#is this something I can blame on the school system?

[hisnamesdylan]

“Don’t let life define you. Life can pass you by, beat you up, stress you out. It can also give you a reason to live. A reason to smile. A reason to get up in the morning. Life is meant to be lived. One thing or another along the way will probably make living that life hard. Almost impossible at times. But when I feel the warmth of sunshine. When I hear the sound of laughter. Or try something new and amazing. Whether I end up liking it or not. All those things. They make it worth it. I don’t always see that. Don’t always feel it. But it’s there. It comes and it goes. And I always look forward to finding it again. Life was made to be experienced. And I’m not going to let an image of what’s expected of me stop me from living it. From experiencing it. So don’t let life define you. Just live it.”

—me

[glittertimes]

Listen I get working class solidarity and my parents are teachers I know how overworked they are.

My dad is retiring this year and is extremely burnt out and comes home exhausted these days. I support teachers strikes and higher pay for educators.

However I still have a really hard time feeling empathy towards teachers as a whole. My parents were also abusive, and then I went to school and I was punished and shamed for my trauma symptoms. I was never given any kind of emotional support or counseling as a child, and I learned to shame and hate my trauma symptoms which has made healing from abuse take so much longer.

I’m still in emdr therapy unlearning things that my elementary school teachers taught me, trying to understand that their behaviors were not my fault.

I think the education system is built off of the oppression of children and teens, and many teachers assume that they’re entitled to respect but not all teachers treat their students with respect.

they choose punishment and shaming because it’s easier in the moment, rather than supporting youth to feel their emotions and work through the difficult situations they face.

I’ve always wondered how we expect teens and children to model emotional regulation and intelligence when most adults don’t model it?

And yeah, everyone has responsibility over their behavior and how they respond to their emotions, I take accountability for how I’ve harmed people and I’ve done so much healing since I was kid. But I also know if literally one teacher had sat down with me for a moment to understand what was happening in my life at the time, I’d be a completely different person today.

Obviously there are many teachers trying to fix this and creating more ethical ways to teach, but again they are overworked and overwhelmed with little support.

I also feel like if we truly valued children, teachers wouldn’t be as burned out and stressed and have so little resources. Schools in the US exist in a culture of white supremacy and capitalism, where we spend billions on the military and imperialism and deprioritize education and social services that would ensure that kids could come to school with the food clothes, school supplies and safe homes that make it possible for children to learn.

I’ve said it before but anti-capitalist movements should include the rights of children and teens. Teachers especially should recognize this since their struggle is inherently tied to the students they teach. It’s also incredibly important since teachers have an inherent power dynamic over their students.

[jellyfishrnice]

Yandere! Rich suitor idea

Hear me out-

The rich suitor that your parents have in mind for you to marry once you turn 30, the guy who's parents your parents are best friends and how they've been imagining their offspring getting married for decades! And how you absolutely can't stand your unofficial fiance!

Of course, he couldn't stand you either. All your lives grown up together with both your parents insinuating that you two will carry on their names. Each year you two would be sent off to some exotic vacation (your parents loosely supervising) and each year you both failed to hold a conversation without fighting. The pressure was always too much for you, you hated the idea of being tied down to some guy only your parents liked. And no matter how beautiful the boy was, he simply wasn't your type. He was too pretty, too spoiled, too prissy with his blonde hair tied in a ponytail and his stupid eyebrow piercing that made no sense considering his personality.

The guy you were supposed to marry felt the same, he couldn't understand what his parents saw in you. You were too wild, he couldn't imagine trying to carry on a family with how you barely even wanted to do school work. He didn't even consider ugly just so... Weird! With your weird, odd sense of fashion and refusal to think about your future , you were definitely not his type. You two hated each other.

Until the summer you two turned 21. The yearly vacation y'all took started off like any other. With both you dreading the sight of each other. But that changed very quickly once he saw you. This was the first year you two were alone, and maybe it was the fresh alcohol in your systems or the soft lights in whatever high class restaurant you were in, something clicked in your suitor's brain.

Turns out a year (or a couple) can really change the way you see someone. Whether he knew or not he started to admire the way you refused to comply with the strict set of rules set by the high class society you two lived in, and how you didn't care what anyone else thought of your peculiar way of self expression. It was admirable he had to admit.

And the night you two shared an accidental drunken kiss, it made the hair on his arms stand up, it made his face flush red(which he blamed on the liquor), and it made his heart pound in a way he never thought possible.

Every bone chilling reaction was forced out of him and it made his skin light on fire. After that night, he only wanted more to come out of your relationship.

But, the attraction was simply one sided.

You still only saw the same prissy boy. He still refused to look at things from more than one perspective, he still poked fun at your style of clothes, he still refused to say thank you to whatever person who was serving him!

He was everything you hated all wrapped up in one ball of a man.

And when he dropped the idea of getting married the next morning while you were still recovering from your hangover, you almost vomited.

-

"Ew! What the fuck are you talking about?!" You yelled while almost dropping the mug you had in your hand. The guy was just insulting you yesterday like he always does and now he's talking about marriage?

"You act as though marrying me is the worst thing possible." Andrew sighed while sipping on a glass of orange juice. He looked out the nearby window onto the private beach of the resort while leaning on the nearby wall. It didn't show but your response clearly hurt him just a bit.

"'Cuz it is." You groaned in frustration while sitting down on the living room couch. The guy you hate proposing is definitely not helping with your pounding headache.

You took a sip out of the mug of coffee and tried to rub away the ache from your temples. Why now of all times to propose? You two had at least 5 more years of freedom before yours and his parents would put their foot down and set a date for you two to sign the wedding papers.

"I mean- why not now? Its be better sooner than later, it would be like ripping off a bandaid-"

"Hell no." You sighed and set down your mug on the coffee table next to you and dropped your head onto a pillow. How were you going to deal with this?

"Anyway," you paused trying to gather your words, "don't you hate me? Why would you want to tie the knot so soon? I mean, you're an attractive guy right? Why don't you try out other options before having to-"

"I don't want other options."

You lifted your head and stared at Andrew for a second. The pink dusting his fair cheeks and avoidance of eye contact was all you needed to know.

You looked away from his face and stared at the wall behind him. Your head hurts even more than when you had woken up.

"I'm leaving."

"What?"

"I said I'm leaving." You hauled yourself off the couch and into your room. You could hear Andrews faint footsteps and even more of his questions but ignored it. You packed your backpack, only the necessities and a small bag of seashells. You were getting on the next plane and heading back home. Or wherever you could land first.

You were not staying here. You refused to marry. Not yet at least.

But as you try and open the door to leave, a large hand slams it shut before you can completely open it.

"Andrew. What the hell are you doing."

"You are not leaving." Andrew says while placing his other hand against the door, caging you.

You never realized how muscular Andrew was before this moment.

"Yes, I am. Now let go of the door-"

"No." He says in a much firmer tone.

It dawns on you that you're on a private beach with no one to hear you yell for help. You see one of his hands leave the door and for a second you think he's come back to his senses and stopped whatever crazy shit he was thinking- but instead he snaked his hand around your waist and lays his forehead on your shoulder.

"You're not leaving."

-

HEHEHEHE JUST A THOUGHT THOOO

Not proof read forgive me 😔

[steddiehyperfixation]

accidental eavesdropping (steddie ficlet)

based on this post by @imjust-that-shy. i hope i did this vision justice <3

The doors to the bathroom burst open, and - on some pure, inexplicable instinct and with nearly inhuman speed - Eddie darts back into the stall he'd just been about to come out of and leaps to perch on top of the toilet seat, crouched there like some sort of creature. 

He hears the sound of retching and the stench of vomit fills the air. He holds his breath, wrinkling his nose and trying to imagine what possible context could be behind Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley bursting in here together to puke their guts out. Eddie knows the two of them work together, he’s seen them sharing shifts at Scoops Ahoy when he's walked by. (Not that he often intentionally passes by the ice cream parlor and slows down just to catch a glimpse of Steve or anything… Although who could really blame him if he did? Like, come on, Steve in that uniform? Hello, sailor.) His mind is busy spinning stories of possible explanations, ranging from spoiled ice cream to sneaking alcohol and getting too drunk during their break. 

Eddie's leaning towards the 'drinking on the job' explanation, especially when the retching finally ceases and Robin says something about the room no longer spinning. Those little rebels, Eddie thinks approvingly.

“When’s the last time you, uh…peed your pants,” Steve is asking Robin now, in response to her telling him in a Russian accent to interrogate her. 

Eddie curls over his knees, tilting his head to try to peer through the gap between the stalls and the floor to put an image to his eavesdropping. Might as well, he’s kind of stuck here and there’s really not much else he can do right now. He can see Steve’s legs, one bent and the other stretched out in front of him, and Robin in the stall past him laying on the floor with her legs up against the stall wall as she answers, “Today…” 

“What?” Steve questions.

“When the Russian doctor took out the bone saw!” Robin says. 

Okay…what? Russian doctors and bone saws? Eddie’s now thoroughly intrigued, if a little (okay, a lot) confused. Maybe they’re talking about a movie they watched or something.

Steve’s legs shake with his laughter. “Oh my god.” 

“It was just a little bit, though.” Robin pinches her fingers together as she twists her body in Steve’s direction while he laughs again and mutters that whatever it is they took is still in her system. She pushes her feet off the stall and slides to sit against the opposite wall. Eddie can only see her legs now. “Okay, my turn. Have you…ever been in love?” 

Steve answers that he has, with Nancy, and makes a sound mimicking an explosion. Eddie remembers that, remembers seeing Steve and Nancy being all touchy and cute in the hallways at school while he was trying his damndest to convince himself that he absolutely definitely did not wish he was in Nancy’s place. It didn’t work very well. And it’s not working very well now either as Steve starts to go on about some new girl he likes now instead - some girl who’s funny and smart and can crack secret Russian codes (okay, seriously, what is it with these two and Russians?) and oh shit, he’s talking about Robin. 

Eddie very suddenly feels like he should not be here listening to this, eavesdropping on Steve confessing his feelings for someone. Not only is that, like, a private and personal thing, but also what if Robin likes him back and they start kissing or something right here in this bathroom where Eddie has to sit here and listen to it and that would just be horrible for him for so many reasons and- Eddie’s getting ahead of himself. Robin hasn’t even said anything yet, and her knees are pulled up to her chest and her voice shakes when she confirms she’s still alive after Steve asks if she’s OD’d there in the silence and she uncurls with a deep sigh. All signs that she doesn’t actually like Steve back. 

Eddie watches as Steve shifts and slides under the stall into Robin’s, and catches sight of the nasty bruise marring nearly half of Steve’s otherwise beautiful face as he does so. Now concern has been added to the list of emotions this eavesdropping experience has rollercoastered him through so far. The bruise looks fairly fresh and Eddie can’t help but wonder what the hell gave Steve a black eye like that and if he’s okay. 

After a brief spiral of concern for Steve’s face, Eddie tunes back into reality to find himself staring at Steve’s ass as Steve now sits with his back against the stall wall opposite Robin. Eddie blinks, expands his tunnel vision to include Steve’s lower back and Robin’s legs which are also visible beneath the gap in the stalls. 

“It’s not because I had a crush on you,” Robin is saying. “It’s because…she wouldn’t stop staring at you.”

“Mrs. Click?” Steve sounds confused.

“Tammy Thompson,” Robin clarifies. “I wanted her to look at me.”

Oh. Eddie should really not be listening to this. Robin is trying to come out to Steve, trying to share something deeply personal and vulnerable with him and only him, not knowing that she’s outing herself to an eavesdropping near-stranger as well. Eddie feels violating and intruding. He can’t imagine how he would feel if he found out someone he barely knew had been secretly listening in on him coming out - probably not great, probably terrified. This is something he shouldn’t know, not like this. 

“But Tammy Thompson’s a girl,” Steve says, his tone unreadable, and Eddie’s heart nearly stops, sure his own anticipatory anxiety is likely only just a fraction of what Robin must be feeling right now. 

“Steve…” 

“Yeah?” A pause. “Oh,” Steve’s voice goes soft. “Oh… Holy shit.” 

“Yeah,” Robin sighs. Eddie can see her hands nervously rubbing at her shins. “Holy shit.” 

Steve is silent for a few painfully long moments. Eddie’s hands curl nervously around his own shins. Is Steve going to be homophobic? Should Eddie be worried for Robin now? 

“Steve, did you OD over there?” Robin asks, trying to be light but Eddie can hear the anxiety in her voice. 

“No, I just, uh- just thinking,” Steve responds. 

“Okay…” Robin’s voice is barely audible. Eddie is holding his breath.

“I mean, yeah,” Steve says finally, “Tammy Thompson’s cute and all, but the only reason I never gave her the time of day was because I was too busy staring at Eddie Munson.” 

The aforementioned Eddie Munson releases the breath he’d been holding with an involuntary squeak and claps a hand over his mouth. Thankfully, neither of them heard him over the sound of Robin shouting. “What?! Eddie Munson?! You liked Eddie Munson?” she squawks, voicing Eddie’s own stunned thoughts perfectly.

“Yeah,” Steve confirms casually, completely unaware that he's throwing an eavesdropping Eddie into an absolute crisis right now. There's a soft thudding sound like Steve's hitting the back of his head against the stall wall. His voice gets kind of wistful, almost dreamy, as he says, “His rings, man. Rings and tattoos…and that long hair and those chains he'd wear… Honestly just his whole punk aesthetic thing had me mesmerized.” 

“Pretty sure he's metal, not punk,” Robin corrects him. 

Thanks, Robin. Also, what the fuck is happening right now? 

“Whatever. Still hot as hell,” Steve says. 

Eddie squeaks again and practically shoves his whole fist in his mouth to keep himself from making any more noise, his teeth knocking against his rings. The rings Steve likes, apparently. He feels like he's going to pass out, his heart beating so erratically it's making him lightheaded. King Steve - the popular, preppy, stupid, gorgeous, dumb jock Eddie's been crushing on since forever - just called him hot????  

“Did you hear that?” Robin asks suddenly, voice low and cautious. 

Shit. 

“Is anyone else in here?” Steve calls out. 

Fuck. 

Eddie bites down hard on his knuckles and holds his breath, going impossibly still. If they get up and search the bathroom, then he’s about to be caught red handed, crouched on top of a toilet seat with his fist in his mouth and his face flushed scarlet, eavesdropping on their private conversation about secret Russians and gay crushes. Eddie contemplates falling into the toilet and attempting to flush himself down it. Every god imaginable is receiving a silent prayer from him right now as he watches apprehensively through the gaps in the stall. One of those gods must've heard and taken pity on this poor gay disaster of a man crouched like a goblin in a bathroom stall, because after a few horrible seconds of silence, all Steve does is lean down to peer beneath the stalls for a moment before sitting back up and saying, “Looks empty. I think the drugs are making us hear things.” 

“Yeah, probably,” Robin says. Then she giggles, knocking her leg against Steve’s. “I still can’t believe you were into Eddie.” 

Steve flicks Robin’s knee. “I can’t believe you were into Tammy.”

“What’s wrong with Tammy?!” Robin protests.

“What’s wrong with Eddie?” Steve counters. “At least he’s actually got talent. Tammy’s a total dud - she wants to be a singer and shit but she can’t even hold a tune.” 

Eddie is going to die. He is actually going to die right here, right now, because Steve Harrington thinks he’s hot and talented. And then Steve starts mimicking Tammy, singing Total Eclipse of the Heart in a ridiculously goofy voice, and now Eddie is going to die because he finds that so stupidly endearing and adorable. Maybe he should just flush himself down the toilet, save himself from this hopelessly pathetic crush of his. Instead, he’s saved by the bathroom doors bursting open again and a new voice shouting at them, “Okay. What the hell?!” 

Steve and Robin collapse into a fit of giggles before being dragged to their feet by the newcomers and led out of the bathroom, leaving Eddie alone and reeling and struggling to process literally everything he’s just overheard. He finally hops down from his toilet perch and exits the stall like he’s in a daze. He’s not sure how long he had been camped out in there - probably only about ten minutes - but it felt like hours, so long that the world outside of that single bathroom stall almost feels foreign and unfamiliar now. 

Eddie grips the bathroom sink and stares at his flustered reflection in the mirror and whispers to himself, “What the actual fuck?” 

---

Later, years later, only after he and Steve are already dating, Eddie tells him all about this experience, and Steve laughs so hard he nearly cries.

[byfulcrums]

Seeing people saying that Satoru doesn't actually care about Suguru and that the only reason Kenjaku caught him was bc he was surprised to see a person he killed alive is fucking wild, man

Like. Gojo's entire life revolves around Geto. The entire series happens because he loved Suguru too much to kill him, even though he knew he would have to do it eventually. The world literally went to shit because he wasn't over him

Geto Suguru's life would be completely unimportant to the story without Gojo Satoru, and Gojo Satoru's would be completely unimportant without Geto Suguru. They complement each other. They need each other

Two male betta fishes can't coexist. They will fight and one will die. They can't see each other — even if they're in different tanks, they won't be able to live. They'd eventually tire each other out, resulting in death. The only way for Satoru and Suguru's lives to be able to continue without the other would've been for them to never have met at all. And they can't be together. Not now, not ever again. Not while they're still alive. Not after everything that's happened

The entire story revolves around their relationship. Yuuji is a boy who ate a curse('s finger[s]), and Megumi is the prodigy who befriends him. Satoru is a prodigy, the strongest, and Suguru, the boy whose technique is eating curses, befriends him. The Jujutsu Kaisen story is all about parallels and they all connect to fucking Satosugu. It's all about them

The only reason Kenjaku's plan worked is because the body he used didn't belong to some random person Gojo killed, it worked because the body he used was Geto Suguru's, Gojo's one and only, his best friend. He must be thinking “Thank god they're gay” right now lmao

Gojo fucking hesitated. He hesitated multiple times when it came to Geto. He was supposed to kill him, yet he let him go. He has the Six Eyes, he could've easily tracked him down. He probably could tell if he was nearby (he can recognize Suguru from his scent) and just didn't go looking for him. And he could've so very easily escaped the trap that was set up for him, he was going to run away from it because we see him about to take that step but then Suguru's body shows up and says “Yo, Satoru!” with Suguru's voice and Satoru freezes and hesitates

They weren't able to let go of each other even after years of being separated (like a decade). When they meet, Suguru still greets Satoru warmly

Suguru is pretty much Satoru's moral code. He was the only person Satoru took at least mildly seriously pre-Toji (and we know Satoru just didn't do serious back then). He actually took his words to heart. He was kind, of course (especially from Suguru's PoV, since he's the person that knows him most), and not a bad person, but he wasn't nice. Suguru was always the ‘nice(r) one’, the one who actually had a moral code, while Satoru was more of an asshole to literally everyone and everything (some more, some less), thinking he and Suguru were above everyone else

When Suguru finally snaps (which, honestly. Fair) and goes genocidal (not so fair), Satoru slowly starts to be somewhat nicer and starts applying Suguru's old moral code to his own being — their roles weren't exactly reversed, but now they're not together anymore, so they might as well be. And Suguru was shown for having faith in the school and its system while it was Satoru the one who absolutely abhorred the higher-ups and all kinds of authority, but then it ended up with Suguru being the one to leave and become a cult leader with the blood of hundreds on his hands while Satoru was the one that stayed behind in the same place of the people he despises so much

(Imagine someone saying something like “Sometimes I doubt you even have a moral code” and Gojo answers with “Oh, my best friend my one and only is pretty much my moral code. He went homicidal a while back but it's okay haha” “...Actually, that explains a few things”)

Gojo doesn't have a god complex, but I wouldn't blame him if he did. I mean, he might as well be the closest thing to god human beings have ever seen. He used to put himself above everyone else, when he was a teenager. He thought that, the higher he was, the more he could do. And no one was better than him. But not Suguru. Back then, it wasn't “I'm the strongest” it was “We're the strongest and “We're the best” and “We're the ones that will beat you” and “We're the duo” and it was all about “us, us, us, us, us” instead of “me, me, me, me” like people thought it was — they were a pair. They still are

We know people thought and still think of Gojo as a weapon. As something that must be controlled, because on the moment he decides he doesn't want to be around them anymore, he could just straight up kill then without any effort (but getting rid of people in positions of power only gets other people in positions of power and it'll be a neverending story, and Gojo knows this so he's trying to do his best to fix it all through the younger generation, by letting them live). And we also know that Suguru is one of the very few people who did not believe that at all

Like their personalities and characters and stories and literally everything, their names complement each other. Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru are such similar names, I get them mixed up all the time (the amount of times I've called them “Gojo Suguru” and “Geto Satoru” is embarassing. Also, “Saturu”. “Goto”. “Gejo”. Ugh). Both of their last names start with a G, end with an O and have 4 letters. Both of their given names start with an S, end with an U and have 6 letters. They complement each other. They need each other

The only times we've seen Gojo with an expression of actual pure, raw emotion is when it's about Geto. When he finds out about what Geto did, when he realizes how thin and wrong Geto looks, when he sees him again for what we assume to be the first time in years, when he dies, when a thing wearing his corpse and using his voice greets him (“Yo, Satoru!” oh my god)

Suguru was able to fight back when in Kenjaku's control after Satoru said his name. Kenjaku himself says that had never happened before

And you don't even have to see them as romantic. You don't have to ship them if you don't want to. But you can't deny that they care about each other more than they will ever care about anyone else

[butchhamlet]

i’m sorry i never shut up about romeo and juliet but can you imagine taking a play about very young teenagers embroiled in a culture of constant violence and instability and looking out at modern teenagers embroiled in a culture of constant violence and instability (particularly in the united states where everyone my age i know grew up terrified of school shootings) and going “hmm. the best way to teach this is about the follies of stupid young love” because that’s what the school system does. and to be clear i’m not blaming individual teachers i’m blaming the pervasive cultural idea of shakespeare’s works (and especially romeo and juliet) as mounted on an untouchable pedestal where they can’t be relatable or fluid but must be Teaching Something

[the-boy-meets-evil]

a new home for the holidays | ljh

(where you can't go home for the holidays and end up having a much better christmas than you expect.)

pairing: jihoon (woozi) x afab!reader genre: acquaintances to lovers, christmas!au | fluff & smut rating: explicit word count: 10.5k warnings: lots of mentions of christmas (including decorating, family, cooking, etc.), if the holidays are too much please skip this, mentions of family issues, reader can't go home for the holidays (and they actually like christmas), no gendered pronouns used for reader, mentions of past death (family member woozi mentions), woozi owns the house where reader rents a room but there are no power dynamics, explicit and implied smut, woozi is kinda grumpy, reader is super bummed about christmas, woozi ends up being a secret softie smut warnings: lots of kissing, thigh riding, nipple play, marking if you squint, slight begging, two ass slaps, oral (reader rec.), fingering (reader receiving), overstimulation, squirting, briefest handjob, unprotected sex (don't do this), implied aftercare, implied morning after sex

author's note: this is for @k-vanity's 25 tips for surviving the holidays and the final prompt is christmas. i don't really have anything to say for myself. this is not what i'm supposed to be writing and it kinda just happened. merry christmas (if you celebrate) and happy holidays. i've already had christmas dinner, so if you see any mistakes, blame it on the drinks.

The holidays are your favorite time of year. Always have been. Nothing has really changed over the years. You moved away for work and fell in love with a new city. Now you just get to have twice the holiday cheer. You decorate your space in the house you live in with friends (and the grumpy house owner who’s resisted most of your attempts to be friends). Then, you go back to visit family when it gets closer to Christmas. It’s been a really great system. You’re just as excited this year as every other year.

Until your plans change. It’s only the day before you’re supposed to fly back home when your dad calls to let you know that he and your mom are sick. They know that you have a lot of post-Christmas plans (New Years, school work, and even a trip) and they don’t want to risk getting you sick as well. They insist that you can still come back, if you want, but warn you that they’ll have to keep their distance. You spend a lot of time thinking about it (read: talk it over exhaustively with your closest friends) before deciding that you’re just going to stay put for the holidays. You can plan another time to catch up with your family and have a time-shifted Christmas. After all, you think of the holidays as more of a feeling than a specific date on the calendar. You can find something to keep you busy for the 25th.

A couple of your friends invite you to come and spend Christmas Eve or Christmas Day with them, but you decline. You appreciate the sentiment, and really consider it in at least one case, but it just doesn’t feel right. Your family has so many traditions that it feels weird to consider dropping in on someone else’s. Besides, you won’t be alone in the house. (Even if Jihoon, who owns the house and rents out rooms, isn't always the friendliest. And doesn’t seem to enjoy Christmas at all.)

It’s four days before Christmas. You’re sitting in the living room aimlessly scrolling through your phone while you wait for Jun and Minghao to come downstairs. The three of you were all supposed to be heading to the airport together today, but now you’re just going to be driving them so they don’t have to pay for a ride. A sound makes you look up before you realize it’s not nearly enough noise for Jun, who can’t seem to go anywhere without being too loud. Instead, Jihoon only nods at you before he settles into an armchair on the other side of the room with a book. After a few minutes, you hear the telltale giggles of one of your best friends as he rushes down the stairs. Jun is through the door first, followed by an exasperated Minghao. Nevertheless, you see the signs he’s trying to fight his smile. You stand to meet them at the doorway.

“Bestie,” Jun signsongs when he reaches you. Throws his arms around you for good measure. “Are you sure you don’t want to come?” 

“Jun, for the last time, we were supposed to leave for the airport 45 minutes ago,” Minghao sighs. “There wouldn’t be time to pack.”

“Details, we’ve got plenty of time,” Jun waves off. 

“And last minute plane tickets are insane,” Minghao adds. 

“Less insane with a travel credit,” Jun supplies, undeterred. 

“Jun, please, we really need to leave,” Minghao begs.

“Are you not going home?” Jihoon asks. He’s so quiet when he moves that you didn’t even hear him stand up to join your group.

“Oh, no, I guess I forgot to let you know,” you start. You didn’t. Jihoon scares you a little. He’s nice enough and he’s great as a landlord, if you can even call him that, but you’re not really friends. 

“You don’t have to let me know,” he huffs out.

“I decided not to go home this year. Both my parents are sick and I don’t want to catch it too, so we’re timeshifting the holidays,” you say. 

“So it’s just you two in the house for Christmas,” Jun says brightly as he throws an arm around Jihoon. “Take good care of my bestie, okay?” 

“It’s fine, Jihoon, I’m not expecting you to do anything with me,” you say before he can even open his mouth. 

“But…” Jun starts and you turn him around before he can finish.

“Come on, before we give Hao an aneurysm. Do you need help getting your stuff outside?” you ask. 

“Bless you,” Minghao mutters as you’re wrangling your best friend out of the house.

Once you’re back at the house, all you want to do is lay in your bed. It was a lot of work to pretend everything was fine while taking Jun and Minghao to the airport. Traffic was bad getting back, so you didn’t really have it in you to break down. Now that you’re home and in your room, the tears don’t come. It’s not who you are. It sucks that you’re not going home for the holidays, but it’s still the holidays and you can still make the most of it. Maybe. Somehow. 

Somewhere in the house, you hear a door close loudly. Probably just Jihoon since everyone else has left. For a moment, you consider going downstairs to see what he’s up to. But, again, you’re not really friends. Moving seems like too much effort, anyway. You flop back onto your bed and get comfortable. Wait until you’re hungry to actually leave your room to find something to eat. You’re probably going to need more groceries before Christmas, because you still want to make some of your favorites, but you probably have enough for something to eat tonight. When you walk into the kitchen, you smell something delicious. There’s a big pot on the stove with the burner on beneath it. 

You’re just about to lift the lid when Jihoon comes back into the kitchen. “Leave it.” 

“Oh, sorry!” you gasp, surprised by his appearance and unsure of the tone.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says. “I just don’t wanna fuck it up.” 

“That’s a big pot of soup,” you say.

“Yeah, I figured you might be hungry,” he says, like it’s the most logical thing in the world.

“Oh!” you say. 

“I mean, I don’t know if you like Chicken Ramen soup, it’s a little spicy, but I like it around this time of year,” Jihoon says. He looks a bit awkward and unsure.

“That sounds really nice, actually,” you admit. “You don’t mind sharing?” 

“No, I wanted to share,” he assures you. “It’ll be done soon.”

With a nod, you go to sit down at the kitchen table. The silence isn’t totally comfortable, but it’s not uncomfortable either. Not exactly. This is already shaping up to be the most time you’ve spent alone with him, if you end up eating together. It makes you wonder more about him. He seems really focused as he cleans up around the kitchen. His black hair is the longest you can remember seeing it, falling around his face as he leans over. It’s almost soft to watch him brush it out of his face. 

As you’re sitting there waiting for the soup to finish, you realize that you don’t know much about him at all. Even though you’ve lived in this house almost two years, he’s still very much a mystery. You know that the house has been in the family for a long time and he was the only one who was willing to take the project of managing it on. Or that’s what you think he said once. Someone, maybe a cousin or friend or something, thought he was a bit crazy for renting rooms out like this. But, it’s a massive house and he’s single. (There are 6 bedrooms, all with attached bathrooms, multiple living rooms, and an office that he uses for himself. The house is paid off so the rent goes towards things like property taxes, maintenance plans, and anything else that comes up.) You know he also produces music, though you’ve never heard any of it. Not that anyone has, he’s very private and doesn’t even share what name he produces under. 

It’s clear when he brings each of you a bowl of soup that he’s expecting the food to do the talking for him. It’s cute and also puzzling at the same time. How does someone who wants to speak through something like making soup have a successful career as a producer? You shake the thought away and make conversation yourself. Most of what you get are short answers, but it’s something. And you definitely learn more about him. He deflects a little when you ask about his family, prefers to turn it around so you can talk about yours. Which you don’t really mind, even if it’s a little sad to think you won’t get to see them.

“Hey, I was thinking I might go and see about getting more decorations for the house tomorrow. Is that okay?” you ask when you’re finished eating.

“You really like Christmas, don’t you?” 

It’s not really an answer, which makes you look up to find something of a smile on his face. Maybe a little teasing behind the smile. “Yeah, I just really like the joy of it all.”

“I don’t mind. There also might be some stuff in the attic that I can pull out,” he says as he stands to clear the dishes. 

“That would be better than braving the crazies,” you say.

“Come on, I’ll show you how to get up there,” he says. Doesn’t even check if you’re following him before leaving the kitchen.

You scramble to your feet to catch up to him. Truthfully, you didn’t even know the house had an attic. It isn’t surprising. It’s an old house, but still. This is just another small thing that you feel like helps you better unwrap the mystery of Lee Jihoon. Upstairs, he opens the closet and pulls out a hook to unlatch a door in the ceiling just outside of Minghao’s room. Huh. You’ve never even noticed it, not that you’re outside this room often. To your further surprise, Jihoon flicks on a switch and then climbs up the ladder into the attic. Once again, you follow close behind him. 

There are a lot of boxes in the attic, mostly labeled with names or rooms or both. You figure they probably belong to relatives. Or maybe past renters. In any case, it seems best to not bother asking. Especially since he’s making a beeline to one corner. You fight the urge to laugh. So much for thinking there were decorations up here. By the way he walks, you can tell he knows exactly where they are. It’s worth it, though, because there are about a dozen boxes with garlands, ornaments, wreaths, and other various knickknacks. Jihoon asks which of the boxes you might want and sighs when you say you want to bring them all down. Doesn’t argue, though, just tells you how to help him get them down. Even helps you get some of them downstairs.

“Guess we might need a tree,” he sighs when you get the last box out of the attic.

“Oh, I can find a fake one at the store or something. It’s no big deal,” you mumble out.

“I have to take care of something in the morning, then we can go pick one out,” he says without looking at you.

“Really?” It comes out nearly as a squeak. 

He rolls his eyes, which might discourage you if you hadn’t also caught the faintest smile. “Yeah, we might as well with all this stuff out of the attic.” 

You distinctly hear him mumbling something about the damn Christmas spirit as he walks away, leaving you to happily sort through boxes. Hope can be dangerous, especially around the holidays when your plans are interrupted. But, you can’t help it. You feel a little spark of hope.

The house is quiet when you wake up. It’s hard to tell if Jihoon is around or not until you peek out into where you all park to see that his truck is missing. When you first met him, the truck surprised you. It’s not really flashy, or even new, for that matter, just an old, vintage Chevy that’s in completely perfect condition. It’s probably older than either of you, but you’d never know by how it looks. The more you get to know this man, the more the truck makes sense.

With the house empty, you can listen to music as loud as you want. You connect your phone to the speaker and Christmas music carries throughout the house in moments. Coffee in hand, you set out to get some of the decorations up while it’s just you. But, even with the music and the decorations, you’re feeling a little empty again. It’s not the same to be doing this all by yourself. You know, at least on some level, that you’re not totally alone. There’s also Jihoon and he isn’t going anywhere for the holidays. But, he obviously doesn’t like Christmas much if the lack of decorations or tree are anything to go by. Maybe you’re just a burden on him too.

Your phone dings and you look around for a minute before you find it on the table. The surprise of who’s texting you makes you unlock your phone right away.

Jihoon: Finished early and actually found a tree that works when I was driving home Jihoon: I hope that’s okay. I didn’t want it to be gone

There’s no explanation for the tears you’re blinking away. It’s not about picking out the tree. That part of Christmas hasn’t ever been an important part to you. Ever since you moved away, your parents got one before you flew in anyway. No, it’s more to do with the little you know about Jihoon and that truck. It’s almost like his child. He’s so careful about it. Somehow, Jun has managed to at least get to the point of being friends with him. Then again, Jun can wear anyone down. But, through Jun, you know how particular Jihoon can be about his truck. You distinctly remember Jun saying he wasn’t allowed to eat or drink in it (not that unusual) and that he had to brush off his shoes before getting in to avoid the dirt (a lot more unusual, especially someplace it snows). It probably doesn’t mean anything. It’s probably just your emotions about the change of holiday plans taking over. But, you’re overwhelmed that he’d pick up a tree and use his own truck.

You: oh, yeah! thanks! You: let me know you’re here and i’ll come help

The tree that Jihoon shows up with is completely perfect. Even still wrapped, you can tell that it’s going to be full. And that you’re going to have to work a little harder to get the branches to fall by Christmas. Not only did Jihoon use his truck to bring a tree back, he also has several bags of stuff, including a tree stand. It makes you wonder what he actually had to do this morning. It isn’t until you have to bring the tree in that you wonder how the hell you’re going to lift it into the house. That is, until Jihoon reaches through the branches and lifts up the tree. You try not to watch the way his muscles tense under his shirt. Fail miserably, actually, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He calls for you from the living room to help him fasten the tree into place. It’s a good thing, too, because you don’t really need to be dwelling on whether the guy who’s basically your landlord is hot or not. 

Once the tree is up, he makes an excuse about needing to get some work done and disappears off to his studio. It had actually been really fun, even if it was short, to have Jihoon around and sharing in the space. It feels a little empty again. But, there’s still plenty of decorating to do. So you get to work. You’re hoping that somewhere in the process of decorating, it’ll start to feel a little more like Christmas. You consider calling Jun to answer his texts. Unfortunately, he knows your tones of voice better than you do. There’s no way you’ll be able to hide being sad. You can just fire off a couple quick texts to tell him about the tree and about how you’re decorating now. 

An hour later, you’re kind of ready to give up. It’s just not going to feel like Christmas. Not when the joy and the sense of togetherness are missing. The second that you hear footsteps on the stairs, you wipe your eyes. The last thing you want is for Jihoon to see you crying. If he can tell, he doesn’t comment. Doesn’t say anything, actually. Just puts two bags down and starts sorting through ornaments, both old and clearly new. It’s the smallest gesture, yet you don’t feel so alone anymore. 

“Do you want to listen to some music?” he finally asks to break the silence.

“Yeah, I can get a playlist,” you answer and reach for your phone.

“I have some, too. I’m not heartless,” he says with a chuckle.

“I never said…” you start, only to stop when he rests a hand on your arm.

“I was joking,” he says. 

You’re not trying to be nosy, but you see him scroll through a few playlists while he’s looking for holiday music. “What were those?” 

Jihoon looks up at you, confused, before looking back down at his phone. “Oh, nothing. Just stuff I’m working on.” 

“I’d love to hear that,” you admit.

“What? The stuff that’s not done?” he asks, abandoning his search for a playlist.

“Well, yeah, but I meant the stuff you have finished,” you say.

“Oh, um, I don’t usually share that. I like to keep that separate,” he says awkwardly.

“It’s fine, I totally get it,” you say, brushing off any disappointment, and return to your focus on sorting through ornaments. 

“Fuck it, sure. I’ll let you listen to some,” he says. Your head whips up with a beaming smile. And you have no way of knowing that it makes his heart stutter.

“Really?” you ask.

“Yeah, but if you hate them, don’t tell me,” he warns. 

You hold out your pinky as a promise. Jihoon grumbles under his breath for a second before linking his pinky through yours as a promise. He scrolls back to one of the earlier playlists, keeps the name hidden from you, and hits play. The first song immediately puts you in a good mood. It’s upbeat and happy, full of good life advice. Just the type of thing you need right now. One song flows into the next and you’re smiling without even realizing it, singing along to songs that you can’t believe you know. Can’t believe this quiet man has so much talent. Can’t believe he works on such popular songs and still lives a simple life in a shared house with roommates that are way too loud.

It’s him that starts the conversation up again, seemingly unable to stop himself from asking for your thoughts. It’s the most animated you’ve ever seen him, asking for your opinions and talking about his process. The more you listen, the more he seems to have to say. At times, you’re not even sure that you hear what he’s saying. This animated side to him has you so entranced that you think you’d do anything to keep him speaking. Keep him smiling like this. 

The house feels a lot warmer now that you’re decorating together and talking about anything under the sun. Talking about music seems to have opened him up to talking about a lot of things. About his interests, books he’s reading, games he likes to play. You find there are actually a lot of those things that you have in common. You have similar taste in books and in games, even offer to lend some books to him. He makes you promise that it’ll be an even trade so that he feels better about it. 

When dinner time comes around, he suggests ordering delivery. You agree, but only on the condition that you can figure out a Christmas menu over dinner. That signature sigh and eye roll make another appearance, like he’s so exasperated by the process. It’s less effective now that you’re starting to know him better. A part of you thinks that it might even be an action reserved for people he cares about, even if that care is only small. But, you’re starting to learn how to play the game too. You pout at him and make your eyes as big as you can when you ask the second time. Before you can ask the third time, he relents and agrees. 

With your favorite food spread out in front of you, from a place he’s somehow never tried, you start to make a list of your favorite Christmas dishes. Thankfully, some of your favorite things seem to line up and otherwise, Jihoon doesn’t really mind what you have. Once, he reminds you that there are only two of you, so you don’t need to go overboard. You’re quick to point out that leftovers are great and that your housemates come back shortly after Christmas. Again, he finds himself giving in to what you want. 

You’re watching him clean up the boxes and considering your next question. “Can I ask you something?”

“You just did,” he points out, back still to you. 

It’s your turn to roll your eyes. “You’re such a dick.”

“Now is that any way to speak to your landlord?” he teases, finally turning around.

“That’s actually what I wanted to ask you,” you say.

“If you can call me a dick?” he wonders and you laugh.

“No,” you manage. “No. I wanted to know…well, you’re obviously successful. Why live in a house with so many loud housemates?” 

Jihoon looks thoughtful for a moment, turns around to continue throwing things out. You think he’s not going to answer when he comes to sit down across from you again. “I like the chaos. It's good for me. I don’t just mean because it inspires me. It does. But, it’s also good. I get a little in my head, if you haven’t noticed. I don’t always have the easiest time getting out. There’s always someone around here.” 

“You secretly like us,” you coo because you’re not sure what else to say.

“I regret telling you,” he says and huffs.

“I’m kidding, Ji. I really like living here, even if you scared me at first. It feels like a weird, dysfunctional family,” you say.

“Do I still?” he asks, oddly serious.

“What? Scare me?” 

“Yeah.”

“No, you don’t. I think you’re actually a lot softer than you want us to realize,” you say and watch his face. “Don’t worry, Ji, your secret’s safe with me.” 

“Is that nickname going to stick?” he wonders.

“That depends. Do you like it?” 

“Would it matter if I said no?” 

“Of course it would.” 

He looks away and clears his throat. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was a little shy or embarrassed. “I do like it.” 

“I’ll be sure to use it a lot, then,” you say. More tease, really. You’re curious to see how he reacts and you’re not disappointed. There’s a slight blush to his cheeks. If you could see his ears through his hair, you think those would be tinged red as well. 

It takes him a minute to regain his composure. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re exhausting?”

“How do you think I manage to keep up with Jun?” you fire back.

“He adores you, you know,” Jihoon says and it’s the softest you’ve seen him while talking about another person. 

“I’m glad because I adore him, too,” you say without even thinking about it. “Although, sometimes he acts like the brother I definitely never wanted.” 

Jihoon actually laughs at that, a real laugh, and the sound is so pretty. “The brother you never wanted. How does he feel about that?”

“Fine because I also tell him that sometimes he’s the brother I did want. So it evens out,” you reason.

“You see him like family?” he asks, an unplaceable emotion on his face.

“Yeah,” you answer immediately.

“Why didn’t you take his offer to go home with him for the holidays?” 

That’s not the question you’re expecting. It makes you frown a little. You had forgotten, just for a moment, that this year was different. “Oh, well, I don’t know. Jun is family to me and I do love him like he’s my brother. But, um, I guess it’s that he’s family to me. Not his family. I like them and they’re great, but it would feel like intruding to have accepted. Like I was someone they had to make feel welcome, a guest. Not someone who was actually part of everything.” 

“I get that,” he says. 

“Why do you stay here on Christmas?” you wonder, venturing further into knowing him.

His shoulders slump a little bit, like he’s not really happy with how this turned either. “I don’t really talk to a lot of my family anymore.” 

“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t…” you start and he waves you off.

“No, no, it’s fine. You asked me about being successful and still living here with housemates. I told you most of the story, but not all of it,” he admits. 

Without thinking about it, you get up from your chair to sit beside him. Put your hand on his arm to let him know that he doesn’t have to share this part of himself if he doesn’t want to or if he’s not ready. But, he insists he wants to share it with you now that you’ve also heard some of his music. His grandfather owned his house and got it from his grandfather before him. Jihoon had always been close to his grandparents. He was the only grandkid to come around and help them with things. His grandmother would try to teach him how to cook, even though he was never very good. She also taught him all sorts of games, that’s where he got a lot of that from. His grandfather taught him how to fix a car himself, how to fix things around the house, just how to be able to rely on yourself. They were the first ones that he told about wanting to make music and the first to encourage him even when the rest of the family thought it was stupid. They were the first ones to find out he’d gotten his first shot at just seventeen years old. They were the ones who taught him how to be careful with his money, to not blow it all because you never knew when the next shot would come. In the end, it wasn’t even old age that took them. A car accident on a snowy night took his grandmother. He lost his grandfather six months later from a broken heart. 

It’s hard to remember that time because they were everything to him. He hadn’t even realized that they had changed their Will. That they had rewritten it to leave everything to him. If he had known, he never would have accepted it. But, there was a letter, too, confirming his grandfather had been of sound mind when they changed it. It went on to say that Jihoon was the only one in the family that came around just because he wanted to. So, he was the only one they felt could care for their legacy after they were gone. Something like that, it brings out the worst in people. Jihoon’s family was no different. First, they all insisted that he should share it, that they were owed part of it by blood. And then, they started to realize that he had his own success already. That he was selling songs and working with more people. They didn’t know who, exactly, because he never told him his pseudonym for producing, but the final letter from his grandfather mentioned how proud they had been. It got even uglier from there. Family members he’d never spoken to came out of the woodwork asking for favors or saying he should help. He had the means to do it, by his own success and the inheritance. In the end, he wound up cutting most of them out unless they were able to understand that they weren’t entitled to something he earned. 

“So that’s why I stay here, it’s just easier,” he finishes.

You’re not even sure when you started crying, but you turn away to wipe your eyes. It’s not even your sadness. When you turn back, you find Jihoon looking closed-off. It breaks your heart all over again as you reach out to him. “Nobody should have to deal with that. What they did, what they put you through, it’s awful.” 

“We all have history, right?” he asks. “I just don’t like to share it because I don’t want to be questioning if people like me for me or for what I could do for them.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I still see you as a former grumpy cat, secret softie and my…” you start, but trail off, trying to find the right word.

“Landlord?” he suggests through a humorless laugh. It makes your eyes soften at him.

“No, friend,” you decide. 

“I just dumped a bunch of trauma on you and you wanna be my friend?” he asks, partly self-deprecating, partly hopeful.

“You don’t seem so bad,” you shrug. 

“I guess we’ll see,” he says softly.

The rest of the night is lighter, mostly with you trying to figure out more things he likes as subtly as possible. He laughs when you come downstairs with the presents you’re saving until Christmas to open because he can tell Jun’s right away. You don’t tell him that you’ve already ordered half a dozen small things that’ll be at the house by Christmas Eve so that you can wrap them all up for him. You just want to see his face.

Two days before Christmas, you and Jihoon finish off the decorations and pick up groceries. Well, you’re the one who picks up groceries after insisting on splitting the bill. Jihoon has another mysterious errand that he has to run. Even though you really want to know, you decide to let him have his secrets. At least for now. You’re beginning to understand that he trusts you and he’ll tell you whatever it is when he’s ready, if it even has anything to do with you at all. 

When the morning of Christmas Eve dawns, you’re actually excited. The past few days have been a whirlwind, and you’re definitely not done, but the house feels like Christmas. Three days ago you never would have thought Jihoon was enough to bring that holiday joy into the house. Now, you’re so insanely thankful that he’s gone above and beyond. Without anyone else around, or any other distractions, it’s been like a crash course in getting to know each other. There’s so much more to him than you ever realized. 

The day passes in a haze of cooking, wrapping last minute presents, and laughter. Lots of laughter. You’ve heard Jihoon laugh more in the last couple days than in the entire time you’ve lived here. Not for the first time, you think it’s a wonderful sound and wish he’d laugh more. It’s easy to understand why he doesn’t, why he’s so guarded, but still. A person can dream. 

With all the food prepped and the tree perfectly decorated, you decide it’s time to put your additional presents underneath. Jihoon huffs when you say you just got him a few small things you thought he’d like, before returning with a handful of presents for you. Every fiber of your being wants to give him shit over it. But, it’s Christmas, so you just call a truce instead. And light up like a kid when he suggests starting a fire in the fireplace. 

“I’ll go make adult hot cocoa,” you tell him when he starts crumpling up old newspapers for the base of the fire.

“Adult hot cocoa?” he asks, face scrunched up like he’s adorably confused.

“Unless you just want the non-alcoholic version,” you offer.

“I’ll at least try it,” he concedes. His smile is soft when you squeal and run off to the kitchen. 

By the time you’ve melted the chocolate (because who uses a premade mix in a kitchen this nice?), Jihoon has the fire going and is sitting on the couch. You’re about to ask why he’s scrolling his phone when he presses a button and Christmas music softly starts playing through the speakers. You hand over his mug and watch as he takes a sip. Even if he tries to hide it, you can tell he loves it and your smile is victorious. Probably why he tries to hide it. 

You’re onto your second mug and asking Jihoon to find a blanket so that you can sit on the floor in front of the couch. It’s easier to stretch out closer to the fire. As is his way, he whines about how it’ll be too warm, even though you tell him he doesn’t have to sit with you. Still, he gets the blanket and plops down right next to you, so close that you’re almost touching. It only takes a couple minutes before he’s complaining that it’s really warm and then pulling off his sweatshirt. Your retort dies on your lips when you turn your head to the side and see the way the sweatshirt pulls his t-shirt up on the way. Or how muscular his arms look now that they’re exposed. You’re thankful that you look away before he catches you. 

It’s quiet between the two of you as you watch the flames dance in the fireplace. There’s only comfort now, unlike a few days ago. That strikes you. Has it only been a few days since this man was something of a stranger to you? It almost feels like a lifetime ago. When you turn your head to him, you find he’s already looking at you.

“Can I admit something?” you ask. 

“Course,” he says softly.

“I’m really glad I decided to stay here for Christmas,” you say, equally softly. You want to take a mental image of the smile that follows. 

“Can I admit something, too?” he asks. You only nod. “I’m really glad you did too. This is the best Christmas I’ve had in years and it’s still only Christmas Eve.” 

Before you can think better of it, you lean forward and kiss his cheek. Just for a second. Then you drop your head to his shoulder and let out a sigh. It’s the most content you’ve felt in a long time. Jihoon adjusts his arm, and you worry he doesn’t want your head on his shoulder, until he just moves it along the edge of the couch. It lets you lean against him easier, so you scoot a little closer and settle again. After another minute, he rests his head on top of yours. Without even seeming to realize it, his arm curls around your shoulder, holding you tight to him. It makes you acutely aware of his body next to yours. Moments ago, you were thinking that you could fall asleep like this. Now, you’re wide awake. 

He must sense some kind of change because he pulls his head up. “Are you okay?” 

His voice is so gentle, so full of concern. You wonder how he can sound so calm when your brain is overthinking everything. “Yeah, I just, I don’t know. Being close to you like this is really nice and not at all what I was expecting.” 

Jihoon reaches out to tilt your chin up so that he can look you in the eyes. “It doesn’t have to be something you’re not expecting. It is nice to be close to you like this.” 

That’s the other thing you can’t really believe has changed so much in a matter of days. This man is a walking contradiction in so many ways. Grumpy as a default, yet so incredibly soft. The most private person you’ve met, yet willing to share why he struggles with Christmas. Rough around the edges, yet also unfailingly kind. Constantly wearing oversized clothes, yet secretly really fit. Okay, maybe that’s not so much a contradiction as you checking him out. 

“What if I was open to it being more than just being close?” you venture.

“How much is in your adult hot cocoa?” he asks, with some obvious difficulty.

“Enough to make me a little more honest, maybe, but not even enough to get buzzed on,” you answer. 

“Then, I can say if you’re open to more than just being close, I really fucking want to kiss you,” he says. “I have all day.”

“Just all day?” you tease. He gives you an unimpressed look. “What are you waiting for?” 

“You to say it’s okay,” he says and leans closer to you. 

“It’s okay, Ji,” you whisper, lips already nearly touching. 

You’re expecting a soft kiss, are as prepared for that as you can be. And it starts off relatively soft, like he’s testing the waters. It quickly morphs into anything, but soft. It’s the kind of kiss that sets your entire body on fire. The kind of kiss that steals your breath and becomes the only thing you need. It’s steady and desperate, all at the same time. You’re not even sure how your hands find their way into his hair that curls along his neck. It’s even softer than you imagined it would be. 

“So, is this your move?” you ask, pulling away just long enough to catch your breath.

“What?” he asks. His lips are already a little swollen.

“Getting the fire going with a little music on in the background,” you tease.

“Trust me,” he begins, punctuating his words with featherlight kisses along your neck. “I’ve never gone to this much trouble for anyone and it definitely wasn’t to get here.” 

The confession is so honest. So serious. It’s completely at odds with your teasing. But, should you really expect anything else from Jihoon? He can tease with the best of them, for sure. The last few days he’s also shown that you bring out an honesty that surprises him. You’re not sure if you trust yourself to speak, so you just pull his face up to kiss him again. It’s kind of an uncomfortable position, leaning against the couch, but you’re also not really sure if you care. That is, you’re not sure you care until he turns to pull you into his lap. It’s a little awkward and you have to break the kiss to get settled. Once you’re settled, though, it’s much nicer to be straddled across him like this. Much easier to press your chest into his and keep tangling your fingers in his hair. Much easier for him to wrap his arms around you like he doesn’t want you to go anywhere. You want to tell him that there’s nowhere else in the world you’d rather be. 

As you kiss him, you let your hands wander down his arms. There’s a safety in being held by him. There’s a strength to him you really never realized, kind of quiet like he is, a little unassuming. The kind of strength that sneaks up on you when you’re not really expecting it. Not only does every part of your body respond to him, but your mind does too. It’s just safe. You’re not sure how you know, you just do. He’s the kind of person that you can really trust to see all of you and still accept you. It’s entirely too much to be feeling about someone this fast, so you push that aside. When you inch your bodies closer together, your core drags across him and sends an ache through you. You do it several more times, back and forth, craving that friction.

“Fuck,” he hisses out. 

“I’m sorry, is that too much?” you worry. Suddenly a little self-conscious that there’s been some kind of miscommunication. 

He grabs your chin and pulls you back to look into his eyes. “No. It’s never too much. I want whatever you’re willing to give me.” 

“But, you don’t know what I’m…” you start. His eyes are serious, intense. You’re burning up and it has nothing to do with the fire.

“Whatever you’re willing to give me, I’ll happily take it. Even if that means it doesn’t go past this,” he reassures you. 

“I think I want it all,” you whisper. 

“You think you do, or you actually do?” he asks. 

You study him for a moment, looking for signs that he’s going to hurry off or something. With one of his hands, he’s tracing patterns against your thigh through the material of your pants. Everything about him seems sincere. Everything seems steady. 

“I do.” 

It’s a different smile he gives you then, one that says he’s relieved, maybe even a little surprised. One that says he’s genuinely happy. But, most of all, one that says he just wants whatever the night turns into. 

“Let’s go upstairs, I don’t want you hurting your knees like this,” he says softly. 

You look over your shoulder at the fireplace and he follows your gaze. “We should…”

“I’ll take care of that, just go upstairs. To my room,” he says and you suppress a slight shudder at being told what to do. You kind of like that side of him. “Get comfortable, I’ll just be a minute.” 

You get off his lap, quietly thankful for his consideration of your knees and kiss him softly. It’s also easy to see that he’s giving you a little bit of time to be sure. To clear your head away from the tree and the fire and the holiday everything. It’s time you don’t need because you’re definitely sure. The second you step foot through his door, you realize that you’ve never been in his bedroom before. It’s beautifully decorated in a way that screams him. When you sit down on the edge of the bed, you sigh. It’s so comfortable. 

This part hasn’t ever been the easiest for you, the waiting for someone to come into the room and knowing what’s going to happen. But, you do know what’s happening and sitting there completely clothed seems silly. In the end, you settle for leaving your sleeveless shirt and underwear on, but taking everything else off, including your bra. You just have time to sit back against the bed when he walks through the door and closes it behind him. Force of habit, you assume, since there isn’t anyone else home. His eyes drink you in, scanning down your body and all your curves. It’s so immediately comfortable that you don’t have the urge to cover back up. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he utters and it makes you blush a little. “Has anyone ever told you that?” 

“Not in a while when I’ve been this undressed,” you answer quietly with your head down. 

You feel the bed dip and look up at him, sitting right in front of you. “That’s crazy. You’re one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever known.” 

“You’re so sweet,” you say with a smile.

“It’s what you deserve,” he says and gets back off the bed. 

It’s his turn to remove the layers, stopping when all he has are his boxer briefs. You fight back a gasp (and lose, as is evident by his smirk) when he takes off his shirt. What the fuck?

“Jihoon, what the fuck? Come here,” you request. He listens, but takes his time. When he’s within your reach, you run your fingers along his stomach. Trace each ab muscle like you can’t believe this is what’s been under the shirt the whole time. 

“I work about a bit,” he shrugs and you roll your eyes.

“A bit, he says,” you tease back.

“Can I get in the bed now? Or do I have to stay here?” he asks.

“You can get in bed, but I want to be in your lap again,” you state.

“Fine by me,” he readily agrees. 

There’s a weird sense of time with him. You could kiss him for hours, may just do that. It also feels like it’s only been seconds when you pull back to catch your breath. You delight in the way he hisses when you run your nails down his stomach. Yelp when he smacks your ass in response. But, it doesn’t stop you from doing it again, maybe just so you can get another smack. You tell him not to be too gentle with you and he groans. There’s still that little bit of clothing between you, though, and it’s hard to get the friction you need. 

It’s like he senses what you want, or maybe what you need, and he positions you over one of his thighs. Helps you move back and forth to find a rhythm. It gives you that friction that you’ve been craving. He peppers kisses all over, trying to find the places that you like. Lingers wherever gets the best noises out of you. All while you grind against his thigh. When you think it can’t get better, he pulls your shirt up over your head and casts it aside. He rolls one of your nipples between his fingers. The look on his face when you arch into his fingers is so satisfied. It makes him carry on while also kissing across your chest.

“Fuck, Ji, if I keep this up I’m gonna come on your thigh,” you whimper.

“So do it,” he answers.

“I can’t, that’s…” you start, cutting off when he sucks hard into the skin of your breast. “Fuck!” 

“That’s what?” he prompts, returning to your nipple.

“I can’t come just from this,” you mutter lamely. It makes you feel like a teenager. 

“Then I better help because I want you to make a mess,” he says. 

Before you can protest, he’s kissing you again. His thumb hooks into your underwear and rubs across your clit in time with you rocking. It’s too much all at once. Too much stimulation. Too close. Too different. It all works, though, because you’re coming undone in seconds. Making a mess of his thigh just like he wanted. Screaming out his name and thankful to know nobody else can hear you. You lean forward to rest your forehead against his, trying to steady your breathing. 

“That was so hot,” he whispers into the limited space between you.

“I’ve never gotten off like that before,” you admit. 

“I wonder if there’s anything else I can pull out of you for the first time,” he says. 

“Like what?” you wonder.

“I guess we’ll see,” he answers

“I think it’s time for me to take care of you,” you say.

He kisses you gently and pulls away. “Not yet.” 

“But,” you start, only to cut off when he flips the two of you over. 

The shock over being completely manhandled by Jihoon is all you register until you feel his fingers by your hips, tugging your ruined underwear down your legs. All you can do is watch as he kisses from your ankle all the way up your inner thigh and down the other side. When he pulls himself back up your body to settle between your legs, you shiver. Try to play it off as his breath against your cunt, still slick. You watch as he spreads your lips open so that he can lick into you. 

“Fuck, Ji,” you whine out. 

“Just relax, sweetheart,” he urges before diving into you again. 

You’re expecting it to be a little frenzied. Not that you’ve never enjoyed getting eaten out, but you just kind of see it as foreplay to get through. That was before Jihoon, apparently. He takes his time, carefully builds you up again. Has you begging for something more. Has you uttering phrases that don’t make any sense. Has you seeing stars in the darkness of the room. Has you feeling the loss when he removes his mouth.

“No, Ji, please,” you beg. “Your tongue feels so good.” 

“I know,” he says and then he’s kissing you. 

He keeps kissing you as he runs a finger through your wetness, once and then again. Keeps kissing you when he slides his finger inside of you. Nips at your lip when you moan at the addition of his second finger. You can feel how tightly you’re coiled from the build up with his tongue. The way he fucks his fingers into you, you know you won’t last long. It’s hard and fast and as desperate as you felt moments ago when you begged for him. He’s relentless, even when your walls grip his fingers and your toes start to curl. You come so hard on his finger that he actually has you squirting. And honestly, he’s got you blacking out a little bit too. 

“Jesus fucking christ,” you curse when he falls beside you. “Your fingers, your mouth, oh my god.” 

“I’d ask if it was good, but I think I know the answer,” he chuckles. 

You swat at his chest, but he catches your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles. So tender that it takes the bite out of your next statement. “Fuck off.” 

“Your body is so amazing, I could watch you come every day and never get sick of it,” he admits. 

You prop yourself up on an elbow to look at him. He’s laying on his back, hand casually running over his already hard dick through his briefs. You move his hand and free him. There’s a hunger in his gaze as he watches you spit into your hand and start running it along his shaft. 

“Go slow,” he requests and you look at up at him. “Watching you is so hot that I’m a little wound up. And I still want to fuck you.” 

“Jihoon, you’ve already…” you start. 

“Please. You can take care of me anytime. I want to feel you around me,” he whispers. It’s not quite a beg, but it’s close. All you can do is nod okay. “I need to hear you.”

“Yes, Ji, I want you to fuck me,” you say. 

He rolls over on the bed to reach into the bedside table and rustles around for a minute. The sign before he rolls back over sounds bad. “I don’t have a condom. It’s, uh, well it’s been awhile.” 

“It’s okay,” you say.

“I guess maybe this will have to…” he starts.

“No, I mean it’s fine. I’m on birth control and it’s been awhile for me too, so it’s fine. I trust you,” you say, finding you do actually trust him. 

“Are you sure?” he checks.

“Fuck, yes, please. I don’t care that you’ve made me come twice already, please fuck me,” you insist and it works. He smiles and slides his briefs off. 

In another second, he’s positioning himself between your legs again. You lay back against the pillow behind your head and just look up at him, so impossibly fond. It’s too soon to be this fond. But, you see the same look in his eyes, so maybe you’re not alone. He lines himself up and drags his tip against your entrance. Opens the lube you hadn’t even noticed and takes it into his hand. He lets it warm up for a second before running his hand over his dick. Then, he’s back at your entrance and slowly pressing into you. He takes his time letting you adjust, watches your face for signs that it’s okay. He leans forward to kiss you and it’s so gentle you want to cry. 

You’re glad this is slow, that he’s taking his time. It’s not that you’re inexperienced, it’s just that you can’t remember the last time you felt this comfortable with anyone. You’re not sure you’ve ever known how nice it was to just look into someone’s eyes while you’re fucking. Not sure you’ve wanted to be this close. Jihoon’s body is pressed against yours as he thrusts into you, but it’s still not enough. You wrap your legs around his hips, run your fingers down his back, arch into him. Anything to meld your bodies together that much more. He’s not as vocal now, but you’re probably taking care of that for both of you. You can see all the things he wants to say in the eyes that stay trained on you. 

His thrusts start to get a little off rhythm and your moans become more broken. “Fuck, Ji, yes! Right there.”

“I’m gonna fucking come, oh my god,” he moans out. 

“Me too,” you whine. “Fuck, it’s too much.”

“Come for me, please, I need to feel you,” he very nearly begs. 

“Fuck, I’m coming!” you scream out. 

Your whole body shudders and you sort of register the praise coming from Jihoon. He follows right behind you, releasing into you. You can tell he’s trying to keep his weight off of you, but you pull him to just let go. Reluctantly, he settles his body down on top of yours. The weight is pleasant and being close to him is even better. After a moment, his breathing falls into line with yours. It’s several moments longer before he carefully pulls out of you and rolls to the side. 

“Wow,” he says. You can hear the smile in his voice.

“Yeah,” you agree. 

It’s much later than usual for you by the time you wake up on Christmas morning. But, it had been late by the time you and Jihoon had gotten cleaned up and back in bed. Even later by the time you stopped wanting to talk while all cuddled up. When you wake up, you feel his chest pressed into your back and his arm draped across your body. The second you start to move, his arm tightens and he somehow pulls you closer to him. He presses kiss into your hair. 

“Merry Christmas,” he says, voice thick with sleep.

“Merry Christmas,” you answer. 

He adjusts behind you and you realize he’s a little hard again, pressing into your ass. Even though you know it’s not fair, you wiggle your ass against him. You’re more than a little surprised when he bucks, just once, into you in response. 

“Sorry, I’m sure you’re a little sore this morning,” he says, still hoarse. 

“Not so sore,” you answer, pressing back again.

“Don’t you want to see what’s under the tree?” he asks, the teasing clear in his voice.

You turn over so you’re facing him. “I think I’d rather unwrap this present first.”

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he groans. But, he pulls you against him all the same, clearly not opposed. 

Once you’re both showered again and dressed, you pad downstairs and straight into the kitchen to find Jihoon is already at the counter getting the coffee going. He looks so cute with his messy, wet hair, that you can’t help yourself. You have to come up and hug him from behind. Place a kiss between his shoulder blades and then rest your head. All he can do is just put a hand over yours. 

“What do you want for breakfast?” you ask when you pull away. 

“The cinnamon rolls you insisted we had to have,” he says like it’s obvious.

By the time you get those in the oven, he’s handing you a perfect cup of coffee, exactly the way you like it. It feels like neither of you can be physically separated. Hands finding each other as you move around the kitchen. Little kisses as you pass by. Just drawn together like magnets. Once the cinnamon rolls come out, and you add the extra icing that you insisted on, the two of you head to the living room. 

You think you were supposed to text or call Jun when you open his present, but you’re a little stuck on opening the things Jihoon got you at the last minute. He insists that you go first and open your presents so that he can see your reaction. The first couple are silly, but thoughtful. Just little things that show he’s actually been paying attention to you much longer than you realized. Not that he had some kind of crush or anything, just that he pays attention when people talk. When you think you’re done, he pulls out a small box. 

“I wanted you to open this last,” he says in response to your confused look. 

It’s a small box, very nicely wrapped. You open it to find a beautiful necklace, simple and stunning. Exactly the kind of thing you like to wear. But, exactly the type of thing you can’t accept. “JIhoon, it’s beautiful. But, you must know it’s too much. I can’t take this.” 

“I didn’t spend anything on it,” he assures you and slides closer so he can look down at it in the box. “It was my grandmother’s. And before you say you can’t take it again, she’d want someone to have it. She wanted to pass her jewelry on, but was so sick of our family. I think she’d really like you, so I want you to have it.”

“Thank you,” you say softly and lean forward to kiss him. 

Watching Jihoon open the little things that you got him is everything you hoped it would be. He’s so appreciative of each thing, even if they seem small to you. They’re all things he says he really needs. To him, that’s one of the best kinds of gifts because it shows that you’re listening. It shows that you want to make someone else’s life just a little easier. It nearly makes you emotional when he’s the one opening things. 

You want to stay curled up on the couch with Jihoon forever, watching stupid Christmas movies and invading his personal space. He grumbles a little at you clinging to him, but pouts the second you pull away. Sadly, you have to get up to start some of the cooking for Christmas dinner. Jihoon offers to help, knows you’re feeling a little sore, and you wave him off. Cooking at Christmas is one of your favorite things. You get your music going and don’t even register anything else. You don’t hear his footsteps or his voice talking to someone.

“Hey, Ji? Do you think I should make all the rolls? Probably, right?” you ask and turn around to see he’s standing in the doorway holding his phone up.

“Did my bestie just call you Ji?” a voice asks from the phone. 

“Uh, yeah,” Jihoon answers and closes the distance to you. He hands over the phone. “Jun was looking for you.”

“Oh, hi, Junie! How’s your parents’?” you ask. His eyes scan you and you look down too late. You’re not wearing your shirt, it’s one of Jihoon’s that you stole because it was more comfortable.

“Not as good as it is there, apparently,” Jun says with a giggle. 

“Oh, well, you see…” you start and Jun is cackling. 

“I’ll let you get back to cooking, but expect to have a long conversation when I’m home,” he says once he stops laughing.

“You sound like my parent,” you whine. 

“Just try and tell me there’s nothing to talk about,” Jun challenges and you look over at Jihoon sitting at the kitchen table. 

“I can’t,” you say, still looking at him.

“I knew it,” Jun says, triumphant. “Give the phone back to Ji…”

“You don’t get to call me that,” Jihoon chimes in.

“So much to talk about,” Jun repeats as you hand the phone back over. 

The rest of the afternoon passes too quickly. Jihoon stays in the kitchen with you when you have to cook and lounges on the couch with you watching movies when you’re waiting for things to finish. He helps wherever he can and genuinely seems to appreciate the effort that you’re taking. Well, he appreciates it almost as much as the dinner itself when you sit down to eat. Without question, it’s the best Christmas you can remember. It turns out that maybe you were right all along. Christmas wasn’t about presents or specific people or anything. It was about feeling joy and thankful and just a deep connection with whoever you were with. It makes you realize you do need to talk to Jihoon, though. 

After dinner, the two of you settle back on the couch with a glass of wine. His free hand traces patterns into your legs that are across his lap. “Hey, so about what Jun said…” 

“Jun is an idiot,” Jihoon brushes off.

“He is, but he also has a point. There’a a lot to talk about,” you say. He turns his head to look at you.

“I meant what I said last night, I’ll take whatever you want to give me,” he says and takes another sip of wine. 

“But, that’s so…I don’t know,” you start, searching for the words. 

He just shrugs like you’re talking about something so simple. Maybe you are. “I’m pretty open about things when I’m comfortable. I’m also kind of an all in or all out guy. I don’t know, that’s probably too much. I’m happy with whatever you’re comfortable giving me.” 

“You’re going to make me fall for you, Lee Jihoon,” you tease lightly. You’re also testing a little bit.

He smiles at you, that soft one that makes his eyes crinkle. “That doesn’t sound so bad to me.” 

“I guess it doesn’t,” you agree. 

“Thank you for being the best thing about Christmas in a long time,” he says. So honest. It’s so simple, too. 

“It’s been perfect,” you agree. “The only thing that could make it better is…”

“Snow,” he interrupts.

“Yeah,” you agree.

He shakes his head and points to the window. “No, it’s snowing.” 

You turn your head to follow his finger and see he’s right. Snow falls in light, beautiful swirls just outside the window. You can’t remember the last white Christmas you had, even living somewhere it snows. 

“Wow, this really is the perfect Christmas,” you whisper. 

i hope you liked it. please reblog or leave a comment to let me know your thoughts 💕

[determinate-negation]

I don't think it's inherently self-infantilizing to just not know certain things about history. You don't always know what you don't know.

its self infantilizing to keep using the excuse that you werent taught it in school instead of taking it upon yourself to educate yourself. the importance of education is a basic principle i think all communists should believe in. i value knowledge and believe in striving to understand the world around me. i value criticism and critique of the world as it is. and americans have all this information at their fingertips, if they were interested. its very self infantilizing the continuous excuse people use when faced with the history of american imperialism, the history that determines much of their own lives in america, the history that is is responsible for all of the 'prosperity' in the united states at the cost of millions of lives. its very self infantilizing to not understand that people have given their lives and been killed and oppressed by american imperialism- that for a lot of people this isnt something they can just ~not know~ and still try to blame the schooling system alone for your ignorance. i hardly remember learning about the korean war in school either

[yandere-kokeshi]

This might honestly be uncomfortable. But I would like to know Dad! Ghost reaction on this topic.

How would he react if his kid came to him, explaining that they were SA.

— Yandere Dad! Ghost reacting to his kiddo confessing they were SA

Warnings: yandere behavior, mentions of SA, nothing descriptive, mentions of trauma, comfort. 

A/N: To be honest with you, I really like these types of dark asks. If you’re ever in a situation of needing help, please call your local police. You’re not alone. 

Icon of Ghost belongs to @/Yumithefrostypanda — NOT MINE

Dad! Ghost blinks at you, before whispering a small “What?”

His body stops, he stares at you with everything. His brown-doe eyes widening. And suddenly, his chest becomes hard to breathe — someone hurt you. His blood chills in his veins, icy shards trickling throughout his system and lodging themselves into his heart repeatedly against his boney cage. 

He looks at you, swallowing thickly. “W… when?” 

It’s only a matter of seconds before he brings you into a tight hug, a hand grabbing the back of your head and pushing you into him. You two stay like that, minutes or hours, your crying echoing into the house as he rubs your back. There aren’t many things he can truly sympathize with, but he can when it comes to this matter. Especially when he cares about you so much.

“Hey…” he starts, biting his lip when you don’t look at him. “Hey— look at me. It wasn’t your fault. None of it. And I promise ya’, that I’m going to make ‘em pay for what they did to you.” he grabs your cheeks, wiping your tears before kissing your head. 

He’s fuming. Seething in a way you’ve never seen him before. Tempted to find the prick, and break every single bone in their miserable, worthless body. He’s going to hurt them. Hurt them so bad that they’ll be begging for death instead. His hands are shaking, hugging you so tight that you end up squeaking out words. 

For the rest of the next few days, Dad! Ghost has eyes on you. Focusing on your days getting better, and seeking out therapy for you. Always being an open arm for cuddles or talks. Another thing is that he’s happy you told him; something like that, hiding it, could kill. And he’s, in a way, relieved you can get help. 

From his experience, Dad! Ghost understands how hard it is. The self-blame. Continuous flashbacks and nightmares. The feeling of being a disappointment. And to that, he’s there for you. Willing to sleep with you to help with your terrors, take you out of school no matter the time, and help you in any way, shape, or form. 

Without your knowledge — Dad! Ghost becomes unforgiving. Finding out things about the person who hurt you. And ensuring that they suffer. He promised nobody would hurt you. And he’s living up to that with every fiber of his being. 

—

Masterlist || Please consider reblogging and commenting instead of liking. It helps me as a creator!! Stay well!!

© yandere-kokeshi 2023 — Do not copy, modify, edit, repost, or use my works for ASMR readings, tiktoks, or other content.

[prettyboykatsuki]

I LIKE IT BETTER WHEN YOU CAN'T KEEP WARM | ODXNY

✮ tags ; heavy themes, gender neutral reader, mentions of past suicidal ideation, getting together, romantic tension, angst to fluff, extremely lovey-dovey ending, some implicit and suggestive content (lit one paragraph n non descript), themes of touch starvation, small height difference (reader is shorter)

✮ wc ; 6.3k (this is so shameful bye forever)

✮ a/n ; every time a semester ends i lose my mind and me writing this in several hours straight is evidence. if i had a nickel for every time i wrote a character study with the central theme of loneliness, i'd have two nickels - which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice.

i will spare you the insane rambling for the authors note at the bottom of this fic.

✮ synopsis ; he wants something. to live maybe. and if he could be a little selfish, to be with you. he wants that, too.

Bright.

Could just be the dark room he keeps himself in talking. His computer system and encrypted Internet browsers are all in dark mode - and his desktop set-up doesn’t have any L.E.D. strip lights to keep him company. He prefers it that way, the ambiance a better environment to work in  when he’s doing his usual rounds. Down to the programs U.I. - Odxny spends most of his time in perpetual darkness. Cozy and familiar - totally safe and secure. Nothing but the low whirrs of a computers fan and the faint blinking of routers to keep him company.

You’re the brightest thing he’s had on his screen in a long time. You’ve got white walls and no precaution, really. You’re sitting at your own desktop - and he can see everything of your life in the background of where you sit. There are photos of you graduating high school, being around unnamed friends, vacations and trips, and head shots like the kind you take for a resume. It’s all so personal. Bookshelves, trinkets, poorly made clay sculptures. Posters of musicians you like and Studio Ghibli movies. Evidence of life surrounds you like a halo.

Awful. Angel comparisons to someone he’s only known for a day make him wonder if he’s more pathetic than he thought. He probably shouldn’t think so hard about a stranger, a real stranger. Thrim generated randomly, though he thinks it sounds like a name. Finds it fun to say, for better or worse.

Natural light pours in from a window nearby, casting shadows in your room. He already knows you, in a way. He did the background search. Where you were born, raised, grew up.  The schools you went too, the career you seek. Bits and pieces of you are all scattered in his memory and are not at all thorough. He wasn’t really trying for that at the time, just needed to know if you were dangerous. There’s a cognitive dissonance. To know a life so thoroughly and to witness it is completely, and utterly different.

There’s miles between you. Must be thousands. He can’t remember the last time he’s really met someone, though. It’s hard not to notice that this feels akin to that. Like the embers of a campfire, glowing but not burning. A comfortable warmth.

Bright. His screen is very bright talking to you. Even obscured behind the mask, it’s a little difficult to look at it and leaves him on edge - restless and mildly painful.

When his vision adjusts though, there’s clarity. A person, a stranger - with an exceptionally nice laugh and who is exceptionally trusting. Odxny tries not to think too hard about the feeling of warmth that flutters at your overflowing sincerity.

The conversation is easy.

“Does that mean you trust me now?”

Odxny pretends to think on it. “Enough to keep you around.”

“See you later.”

“See you.”

You accompany your last words with a wave - short and sweet. Darkness pulls him in, back where he started. He has a mild headache from all the light.

__

You pick up on the language better than he thought you would.

He underestimated you. Can you blame him? Your choice is language is ArnoldC, for fucksake. Sure, he has limited knowledge on esoteric languages but can it really be in-depth enough to show you the basics.

(It can. Or at least, Od presumes this to be the case because you’re rather helpful in Incri’s hacks and Incri is hardly helpful to anyone in the world, no less the server.)

You pick up on things quickly with little guidance - always to the point and not usually making many errors. He has to commend your abilities and give you credit where it’s due. It’s not a hard language to learn, but for anyone with no familiarity with coding at all he’d expect there to be a learning curve. Even if you had coding language, it’s not like you knew SQL coming in.

You fit strangely well into the server somehow. You’re happy to learn and nonplussed about helping with small things, though you don’t know these people at all and have no reason to participate in their nonsense. You talk to Incri fine, and manage to get Pep to accidentally reveal telling information. Odxny finds all of this rather… entertaining maybe. More than impressive, really.

He has a hard time making sense of the feeling. He would hope you don’t think you’re under duress - given the fact your relationship in two days has been pleasant. Then again - maybe he’s missed some social cue and you do think that. It’s possible. After all, he doesn’t actually remember the last time he’s spoken verbally to anyone with very, very few exceptions.

He manages to call you again after the fact - opens the call with sincere and heartfelt congrats and feels pleasant seeing you take the compliment in stride.

You land on the subject of programming again, inevitably. He interrogates you a little more over your choice in language - almost like he can’t help himself. It’s basic curiosity. You had said you were the best in ArnoldC. A little research proved that to be true, presence of you in the forums of various esolang pages. He landed on many things. You’re the best at ArnoldC, but you also know Brainfuck for some ridiculous reason.

He thinks you’re a little ridiculous in general.

“It’s really for the love of the game, huh?”

You nod when he asks this. Smiling, bright and unbothered with a soft edge of smug pride that makes the muscles of his face twitch up. “Mhm. I like my little collection.

Odxny doesn’t doubt it for even a minute. He’s seen the proof, but perhaps he doesn’t need to mention that. “Your trophy case of ridiculous language?”

Your eyes come to life all of a sudden. “Wait. A real trophy case would actually be so cool.”

He pauses, blinking as the words sink before a smile breaks onto his face helplessly. “That was not to enable you.”

“Too late. I’m already looking up the ugliest wood trim display cases I can find.”

The laugh comes naturally. “You really are just like this?”

You look proud again. “What? Fun?”

Yes, Odxny thinks but doesn’t say. “Baffling.”

You ask Odxny to elaborate and he does. The conversation flows with frustrating ease. So easily that he mouths off about his plans to you without a second thought. He doesn’t know why he does it. Not really. He’s thought it through over and over - so it’s not like he needs to disclose it. He made his choice.

He thinks about moving it along. About ending the call or simply brushing past without going into any detail.

When he glances at the screen, you’ve got a pillow in your lap and your eyes completely focused on him. There’s that feeling again, alarming clarity in your gaze and brightness that causes him immense unease in the world he’s made of nihilistic, apathetic darkness. There’s a plan, always has been. He’ll do this and disappear and the world will soon forget him. If it happens that way, than at least this loneliness is a choice he’s made for himself and not something the world has cruelly decided for him.

His lips move faster than his head, than even his heart. Compelled by a nameless and brilliant force. “I don’t have any reason to stay. I’m just — tired. Of everything.”

“No reasons? Nothing makes you happy here?”

His response is measured. Quiet. It’s not secret. He finds his voice crumbles around the words anyway as if they’re a confession. “Not for a long time. I don’t feel much of anything, really. It is what it is.”

You frown. He’s seen it all before. Heard it all before. “That’s…”

He cuts you off quickly.

“We just met. And we’ll be strangers again soon enough.” He says with as much conviction and resolve as he can possible manage. Who he’s convincing remains unclear. “So, not to be cold but..you know.”

The disappointment in your face leaves an impression, but you relent. He tries to make amends for the depressing conversation of talking again and you perk up so genuinely it makes want to cry, in a distant and foreign way.

“Catch you later, then.” He says, and closes at out the call. The room falls dark for the second time. He blinks a few times to get rid of the light clouding his vision.

__

Wnpep is eager to teach you on the third day.

You’re eager in reply - matching energy with sharp wit and enthusiasm. Wnepep is a better teacher than Incri by several miles. Evident in how much faster everything falls into place for you. Not that you really need too much help in the first place. You break down the crumbling walls of an insurance scam with ease and come out of the other side more accomplished.

It’s a noble last hack, Odxny thinks.  Not unsurprising from Pep - unofficially the most sane and likeable member. He figured it’d be something like this less than a matter of personal vengeance.

You go back and forth for a bit in admin chat. Od types an apology about winding you up and tries not to read too much into the innuendo of it as you reply back with your own faux offended replies. He insists he’s somewhat sorry, and you’re far from believing him.

He finds himself grinning at his screen while he texts you mid conversation. When the realization hits, he almost curls into himself from embarrassment - a hand covering his mouth like it’ll do away with the grave sin.

The inneundo happens twice in one conversation, before you get to call under the premise of a victory toast.

A brief conversation about the last hacks barely leaves room for much else except Odxny plans of total isolation.

“Mm. I should’ve known it would come back to this. Why do you care what I choose to do with myself?”

That baffles you in a terribly genuine way. “Am I not allowed to care about another person?”

Odxny speaks honestly. “You are but I mean…” He trails off. He knows how he feels. “I’m not really a person anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m no one. I’m going to be no one. You have other things to fill your life with.”

There’s a vulnerable edge to his voice that he winces at when he hears it. It’s true isn’t it? All of it is true to Odxny, but especially where he says you have other things to fill your life with. You might share the same hobbies, but he’s seen it. He’s seen how different you are - your livelihoods, your existence. You’d be missed if you suddenly disappeared. Odxny knows the same isn’t true for himself. It’s been like that for a long while now.

(It’s crushing. That’s what makes your very ephemeral existence feel like a burden. Why it casts the shadows of doubt on choices he made, about how he would live so long ago. You care, don’t you? At least, more than anyone else in his life in the present. You care so undeniably, and so obviously and it is all so simple to you.

He almost envies it. Almost resents it, too. It’s such a small shred of humanity, the barest forms of sincerity but it is painfully raw. A split nerve. An open wound It’s not like the server, all of whom have accepted this distant fondness. It’s a delicate thread - spider silk accuracy and just as much strength. There’s conviction in your missing him and it haunts him.)

You think of what to say for a long time before landing on it. “I do. But I can care about multiple things at once,”

It sounds like I care about you too closely. He finds himself shivering. He’s truthful with you, unsure of how else to be when it comes to these conversations.

“That sounds burdensome.” He says. “Isn’t that exhausting?”

You don’t lie to him either. “Sometimes. But it’s worth the trouble.”

“Why?”

“Because I like your company,” You reply. Soft sincerity in your words. More clarity. More painstaking light.

“It can’t be that simple.”

“Why not?”

“If it was that simple then -“ Then it makes it seem like things could be different. He doesn’t say that. Stops himself before it can happen. “I don’t know why I’m bothering to argue. Why do I feel like I need to prove this to you?”

He’s almost afraid to look at your face, wincing when he sees how knowing you look. Not in a condescending way - but genuine, full blown understanding. Like you see through him.

He wonders if he knows you as well as he thought he did.

Your face is so sympathetic. “Are you sure it’s me?”

He cuts the conversation short on his own - making an awkward transition from the topic at hand into whatever he can manage. It’s an awkward fumble - a poor attempt at distracting both of you from this line of thinking. You’re kind enough to let him have it. He asks about your hobbies. You tell him about how you like to try the weirdest things and combinations you can find in a restaurant.

He finds it suits you.

A lot of things suit you. Even your piss poor attempt at the Terminator that he quickly mimics - possessed by god knows what.

You laugh when he does. Brilliant and bubbly and characteristically warm. You say the words through giggles.

“That was so bad!”

“It was a lapse in judgment,” He replies back defensively, smiling against his will. He finds himself laughing too.

“I like your laugh, by the way.”

He pauses caught off-guard. “Oh? My laugh. Oh, uhm. Thank you.”

You make a face that he can’t read. Knowing. In a different way than the last. He feels nervous.

“I have been laughing quite a bit, haven’t I?”

You grin. Smug and deliriously happy. “Sure have.”

He looks away from you. “Ha...Odd.”

You giggle again. Your eyes crinkle at the corners, nose scrunched in genuine delight. It’s a pleasant sound but not because it’s particularly wispy or floaty or delicate. But it’s real. Pleasant in the way the white noise of park during summer. Pleasant like the varied playlist overhead in a record shop. Pleasant like a moment of humanity tucked between everyday. He clears his throat.

“I like your laugh, I think.”

You laugh again, gasping with faux offense. “You think???”

He tries not to feel so grounded by that sound and fails. “Yeah. I think. Laugh again.”

He tries not to add please. You shake your head like you’re reprimanding him.

“No, no, you have to earn that. Make me laugh.”

“Nevermind. Shut up.”

You do laugh again that time. He joins you soon after. “And now you laugh? At me?”

The conversation moves again, comfortable like a tide. You ask about his favorite language and he tells you as much. You’re quiet and growing cheeky, listening to him talk.

“So you do like coding.”

“Maybe a little.” He replies, not giving in. “You remember far too much of what I say.”

The conversation comes to a close again. He thanks you for how nice its been and you make an off-handed attempt to get him to change his mind. You could always talk more. The implication delicate beneath it.

We don’t have to forget each other. Odxny brushes past it - but says he’ll see you tomorrow anyway.

__

Extorting Elimfs childhood friend (?) is an easy enough endeavor. Odxny texts you through out - to ask advice on what things to take when he leaves.

He calls you again when its over too. He can’t find a reason for it - nothing that makes sense. He just wanted to call you. He hasn’t wanted something like that in a while,  but he tells himself its fine. This is the last time you’ll ever know each other.

So its fine. He won’t waver.

He’ll just.. call you.

He asks you on your weed habits, mildly surprised when you tell him you smoke and take edibles sometimes too. The conversation loops back to the fund at one point. You don’t hide your displeasure about the whole thing today.

You’ve talked about it already. No need to keep bringing up. But you seem to feel so strongly and Odxny can’t figure out why. Can’t shake the feeling of wanting to know why every single time.

“Is it really so hard to believe I’ve come to like you in a few days?”  You ask, after probing.

“In a way that matters, yes.”

You frown at him when he says that. It’s the most upset he’s seen you look, if he can call it that. You’ve never been upset when he’s been rude or insulting - but this is bothering you. It doesn’t help him pull away from you.

He says it again. Reinforces how temporary this all is. He’s trying to convince one of you. Both of you, maybe, of his unimportance.

“I don’t think that little of you.”

He finds it hard to reply to that. It’s that feeling against. It makes him uncomfortable. It’s not empty platitudes or some vague sense of responsibility for his life. All of it is real, and all of it is meaningful in how plain it is. You make it seem easy.

“It’s life. It’s normal. People come, people go.”

You shake your head. “Not for me. I can’t forget you that easily.”

He wishes you would. He’s painfully, painfully relieved that you wouldn’t it. He voices neither thought.

“Then- try! You’re putting so much on yourself, and for what? You don’t stand to gain anything.”

You shrug. “Peace of mind. Knowing you’re still out there.”

It’s heavy. The implication is heavy. He’s not going to kill himself. He doesn’t want that anymore, though he thought about it. At the beginning. Loneliness is more painful when you have memories of what not being that way was like - he thinks. At the start of all that loss, the hollowness bared an almost painful gravity inside of him.

It’s like being told to breathe or blink - becoming conscious of what was once a natural function, how full life was once when it’s escaped. He doesn’t want to kill himself, but living is meaningless.

 These things aren’t paradoxical to him. They haven’t been for all this time.

(They weren’t until he met you at least. A mirror of wanting. Odxny looks at you and sees life reflected back. Despite it not being his, its moving. It’s beautiful in a human way, reachable. Tangible. Earned.

Wherever you are. Whenever you’re together, the black hole inside of himself seems to fade back into average planetary darkness. He becomes cruelly human again, feeling warmth and laughter.

He’s tells himself he’s not afraid of dying and that’s mostly true. He’s most afraid of living. Afraid he won’t be able to learn it again.)

 He manages to tell you some of what he’s thinking. He has no clue how to start over. He doesn’t know if it’s possible. You don’t feed him any false hope, but he tells you how he sees it. You’re feeling pity for him right? And you should figure that out sooner rather than later.

“Is it really that easy for you?”

You shake your head. You’re smiling but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “It isn’t. But I have to try.”

“Is that what you’re doing with me?”

“What?”

“Is this…?”

He cuts the call off when he hears himself, unsure of what answer he’s hoping for. The realization dawns on him too much, too quickly. The feeling of hope is loud in his chest but there is another feeling, embarrassing in it’s swiftness that follows shortly after.

Oh.

Oh.

__

The servers shuts down after a mildly sappy adventure to close up shop. The closest Odxny has gotten to flirting with you in his own way. He’s sad to see everyone go, despite there being no other choice.

It’s easier than he thought it’d be. To give you his number he means, even after shutting the entire server down. After leaving everything behind. He gives you the choice to make. Call me if you still want it - a silent promise.

 Maybe because deep down - some part of him always wanted to make this choice. Just maybe.

Your voice is different over the phone line. A little clearer, spoken softer. Just as lovely as it was the first time he heard it. Maybe more. Maybe.

The city beneath him is bright. So bright. It doesn’t hurt to look at, he thinks.

__

You call him every day.

You’ve been doing it for months.

He thought, at some point, you’d let up or start to forget. He’s been waiting on it to happen as horrible as it sounds. Like some self-fulfilling prophecy, he’d slip back into the background as is natural. A proof of his nonexistence, if you will.

You don’t forget though. He almost wonders if he’s dreaming when it happens. There’s a routine between you two, these days. You have your own life that you’ve been living the same as normal. When it’s night time for you, though - you hop onto your desktop and call Od like you’re two very average people.

There’s nothing solid to define your relationship aside from friendship as is. This is less frustrating than he expected it to be. Getting to know you better has only made him like you more. Your relationship is solid in a strange way. It’s been about six months total, and as corny as it sounds - Odxny feels like he’s known you for his entire life. You understand him in an intimate way, with vulnerable tenderness and radical acceptance.

He kind of misses the privacy of his old stomping grounds, but he doesn’t mind speaking though discord. It feels… normal. In a not displeasing way. You mostly talk to talk about whatever comes to mind. Sometimes it’s your job search, other times it’s  your part-time or friend drama. You’re vibrant as always. Without the wall of anonymity, Odxny gets to know of you like he’s just your average person. He finds he really, really likes that.

You play games together frequently. He’s never been interested in cozy gaming, but you play Minecraft and Stardew Valley together per your request. Odxny streams himself playing Ocarina of Time for you on Discord in the background sometimes too, and you keep it on when you’ve got work to do or you’re cooking or something else. There’s something very mundane to it.

You’re not doing anything with him today though. You’re calling him on facetime, rather than at your desktop. You’ve made the executive decision to laze around and Odxny has no problem joining you though you speak less than usual as a result of being sleepy. You had a long shift yesterday so perhaps Odxny can’t blame you.

“Need to get better shoes. For walking and stuff.” You say thoughtlessly. The corners of his lips twitch up.

“Yeah?”

You nod. Your face is smushed against your pillow at an unflattering angle. He smiles a little.

“Yeah. I’m on my feet for like nine hours when I serve and it hurts wearing flats. Need something sturdier even it diminishes my drip.”

He laughs at that. “Please never say that again.”

You continue onwards. “Decreases my aura, even. But alas, utility comes first.”

He snickers as he glances at you through the phone. You’re propped against one of his monitors as he does work on his computer. He’s getting back into programming for the love of the game, just seeing what he can do.

“Want help looking?”

“Feels a little ridiculous asking a super pro-hacker to shop Sketchers with me.”

“You seriously thinking of buying Sketchers?”

You laugh lightly. “Maybe I’ll get tipped more if I get the light-up ones.”

“Please don’t.”

“Hater.”

You break out into genuine laughter as Odxny shakes his head in despair. It’s something you’d do, no doubt. You sigh.

“I really do want a break from work.” You roll around on your mattress. Odxny can hear your rustling but can’t see you much. “The chains of capitalism shackle me in place. Woe is me.”

Odxny thinks on what you’ve said for a long while in silence. The question comes up every now and again though he’s never brave enough to ask it. His ludicrous amount of disposable income however is still sitting in his bank, collecting dust. It’s been six months and he’s hardly made a dent in it.

“Do you want to come visit?” He asks, cringing at the sound of his own voice. The words are strained and a little too eager. “I can pay the difference for expenses for wages and stuff. And, uh. Uhm,”

He loses his train of thought trying to speak, worsened by the way you pop onto his screen when he says that. Your expression is unreadable to him, comfortable and even. You smile a little as you lift the phone so he can see what you look like laying in your bed. Your face is in full view.

“It’d be a little weird to visit you before we start dating officially, no?”

His eyes go wide at the implication. You grin, mischief and mirth making your eyes practically beam. He can feel a blush crawl up his neck as soon as he registers it.

“Excuse me? Why are you saying that like it’s already been decided?” He bites back, not sure what else he could say.

“So you don’t want to date me?”

“I didn’t- you - damn it,” He groans at his own bluster as he giggles on the other side of the line. So cheeky. Damn him for liking it and damn you for being cute. “…You are saying you like me right?”

Your face softens. He can feel his heartbeat quicken. “Uh-huh. Just wanted to take it slow. But I’ve liked you for a long time.”

“How long is that, exactly?”

You shrug playfully and the fact he can’t be within reach to kiss you feels especially harrowing. “A secret.” You smile again, all trouble. “So. Wanna date?”

“Terrible confession. Zero stars,” He says petulantly. He leans back in his chair and finds himself smiling uncontrollably. “Fine. I guess.”

Your laugh fills his room. He doesn’t get tired of hearing it. His face hurts from smiling.

__

He manages to stave off on the anxiety of you coming to see him for a lot longer than he thought possible.

Making arrangements proves to be a little difficult. You have to tell your roommates that you’ll be gone for a while but promise to still pay rent and explain to your boss where you’re going. You have a good enough relationship and have been working long enough for them to agree to keep a spot open so you can start working when you come back.

After that, there’s the matter of Visas. Odxny goes out of his way to make that process go much faster than normal, though he doesn’t actually tell you. Once all of that’s sorted, there’s living arrangements. Try as you might to insist to live somewhere else, his place is too spacious for him to let you stay anywhere else. You can take the guest room.

He pretends that all of this is just happening in his imagination. He doesn’t even know the last time anyone came over, let alone lived with him. He does his best to make things presentable, and makes a guest room for you to live in should you desire. He even buys more decor (plants and things) to make it look… less like a cave and more like a home.

Nothing really feels real until the day arrives though. It’s a long flight and difficult trip. You refused to let him pay for the tickets so he moved it around to get you into first class both ways through other methods.

You text him the terminal, the arrival time, any and all delays. Still. None of it feels real until he’s already waiting for you near the bags. He can feel his heart race, his lungs short of air. He’s never experienced something so ridiculously contradictory in his entire life. He wants to run away while feeling stuck in place.

The anticipation nearly kills him.

He would recognize your voice anywhere though. Like he did for so many days alone in the dark. A hand waves high, shouting as loud as it can.

“It’s you!”

The sound of sneakers skidding across tile floors make his breath hitch. His eyes go wide as you stand still in front of him, luggage in hand and a million-watt smile on your face. He feels his heart beat so loud, he wonders if he’s going to throw up.

“Hey.” He says, dumbly.

“Hi!”

__

The adjustment period to living together isn’t what he expects.

It’s been a long time since he’s been so close to another human being. It becomes clear that you’re really living together though when your things end up in the bathroom completely incidentally. There’s something about finding your sleep shirt on a towel rack that makes reality settle in. You’re living together.

He’d be stupid not to notice the purposeful distance between you. An attempt to be thoughtful and not overwhelm him. It’s never awkward when you’re together. You eat together, watch movies and play games while sitting too close on the couch. You’ve been on a date in the two weeks you’ve spent, and it barely took any convincing on your end to make him go along with you.

Isolation aside though, Odxny is not clueless to the conventions of modern dating. You avoid touching him too casually. He doesn’t blame you, but he can’t help but crave your presence with a little more bittersweet longing as the days pass. He has to get past it or bring it up eventually, but it feels like something he’s never going to get over somehow.

The opportunity to do so gets thrown at him all at once. You’ve been living together for sixteen days. A conversation about love languages is what undoes it.

“Whats your love language, Od?”

He gives you a quizzical look. “Dunno actually. Never bothered to look.”

“I’d guess… hm. Quality time maybe? Or words of affirmation.”

He shrugs as he sits next to you on the couch, glancing at your phone as you read through the different ones. “What’s yours?”

“Physical touch. I’m super touchy. With anyone who will let me, honestly. Bad habits.”

Odxny gives you a long look as you say it. He debates if he should bring it up.

“You don’t have to be so careful around me, you know?”

You look up at him, startled by the comment. Several things pass over your face before you settle on an apologetic smile. “Sorry. It’s not like I don’t want to. I just don’t want to be too much for you.”

“That wouldn’t happen.” He says automatically. You laugh good-naturedly.

“Your confidence is assuring, but you underestimate how touchy I am. I’m afraid of I get my hands on you, I’ll never let go again,”

He thinks he wants that more than is normal. He shakes his head. “I don’t mind.”

You give him a long look, seeming struck by an idea, before humming and standing up. You turn around with your hand out towards him. His brows furrow in bewilderment.

“Have some faith.”

He takes your hand and stands up with you. He likes that he’s taller than you. Staring at you, he feels your fingers clasp around his hand and his heart thuds - loud and messy.

“Your room or mine?”

“What?”

You laugh. “Get your mind out of the gutter. Or don’t actually, but I don’t bear lewd intentions.”

He crinkles his nose at the word usage and laughs. “Shut up.”

“Just trust me, okay?”

He concedes with embarassing swiftness.

“Okay.”

__

You lead Odxny to the guest room you’ve been living in for the last two weeks. The bed is well-made and all the new furniture he bought is occupying so many of your belongings. It makes him dizzy. You shut the door behind him as you lead him in. It just feels especially surreal.

Wordless, you let go of his hand and hop up onto your bed. Once you’re laying down, you prop up on your side with your elbow and pat the empty space next to you, smiling at him as you do. Once it clicks what your asking, he can feel his face grow hot. He can’t refuse it though, and he doesn’t want too.

The sheets you bought together smell like you. Between there’s practically no distance between you at this angle. He’s gotten to look at you plenty through these few days but it’s different. You scoot impossibly close to him until there’s nothing separating you.

Your breath is warm - a soft exhale leaving your lips as you inch closer.

“What’re we doing?” He asks in a murmur, stone stiff. You smile, coyly.

“Touching each other.”

He frowns at the joke. Your expression goes a touch serious right after. The sincerity is debilitating. “Can I touch you?”

He nods. Can’t do much more than that.

He stares at you with impending, long-suffering longing as you bring a single hand to his face and cradle his neck. He flinches unintentionally, but pulls your hand back when you try to move it. He wants this. You relax a little when he does that.

Your hands are softer. Softer than a heartbeat. He can feel the various cuts and scars from years of working against his skin but they’re still so soft. He can feel how warm you in such a brief touch his chest aches. Your hands cradle his face tenderly, thumb brushing across his lip with a smile brighter than thousands of lights. Something in your expression wreaks havoc on his heart. Something so raw and so gentle and so full within it - all directed towards him.

It’s been so long. So long. He’s never wanted something so bad  he couldn’t remember needing. He’s never wanted to be closer to someone than he does to you in the moment.

“You’re handsome,” You say, so sweetly. Not a confession, but gentle appraisal. It’s rare he cries but he wants too. “I like looking at you. Can I kiss you?”

“Please.” He rasps, gravel in his voice unfamiliar.

You hum a little. Closing the space between you with a press of lips. It’s not chaste. Odxny is grateful for how long and how deep you linger. He wants it so badly. He wants you in some damning and unforgiving way. How could a human being feel so warm? Feel so pleasant with so little?

You press your foreheads together. His hand trembles when they grip onto your waist but you encourage him just a little. It’s just a kiss. His heart might beat out of him. It’s just a kiss. He thinks he loves you.

Your hand moves away from his face. You let it go underneath his loose shirt to touch his shoulder, running your palm down the plane of his chest. You squeeze his waist, and wrap your arms around his back and pull him to you until your bodies touch somewhere in the middle.

You guide his face to your neck and chest as you hold him. He grips onto you tight in response, a gasp in the back of his lungs at the sudden sensation. You coo above him, soft and light - your fingers threading through his hair and nails massaging his scalp.

Your voice sounds above him, despite how deep in a haze he is. He can’t do anything but cling to you with impossible longing. You speak softly as you pet him. Your heartbeat soothes his.

“I’m glad you’re here.” You tell him. There’s that familiar clarity that makes him want to cry. “I’m glad you let me come with you.”

He can’t think of anything to say back. It’s a soul-shattering emotion. “I love you.”

You laugh wetly above him. “I love you, too. So much.” And then much softer. “Let’s be together for a long time.”

__

You lay in each others arms until sunset. In small talk and silent murmurs. It takes him hours to work up the courage to kiss you again - but only minutes to take it further.

It’s desperate. Terribly. Inevitable. You’re beautiful in a way that is undescribable, best expressed through his teeth on your neck and his hands all over where he can reach - each grip and thrust and bite a reminder. You’re pretty when you’re pleased, warmth reaching up inside of him whenever you make the right face.

He buries himself in you. You’re soft and warm and beautiful and he wants to stay with you. Time is a thief. He damns the sun when it tears you from him come morning.

__

He decides to make breakfast when you wake up. Nothing complicated. You go to shower after him and he plates up toast and eggs and other various things. It’s half done when you come downstairs.

Your skin is still damp, and you smell of vanilla and soap. Your coffee sits in a cup on the table as you pad over to him. He turns to look at you as you reach your hand up and cup his face. You pepper a kisses along his cheeks stopping at his lips for the last one before you’re satisfied.

He fails in his attempt not to blush.

“Morning.” You grin. He tries not to be sick at the domesticity of it all and fails.

“Yeah. Morning.”

You sit at the counter and drink your coffee, glancing outside the window. “It’s bright outside.”

Odxny can’t tear his eyes off of you. “Yeah...” He agrees. He’s not torn his gaze away. “Very bright.”

✮ a/n ; i want all real life compsci men to kick rocks but odxny sweeped me off my feet in a way i can only describe as humiliating. he is a bit like astarion for me in that i see a lot of myself in him at least in the past. he is also incredibly babygirl and uhm . other things (fine. he's very gorjus.) but i truthfully was most compelled by his idealized idea of isolation. as the fic will show it resonated with me as a fellow compsci dork who also tends to isolate like crazy LOL

this fic was like a demon that possessed me. literally no meds, no caffiene - just balls to the wall demonic possesion of needing something out of my system LMAOO. and adhd of course. im working on all the other stuff too i promise. consider this a short interlude 👍🏾

[max1461]

I have the following Grand Theory of the Twenty-First Century that I would like to put forth. I don't know if it's true, but sometimes I think it's true.

Many of you will have heard of the Flynn effect. This is the observed effect that average performance on IQ tests has gone up since these tests started being administered. On a first glance, it appears that people all over the world have gotten measurably smarter in the past 100 years.

There are a variety of proposed explanations for this. Probably better childhood nutrition and the like has something to do with it. But another proposed explanation is this: IQ tests are known to be trainable. You can practice and get better at them. And you can practice the sorts of tasks that show up on an IQ and get better at those sorts of tasks, which might be why (IIRC?) standardized education seems to improve IQ scores. What sorts of tasks are on an IQ test? Abstract thinking tasks. Tasks related to abstract pattern recognition.

It has been proposed that people today live their lives in a world much more governed by these sorts of abstract tasks. We interface with bureaucracy and paperwork, we manipulate strange little symbols on a computer screen, we internalize the various abstractions we are (explicitly and implicitly) taught in school in order to receive the best grade. Where children 100 years ago were taught by their environment to do physical, concrete things, children today are taught by their environment to engage with abstract systems. And success at engagement with abstract systems is what determines success in life, which was much less true 100 years ago.

There are ways in which I think this is a good thing. Abstract systems have both many uses and many joys, which mathematicians have regaled us with since Euclid, and I think it's a good thing if people are more prepared to engage with abstraction these days. But it's probably not wholly a good thing. After all, there is also much utility and many joys in the physical and concrete, and I suspect that today we live in a world which prepares people markedly less well to succeed at the concrete. This is particularly troubling since many concrete activities make up the very most fundamental bedrock of the human condition (as it has hitherto existed).

In-person social relationships are of a concrete character. Leaving your house and doing shit is of a concrete character. Making and fixing things with your hands is concrete. Fucking is concrete.

I think it is possible, and potentially explanatory of some of the malaise I see among my peers, that we have grown up in a world which has taught us to shuffle symbols instead of to do things. People will blame this on their political opponents, leftists will attribute it to capitalism and rightists will attribute it to this or that form of effeminate progressive ideology, but (at the risk of being immediately dismissed by certain people) I want to suggest that, insofar as this is true at all, it might simply be best understood a consequence of industrial society itself. Abstract tasks simply get more useful and more in demand the greater the complexity of society grows and the more technology expands into our lives.

I don't want to present this sociological theory with too much confidence, and I am certainly not claiming we should burn down all the factories and go live in the woods or whatever. I'm just saying, uh... maybe this is something that's going on. I sometimes look around and think "this definitely might be something that's going on." And if it is going on, we should think about what its implications are.

[thegoldencontracts]

May I request Ace, Deuce, and Riddle taking care of a Ramshackle Prefect reader who’s come down with the flu or something? (I hope requesting multiple characters at once is okay…)

Of course, multiple characters is okay! Thank you so much for requesting!

Sick Days

You're sick. Lovely. But at least your fellow schoolmates are there to make this a bit less awful.

Notes: Sickfic, my beloved, small fics for each character, reader has no pronouns, reader's face isn't mentioned to turn red, no size/hair type giveaways, etc, please tell me if I've added a description that makes the reader difficult to relate to!

You woke up feeling like absolute garbage. You felt hot and cold at the same time, your head hurt, and you were so, so dizzy.

There was a paw on your face. Grim.

"Myah, human, took you long enough!" he said. "Class already started, but the Great Grim stayed behind just for you!"

It took a second for his words to register.

What? Class already started? You're late, this is gonna be terrible, you're late, and-

"You're burnin' up!" Grim said, which was probably true, now that you thought about it. You didn't really feel like addressing his concerns.

Instead, you gave your own very intelligent input.

"Ugh."

"You should probably stay home, human. Get better, so you can get back to serving the Great Grim faster."

Even when he was concerned, Grim just had to be- well, Grim, didn't he? Whatever. You just wanted to sleep. You'd call in absent later, or whatever.

You went to sleep. Tried to, at least. It was half tossing and turning, a quarter trying to get comfortable in your blankets, an immeasurable amount of time sneezing and sniffling - Grim managed to get you a tissue box with his paws at some point and maybe one percent actual resting.

After what, according to the clock was a few hours worth of suffering, you heard a knock on your bedroom.

"Who is it?"

Ace Trappola

"Vil Schoenheit, duh." You were not letting Ace diss you while you were sick. Not a chance.

"Don't come in."

"Jeez," Ace said, seeming pretty concerned. "You sound awful. I'm coming in."

So kind, Ace. So kind. Truly, that man deserved an award for his raw tact.

The door slammed open, and you could see Ace's smug grin fall for a moment before coming back up.

"You got sick?" He said, giving you a once-over.

Obviously you were sick! What kind of question was that?

"No, I'm actually better than I've ever been," you said. "That's why I didn't come to school. To celebrate my raw level of health."

"Whatever. Can't blame you for that, but you're still and idiot for those thick blankets. You're supposed to lower your body temperature when you're sick; even Deuce knows that."

You weren't going to stand for this slander of your mutual friend - no matter how much those two tried to deny their friendship.

"Take back what you said about-"

"And get some food in your system! I'm getting you some soup."

Before you could even say anything, Ace was gone.

Was he- concerned about you? Actually, yeah, that was probably it. Ace was just built like that.

After a while, he was back, with a bowl of soup and a wet towel in hand.

"Trey, uh, had some soup leftover," he said, pressing the towel to your forehead. Cold. So cold. You wanted it off. "And the towel'll help get your temperature down. Don't take it off."

For all you made fun of Ace, he was actually so street-smart it was scary sometimes, and that included being able to read your thoughts.

"I won't," you said, more like mumbled, because your throat was so sore you'd think someone shoved a bunch of needles down it.

"You sound awful," he said with a snicker. "You need water. I'll go get it for you."

You didn't even mind the fact that he was making fun of you right now, you were just thankful for that sweet, sweet water. Your throat was dryer than the Sahara - which, funnily enough, didn't actually mean anything, since the Sahara didn't exist in Twisted Wonderland and was therefore just gibberish.

Lo and behold, he came back, carrying a thermos filled with water.

"Drink some," he said, holding the bottle up to your lips.

That gave you pause. What was next, him feeding you the soup?

Still, you needed the water, so you drank it without thinking.

It felt so good. Finally, rain in the Sahara!

You didn't have much time to rejoice before Ace held up a spoon of soup to your mouth.

"Say ah," he said, evidently very amused.

"I'm not a little kid, I can feed myself."

Ace just looked at you, unimpressed.

"Your hands're shaking so hard I can see them through the blankets," he said. "You're an idiot if you think your hands can take that soup anywhere but all over your blankets."

He was mean, but he was right. Curse him.

You opened your mouth, and he fed you a spoonful. This was how it went until the bowl was gone.

"You can leave now," you said.

"Nah," Ace replied. "You clearly need help getting better."

He was staying, wasn't he? And there was nothing you could do to change that. Whatever, maybe being babied wouldn't be so bad.

Besides, this was his own way of showing he cared, and it was one you didn't entirely mind. It'd be rude to push him away.

"Fine, fine," you said.

"Good."

And so, with Ace's help, getting better wasn't so bad.

A week later, however, Ace himself got sick. He really should've seen that coming.

"Here, say 'ah'."

"D-Don't feed me, idiot! I'm not a baby, I can do it myself."

How the turns had tabled.

Deuce Spade

"It's me, Deuce."

That was a relief.

"Come in," you said. "It's not locked."

The door opened, and you could make out the blue hair and black mark of none other than Deuce, one of your two friends from Heartslabyul - No matter how much Ace tried to deny he cared.

"You look terrible, Prefect," he said, and you knew he didn't mean to insult you, but it still hurt.

"I know," you said. "What'd you come here for?"

"You didn't come to class, so I was worried," Deuce said. "Now I know why. Anything I can do to make you feel better?"

There was one thing you wanted, more than anything.

"Water," you croaked out. "Please."

Right now, you and water were star-crossed lovers. Maybe Deuce could change that.

"Right away."

Deuce scurried out of the room, and, after a few, agonizing seconds, came back with your beloved water.

"Do you need help drinking?" he asked.

For a second, you thought that question was offensive. You could get it yourself. Then. you tried to reach for the bottle, and realized that his question was a very good one.

"Yep," you said, because your trembling hand were not bringing that bottle up to your mouth. The task just seemed daunting.

He put the bottle up to your mouth, and you drank up. Finally, your throat was parched. Relief.

"Anything else you need?" Deuce asked.

Although you didn't feel particularly nauseous right now, you weren't going to risk it with a meal. Right now, you just wanted someone to accompany you through your misery.

"Just stay with me," you asked. "You don't have to, I mean, I know you probably have a bunch of things to do, but-"

"No," Deuce said. "I'll stay with you. You're my friend, a-and, I want to do anything I can to make you feel any better."

He looked away.

"S-Sorry, I know how stupid that sounds," he said. You were going to correct his inaccurate statement.

"Deuce."

"Y-Yeah?"

"I'm pretty sure that's the nicest thing anyone's said to me."

"Thanks." Deuce scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. "Anyways, do you wanna know what stuff in class we learned so it's easier for you to catch up?"

You smiled.

"I would love that."

Deuce made that sick day so much better. Somehow, he didn't even get sick. You honestly envied that good immune system. It was good that he didn't suffer for trying to help you, though.

Riddle Rosehearts

"Prefect, I was informed that you were absent from class today. Do you have an explanation?"

"I'm sick," you said, miffed. Riddle was actually great to be around, but god, you didn't have the patience for getting lectured right now.

Silence. More silence. Sheepish scurrying.

After a while, you hear another knock.

"Prefect, it's me," Riddle said. "I would like to apologize for my discourteous behavior prior."

The door opened, and there was Riddle, carrying a bunch of stuff.

"Aagh," was your highly intelligent greeting.

Riddle walked up to you, getting out a towel. He cast a water spell on it.

"You look quite disheveled," he said, putting the now wet towel on your forehead. "I really do feel terrible about the way I addressed you earlier. Trey had some soup leftover, would you like some?"

You nodded. You wanted something warm right now, especially with the cold cloth on your head.

"I'll get it for you, then."

From his bag, he took out a canteen, a spoon, and a napkin. He was really well-prepared, wasn't he? That really wasn't a shock. This was Riddle, after all, top student and ultimate over-preparer - actually, maybe Azul or Jamil took the latter role. Nothing could beat seeing Azul's backup-backup plans for the serious affair of buying cheese from Sam's.

Riddle handed you the soup, waving his magic-pen.

Your hand weren't trembling anymore. Weird.

"That was me," Riddle said, noticing your confusion. "The spell will temporarily let you eat in comfort."

"Thanks," you said, taking a sip of the soup. It tasted so good to your empty stomach. The nausea'd worn off some time ago, and now you were left with the burning feeling of hunger. You scarfed down that soup in no time, leaving Riddle with a concerned look.

"Are you not worried about vomiting?" he said.

You shook your head.

"I don't feel nauseous," you said. "Not now, at least."

That seemed to be a good enough answer for Riddle, who nodded.

"Is there anything else you'd like?"

"Can you help me catch up on the stuff I missed?"

"Of course," Riddle said, summoning a massive notebook. You gulped.

This was going to be a long day, wasn't it? Oh, well, at least it wouldn't be as bad as it would've been without Riddle.

Only three days after helping you get better, Riddle also got sick. You felt so bad, he was a stickler for attendance and now he was missing school because of you! You had to help him.

"I'm so, so sorry, Riddle, I swear!"

"You- achoo! H-Have nothing to- to be sorry for, Prefect."

[kabartmatzu]

I wanted to redesing and rewrite Miraculous for a while. Then thought why not share my ideas so here is Chloé Bourgeois. (Duddeee I forgor the wingss?? 💀)

In my rewriting, power system is different. I will explain it on my further posts. Here I want to tell you more about my version of Chloé aka Queen Bee.

Chloé’s character is similar to show version. (First two seasons) Mommy issues, struggling with social relationships, bully… The difference is I keep the redemption arc :D In my version Ladybug and Chat Noir get their miraculouses when they were in high school. But show will take place at their twenties when they are in university. We will have flashbacks about high school years and how they got their miraculouses. Chloé also gets her miraculous in high school but it will be taken from her by Ladybug. This events will be similar to show too. Chloé won’t reveal her identity to everyone but will do wrong things to fix and seem like a hero. Her plan was to impress her mother as Queen Bee so later she can reveal her identity to her and make her mother proud of her for once :’) (Damn you Audrey)

Her only friend was Adrian for her whole childhood (same goes for Adrian) thanks to Audrey’s business with Gabriel. I thought her whole feelings towards Adrian is platonic but in her high school times she thought she has romantic feelings towards him because she never had friends other than Adrian and never had romantic interest. That’s why she will be clingy towards Adrian in high school.

In last year of high school after Ladybug took Bee miraculous from her, Marinette will try to fix her relationship with Audrey like in the show but it won’t work and Audrey probably say some really heartbreaking things and this will make Chloé angrier. She will blame Marinette and will be ruder to everyone (espacially to Marinette) at school, Sabrina will dump her (yaaay), Ladybug won’t trust her about an akuma attack (there are no akuma in my story tho but i want you to know what i am referring to rn) and Adrian will talk with her about her actions and how he doesn’t want to keep being friends with her anymore if she continues. She will get akumatized too and hurt her teacher (forgor her name) and Sabrina. She will collapse and leave Paris. I am not sure where she will go, probably i will make her go another country at Europe.

She will change her contacts so Adrian won’t be able to reach her. She will go therapy there and will be emotionally better. I feel like she would study child psychology maybe become a teacher or something. I also thought she will take self defense classes too since Ladybug told that she doesn’t have enough experience on fighting and they ve been getting educated for years to hold a miraculous, when she took bee miraculous from her. ( thats a lie tho it has only been a few months not years lmao)

After 2 or 3 years she will return to Paris (when show takes time at)for a few days just to see her father and apologize to Sabrina, Adrian and Marinette. I thought Sabrina won’t even wanna listen her. So she will decide not to see Adrian because she will think he doesn’t want to see her either. Then she will find herself in the middle of akuma attack. She will see where the akumatized item is. Ladybug and Chatnoir will be surprised to see her there of course but they are in the middle of fight. Chloé will try to tell where the akuma is but Ladybug will immediately tell Chatnoir to take her somewhere safe and he will. Chloé will tell Chatnoir that she knows how to defeat the akuma and she is sorry for being a bad holder back than. Adrian is so confused seeing her friend after years of course but can’t say anything (you know ,secret identity 🤷). Akuma will be defeated and he will go to Chloé to thank.

So then she will go to bakery hoping Marinette will be there in university break and hoping at least Marinette would like to listen her like back then. And as she hoped, Marinette wants to listen her. I might make a comic with this scene later. Right now I don’t have the words to describe the dialogue in here. But it will be about how she came to apologize and she is now a different person but how she doesn’t expect to be forgiven since Sabrina didn’t. And I thought Marinette would hug her seeing how in the edge she is and she might cry :’’(

I know I know it is so plane but i am not good at writing. I just tell what my ideas are. It is not the end. I will write about what happens later but first I should make posts about other holders and power system. Powers are different in my version so story might be confusing without knowing them. Bee miraculous also has slightly a different power. So first I will tell about them. Then I might try harder and write the story better hehe.

About Zoe btw I don’t even know if I want her to exit lmaoo. No hate don’t get me wrong but she is not even a character in the show. I am not sure what to do about her yet.

Thank you for reading, I appreciate that. 🪐🌟

=====Turkish translate======

Bir süredir Mucize’yi tekrar tasarlamak ve yazmak istiyordum. Kendi kendime dedim ki neden fikirlerimi paylaşmayayım ve paylaşmaya karar verdim. Ta daa Chloé Bourgeois! ( kanatlarını çizmeyi unutmuşum ama çaktırmayın)

Benim alternatifimde güç sistemi farklı. İlerki postlarımda açıklayacağım. Burada daha çok benim tasarladığım Chloe’den diğer adıyla Kraliçe Arı’dan bahsetmek istiyorum.

Aslında Chloe’nin karakteri dizidekine yakın. (İlk iki sezondaki) Annesi ile sorunları, sosyal ilişkilerde sıkıntılar, zorba biri olması… Fark ise ‘redemtion arc’ ını çöpe atmadım. :D Benim versiyonumda Uğur Böceği ve Kara Kedi mucizelerini lise okurken alıyorlar ama hikaye üniversite yıllarında, yirmili yaşlarında geçiyor. Lise yıllarında yaşadıklarına arada ‘flashback’lerle değinmeyi düşünüyorum. Chloe de mucizesini lisede alıyor ancak Uğur Böceği ondan geri alıyor. Bu olaylar da dizidekine benziyor. Chloe kimliğini herkese açıklamak yerine önce Kraliçe Arı olarak annesini etkileyip sonra ona kimliğini açıklamayı düşünüyor. Böylelikle sonunda annesinin onunla gurur duyacağını düşünüyor. Dizideki gibi sorunlar çıkarıp sonra kahraman gibi davranıp insanları kurtarmış gibi gösteriyor kendisini.

Küçüklüğünde tek arkadaşı Adriandı. O da annesi Audrey’in Gabriel ile olan işi sayesinde. Aslında Adrian’a karşı tamamen platonik sevgi (arkadaş olarak seviyor yani karşılıksız sevgi anlamında değil) beslediğini düşünüyorum. Hiç bir zaman romantik hisleri olmadı ama Adrian’dan başka arkadaşı olmadığı için ve daha önce hiç romantik duygular hissetmediğinden Adrian’a olan duygularını romantik sevgi ile karıştırdığını düşünüyorum.

Lisenin son yılında Uğur Böceği, arı mucizesini ondan alıyor; Marinette Chloe’nin annesi ile olan ilişkisini düzeltmeye yardım ederken işler ters gidiyor ve Audrey, Chloe’ye kalp kırıcı şeyler söylüyor. Bu Chloe’yi ilerki günlerde daha agresif yapıyor, Marinette’i her zamankinden daha fazla aşağılayıp olanlar yüzünden onu suçluyor, Sabrina dayanamayıp onunla ilişkisini kesiyor (yürü be Sabrina), Uğur Böceği akuma saldırısı konusunda Chloe’ye güvenmiyor( akumalar benim versiyonumda yok ama şimdilik anlaşılmak için akuma diyeceğim) ve Adrian böyle biri olmaya devam ederse onunla arkadaş olmak istemediğini söylüyor. Bunların hepsi Chloe’nin duygusal olarak yıkılmasına hatta belki akumalanarak sevdiği insanlara, şu adını unuttuğum öğretmenleri ve belki Sabrina’ya, zarar vermesine yol açıyor. Tüm bunlar Chloe’nin Paris’ten ayrılarak başka bir Avrupa ülkesine gitmesiyle sonuçlanıyor.

Burda Chloe iletişim bilgilerini bile değiştiriyor ve Adrian dahil kimse ona ulaşamıyor. Terapi alıyor. Üniversitede çocuk psikolojisi okuyor belki de öğretmen olmak istiyor diye düşündüm. Hatta bazı dövüş sanatlarını da öğreniyor çünkü Uğur Böceği mucizeyi alırken ona yeterli savaş deneyimi olmadığını ve kendilerinin yıllardır eğitim aldığını söylüyor. ( Yalan tabii. Sadece bir kaç aydır çalışıyorlar yıllardır değil.)

2 ya da 3 yıl içinde ( hikayenin geçtiği zaman ) Paris’e dönüyor. Sadece bir kaç günlüğüne babasını görmeye; Sabrina, Adrian ve Marinette’den özür dilemeye geliyor. Sabrina onu dinlemek bile istemeyince Adrian’ın da aynı tepkiyi vereceğini düşündüğünden onu görmekten vazgeçiyor. Marinette’i görmeye giderken kendisini akuma saldırının ortasında buluyor ve Uğur Böceği ile Kara Kediye yardım etmeye çalışıyor. Kahramanlar Chloe’yi gördüklerine çok şaşırıyorlar ama savaşın tam ortasındalar bu yüzden Kara Kedi onu alıp daha güvenli bir yere götürüyor. Chloe, Kara Kedi’ye akumanın nerde olduğunu söylüyor ve önceden kötü bir kahraman olduğu için özür diliyor. Adrian eski arkadaşını gördüğüne çok mutlu oluyor tabii ama hiç bir şey söyleyemiyor çünkü gizli kimlik şeysinden. Akumayı yeniyorlar tabii ve Chloe ye teşekkür ediyor.

Daha sonra Chloe Marinette’ i görmeyi umarak pastanelerine gidiyor. Ve umduğu gibi Marinette orda oluyor. Burdaki sahne hakkında daha sonra bi çizgi roman yapmayı düşünüyorum şimdilik dialog kafamda tam değil ama basitçe Marinette’den özür diliyor, artık eskisi gibi olmadığını ama yine de Sabrina gibi affetmek zorunda olmadığını sadece farklı biri olduğunu bilmesini istediğini söylüyor. Burda Marinette’in ona sarılacağını düşündüm bu da yaşlarını zor tutan Chloe’yi ağlatacak.

Biliyorum biliyorum anlatımım aşırı düz ama yazmakta iyi değilim. Sadece kafamdaki fikirleri aktarıyorum. Bu son değil. Devamını yazacağım ama önce diğer Mucize kullanıcıları hakkında ve güç sistemi üzerine postlar yapmak istiyorum. Neleri değiştirdiğimi bilmeden hikayeyi anlamak zor olabilir. Yazım şeklimi de daha akıcı ve güzel hale getirmeye çalışacağım.

Zoe’yi sorarsanız onun hakkında ne yapacağımı henüz bilmiyorum. Onu hikayeye ekler miyim emin bile değilim. Açıkçası dizide hiç bir kişiliği olmayan bom boş bir karakter. O yüzden emin değilim.

Okuduğun için teşekkür ederim. 🪐🌟

[oldshrewsburyian]

Any thoughts on *why* so many people are subliterate now? Is the educational system really that much worse than it was even 15-20 years ago? Or is the tsunami of information we all live with too much to deal with? Or is there something else going on?

...I do have Thoughts on this, actually! Quite a few of them! And I suspect that the answer to your slate of options might be: D, all of the above. I will address your points out of order (sorry.)

B: As for the information tsunami/superhighway, I don't think it's to blame in itself. As the president of an academic organization said at the biennial conference in 2016, "Nous lisons de plus en plus, mais nous lisons autrement" (we read more and more, but we read differently.) It says something about what he meant and about that particular historical moment that I was live-tweeting. And obviously I'm not saying that reading the internet is bad (I read the internet all the time.) But I do think that it facilitates habits of minimal, shallow, or superficial reading, and I do think that's a problem. I once had a student say--in class!--that the historical essays I assigned were challenging for him because he's more used to reading tweets. I stared at him for several long seconds before saying "Then this is good practice for you." I also had a very sweet student in a first-year college seminar who just had no clue how sentence mechanics worked, so I had to find a gentle way of asking, in office hours, "Do you... read at all? for fun?" "Oh, I read all the time," said this sweet student confidently, and my own reading habits enabled me to counter: "Fanfic or published works?" And yep, that's your problem right there. Obviously I read and write fanfic myself. But reading principally fanfic is a great way not to learn how grammar works.

A: in the US? ...yeah, it kind of is, actually, which is horrifying. Like a lot of the rest of my demographic (educator, xennial, NPR devotee,) I listened to the APM podcast Sold A Story. In going to find you the link, I found bonus episodes which I also highly recommend, in part because they include criticisms of the podcast and notes on policy. But what this podcast describes also tracks with my experiences in two very grim years when I tutored reading at the elementary/middle school level, and also found reading comprehension to be a weak link in ACT/SAT prep.

C: this brings us to "something else going on?" And I don't know what that is. But even my college students who can read at a basic 6th-grade level (sob) seem to have really stunted capabilities for inference. I ask them to make inferences and they look at me with the heartbreaking expressions of confused dogs. Or they'll see something blindingly obvious and say things like "Could this... possibly be...?" and I say brightly: "Yes! that's absolutely what it is! good job!" instead of saying: "What the **** else would it be?" Sometimes an entire class of students will read something without comprehension and subsequently thank me for "explaining" a text when all I have done is paraphrase it. And we're not talking academic articles here; we're talking 2-4 page excerpts of primary sources selected with TLC for a target audience of beginning college students. So far I have not snapped and screamed, "I didn't explain shit!" But I do find myself having to, well, explain that explanation would mean digging deeper into the text. I also find myself puzzled and alarmed by the fact that they don't seem able to identify or describe what they find challenging. If I had a nickel for every time I've heard "Just the entire thing was confusing"...! I've modified entire courses to try to get students more of the reading practice and additional skills they need. I'm not sure how much it's helping.

I really wish I had more answers. What I do have is a lot of despair.

[collapsedglasshouses]

Like The Movies || Vinny Mauro x fem!Reader

PICTURE FOUND ON PINTEREST

SUMMARY: When Vinny and his childhood best friend Y/n jokingly decide to watch adult movies together, things escalate rather quickly.

WARNINGS: smut, MDNI, watching porn together, mutual masturbation, mutual pining, mentions of drug consumption, friends to fwb sorta, …

A/N: I wrote this last night, I don’t know where it came from… Maybe I’ll write another part. I don’t know yet! This is not proofread sorryyy

TAGLIST: @measuredingold @cncohshit @nerdraging4point0 @circle-with-me @tearfallpixie (i hope you dont mind me tagging you, i thought you would like to read this ♡)

Vinny was glad tour was over. Not that he didn’t enjoy it, he had a blast. But coming back home meant one thing for him. He would see you again. Vinny couldn’t remember a time where he hadn’t known you. Since he could remember, you were there. From kindergarten, where you beat up a guy that stole him a shovel while building a sand castle, to high school, where you were there for each other during the worst heartbreaks.

Even when he became the drummer for Motionless in White, you were there. You supported him through every life stage he was going through and it even came to the point where you bought the house next to his. You two were basically attached at the hip.

It was no wonder that when he was back in town, he visited you the second he had settled back in. There was this tradition, where to two of you would meet up, smoke some weed and talk about everything that happened during the time you couldn’t see each other. Nothing was out of the usual. Except… Everything was out of the usual this time…

It was a warm Saturday evening in July. The sun was slowly setting down and he had just come over to your house. Of course, it meant he would be here until late at night. As always.

Since the temperature reached their peak at this point, it was no wonder you only wore shorts and a crop top. Nothing Vinny hadn’t seen you in before, but this time he took a great notice in how good it actually fitted you.

As usual, you both had been smoking for almost an hour at this point and you were currently babbling about the most random shit that came to your mind. You enjoyed your time together as always. But you actually didn’t know how you got to the topic you were currently talking about.

“Oh, come on! You can’t be serious.” You exclaimed while handing him the joint. His cheeks were almost crimson red at this point. He was nervous. “You can’t tell me you really enjoy these overdramatic movies.”

“It’s not like I enjoy enjoy it, I just skip videos until I reach one that I can, you know, finish to.” He mumbled and let out a small giggle before he inhaled again.

“And you decided an old and corny eighty’s porn was the right choice?” You giggled and let your head fall onto the backrest of the couch for a second. It wasn’t unusual for you to talk about sexual events in your lives, considering you had gone through so much together, but hearing that he jerked of to something like that made you giggle almost uncontrollably.

“Oh, don’t make fun of me, I bet you watch that shit all the time.” He threw back at you, before putting the joint, or what was left of it, out.

“I’m not saying, I don’t watch porn, I’m just saying I try to keep my taste… Authentic.” You answered him honestly and shifted in your place for a second. Vinny did not miss how your crop top rode up a little and how it warmed his cheeks even more, but he decided to blame it on the drug running through his system.

“So, what’s authentic in your eyes?”

That’s when you noticed something changed. The energy in the room shifted. You looked into your best friend's greenish eyes and you noticed how they seemingly became darker. You knew he just wanted to tease you but something in his tone sparked your curiosity. Something in his attitude made you think he was genuinely interested in your taste in adult films; curious even.

“Should I show you?” You almost whispered, after contemplating your answer for what seemed like eternity. You thought about if it would make things between you and Vinny awkward but you ultimately decided against it. Nothing ever could make things between the two of you awkward.

You saw how his Adam's apple bobbed and you felt strange. There was this feeling in your gut, you couldn’t quite describe. A feeling you had never felt before when you were around him but you just blamed it on your not-sober state.

“Why not?” He mumbled quietly and you could have sworn how his gaze went to your lips for a second.

“Okay.”

Around twenty minutes later, you were gathered around your tiny laptop screen. You had finally decided on a movie to show Vinny but now that you were really sitting there, you were strangely unprepared and vulnerable.

A shaky breath escaped your lips, and you felt hot all of a sudden. There was something weirdly intimate about this thing. You felt dirty to some extent. You were about to show your best friend your taste in adult movies. You turned to face Vinny for a second, his gaze filled with an anticipating and curious expression.

“What if you find it weird?” You mumbled and his eyes immediately found yours.

“There is literally nothing about you that could surprise me in the slightest, Y/n.” He reassured you with a slight teasing tone. It took you a second to believe his words. But he was right. He knew everything about you. There was nothing weird about two best friends watching that stuff together.

“We can make a deal.” He then exclaimed and you blinked at him. “If we feel weird at any point, we just put it out and watch some dinosaur documentary or something.”

You laughed at the randomness of his media choice.

“What?” – “Dinosaur documentaries? Seriously, Vin?” Vinny smirked for a second before he lifted his hands in defends. “If you find it more comfortable, we can also sit in silence and stare at the wall.”

“No, no. You are right.” You exclaimed before holding out your hand which he took and shook lightly. “Deal.”

When you leaned down to load the video, you noticed how Vinny shuffles in this place. It felt like your heart was going to explode out of your chest.

Breathe, Y/n, breathe.

After a short intro that promoted the person’s OF the video cut to a couple in a bedroom. The naked guy was sitting on the edge of the bed, almost shaking in anticipation as the girl was slowly kneeing down in between his legs. Even though the video was filmed in third person, you could clearly see how she looked up at him through her lashes. Then she began to blow him.

You swallowed hard, not really knowing what to do. You sat stiff, not daring to look at Vinny for a solid minute. The only noise filling the room being the guy’s small moans and whimpers.

“Do you like when guys moan?” Vinny then asked, causing you to look at him with a surprised look on your face.

“What?” - “I-… I mean you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to but-…”

“Yeah… I-… I think I like it. When it comes naturally of course.” You mumbled and felt how your cheeks grew warmer.

You looked each other in the eyes for a second before he nodded slightly. The scene cut to him eating her out, their positions switched.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you saw that Vinny‘s eyes were completely glued to the screen. His eyes were wide. His mouth slightly open and he occasionally sucked his lip in to dampen it. You wondered if he enjoyed it.

You took a deep breath, trying to forget about Vinny sitting next to you, before looking at the screen again. They began fucking at this point. It was the first time you even noticed what watching porn was even like. You watched strangers chase each other’s high for your own entertainment.

You noticed the way the woman threw her head back as the guy pounded into her. She wasn’t fake-moaning, slight noises of enjoyment leaving her pink lips. Occasionally, there were words of praise exchanged between the two of them and you couldn’t help your mind wondering off again. You felt how your stomach started to heat up. You felt yourself shifting in your seat. You felt the way your mouth felt dry and you had to keep licking your lip to feel comfortable. The same way Vinny had to. You noticed how your nipples perked up slightly. How your crop top started to feel tight.

You were starting to get worked up and even though you put great afford into it, you couldn’t help but peak a glance at Vinny once in a while. His cheeks were tinted in a red tone and even though you tried not to, your gaze wondered to his pants. He was hard.

Your entire face and stomach went incredible hot at this sight, like you’d been suddenly standing in the hot summer sun. His hands that had become much more defined due to playing the drums so frequently, were laying on his thighs and he occasionally rubbed them against his black shorts like he was desperate to move them.

What shook you the most, though, was that you wanted him to move his hands.

You took a deep breath again, trying to calm your nerves. You couldn’t believe you just thought about your best friend masturbating next to you. You tried your utter best to lock those thoughts away but it didn’t even take a minute until your eyes settled back onto his figure. It intrigued you. He intrigued you.

You didn’t know how to ask him if he wanted to touch himself. You didn’t want to make it weird. But you desperately wanted to ease the tension in the room. You knew you yourself couldn’t hold back for much longer. Not that you didn’t have self-control but seeing him being so turned on by the movie, made you feel even more desperate.

Onscreen, the scene had totally changed a couple of times but you didn’t even notice one bit of it.

“Vinny?” You said, your voice sounding raspy. He made a quiet noise in response, almost sounding like a whimper. Fuck.

“You… I… I'm mean y-… You can…” You sighed before starting the sentence over. “You can touch yourself if you want.”

He swallowed and glanced over at you, looking at you for the first time since your whole dilemma had started. His beautiful eyes were dark and mirrored some kind of hunger, his cheeks flushed and you couldn’t deny how gorgeous he looked. “I-… I mean, you can too.”

“Yeah,” you gasped in response. “Yeah, it’s not weird.” 

With that the dam was broken. Any clear thought in your head that would have held you back even in the slightest, was washed over by how ridiculously turned on you were.

You took a deep breath before you fingers slipped past the waistband of your shorts. You were soaking wet at this point. For a short second you coated your fingers with your arousal before placing them on your clit. There was no going back. You began to circle your clit, chasing your high as you closed your eyes.

“Shit.” You slightly moaned and threw your head back on the backrest. Even though your common sense tried to ignore the presence of your best friend next to you, you couldn’t help but focus entirely on the fact he was there. You slightly looked at him again.

You were hearing him. Soft noises slipped past his lips, his hand slightly rubbing along his clothed erection.

“You don’t have to be shy, Vinny.” You breathed out, “I won’t mind.”

“Really?” He asked. You nodded quickly and he let out a relieved sigh. He leaned forward for a second and slipped out of his shirt, earning himself a surprised look of you.

“I don’t wanna wash it, I have just put it on before coming over.” He explained and you nodded with a sheepish smile, realizing what he implied. You tried to hide how you swallowed hard. You knew you shouldn’t have watched him. It was crossing the lines of what friends should and should not do, but you couldn’t help but realize how fucking good he looked.

He basically shoved his hand into his briefs to get some relief.

Onscreen, the girl gripped the sheets of the bed to hold herself together, while you realized your hand at grabbed the small blanket laying next to you, doing the exact same thing.

Your mind was racing. You didn’t know if you should blend Vinny out completely or let your thoughts win. It was like you needed him to be there and at the same time wondered if this would change anything. You knew this was wrong deep down, you knew this was crossing a line but then he made this noise. This sweet and soft moan that escaped his lips made your head go blank.

You peaked over at him and noticed his gaze was on you. On your hand that was between your lips. You were on fire, your chest heaving.

You knew both of you should have looked away, but you didn’t want to. You wanted to watch Vinny. You lifted your fingers to your lips for a second and licked them, causing him to let out a loader moan. You couldn’t do this anymore.

When you moved them between your thighs again and pushed them inside of you, you felt like Vinny was about to crumble into a million little pieces. The pace of his hand became faster and you couldn’t help but look at his member for a second. God, he was big.

As you curled your fingers to find the delicate spots inside of you, you feared this moment would be over any second. You wanted to stay like this for eternity. Watching Vinny get off to the scene of you doing the same. You loved how he looked.

“Don’t stop, Y/n.” He moaned out when he saw you slowing down for a second and that alone almost drove you over the edge. You didn’t know if it was your horniness but you wanted nothing but to kiss him. It felt like his whines and whimpers turned you into some sort of monster that craved him but right now you weren’t even clear enough to filter out your own thoughts.

The sight of Vinny with his member in his hand felt like an intense experience. The sort of experience that made you want to change your thoughts on life completely

“You’re so fucking pretty, Vin.” You moaned out, not holding back in the slightest. “I wish I could feel you.”

If it was even possible, his cheeks turned even more red. You felt your whole skin prickling. The movie in the background long forgotten. You were staring into each other’s souls at this point. If he hadn’t known everything about you at this point, now he definitely did. And so did you.

It felt like a long-awaited event when you finally reached your high. All the tension leaving your body in such immense waves you feared you would collapse. You moaned his name loudly as your head fell back in the backrest.

Then the moans fell from his lips. It almost felt like you would cum again when you saw him cum on his chest for a second, but you pressed your eyes closed for second to calm your thoughts.

You didn’t open them for a couple of minutes until the volume of the movie in front of you was turned down a little. You peaked through your eyelashes, seeing Vinny had cleaned himself and put his shirt on again.

You slowly leaned forward and stroked over your clothes, trying to smooth them out, in an attempt to drown out your incoming thoughts. You were hyper-aware of Vinny’s gaze.

“Everything alright?” You mumbled, trying to ease the tension between you.

“Yeah…” He mumbled and ran a hand through his hair. “Good movie… I guess.”

You didn’t really exchange any words, before Vinny sighed and mumbled. “I need to go home. Ricky asked if we would hangout on Discord after I get home from yours and I don’t want to leave him hanging for too long.”

You nodded, trying to gift him a small smile but all of the sudden you couldn’t look at him anymore. Not that you felt guilty or something, you just feared that those feelings would bubble up again.

“If you want I can call you afterwards and we can watch some dinosaur documentaries together.” Vinny then suggested and you laughed for a second.

“Yeah… okay.” You mumbled and put a strand of her behind your ear.

After that he quickly got up and left, leaving you with your thoughts.

After you cleaned up your living room and showered you quickly got ready for bed and awaited Vinny’s call when you realized he had texted you the second he had left.

Vin: god this was so hot

He was going to be your death.

DIVIDERS BY @saradika-graphics

[ladykailitha]

Well Met By Moonlight Part 8

And we're back! Are you guys getting my tags, the engagement dropped again. I know that in America there was the holiday but it kinda dropped off before that and I saw other blogs that didn't have their tags work at all. So let me know if you aren't seeing all my posts.

Steve talks to Keith, learns some unsettling news and Robin is awesome.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

****

Billy Hargrove was a racist, chauvinistic asshole with a savior complex longer than his dick, but he was also one hundred times the better man than Dr. Martin Brenner. Granted Brenner was scraping the bottom of the ocean, but Steve was grateful for not having had to deal with him when he was around.

He also knew that he wasn’t going to speak to the Dominus today. He was going to speak to his second in command, Keith Prince.

He didn’t like Steve, and Steve didn’t know why. But considering that despite the last name, he looked more like a toad than a prince, Steve had a pretty good idea the dude was just jealous of Steve’s good looks.

He walked up to the coven, bare ass on display, having just shifted.

“The fuck do you want, Harrington?” Keith snarled. “And why can’t you come dressed like decent folk?”

“Because I’m a werewolf, Keith,” Steve sighed. “The fastest way for me to travel is to wolf out.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “You could always send Carol or Robin to do your dirty work. That is what keepers are for, aren’t they?”

“That’s isn’t happening in this or any life time,” Steve growled. “Not after you propositioned Robin the last time I sent her here on pack business.”

Keith just sneered. “What. Do. You. Want? I’m busy!”

Steve sighed. “Tell your Dominus that we may have the public school system to blame for the raise in hunters and to ask his thralls what they’ve heard.”

Keith scoffed. “He already knows about that shit and they don’t know nothin’.”

Steve’s spine stiffened at the tone and the fact that Billy already knew about the thing with Josh.

So either he had Lucy in his pocket, or there was a spy in his pack. Neither was an option he wanted to entertain.

Steve showed his teeth, forcing Keith to back down.

“You shouldn’t lie to an alpha, dumbass,” he snarled. “I can smell the stench of the lie coming off you like stale weed. You tell your Dominus that if he thinks he can push me around, remind him what happened to the last asshole who crossed me.”

Keith straightened up and bowed his head. “My apologies, alpha.”

Steve snapped his jaw at Keith before shifting back into a wolf. A wolf that could look Keith in the eye. He showed his teeth again and was gratified when he smelled the scent of urine wafting from the vampire.

He leapt through the door, leaving the scent of urine, lies, and fear far behind him.

*

Steve came back in time to see Josh off to his parents. He watched as Josh chatted happily with them over everything he did.

“…Did you know that a single werewolf could eat up to thirty pounds of meat a day? But not raw, that’s a myth...” Josh prattled on, his parents giving each other amused glances behind his back.

Steve turned to Tommy, the keeper that was hiding in the crow’s nest near the entrance.

“It sounded like he had fun,” he said, as Tommy leapt down in front him.

“Carol wanted to straight up adopt him,” Tommy said with a sneer.

“She always did have a soft spot for strays,” Steve murmured as Tommy fell instep next to him. “Especially strays that love shopping.”

Tommy nose twitched. “You went to that vampire mongrel’s again, didn’t you? I can smell him from here.”

Steve smacked Tommy’s head. “He’s not a mongrel just because he was made instead of born. Where are you kids getting these ideas? Jesus Christ.”

He snorted. “Whatever, I can still smell him.”

“I saw the mayor and visited the coven too,” Steve said dryly. “I was doing my duties as an alpha. There is something wrong in this town and I am going to figure out what.”

Tommy sniffed again. “Yeah, I get it. I don’t want Hopper back as the alpha anymore then most of this pack, so you better figure it out, before you get yourself killed.”

Steve pushed him playfully. “Shut it, Tommy!”

Tommy laughed. “I bet I can beat you to the center, no shifting.”

“You’re on!”

*

Steve was in his hut? Cottage? Living structure? He was never sure what to call all the little houses that was in the compound. Hell, he didn’t even like the word compound, really. It felt cult-ish. Which they weren’t.

Werewolves had tried living in towns for millennia and it never worked out well for the werewolves. They would get blamed for everything from failed crops, high infant mortality rates, and plagues.

So they started forming their own communities inside towns. Much like the Vatican and Italy.

Well whatever anyone called them, it was home.

Steve was at home, playing cards with Robin.

“So what did you think of Josh today?” he asked, drawing a card.

“I bet Tommy whined about it all the way back to the center of camp,” Robin said with a scoff.

“It’s actually fucking ridiculous how much the pack is so...so...” he threw his hands in the air frustration. “Fuck I don’t know the right word for it. But click-ee?”

“Clicky?” Robin asked. “What the hell does that mean?”

“You know, a click,” Steve said. “The jocks, the cowboys, the goths, the freaks. A click.”

“Ohhh...” she said. “A clique.”

Steve frowned. “Isn’t that what I just said?”

Robin half shrugged. “Sort of. But yeah, I’ll agree to the pack becoming more and more cliquey. It’s become very insular since...” she paused to think. “Actually I don’t when it started, but it’s recent. I just can’t tell you how recent.”

Steve hummed. “It’s becoming a problem and one I don’t know how to fix. I mean Josh and Chance here will help not only them realize that we aren’t monsters, but that regular humans aren’t monsters either.”

Robin nodded. “It’s certainly a step in the right direction. You need to get out more in the community. Do Q&As at the town hall and middle school.”

Steve scratched his cheek thoughtfully. He placed all his cards down. “Out.”

“Skunked again!” Robin shrieked. “How are you so good at this game?”

Steve just shrugged. “Why not elementary schools?” She stared at him blankly. “For the whole Q&A thing.”

“Oh, that,” she said, waving her hand. “Because despite there being an actual werewolf in the school no teacher or parent would agree to you speaking to kids that young.”

Steve sighed. She was probably right. “’K, so middle schools and town halls help with the community at large but what about the pack?”

She just shrugged. “That’s something you should really talk to your alpha female about, you know.” She scooped up the cards and began shuffling them.

Steve sighed. He did know. But he also knew that Nancy was still very much a conservative when it came to pack dynamics. She had actually turned him down twice because she felt that the alphas should be mated.

It wasn’t until Steve asked her and she couldn’t come up with a logical, non-sexist reason why that should be the case that she accepted the role.

“I love her dearly,” he said instead. “But I just kinda want to spit ball some ideas with you that I can take to her. So I don’t look stupid.”

Robin shoved his shoulder playfully. “She doesn’t think you’re stupid.”

Steve scoffed. She really, really did.

“Okay,” Robin conceded. “Maybe a little.”

“There is also the little matter of the spy,” Steve grumbled.

Robin grimaced and chewed her bottom lip. “You know it’s Tommy, right? Please tell me you know it’s Tommy.”

Steve frowned. “No. Why would it be Tommy?”

She sighed and scooted close to him. “Steve, he’s been hanging on Billy’s coattails at school. He’s always talking about how great Billy is on and off the court. Hell, if I thought Billy liked boys I wouldn’t be surprised to learn Tommy was sucking his dick.”

Steve ran his fingers through his hair. “But I need to make sure. I just can’t go accusing people without proof.”

“I don’t think you should accuse him at all.”

Steve reared back in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, dingus,” Robin said slyly. “You make sure to tell Tommy things you know you want Billy to know. Because a spy you know is better than one you don’t.”

Steve gave her a big hug. “I wish you were my alpha female.”

She hugged him back. “I know.”

“Have you thought about asking for the bite when you turn eighteen?”

She shuffled back a bit and put her hands on her knees and then nodded. “Yeah. I’ve talked to my parents about it. They’re uneasy about having a werewolf for a daughter.”

Steve sighed. “I’m sorry. Maybe the town hall meetings and the Q&As with kids will help.”

She nodded.

“Thanks, Steve.”

He kissed her cheek. “Between you and I we are going to change the world.”

She looked at him shyly. “You really think so?”

“I know so.”

Robin pushed his shoulder again. “You are such a sap.”

Steve laughed. “Yes, but you knew that.”

She looked at the scar on his neck and then reached out to touch it. “I’m sorry they did that to you.”

He shivered at her touch. “I don’t mind it.”

“I do, Steve,” she said fiercely. “They hurt you because they were afraid of you.”

He sighed. “When my parents died, the Franklins were the only ones in town willing to take me in. The only people who knew about the silver collar they made me wear was just the three of us until I turned eighteen.”

“How did no one else know?” Robin asked gently.

“I only wore it when they were home at home,” Steve murmured. “I wasn’t forced to wear it at school. Just at home where I ‘might’ hurt them.”

“It’s still cruel.”

Steve just shrugged.

“Whatever happened to them?” she asked after a moment or two of awkward silence.

“Officially or unofficially?” Steve asked with a smirk.

“There’s an official story?” Robin said eagerly.

He laughed. “Sure is. They are currently on a business trip to...” he looked at his watch, “Tokyo, Japan.”

“What the hell?” she gasped excitedly. “What’s the real story?”

“Only Wayne and I know where their bodies are buried.”

Robin giggled and kicked her feet. “That’s amazing!”

Steve smiled at her fondly. She really was his platonic soulmate.

****

Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14

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