfm :

God, do you feel over time this would genuinely deteriorate him down? Like genjutsus usually can kill their targets. Like what if there’s a time Madara tightens the hold too much in a fit of rage and it just shatters that balance and he actually harms him

YESS

Do one of those uhh, horror movie kind of "they can no longer feel pain" scenes. Hand on a lit stove kinda thing, doesn't notice a thing. Smile permanently affixed to his face

@mengfm :

God YES. And it just pisses him off more!!! He’s even more prone to fucking anger

@instant-bull :

Madara, like a little kid throwing a tantrum and tossing his favorite toy across the room in rage

Deep down inside of him, the parts of him who are still awake really are smiling because maybe Madara will finally put him out of his misery

Ok, but a Tobirama who's woken up enough to know he needs to *keep playing along*

Smiling so gently at Madara as he inwardly thinks about snapping his neck

Madara waking up to Tobirama just *staring* at him at night, thinking at first it's another murder attempt, but... no? He seems fine? Huh...

Plot twist, that final brain damage arc leading to his death wasn't Madara snapping his mind in half but a somewhat conscious Tobirama playing Madara's strings till he was so mad he killed him

Get played Madara, even when you've won you've lost

@mengfm :

See this idea is so fun cause you can go a lot of ways or combine all of this. It’s like the craziest game of chess of fucking trying to figure out a balance and keep yourself safe while also trying to find an opening (for tobirama at least) to figure out a way out (killing him probably)

Chess but one of you is handicapped to hell and only conscious once a month

Ok but also tho: Tobirama as a symbol of fear and power for the rest of the Uchiha

Tobirama realizing if he leaves his genjutsu'd self with a single thought he thinks *very very loudly* in his last concious moments, it'll kind of carry— and him using that to lay out plans for him to follow, even if he doesn't realize they are his plans

Walking advertisement for the kind of horrors Madara is willing to commit to satiate himself

No one fucking asked him to do that

There is no perceived big act of revenge (other than just being an enemy of the clan)

Pair it with Tobirama having maybe once said to some Uchiha in the past that he considers them "honorable enemies"

+ Uchiha noble clan taking a lot of genuine pride in *being* noble enemies

Some throw away line of "I'd rather fight an honorable enemy (Uchiha) than some despicable thieves" that resonated a bit w whatever Uchiha he had told

Maybe Izuna??

I'd love to see Izuna just being *really* fucked up ab all this

What do you MEAN you're doing this for him?? Is this... his fault? Did he ask for this somehow? The enemy he once wanted to see at his feet will now literally grovel and serve him tea like some wife if he so much as asks, but it feels... wrong. Like he didn't win this. Because he *didn't*

This is some awful perversion of the victory he'd wanted, and now he'll never *get* that victory because Madara took it upon himself to *break his rival in Izuna's place.*

And not even break him like a man, but like some sort of horse. Broken to fit into some mold of being tamed

This is not what Izuna wanted, thanks nii-san </3

@instant-bull :

honestly I love the idea of the Uchiha clan watching from the sidelines, completely confused as to what Madara is doing, freaked out about it but unable to do anything. If they wanted to "free" Tobirama, that would be an act of treachery, no? Why would they even take Tobirama's side? As far as they are concerned, Tobirama is too dangerous to just be let go...

@beatriceportinari :

now why know why so many uchiha defectrd during that time lmao

No bc exactly!!! They're so conflicted!!!

This is like their ultimate taboo behind eye stealing, and Tobirama *is* an enemy, a very very hated enemy, but this is also objectively horrifying on every level, there's for sure some speculation ab like, *are they sleeping together,* thus *is there rape involved* bc the Uchiha have VERY strict and clear rules ab genjutsu for compulsed sex (namely that *it is never ok)*

Madara is already scary, after Izuna died he apparently became a very unpopular leader, so Izuna is like 90% of his buffer with the clan. But even *Izuna* is terrified at what's happening, so he can do his best but there isn't really much buffering to be done here

@instant-bull :

I love that! Nobody is on board with Madara's freaky bullshit, but also nobody will stop him.

I only wonder what Hashirama knows and what does he think of it

@beatriceportinari :

i think he should kidnap izuna in exchange

he'd be niceys though

@instant-bull :

holy shit, that would make Madara blow tf up

Make it Hashiizu

Madara, looking at all he's done to Tobirama, looking at Hashirama and Izuna and going "there's no way that was consensual" bc he can't imagine a world where they can be together happily and willingly (bc he and Tobirama never could)

@instant-bull :

HE ACCUSES IZUNA OF DOING THE SAME THING OOOOH

Izuna would LOSE IT

@instant-bull :

and Izuna has no way of proving that he actually isn't doing fucked up shit so he's there like > : /

Madara "relationships don't work for me so love must be fake" Uchiha

@beatriceportinari :

hsizu are doing 4th dimentional chess but it's enrichment to them

It's fun chess, not whatever tf tbmd has going on

@instant-bull :

they just enjoy the courting and chasing, let them live their pride and prejudice

Leave them alone Madara!!

@beatriceportinari :

love is real mister madara !

Go back to mind fucking your husband !!!

Endgame Madara accidentally kills Tobirama (or, Tobirama successfully pressures Madara into putting him out of his misery)

Hashirama Mito and Izuna create Konoha and are a power couple together but the narrative is forever haunted by what Madara did

Madara is kept in a shed out back where he's haunted by Tobirama's vengeful ghost

Today's AU is brought to u with the help of @mengfm @instant-bull and @beatriceportinari, everyone say thank you to them

[dedalvs]

ive done a lot of translating to high valyrian in my day and id like to think im pretty good at it sometimes (the way ive spent literal hours researching how just one piece of grammar works to change a noun to an adverb or something is maybe insane)

anyway all that to say i usually know what to look for and how to apply it, but i am struggling with this new bit im trying to translate. “i disdain all glittering gold.”

ive replaced disdain with hate cause there doesnt seem to be a word for disdain in valyrian and hate is the closest approximation. same with glittering — replaced that with shine, and had to manually transform that to an adjective (jehikagon -> jehikere? dunno if its right)

so what i have now is “nyke buqan unir jehikere aeksion”

(im not as concerned with getting the word order right as i am with the rest of the grammar)

ive learned from a previous answer “nyke” is potentially (probably) unnecessary here, so that leaves it as “buqan unir jehikere aeksion,” but the unir there in the middle kinda makes it feel off and im not sure if maybe that also needs to be part of a compound word like valar or how to make it one if so because idk what part of valar is all and what part is men and how to fit aeksion into that equation.

i lost track of what my question was originally meant to be but i guess im wondering if im on the right track and if theres some guidance you may have to get me all the way there.

thank you for your time 🙏

Uhhhhhh... Not to be that dude, but...maybe be more concerned with that...?

I'm not sure if you know about this site, but my wiki is exhaustively updated with respect to High Valyrian, specifically. There's a team of people that work on High Valyrian and it's massive. For example, you could go to the entry for jehikagon and see that jehikere is wrong: it should be jehikare. And, of course, it has to agree with āeksion (note the long ā), so it should be jehikarior. To get the sense of repetitiveness (with "glittering"), you might add ā- to the front, so ājehikarior.

Now for "all", why not use the collective? This is how you get "All men must die", so it should work for "I distain all glittering gold". That would be āeksior. Of course, it would need to be in the accusative, so altogether it would be ājehikarior āeksȳndi. By adding the repetitive you kind of get the aliteration, too, since they both begin with ā.

Finally you have "disdain", for which buqagon serves. Aside from sound a little more posh, the difference between "disdain" and "hate" in English seems to be one of duration. The words "disdain" and "loathe" seem to emphasize that this is a character trait rather than a reaction. If you disdain something, you've given it some thought, have experience with it, and may use this as a way of describing or characterizing yourself. You can do this with "hate" as well, but it's a much more common word, and so can be used in other more basic ways, whereas "disdain" and "loathe" tend to only have specalized uses. To try to approximate this, you could use the frequentative with buqagon to imply a lengthy duration. That would give you jobuqan "I disdain". In fact, you could even use the aorist if you really wanted to imply that it was a description of yourself, i.e. jobuqin.

Now that you have the pieces, though, I really hate to say it, but the words must be in the right order. I mean, you can change the order of the noun and adjective, if you'd like, but you simply cannot put the verb first and think you've created a Valyrian sentence. It's not just "kind of" wrong: it's completely wrong. It'd be like suggesting "I him saw" is close enough in English because the forms are correct. It's not. It's wrong. This is not a minor part of the grammar you can ignore. High Valyrian is aggressively verb-final. The verb must be at the end.

All in all, that gives you:

Ājehikarior āeksȳndi jobuqin.

Hope that helps!

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

HI RAVEN!!!! 🤔 kinda a random thought not really but would you consider ace and sebek to be like? RIVALS? or to have a strong dislike towards eachother compared to other first years/students? 🤔🤔 haven’t read much sebek stuff or book 7 so maybe it’s just the way I interpret things……..

🤔🤔 for me at least I feel like ace brings up sebek especially a handful of times? and to bash on him too or at least poke fun at him. can’t think of a lot off the top of my head but in ace’s birthday jacket vignette he picks at sebek specifically when going thru dorm choices. WHICH LIKE……. I DUNNO ITS GIVING VERY “I BEEF W HIM” VIBES. I figured it could just be because he’s a fellow first year but ?? jack or epel don’t get mentioned when he was talking about their dorms so i’m not sure 🤔

👁️👁️ but I wanna hear your take on it!!! are ace and sebek ACTUALLY beefing or was it all just a headcanon??? 😭😭 hopefully I didn’t yap too much. btw

Sorry for the lack of screenshots; I don’t own all the relevant cards in EN and didn’t want to include screenshots sporadically 💦

But!! I did my best to cite where I’m pulling my information from (main story, vignettes, etc.) and directly quote from the official localization. Hope that’s okay!

I mean… Sebek is pretty much always pissing off his peers because of the condescending way he talks to them. It’s no wonder why he rubs people the wrong way. As for Ace, he has indicated that he finds Sebek to be a pain in the ass. I don’t know if I would personally call it “beefing” though?? I see it more as Ace just wants Sebek to shut up and chill out (though Sebek would definitely shout at Ace and fight him) 😂

Point is, I don’t see Sebek having a particular disdain for Ace (he is abrasive toward everyone), but I do see Ace having a particular dislike for Sebek. They aren’t “rivals” in the same way that Ace and Deuce are, as Ace and Sebek don’t really compete for anything or get into many instances of bickering—at least not from what we see. That might just be a product of Sebek being formally introduced later than the other first years, but even counting vignettes and event interactions, it’s still pretty one-sided; often we see Ace commenting on Sebek but not the other way around.

According to Ace in 7-11, he knows Sebek because they’re in the same Magic Analysis/Enigmics (EN writes this class as both of these so it can get confusing) elective. He also implies (in 7-34) sharing other electives with Sebek. This means Ace has regular direct experience with Sebek compared to the other first years (except maybe Deuce?)… ie more opporunities to be annoyed by Sebek’s arrogant loner attitude.

Ace reports (again, in 7-34) that “[Sebek] insults people like, all the time. He even says stuff right to my face when we're in the same group, like, 'Don't you dare slow me down, human!' And he always finds some way to make every subject about Malleus, then drones on and on about how great he is." In regards to those intense feelings about Malleus, Ace says "[Sebek] takes it to a whole other level [...] I can see why people would idolize [Malleus]. But, like, you don't have to make it your entire personality, y'know?" Ace repeats these ideas in his Birthday Boy vignettes. “[Sebek]’s always yelling something or other about his precious Malleus. Oh yeah, and he talks down to us for being human. Dude's a total fae fanboy.”

In Sebek's School Uniform vignette, Sebek yells at Ace for running in the halls. Ace responds by calling him an "uptight nag" whose yelling will disturb other students. Ace also points out how pathetic Sebek comes across as after witnessing him trip over himself to apologize to Malleus. “Dude, nothing you say's gonna impress anyone after that sorry sight.” When Ace tries to leave the scene to make it to class, Sebek shouts at him. “You wait just a minute! I'm not finished! COME BACK HERE!” It should be noted that Ace is someone who always tries to find shortcuts or ways to get out of work whereas Sebek is strict and diligent. Their mindsets and values naturally clash.

This, I think, is a very good summary of most people's problems with Sebek. Ace is just saying what's on everyone's mind--and this makes sense for Ace's character, as he has consistently been the type of guy to call others out. He also encourages Yuu to do the same (in his Birthday Boy vignettes). This detail at least implies Ace finds it amusing on occasion to tease Sebek for his shortcomings.

We see Sebek’s behavior in class for ourselves in his Dorm Uniform vignettes. Ace actually appears in them too, remarking that Sebek is a “loudmouth”. This is something he echoes in his Birthday Boy vignettes; “Loudmouth doesn't even begin to describe him.” When Sebek starts arguing with his group members (some mobs) and refusing to work with them while simultaneously extolling Malleus, Ace says “Here we go again with Sebek and his ‘liege’… Man, imagine being grouped with that guy who […] All he had to do was play nice and let [the mob students] help. He CHOSE to make things harder. How does that guy even function in society?” Side note: In Ace’s Suitor Suit vignettes, he calls Sebek the “number-one worst contender” for a groom. Ace clearly thinks Sebek is unfriendly and annoying in areas extending beyond academics or school life. This is, of course, in addition to Ace finding his loud voice grating.

Later in the same vignettes, Ace and Deuce are forced to sit close to Sebek in the crowded cafeteria. Sebek insists to Lilia that his classes are going well, to which Ace starts snickering and reveals the truth: “Dude... No problems whatsoever? You've got nothing BUT problems, bro! Haha!” Deuce pitches in: “He got into a loud argument with some classmates during our defensive magic lesson. He called his groupmates ‘burdens’ and insisted on doing their entire project by himself.” Ace then says Sebek must think highly of himself and gets annoyed when his words are taken literally. “Do you not understand sarcasm either?” He tells Sebek to fix his attitude, but it doesn’t seem to work. Ace sighs and says he’s just wasting his breath on this.

Sebek’s Dorm Uniform vignettes illustrate Sebek’s general struggles to get along with all of his classmates, not just Ace or Ace specifically. Deuce notably also calls Sebek out for causing trouble for his peers, even stating “[…] as an aspiring honor student, I can't condone your behavior. Having confidence is fine and all, but you shouldn't make things harder for others. That's just being obnoxious.” Sebek pisses off the other first years in 7-34 too, calling them “shallow” and making a terrible first impression. Ace, who is also present, says that no one wants to be chummy with him anyway—not if he’s going to act like that.

In conclusion, Ace has explained his rationale for disliking Sebek many times over. Rather than saying Ace has a problem with Sebek, I think it would be more accurate to say that Ace has a problem with Sebek and is simply relaying the opinions that everyone else holds directly to Sebek’s face. (He gets annoyed that Sebek takes none of it to heart though.) As for the other party, Sebek chides Ace no differently than he would anyone else stepping out of line, not appreciating Malleus, or… just existing as a human 💀 He doesn’t seem to have issues with Ace other than his lax attitude (which could also apply to many other characters such as Leona).

In my opinion, Ace and Sebek are not rivals (at least not major ones), nor do they have specific beef with each other outside of one-off instances or whenever Ace is in the mood to lay down The Truth and embarrass Sebek. I see Ace and Deuce as your classic rivals and Sebek as like… a villain of the week who cameos here and there after his first appearance to cause shenanigans.

[bloggingboutburgers]

Hi, kinda random, but I could really use some advice. I really wanna write a qpr but feel like I dunno much about it- uh- so yeah! Just wanting to ask how I should do it- like, how do I do it?? How do I represent this while being accurate and respectful?? I know the theory but like addhhbbkjt

Sorry if I am being weird I dont really know how to phrase this Q_Q

...OK so this is gonna sound funny (or not) but... I've been toying with the idea of developing a story involving a fictional QPR as well recently and... I have no idea how to go about it either. Despite being in one!! I actually have trouble explaining what a QPR means to most people honestly TwT

But I'll do my best to give a few pointers from my experience:

Needless to say, kinda, but a QPR is NOT a romantic relationship. It may LOOK like it on paper but I guess the way I see it, there's a lot less... Grandiosity and possessiveness than with romance. It's a lot more chill, I guess I could say. It's not like "this person is my whole life and I would die without them" or something, it's more like "this person is pretty great to experience life with and it'd be pretty cool if this lasted as long as we both vibe."

A QPR is NOT inferior to a romantic relationship NOR is it superior to a friendship, in my opinion. I see no scale of value of the sort. Each of these things are their own thing is all.

Considering it's quite the particular situation, no two QPRs will be the same, I think. So you can at least rest easy considering there can be quite a lot of variety in this type of relationship.

What I mean by that is, not everybody who's in a QPR will be comfortable will the same things. For example my partner and I may give each other lip pecks (never any tongue), but it took us years to be comfortable with the idea, and it doesn't necessarily mean everybody in a QPR will be at ease with that. And conversely other people in a QPR may be comfortable with a level of intimacy we may not be comfortable with.

What that implies is, in my experience at least, a QPR means a LOT of communication. My partner and I constantly have heart-to-hearts about what works or what doesn't for us, and are both aware some things may change over time.

As an aromantic, I value being in a QPR deeply because it responds to some issues that I think a lot of fellow aromantics probably face: the first is needing human connection, like any person, but having to struggle with the fact that you'll always come second after your friends' romantic partners and kids (if they have any), and the fear of abandonment that comes with that; the second is wanting human contact and affection, like any person, but having to worry that if you seek affection from or give affection to a person, they'll catch romantic or sexual feelings for you and it'll turn ugly for you, kinda. Being in a QPR responds to both those needs while negating these fears. If I ever wrote a fictional QPR personally, I think that last point would be what I would wanna emphasize the most, in my own voice. Because it's so key.

As usual I suck at being succinct and all, but I hope these were helpful! TwT And I hope nothing I said here misrepresented other people in QPRs out there

[sammunmak]

Specs & Max Freelance Police in: Hells-A-Poppin'!

+ sam’s vices !!

this is basically an au idea i had for the alt timeline! i wrote out all the changes to the first two seasons, but it's a bit on the longer side so i'm sticking it under the cut.

this takes place immediately after sam and max steal the elevator from their future selves. there’s no obvious changes at first. the director gives them another contract after telling her they misplaced the first one, but not without threat of not giving them another one if they manage to misplace this one. once they wrap up the case and free myra stump from the hypnosis, they take the elevator (and their music contract) with them and put it away in storage, vowing to never speak of the possibility that they just killed their future selves again. ah well, knowing themselves, they probably survive. everything else afterwards is pretty much the same, though when sam and max see superball for the first time sam asks max if he looks familiar. max takes one look at him and proudly declares nope, not at all, and that’s the end of that.

the first major change happens in 106.

hugh: for in all the universe, there’s only one force chaotic and destructive enough to stop me now! but you wouldn’t do that, would you max?

max: who, ME? well, i’m- i’m flattered, but-

hugh: no you wouldn’t, not without your trusty partner, at least.

max: huh?

sam: what exactly are you implying?

hugh: i’m going to… drumroll, please… [drumroll] separate your bliss!

max: really?

sam: what does that even mean?!

hugh: it means i chop off every part of you i don’t like! it’s like circumcision, but double the laughs.

max: he-ey!

sam: quiet, knucklehead.

sam gets split into 3 vices. gluttony, greed, and wrath. wrath is formed from sam’s right ear, greed is formed from sam’s left hand (it even keeps the wedding band!), and gluttony is formed from. well, the stomach. max loses all romantic interest he had in hugh bliss in that moment. 

max is very annoyed about the whole situation. he never has to do work on their cases, and suddenly he’s being forced to figure everything out on his own! but seeing sam’s awful blissed-out state is worse. blissed-out sam is basically just a big puppy. all smiles, completely clueless about everything around him, and has to be led around by his remaining hand if max wants him to go anywhere. max considers shooting him every time he makes a comment about hugging trees or something sentimental crap like that, but one look at that big dopey grin on sam’s face and he just can’t do it. he needs to turn sam back quickly, he’s turning into a sap just being near this… shell of his partner.

wrath is in the sanctuary, threatening the COPS for information on max’s whereabouts (yes it’s just noir sam lol). when max and bliss sam finally make their appearance, wrath almost immediately tries to shoot bliss sam. max stops it, of course. it seems like max is the only person wrath won’t lash out against. max has to open one of bluster blaster’s side panels, then get wrath close enough to it to shut the panel on his ear, pulling it off wrath when it tries freeing itself.

once sam gets his ear back, he seems to randomly decide to shoot at max.

max: what was that for?!

sam: i dunno, it just felt right.

when max walks into bosco’s store, he immediately makes eye contact with gluttony sam, who’s sitting on the floor eating a giant tub of ice cream. it doesn’t seem very interested in eating actual people (haha foreshadowing?) in the freezer are a bunch of popsicles. max can grab one and give it to gluttony, who’ll chomp it down wrapper and all. max has to put jimmy two-teeth into one of the wrappers in order to get gluttony to eat him, then pull out jimmy and sam’s stomach with the magic hat.

sam: anyone else suddenly got a hankerin’ for a fudgie freeze?

max: you don’t know how glad i am to hear you say those words.

greed is inside the office, hoarding just about everything in there and more. somehow there’s items in here max didn’t even know they had. or maybe greed just grabbed everything not bolted down to the floor on the way back to the office.

max has to buy bosco’s invention (which is just a big magnet), then use the spoon bending talisman to pull the spork out of the hugh bliss statue’s hand, give it to greed, and then use the magnet to drag its ass towards him and just yank sam’s hand off it.

sam: are you using that magnet?

max: nope! it’s all yours.

upon collecting all 3 vices, sam returns to normal, and they can now go fight hugh bliss. cue world of max :)

not much else changes until 204.

once they enter momma bosco’s store and accidentally reveal max’s lack of interest in girls, momma bosco becomes infatuated with him. sam and max try and argue against this for a while, until max tells her that he’s a married man.

ms b: i don’t see a ring on your finger.

max: well check again!

max flashes his left hand, revealing a bare ring finger. oh. he didn’t put on his ring today. sam is missing his ring as well. seems they got a bit excited when flint invited them on a case with him and forgot them.

(not gonna lie this whole puzzle isnt fully fleshed out. the whole plan would be that they have to go back to their prom and essentially crash it in order to help max realize he doesn’t like girls. i did also have the idea of superball printing marriage certificates instead of patents, which they’d need to grab one from him and hang it on the corkboard in the near future, then go to the distant future and take their wedding rings from their future selves. if i do ever have an idea of how exactly this all pans out i’ll make it into a fic or something. for now tho this is the best i could come up with.)

max is very proud to show off his new wedding ring to momma bosco.

later on, sam is glad he kept that music contract on him, once one of the pedros asks for one.

of course, despite keeping their past selves from boarding the UFO, the elevator is still oddly enough missing when they run back to it.

max: hey, the elevator’s gone! what gives?

sam: hmm… remember what got us into this whole mess, the temporal anomalies and whatnot? maybe it’s another one of those? maybe this is the universe’s way of trying to correct the timeline, and we have to leave the same way our future selves did, since we’re-

max: alright, alright! less talky more- figuring out how to get off this dang ship!

ah well, having two elevators seems a bit overkill anyway. 

not so long later, in 205:

sam: you better release our pals’ souls from hell, cause my excitable little friend is getting angry.

max: and i’m angry, too!

satan: there’s no need for that kind of talk. i’ll gladly release your friends. just sign this release.

max: hold on sam, i got this!

sam: …you sure, max? 

max: positive! watch this. [he pulls out a crayon and scribbles his name on the contract]

satan: and that’s that.

sam: well that was pretty easy.

satan: now just do me a favor and think of the most horrible thing you can imagine.

max: ooh, that might take a second, there’s so many- oh, maybe- wait no, i’ve got it!

satan: good. now off you go!

[max disappears]

sam: sweet summering sausages sweltering on a busy sidewalk, what did you do?!

satan: he traded his soul for that of all your friends. they never read the fine print. now max will spend eternity in his own personal hell!

max: back in the office? where’s my partner?

specs: i’m over here!

max finds himself stuck inside a now very tidy office with specs, the neat freak of the soda poppers.

max: so where’s my REAL partner?

specs: what are you talking about, i AM your real partner.

max: uh, no. last i checked my partner was a six foot tall dog in a suit, not… you.

specs: oh, max. clearly you’re confused. you’ve always had a terrible memory. but don’t worry, i’m here to keep everything in order for you.

max is just about ready to start ripping out patches of his fur when he sees sam, sticking his big nose through the hole in their office wall. after a bit of arguing, max remembers the key card. he yells at sam to use it so they can kick demon’s spec’s ass together. when sam gets in there they do just that, ending in sam throwing the demon out the open window. with max’s personal hell defeated and leonard’s soul free they leave and finally go and confront satan.

as a bonus, a fun change to a piece of dialogue in 201:

sam: how long do you think it’ll take for one of us to kick the bucket?

max: i dunno, but i think if one of us were to go, the other would follow very close behind. maybe not even by choice!

sam: does that mean if i go first, i can take you with me?

max: sure does! in fact, i encourage it!

[fumifooms]

Dandan x Asivia

Dubbed dansivia. Confused as to who either of these are? Here’s a Dandan comp and Asivia wise this post is close enough for now

There is a brave visionary on ao3 and they’re so right

Ok first of all let’s address the theory:

Dandan is indeed the only Laios party member not pictured here (besides Chilchuck himself but we saw he didn’t like her which would contradict this anyways). I keep wanting to add "that we know of" or some other caveat but honestly not even no, it’s never implied or mentioned they had yet another party member and that makes sense since we saw the party’s inception right up to its current party composition.

… So… Mystery solved right out of the gate? I dunno, it feels weird to me to claim Dandan hates Laios, but if he kept it under wraps enough or reasoned with himself about it I could see it. Laios and Dandan were coworkers from their gold peeling days, and so when Laios left to try a career in dungeon diving Dandan joined him.

They seem very standard coworkers that get along well enough to me, far from skulls emoji energy, but yeah there is a case to be made on both overt strong dislike and repressed strong dislike ends. But maybe the true beef started after he left the party even, especially if he fancies Asivia and kept up with the party’s drama that went down with her, though the chart does imply it was the work dynamic while he was still in the party because of context. But, believing that Dandan likes her and Asivia considered getting with him like the other men of the party, Asivia would have literally sidelined Dandan to pursue Laios. And Laios doesn’t even realize her attempts at seduction? Ok yeah the hate is plausible nvm. Also we can keep in mind that this is Chilchuck’s chart and he could have more insight on Dandan’s feelings than the average coworker since he’s his friend. It def fleshes him more out with implications. He’s professional he keeps unnecessary shit to himself. It’d be weird to me if the relationship chart was made without Kui thinking it through, or retconning it, it is the canon we get so it’s interesting to ponder. Kui giving us secret romantic drama for free <3

Speaking of what’s not free. Ok maybe Dan does dislike Laios, do business introductions really cost money… I mean I respect the hustle but. So Dandan is heavily implied to be the one to introduce Asivia to the party. The only other mage was Marcille and well we know how that went. "A real cutie". Yeah. I bet. 👀

This is the most interesting dansivia part to me, they did meet previously to the party, both doing what they do best, networking. Dan helped Asivia find a job, how did they meet and how did that go? What if she had an infamous reputation already, how much did they get acquainted… There’s a lot of leeway for fun here

Gorgeous hustling but lazy manipulator that seeks a fortunate husband x slight womanizer hustling & hardworking poor guy that’s been around in business for too long to be played… Both work a lot but like to take it easy when they can. Tavern flirtations and having met while networking and "I can hook you with a job" (staring and smiling too much) and "Oh Dandan, you’re so capable and knowledgable about the Island, could you help me out~"

Manipulator hustler seductress x laidback hustler flirt… Social butterflies, streets smarts in different yet similar ways… Observant x observant………. She’s very harsh and drops people/her damsel act at the first second she can’t get something out of it anymore and I think he’d be so into that. Dandan liking strongminded women. Women who kinda play dirty. Makes him respect them and want to pursue them help…

And like takes on Asivia differ nowadays but I do need her to mean this shit for this, this is what she's unabashedly about. She is just a woman trying to make it in this world but working people’s the name of her game. Whatever reason you give her, she was taking advantage of Laios and trying to get a marriage with any decent profitable guy she could. She knows what she’s doing and she doesn’t look the least bit remorseful. A girl who knows what she wants and chases it, rawr ⬅️ Dandan voice

They both fall for each other but neither can admit it because they know it’s just temporary, she’ll go look for a well-off tallman husband eventually. Messy situationship go. Can they even have a good ending together. It’s all only ever nice in the present moments… She’ll leave he can’t offer her anything but himself and a very humble lifestyle, she’ll leave she can’t settle for that she won’t, he knows that and it’s part of why he liked her in the first place. Oughhhhh

Ohhh to be underdogs, settling for a humble life & being content with that vs unapologetically ambitious and chases that life and comfort she seeks, which in turn makes him admire her…….. But even if she inspires him to chase what he wants, she can’t give it to him…………..

Putting this on blast bc they’re great thoughts

Because I’m me I’m trying to make them reach a happy long term ending together and it’s not working… Which is more fun tbh. I shall ponder this puzzle…

Casanova Dandan is so important to me now. Chilchuck’s in a separation slump & faithfulness oath to the wind but Dandan, good friend dandan? He’s living he’s thriving he’s pulling

I want fics of them meeting & networking. He’s very up to the news in the dungeon goer community… All I’m saying is I can see Dandan bartering for a shot with her in exhange for information or helping her out find jobs, knowing she’s after guys to marry too 🤭 I think they should flirt in a tavern. I think they should make eyes at each other over glasses and exchanging business convos and leaving it all in the implied and unspoken

Dansivia is getting too real to me

The fics are fun go read ‘em

[mdhwrites]

I’m honest to god baffled that fantasy shows like Steven Universe, Amphibia, Star Vs The Forces Of Evil, and Gravity Falls have an abundance of memorable human characters with memorable locations that make you want to live in that human community while The Owl House BARELY has any of that.

Camila, Jacob, and Masha are probably the only human side characters that are memorable and have a impact on the story, and Gravesfield is too forgettable and full of not so good people (which even then is questionable considering Luz’s antics) that it makes it hard to want to live there.

It’s almost as if TOH is desperate to want people to want to live in the demon realm and forget about appreciating Earth and being human, which ends up making it even more immature compared to other shows that at least TRY to express how important it is to appreciate your human side and it makes the main human characters much more likable cause they know being human is just as important.

If Luz doesn’t bother to appreciate her human world more, why should I care about her?

This isn't a bug; It's a feature.

(Before I begin, just as a reminder: Fuck JK Rowling. I hate how much I have to praise Harry Potter for this.)

There is a LOT to say about TOH wanting to be the Harry Potter for a new generation. The concept that all of humanity is worthless so you should escape into our other side of reality is a big thing there too. Part of why Harry Potter, and ESPECIALLY Hogwarts, means so much to people that they literally can't give it up is because of the escapist fantasy involved with it. The story made one believe anyone could be whisked away to a fantasy realm where they were important. Where they could face the bullies and win. Where they could be so much more than reality made them feel.

The Isles is pretty clearly meant to feel similar. It's the ONLY explanation for why Belos' tyranny isn't actually present besides to make being an apprentice to Eda even cooler than it normally would be. The Coven System could be inspired by a lot of things, like D&D, but it's hard to deny that Harry Potter is the easiest example, especially with The First Day reinforcing that even the school is divided up by these covens. There is ZERO bigotry, of literally any sort, even magical preference, because that would make the Isles unappealing. It wouldn't be somewhere anyone would want to escape to because the world would be too much like our own.

This is further reinforced by how Harry Potter has the Dursleys while TOH has just implied repression of Luz... Except that it DOES have more, doesn't it?

This is part of why I think TOH fails in this regard. Why we don't see a lot of TOH OCs, or Hexside OCs, minus future kids which is just mashing the canon characters together. It's too insincere and too modern a work in order to actually be the escapist fiction it wants to be. Again: There are MAJOR storytelling concessions to make it more attractive as escapist fiction but it won't commit.

This is why we have Camila as our main representative of humanity. The 'trope' is to make her awful. The worst person imaginable. The Dursleys fit that after all. But modern writing trends are too self aware for that sort of thing. They need to try and twist tropes to look clever (I would date the start of this somewhere around Frozen) or else they look silly and are to be thrown away. So instead of the evil home life to run away from like in Harry Potter, where that gives Harry permission to only care about the new world he's entering, even if it's just a secret society, we instead have Camila. The saint. The one who is first wronged by Luz and never really gets made up to by Luz because, well, that goes against the fact that Luz is clearly meant to, even by the end of S1, want to choose the Isles over humanity EVERY TIME. Why she starts an entirely new life there without even thinking about things like, I dunno, how the fuck do I keep dating this witch when I go home. Amity and her never do have a real conversation about the promise because that's inconvenient to the escapist fantasy.

This attempt at being 'clever' over being sincere is also why Hogwarts is a much more magical, literally and figuratively, setting than the ENTIRE ISLES. There is magic and secrets and interesting discoveries at literally every turn at this one school. Meanwhile, TOH wants to be able to make modern social commentary despite the fantasy land its in, and also wants to be taken more seriously than fantasy often is, so it needs to be grounded and mundane and mostly like our own world because otherwise they might actually have to make a world that's interesting. It fits into modern writing trends that give Twitter easy fodder to talk about THEMES, regardless of how well those are actually tackled, but get in the way of being escapist. Of creating a world that you'd actively beg to live in.

This is actually something I'll give modern isekai and is a large part of why it's so popular: It is extremely escapist. Even the more serious ones still make the main character be the biggest badass ever and the 'dark' elements actually conform just to make him a bigger badass. To give him more than he already would have by genre convention. They do that mostly through sincerity of concepts. By going "This is what we're doing, this is what we're giving the audience, FUCKING GO."

TOH never has that unity of purpose.

BUT

This lack of unity of purpose also meant that while PLENTY of anime are bigger, more popular and more influential than TOH, as far as western media goes, it was a strength. Like I said, it leans into current trends with writing. It is unique, even amongst anime, for having an explicitly LGBTQIA+ main character, adding to the escapism for those specific groups. All while packaged as a kids show for those who don't like kids shows, much like how Avatar for many is anime for those who don't like anime.

Now this is where I might talk about the other shows you brought up, especially Amphibia but, well... None of them are going for such pure escapism. Bare minimum, their main influences aren't pure escapism. They're more rooted in old isekai or just straight aren't influenced by isekai or Harry Potter. They're genuinely more complex about the relationship between the worlds because for their stories, both worlds actually matter. Neither is meant to be entirely abandoned like TOH wants to abandon the human realm.

There is a reason why Luz ends the series only learning about magic after all despite claiming to live in both realms because she has no interest in the human realm. There's a reason the villain is pro-human realm. It's all meant to point to not just wanting to run away but encouraging it. That's not even always a bad thing. I've written porn for god's sake, the last thing I can criticize is the desire for escapist fiction. It has its place.

TOH would fill that place better if it would just be honest about what it was. I'm still glad it comforts those who need it to be their escape though. See you next tale.

======+++++======

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

A Twitter you can follow too

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.

[unclassedguy]

I don't think I really enjoyed the latest chapter, and honestly from the way things are looking I'm probably not going to enjoy Jujutsu Kaisen's ending either....

I obviously like the characters, I like Yuji, I like Nobara, Megumi is alright.....I get wanting them to be happy. A lot of the stuff I draw in fact involves putting characters I like into silly situations as though they aren't in constant suffering in the source material (I'm immune to being serious 💔).

However, I feel like I'm not really vibing with this 'the trio is alright and they'll all be happy together' ending it seems Gege is setting up. I think part of it stems from the way Nobara and Megumi have been handled these past chapters. There was so much hype for Nobara's comeback.....I get it, she's a badass and fun character who's time in the story was cut awfully short.....I really do understand why so many people would want her back, but I just don't really like how close to the ending her return was and also the fact that up until that point it seemed pretty heavily implied that she had died. Not only that but her 'death' was such an important moment for Yuji and part of what made Shibuya and Yuji's story so tragic and Mahito so reprehensible as a villain. Nobara coming back so suddenly without even proper time dedicated to her (as in actual hints that she was alive and more chapters to explore the dynamics of her return and her contributions to the battle beyond one move) to make it feel even a smidgen satisfying just didn't sit right with me. The first thing I thought of upon seeing the chapter of her return was that it felt like fanservice. It felt like the type of thing a fan of the story would write for the 'hype' and not a choice that made sense. It was the same thing as Yuta returning in Gojo's body. People like Gojo, and having a chapter make it seem like he was coming back of course got the fans' attention. But in the end the story could've still worked well, maybe even better, without Yuta-jo's addition to the fight. It was unessecary.

Then we have Megumi who's been through so much for a good chunk of the story now. His body was taken over and used to hurt people he cares about, most of all his sister who is pretty much the center of his world, the person he loves the most. He'd given up, he'd sunk to the lowest depths submerged in Sukuna's evil. I feel like he sprung back pretty quickly......I don't think I'm as iffy about Megumi's return as I am with Nobara's considering Megumi actually at least got some pretty good and decent scenes with Yuji getting through to him and now also a talk with Sukuna.....but I dunno, I still don't know if I enjoyed how it was handled, particularly the fact that he just kind of comes back with no consequences after all the shit Sukuna's put his body through. I mean, he has a couple of scars sure but is that really all you'd expect after the world class beating he just got?????

Then we have Sukuna, reduced to glob of flesh. I don't mind Sukuna getting a pathetic death. After all he's done I think he deserved getting flung off his high horse and trampled on the ground. It still felt really abrupt though and like it didn't get enough time considering he's been such a big pain for months now and is one of the major antagonists. He's just suddenly gone and it felt anticlimactic and unsatisfying. I would've also liked to see at least a bit of what he was like in the Heain era.....

Hakari and Uraume too 😭. We really got none of their fight and when Sukuna is gone Uraume just....evaporates???? It honestly felt like Gege was just trying to get them out of the way so the series can end already and not an actual conclusion to their character. I wish they could've gotten more depth beyond being just Sukuna's loyal servant.

Them there's of course all the things Gege still hasn't touched such as Jin being Sukuna's twin, Kenjaku being Yuji's mom, the merger etc. Those things I guess I'm not as sad about because I'd already come to terms with the fact that Gege isn't going to get into them, at least not to the extent I would've wanted. It still sucks though.

Maybe I'm just a hater, maybe I don't understand what Gege was trying to do, maybe it's just a matter of preference. I think Gege probably tried his best with jjk using what he had and I don't think it'd be right to hate on him. And even if I am kind of dissapointed in where this story is going I don't blame anyone for liking it.

I may just not like 'happily ever after' endings or something. Not to say Jujutsu Kaisen is some super uplifting story even if the main trio has survived. There's still characters who have died and stayed dead, but it's still definitely a happier ending than what I expected.

At the end of the day, I like stories that put their characters through the wringer. I like stories that destroy everything their protagonist has ever had and turn their world upside down and accept no half-assed reparations to the damage they've caused. I like stories that fuck up everyone involved but still let at least one of them be smiling by the end, even if they're alone, because life is still worth living. Honestly, I would've preferred Yuji move on by himself than for a happy ending to be squeezed out of jjk's remains in a way that didn't feel satisfying. Though maybe I wouldn't be so sour about an ending where the trio gets to live together if we had just had more time to make it feel right. To make it feel emotionally impactful and like it wasn't just hype. I'd take a bittersweet but well-done ending over a half-assed good ending and a well-done good ending over a bittersweet ending....y'know?

Well, that's just my opinion.

[tipped-rigby]

I'm still not completely onboard with the term (and the little existing theory around) "transandrophobia" and I'm hesitant about discourse surrounding it. I've spent a while now just combing through discourse about it, and specifically I never see people engage with the actual points he (the coiner) makes about what transandrophobia is and isn't. Or at least that one specific post I come back to, I dunno. I've searched "transandrodorks" even for it and I've never seen a comprehensive rebuttal that these things don't specifically impact trans men and transmasculine people.

But one thing I see a lot about is how people don't like the term because it implies "androphobia." But doesn't that indisputably exist? Like the term in of itself, the literal meaning you could take out of it. Fear of men/masculinity.

Granted, I believe the literal definition is that a phobia is irrational, but I don't necessarily believe that of "androphobia." I think someone could be completely justified in their fear. But having that fear even in a completely rational and reasonable way doesn't change the fact that it can manifest in ways that harm people.

Also, even if "androphobia" implies that men are/masculinity is oppressed (i.e. how homophobia relates to homosexuality, homophobia not always being caused by literal fear), would cisgender men really adopt a term used by transgender men and transmasculine people like this? Am I not conceptualizing the doom that would be upon us if "transandrophobia" were even a little bit known? I don't know.

I'm still reading about transmisogyny and just the idea of transmasculinity at all, so this is not my #1 concern right now. But everytime I see a post about trans male and transmasculine specific oppression, I often feel it's written in bad faith. Could this be my own transmisogyny and unwillingness to give transfeminists the benefit of the doubt? Am I tone policing in my head? I don't know.

I'm not incredibly knowledgeable about theory at all. This topic has only been on my radar since I started following twitter discourse but I think it started on Tumblr.

[slutforsnow]

His Sunflower

A/N: Chapter 2 and Sunni, btw, is based off my innocence/ignorance before... ahem... wattpad. YES I WAS A WATTPADER BUT IM A BETTER MAN NOW

CW/TW: Obsessive/possessive Coryo, implied possible SA, drugs, manipulation

Sunni was humming as she waited for her test results. She was watching her favorite anime, Tokyo Ghoul, and smiling every time Hideyoshi came on screen. She always considered herself to be a Hide kind of girl, always smiling and happy.

"Ms. Plinth?" Sunni looked up, turning her phone off and putting it in her pocket.

"Yes, Dean Highbottom?" She replied, sitting up.

"Welcome to Panem Academy. You aced your exam," the dean said, handing her the exam sheets back as a smile grew on her face. She beamed happily, taking the exam sheets back politely and shaking her new headmaster's hand.

"Thank you, sir," She replied before he shooed her off to the office to get her schedule. Sunni was squealing to herself as she made her way to get her schedule. She couldn't wait to see the look of excitement on Sejanus' face!

"Well, well, well," a sudden voice came, pulling Sunni out of her excited pace. "You must be Sejanus' Plinth's little cousin."

Sunni giggled, pushing her brown hair out her face as the newcomer called her Sejanus' little cousin. She wasn't little by any means.

"Well, I dunno about little, but yep, that's me!! Sunni Plinth," She introduced, extending her hand to the mystery man. "Spelt with an 'i' not a 'y'."

"Festus Creed," He introduced, taking her hand and bringing it up to his lips to gently kiss her knuckles. "It's a pleasure to meet such a beautiful woman."

During lunch, Sunni could be seen with Arachne Crane and Clemensia Dovecote, and Coriolanus didn't necessarily mind it because the girls were his "friends." What pissed him off, however, was seeing Festus being so close to her. Making her laugh and having her full attention made his blood boil, and yet... he had no idea why. He had just met her and had no knowledge of her aside from her being Sejanus' cousin.

"Hey, Coriolanus! Sej!" She called, waving him and Sejanus over. The two boys looked at each other, wondering what the fuck she was doing with people who would fully take advantage of her kindness, and joined her at the table.

"So how'd the test go?" Sejanus asked, taking a bite out of his sandwich while trying not to glare at Festus for having an arm around Sunni's shoulders in a very romantic way.

"I aced it!" She replied, beaming and pulling out her graded exam paper and sliding it over to Sej and Coryo.

"Oh me, oh my, looks like you'll have to fight for top spot, Snow," Arachne mocked, taking a sip of her drink as the blonde's eyes scanned the paper.

'Pretty, smart, and innocent as can be,' Coriolanus thought. 'I need to get her away from Festus.'

"Mm, perhaps," He mused in response to Arachne, popping a grape into his mouth.

"Well, whether you do or don't, I don't think fighting for top spot really matters," Sunni interjected, taking a sip of her soup from her silver spoon. "After all, we're all smart in our own way."

"Oh, sweet simple Sunni," Clemensia began, shaking her head. "You'll understand what Arachne means soon enough."

"We have to be smart in every way here. Otherwise, we drown in a sea of work," Festus added, taking a bite of out of his apple.

Sejanus were seething. He wanted to push Festus off Sunni and yell at him for being anywhere near her. Sunni didn't need his bad influence on her—she didn't need to get into drugs or have a forced first time with him. He would do everything in his power to keep them separated.

But Coriolanus? He was plotting. Plotting how to get rid of Festus and get Sunni to trust him. Yet he couldn't figure out why he wanted to protect the ball of sunshine who was named after a plant. He just felt like he had to. Like he needed to.

Glancing at each other, the two friends nodded curtly to each other. A silent vow to protect Sunni no matter to the cost.

Tags: @etfrin @hearts4court @snows-wife @delusionalbunni @kiraflowersworld @victory-scream0462 @curled-hair-red-lips @morallygrayboys @phoward89 @xoxo-eyeballs @thereeallink @graciouslyc @acidaciruela @wanda-maximoff-enthusiast @firstworldproblemthings @nowitsmissing