#it's finals week and i'm really struggling

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Hey local sex witch! I just wanted to say thanks for really encouraging the idea of 'do whatever you want forever' on your blog. I've been in a creative burnout for a loooong time, and even when I got new ideas I struggled to put writing to paper because it didn't feel like a good enough idea to bother with. That phrase and concept has really helped me pull myself out of that mental pit though, and I've been getting back into writing, slowly but surely. Because who cares if it's good or not––I'm doing what I want! It feels so freeing to finally get this joy back in my life. (Also it's helped me feel way less apprehensive about cooking, which I didn't expect but I'm super thrilled about.) So seriously, thanks! And I hope something super cool happens to you this week.

huh. this is really beautiful, and advice that I could also stand to take creatively

[sometimeslwish]

'Bout It

I wrote this how it came (which was messy and jumpy) cause this particular brand of snowcrow x reader has been on my head for a while and I needed to get it out. 7218 words in three days is fucking crazy y'all, I might've been possessed.

Honorable mention to this post from @hyperfixationhobo it inspired one of the scenes. Say thank you to @blessdunrest, she's the one that found the link for me.

Word count: 3401 words

Tags: Zayne x non-mc reader x Sylus, gn!reader, there's no mc here, pronouns used to address the reader are they/them, college au, barely any angst in here, no beta reader we die like Grandma Josephine, flirty Sylus, pet names, alcohol mention, cursing, a brief scene where reader is drunk (nothing happens), sleeping in the same bed, reader has a shitty ex (sorry guys), name calling (slut), brief moment of violence (ex got sucker punched)

Part 1

Say you're in college– I know, I know, it's horrible. You're struggling, drowning in papers and projects and assignments.

It's been the most stressful fucking week of your life– not really, you've had a lot of stressful weeks, and there's more to come, but you know you'll get through this one just like you got through the others; with sheer will and determination– so, it's no wonder that you bump (more like slam) into them while on your way to class.

"Shit– I'm so sorry!" You say, instantly bending down to help with his things.

"It's alright," you barely hear him as you scramble to grab the discarded papers and carefully put them together.

"You'll have to go through the trouble of organizing these again, I'm sorry." You apologize again when both of you stand up, handing back his things.

The way you still your movements when you finally look at him is borderline cartoonic; breath held back, jaw fallen open. You're stunned in place, completely leaving behind your embarrassment and your hurry to get to a class you're late to.

Hazel eyes stare back at you from behind glass lenses, and noticing the squared rim makes you pay attention to the rest of his face. The man is gorgeous, beautiful, handsome, pretty, all of them at once and more. It takes the breath from your lungs.

"Holy shit, you're fucking beautiful." The words leave your mouth before you can even process the thought, and you feel your face light up in flames. You hear someone snicker beside him and you turn your head to find another handsome man watching. His features are just as sticking, red eyes and white hair; both of them look like statues that came to life.

"Two handsome best friends? Is today my lucky day?" You look at the time and mutter out another curse before looking at both of them. "I gotta dip, I'm late to class," you start walking away, "Sorry for that again, see you around pretty boy." You wave goodbye looking back one last time before running away. You smile when you catch a glimpse of his reddening ears, feeling a bit giddy as you make your way to class. You're not even sure you'll get to see them again; they could be visiting, for all that you know, but this was nice.

. . . . .

You meet him again at the library.

The way you perk up is instant, smiling and raising a hand to wave at him before going back to your studies. Ruby eyes isn't with him this time, you note, but you make no move to start a conversation over that.

. . . . .

You catch glimpses of them here and there, and when you finally point them out to a friend, you learn that where one goes, the other follows.

"You slammed into Zayne?!!" Tanya whisper-shouts, bringing you closer as if you were in the most dire of situations.

"How do you know his name?" You whisper-shout back.

"Dude, they're, like, the fucking best students here."

"And? You know I don't pay enough attention to those things, I got too much shit in my head."

Tanya huffs, "Their names are Zayne and Sylus," she pulls you along, linking your arms together, "no one knows what Sylus majors in, but Zayne's majoring in cardiology.”

"Ah, ‘pretty doctor’ then." She side eyes you.

"I should've known when you said 'ruby eyes' there's no one else here with that eye color." She mutters before carrying along.

. . . . .

"Fucking hell, what are you made of? Bricks?!"

You ask as you rub your forehead, looking up to find– what was his name again? It started with a T, or was it an S? You know it ended in 'lus' because it reminded you of the words 'luz' and 'lux' both which mean 'light' in their respective languages– Ruby eyes, you've slammed into ruby eyes this time. This impact is a lot more disorienting than last time, though, so much that he had reached out to stabilize you before you fell to the ground.

"Are you alright?" The pretty doctor asks– fuckity fucking fuck, you had forgotten how his voice sounded, all nice and deep, even while tinged with worry– and you nod several times.

"Running late again?" You hear ruby eyes’ voice for the first time– okay, what the fuck? They're not just two handsome best friends, but also two handsome, deep voiced best friends?– the amusement is clear in the rumble of it.

You sigh wistfully, "Yeah." you whisper out a "Thanks" when he lets you go and take a step back, "and sorry. We have to stop meeting like this, I'll probably get a concussion or something. Anyways, see ya guys." You run away again, waving goodbye without looking back.

Sylus is the only one to wave goodbye, but he's not the only one to stare at your retreating form.

They share a look after you're completely out of sight. A very charged look.

. . . . .

You end up sharing one of your classes with him, and it's just your luck that the only empty seat is right next to yours.

"Didn't expect to see you so soon, ruby eyes." You smile as he approaches.

"Little track star, what a surprise; you're not running late to class." He sits beside you with a flourish, a smirk pulling at his lips.

"Haha, very funny, brick man." you poke at his arm, a faux frown on your face, "I'll have you know, it's only that one. Try having a class on the other side of campus in the middle of the day and not run late when you're making your way back.”

He chuckles in amusement and you don't get to talk any longer because the professor walks in and class starts. You feel him stare at you through it. You tried shrugging it off as your imagination at the beginning, but then you turned and caught him. All he did was smirk at you before you tilted your head towards the professor, signaling him to pay attention instead of staring at you.

He listened a little bit, but his eyes kept finding their way to you as the minutes passed. Until he decided that he didn't care any longer and stared unashamedly. The professor did the usual "I know you're not paying attention, so I'm going to ask you a question to make you pay attention" tactic on Sylus, only him to answer it perfectly without even looking away from you.

. . . . .

"Pretty doctor!" You whisper-shout while waving at him and then wave faster when you see Sylus behind him, "and Lux! Hey guys!"

"How long do you plan on calling me that?" Wayne questions as he takes the seat in front of you.

"Forever, duh. Or until you stop blushing, at the very least." You grin as you point out his red ears.

. . . . .

You already knew Zayne and Sylus had a peculiar friendship.

A "bad boy" and the most disciplined college genius together. But you understood why they worked so well the more you spent time with them.

It was balanced, in a way, Sylus called for chaos where Zayne wanted order and vice versa. They allowed each other freedom while remembering not to get too lost in the comfort.

Their banter was unmatched, it never failed to have you clutching at your stomach with tears in your eyes from how hard you were laughing. The sass, the sarcasm, the wit, it was beautiful.

Their humor? Gods, it was horrible, in a good way, of course. Dry jokes, dad jokes and dark humor all around.

"I hate that, I hate that it made me laugh." But not really.

Not when Zayne would smile in that soft, barely noticeable way that made you want to scream.

Not when Sylus's sharp features would soften when he smiled.

. . . . .

“How do you do it?”

“Hmm?” You turn towards Tanya, lifting your head from your notebook.

You're having a study date in your shared dorm room, just the two of you and some soft music without lyrics in it. Or at least, lyrics you could understand, you swore you heard some arabic at some point of the playlist.

“Study?” You look at her notes– flash cards with beautiful calligraphy in different colors and fonts. You don't know how she does it, but you know that it's helped you study along with her, so you don't even say meep about it.

“No, hang out with them.”

“I don't get what you mean.”

“Like, they're geniuses and… intimidating.”

You huff out a laugh, “They're still human, you know? They have good and bad days just like us, they eat and need rest like any other person. Besides, you're a genius too, and we're hanging out, aren't we?”

She scrunches her nose, but says nothing else. You feel like there's something that was left unanswered.

. . . . .

“Really guys? Right in front of my salad?” You grab a spoonful of your ice cream before shoving it into your mouth.

They're flirting in front of you, full on flirting, and no one can convince you otherwise.

Zayne and Sylus are sitting side by side. Zayne with his perfect posture and Sylus with an arm over the backrest, encroaching on Zayne's personal space with a smug smile while Zayne looks amused and exasperated at the same time. Any closer and they could make out right then and there. Not that you'd complain, you're all for them becoming a thing; they'd make a great couple.

They already act like they've been married for 25 years anyways.

Sylus chuckles and leans closer toward you, “Oh there's no need to be jealous, sweetie, there's plenty of me to go around.”

You blink. Once, twice, thrice, a fourth and fifth time. That's the most forward he's ever been with you, it has left you stunned. You gasp with more drama than necessary before swatting at his arm.

“Oh my god, Sylus, you greedy whore.” He chuckles and you look to Zayne to see his reaction. He's already staring at you with an unreadable look in his eyes.

. . . . .

"Oh hey! Look, they're here!" Tanya's voice sounds a little muddled.

You're drunk, drunker than you've ever been, and you're not really paying attention to what she's saying, more focused on hugging her and rubbing your cheek to her shoulder like a clingy cat.

"Hi, sorry, they wouldn't stop asking about you guys, so I just–"

"It's alright, we can take it from here."

You gasp when you hear his voice, "Zayne-bug!" You let go of Tanya to hug him and later pull Sylus into the hug when you notice him too.

“Sylly.” you sing-song while clinging to both of them. Sylus chuckles and Zayne does his best to continue the conversation with Tanya while trying to get you to cling to Sylus instead.

He's close to succeeding when you pull him to kiss his cheek, followed by Sylus’s. You grin up at them, just pure affection and adoration in your eyes. If the kiss wasn't shocking enough, your next words are:

“I love you guys so much.”

They're a bit slurred, but it's enough for them to exchange a look over your head. You keep rambling– about them, their beauty, how great they are, how much you love them– but it gets more mumbled and jumbled as you get more and more into it.

Tanya tries not to laugh, pressing her lips into a line. You're probably going to regret it horribly the next day, but it'll be alright.

. . . . .

You wake up between them.

It's a little awkward. Zayne's bed isn't big enough for the three of you, so all of you are lying on your sides.

Sylus's arm is heavy over your waist and his chest is warm against your back. Zayne is in front of you, a hand held between yours with fingers linked.

You look over to find Zayne already awake and staring at you. His smile is soft, as soft as his “Good morning.” whisper.

You groan and hide your face amidst the mess of fingers created by your hands, curling more into yourself.

“Why is it so bright?”

He huffs out a soft laugh, and shifts to get up and out of bed. You grip his hand tighter when he moves to pull it away.

“You'll have to let go of my hand if you want me to make it less bright.”

“Don't want to. Stay.” You mumble. And so he does.

He stays until Sylus wakes up and you can no longer ignore it.

. . . . .

You catch sight of a familiar face and your blood runs cold.

“Shit, shit, shit, fuck,” you grab a hold of Sylus and instantly use him to shield yourself, holding him in place as you avoid been seen by your ex.

Zayne sighs, giving you a chiding look– you can practically hear his tired “language”– that brings out the brat in you. You stick out your tongue towards him before peeking over Sylus's shoulder.

“Sweetheart?” He's still not allowed to move, you're still gripping his arm, so he can't continue eating. Now, he could switch hands, but your constant glances over his shoulder are concerning.

“My ex is here.” You whisper-shout and that gets Zayne to stop eating.

“Oh? Should I assume they weren't the best by the way you're using me to hide?”

You wince, “Not really? He wasn't that bad, maybe a little… high maintenance.” Sylus raises an eyebrow at your choice of words and you sigh. You let go of his arm to take a bite of your food.

“Fine, he was annoying; wanted my attention on him at all times but barely gave me any. It was always ‘me, me, me’, he even had the fucking audacity to throw fits when I decided to entertain myself when he ignored me or spend time with my friends when he cancelled our plans.” You don't even know how you put up with the treatment at the time. It was exhausting how he kept demanding your life revolved around his while he did whatever the fuck he wanted without a care for you.

You didn't consider it a big deal at the time, life gets busy when you go from being in highschool to being in college, you understood that perfectly. But, in truth, you didn't know the difference between “busy at this college away from yours” and “ignoring you because I'm not bored yet.”

“He broke up with me because, and I quote: ‘I’ve found someone better, someone who can give me the attention that I want’,” you huff and angrily eat your food as you look for something to take out the frustration on, “and then had the nerve to come crawling back, begging me to take him back a few months after.”

“I had to change my phone number, cut contact with who I thought were my friends and delete my social media because he kept bringing everyone else that would listen into it.”

They share a glance while you sigh and chuck the empty container into the trash, “It’s been a few years, and he still keeps looking for me. I’ve given up on a few apps and limited myself to the more… niche ones– if you could call them that– because he just won't fucking stop.” They follow as you start walking away from where you saw your ex, but the retreat doesn't give you peace because you hear your ex's voice call out your name.

“Oh, fuck no,” you link your arms with them and continue walking, pretending you can't hear the voice calling out that godforsaken nickname you now hate. You don't get to make it very far because he catches up and gets in the way.

“Hey, it's been a while.” He smiles, and god does it grate your gears to see him act so comfortably with you. You want to wipe that fucking smile off.

“It should've been ‘never again.’” You scowl and let go of their arms, “What do you want?”

Zayne and Sylus stare with poorly held back curiosity, it's the first time they've heard you sound like this. You're usually so warm, kind and soft, but this? This side of you is cold, sharp and mean. Like the man in front of you is the lowest of scums that could ever exist and giving them your attention and time is a privilege– nay, a luxury they don't deserve. It’s kind of hot to see you like that.

“Please, baby–” hearing that pet name come from his mouth makes your left eye twitch– “I just want to talk.” He looks at your companions and adds “In private, please, just a few seconds.”

You pretend to think it over for a second, “No, either say it with them here or go fuck yourself.”

“Please, you're making a scene.” He looks around and you scoff as you cross your arms, a sarcastic laugh leaving you.

“I wouldn't be making it if you hadn't approached me, now both of us gotta be uncomfortable over your denial to fucking let me go.”

“If you just listened to me–” He starts and the tone of voice raises your hackles even more.

“What do I have to listen to, huh?” You take a step forward, “To your incessant, pathetic begging?–” you clear your throat and make a face as you imitate his voice in the most mocking manner you can muster– “‘Please take me back, I love you, I need you, I can't live without you. Please, give me a chance, I changed, I promise I’m better now, just let me show you.’ You ain't changed shit!”

“Yes, I have!”

“No, you haven't!” You jab his chest, “We wouldn't be having this fucking conversation in the first place if you did! If you did change, you would’ve let me go ages ago. But no, you're here, ruining my fucking date!”

Now that is a lie, and you can already hear the twin “date?” from Sylus and Zayne, they're probably even looking at you funny right now.

Your ex scoffs, and it fires you up even further “As if, they're way out of your league, there's no way you could pull either of them. Ohh, maybe you fucked both of them, that's the only way you could've pulled it off; you've always been such a slut anyways.”

You don't get to punch him; Zayne beats you to it. Calm, amicable, “let's solve the issue with dialogue” Zayne, sucker punches your ex.

You stare in shock.

What the fuck?

Did you just hallucinate that?

No, you couldn't have; your ex is currently on the ground, unmoving.

“Ah, whoops, I didn't mean to do that.”

Whoops?!

Didn't mean to do it?!!

“What?!”

“I didn't mean to knock him out,” He clarifies, already kneeling to check on him, personal feelings and opinions about the jackass be damned as he switches to med-student-on-his-way-to-be-a-doctor mode, “although, I suppose that is better than having to continue listening to his voice.” Zayne says with a bit of a grimace.

He's conflicted, not over punching someone, but over the fact that he unintentionally knocked him out and got rid of two birds with one stone.

Sylus starts chuckling behind you, poorly held back laughter that he can't keep at bay, try as he might. You can't help but giggle along the moment you make eye contact with him, and your giggles become his downfall because he belly laughs. It's not long before you start cackling like a witch as the hysterics take over you.

Zayne stares for a while, completely unimpressed, fighting back his own smile. But then you can't hold yourself up, and you end up bringing Sylus down with you when you try to cling to him for help, and he starts laughing too.

You'll never forget the sight of his shoulders shaking as he laughed quietly, nor his face when he couldn't restrain his smile anymore.

Security arrives right as all of you are calming down. They take statements, check up on your ex– who fucking tries to twist the story to his favour only for it to fall flat when other people side with you– and then escort him out before leaving you to enjoy the rest of the day.

None of you mention it, but you all silently agree that it was the best date-not-date ever.

Come back on May 28th for part 2.

[h0neybb]

— blessed be the mystery of love

୨୧ mark lee x m!taeyong'sbrother!reader ୨୧ taeyong's (half)brother, you, needed to get out more often. what better way to do it than have you meet the rest of 127? you were a pretty big fan, after all. taeyong didn't expect mark, your bias, to take a liking to you in particular. ୨୧ request?: yes ! ୨୧ caution: other 127 members mentioned (obv), mentions of reader being in college/uni, younger reader (20-21 ish), very very sappy, stereotypically "shy" reader, mild swearing, mentions of panic attacks. (+2nd person, not proofread) ୨୧ wc: 3k

—

You were practically drowning in work. You would've wished that it was an understatement, too. Finals were coming up, you had two reports, one analysis, and around three and a half essays to get done as final projects, and you were, to put it not so lightly, incredibly stressed. You'd been cooped up in your dorm room the past two weeks, cramming for anything and everything you could. And Taeyong didn't like it. You were pushing yourself far too hard, and sure, you may have needed to at times, but not twenty-four-seven. You still had three weeks of regular classes before all of your finals, anyway. He was tired of you pretending it was okay to be a hermit in your dorm, talking to nobody but him, your parents, and your roommate. He was bound and determined to get you some social interaction. You were in desperate need of it, anyway, considering how introverted and socially anxious you are.

So that's how you ended up here. In your brother's car, staring out of the window as he drove you the short distance to the company. "I was thinking you could come over a few times a week, maybe once a day even, since it's such a short distance." He explained quietly as he drove. "I get nervous when you're all huddled up in that desk chair. This will be a good break. You can relax for a while, watch your really cool older brother dance—" He joked, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel.

"Very funny," You mumbled, cutting him off. "I think I'm more anxious knowing I'm about to meet everyone." You added as you finally turned to face him. You and Taeyong had a pretty solid relationship, and you enjoyed supporting him, which had ended up with you getting really into NCT. And now, you were about to meet your brother's bandmates. It was daunting, and being so introverted, you didn't know if you would be able to relax around the other members.

When you had reached the huge building, Taeyong practically dragged you inside, waving at a few random staff as he pulled you around hallways and up different floors. After a few minutes of this, you had reached the practice room where he was scheduled to be. He wanted you to stay here for an hour, doing what? When you should be studying for that final you just knew you were going to struggle on...

"Hey guys!" Taeyong called out, casually greeting everyone as they put their belongings down, drank some water, or did some stretching. It wasn't long before Jungwoo turned to look at you with a slightly confused expression. "Who's this?" He asked, gesturing your way as he glanced at the other.

"This is my little brother," He happily introduced you, obviously proud of who you were. You bowed politely, but stayed behind Taeyong, nervous and now a bit flustered that you were being perceived by the others. One by one, you were introduced to them, and you stayed quiet, obviously a bit shy as Taeyong explained that you were a fan of them yourself.

They were all kind to you, with Johnny cracking a couple jokes as Haechan tried to make small talk with you, asking you how long you'd been a fan. They were surprised at how much younger than Taeyong you were, and you had to explain that technically, you were Taeyong's half brother, and that's part of why he was nearly ten years your senior. Everything seemed to be going well, though you were still very quiet and obviously a bit anxious.

And then Mark showed up.

Mark, your bias Mark, who you'd tried to blissfully forget was in the same group as your own damn brother. Good God, he was real?

He introduced himself to you, and you kept yourself in check, greeting him, but keeping your mouth shut out of fear that you would say something even under your breath that you didn't want any of them — but especially him — to hear.

You stayed for the hour that Taeyong wanted you to, half-watching them while you kept studying, much to the chagrin of your poor brother, who desperately wanted you to be more sociable. You clapped ever so quietly every time they finished a song, and every time, Jaehyun and Doyoung would turn to you and dramatically bow as if they were in the curtain call of a terrible musical, attempting to make you smile or laugh. They almost cheered when it worked after a few tries and you let out a quiet chuckle.

During a quick five-minute break that they were taking as you packed up your belongings, Mark approached you again, trying to break the ice a little bit. "So, uh... what are you majoring in?" He said before taking a quick sip of water. You froze up for a moment, because it was Mark Fucking Lee, and he was talking to you. Eventually, you told him, though your tone was a bit blunt. You had to head out quickly, so you gave Taeyong a quick side-hug, speaking softly as you said a general goodbye to everybody else. After that, you slipped out of the practice room and were on your way to class.

"Dude," Mark said as he tapped Johnny's shoulder. "Was he that, like... direct with you?" He asked quietly, not wanting Taeyong to hear and get overprotective or anything. He was just curious, he meant no harm.

"Not really. ...Maybe he's just a little bit extra nervous around you. You're pretty close to his age, after all." Johnny shrugged, cracking his knuckles.

"Yeah, but... I don't know, dude, they seemed fine with Haechan, and he's even closer in age to him than I am." He shook his head, unable to understand it. "Who knows. He might just think you're hot or something." Johnny replied as he got ready to continue with practice.

"...Woah." Mark was able to say aloud, though he wasn't able to think much more of it, as the short break was over and he needed to get back to practicing whatever they needed to brush up on.

You decided to listen to Taeyong, since it made him happy. Every morning, you took a little walk to the company, sitting in the practice room for an hour and half-watched, half-studied as they all did what they needed to do. After around a week and a half, you had warmed up to pretty much everyone. Taeyong was happy to see it. The only problem was... well, Mark. It wasn't even that you didn't want to be around him, it's that he always seemed to try to get you to warm up to him at the worst possible time.

The second day you'd gone, you ended up getting lost, taking a wrong turn and ending up in a different hallway. Mark had found you after coming out of what you could only assume was some sort of studio, leading you toward the practice room, trying to chat with you, to no avail, as even though you wanted to, you couldn't seem to get your brain working. A few days later, you were packing up your belongings when a bunch of papers fell out of your binder, all while Mark looked directly at you. It was probably the most embarrassing situation you'd ever been in, but Mark helped you pick up all of the papers, even trying to make sure they were sorted properly. You almost wished you'd had a shell, so you could pop into it and hide like a turtle. You thanked him with beet red cheeks before practically running out of the door.

He joked with the members, specifically Yuta and Johnny, that it was just because he was too smokin' and you were intimidated by the sheer hotness he exuded. The truth, though, was that he was actually terrified that you hated him. During a lunch break one day after you'd left, he sat next to Taeyong, nudging him to get his attention.

"...I don't think your brother likes me very much." He admitted to Taeyong before taking a bite of his food. "I know you said he's shy, but... he's warmed up to everyone else alright, and yet he's still super blunt and quiet around me, like he's embarrassed or something."

"You sound silly, Mark," Taeyong responded in kind. "He doesn't hate anyone, he just gets really anxious sometimes. There's no telling how fast he'll warm up to somebody. Apparently, it took him almost a month to say a word to his roommate, and now they're best friends. Just give him some time, I'm sure he really likes you. Why wouldn't he?" He tried to help reassure Mark, who seemed to struggle with wrapping his head around everything. He just didn't know how to get through to you.

After your first — and hardest — final, which took you a solid four hours to complete, you had showed up for your daily socializing timeslot pretty late. It was already around seven pm, and you were so tired that you'd nearly fallen asleep at least twice on the small couch provided in the practice room for quick breaks.

Taeyong, your vigilant and caring brother, had come up to you after a while and ruffled your hair a bit. "I'll get you some food, m'kay?" He was making sure you understood, so you nodded sleepily. "I'm gonna head out with the others to go eat. Mark's not hungry, so he'll hold down the fort. Don't hesitate to take a nap if you need to. I'll bring you back your favourite." He was so sweet sometimes. You thanked him quietly and pulled out your phone, trying to both stay awake and keep your mind off of the fact that you were going to be alone, in a room, with Mark, for at least an hour.

You just sat on your phone for around ten minutes to start, scrolling through whatever social media you felt like rotting your mind out with. Unknowingly, throughout those ten minutes, Mark was staring at you, as if telepathically trying to figure you out. You finally heard him stand up, and you glanced from your phone to see him walking toward you.

With a small wave of anxiety now building in your gut, you tried to stand up and keep some distance between you two, but Mark seemed to really, really want otherwise. Before you could stand, he basically jumped on you, pinning you down against the cushions of the couch as you blushed a violent red. You ended up letting out a small sound of surprise, trying to pry away from him. He was a bit stronger than you, though, and he was determined to know why you didn't like him.

"What's going on with you, dude?" Mark asked, truly curious. "You've warmed up to everybody else, but you're still all cold and shy with me. I don't get it. Did I do something wrong? I feel like I've tried everything... why do you still not like me?" He hit you with a barrage of questions, overwhelming your already tired mind. He seemed to be completely unaware of the fact that your faces were barely inches apart, his arms were on either side of your shoulders, and by all accounts, you were trapped in his arms. He kept asking you questions, talking way too much in an attempt to try and understand your thought process and why you seemed so distant from him.

"Please stop..." You finally gathered enough courage to squeak, hiding your face in your hands as you tried to steady your breathing. Being in this position with somebody who you'd had such a parasocial crush on for so long was sending you into a complete spiral, and Mark seemed to only now be realizing that.

"Oh, shit... dude, I... I didn't mean to freak you out, I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He finally realized his mistake and backed off a bit, which ended up with both of you on either side of the couch, with you curled up and blinking back the tears that had threatened to fall while Mark kept apologizing and trying to comfort you without getting too close and scaring you again.

"I do like you." You said after a few minutes of a tense silence. "That's the problem." You sat up a bit straighter and tried to be honest with Mark. "You... were always my favourite. So when I met you, I was too in awe to even think, and then... we just kept running into each other at the worst possible times, and every time you would be so helpful, and it would make my heart beat really fast and..." You paused to try and take a few deep breaths as you felt your panic rising. "...And I knew it was 'cause I had a crush on you, and then it just kept getting worse, so I thought if I tried to limit my interactions with you I wouldn't seem like a desperate weirdo freak who wants to kiss his brother's friend." You almost completely spilled your guts, blushing furiously and trying to get the words out in a rush, as if they burned your tongue as you spoke them.

Mark only seemed to truly hear a few of the words that came out of your mouth, though. "...You have a crush on me?" He smiled widely. "You want to kiss me?" You hid even further into your hands, groaning softly. "That's not the point," You mumbled, the sound muffled further by your hands. "It's weird. I'm Taeyong's brother, and you're his coworker and his friend. It would be weird if anything happened between us, because you're also like super mega famous and I'm literally a fan of you and like are you even into guys—?"

You felt a soft pair of lips brush against your cheek. The feeling shut you up very, very quickly. You hadn't been in many romantic situations before, considering your shyness and introverted personality, so though you had a grasp on the concept, you had no idea what to do. Mostly because it was Mark. Your bias, the man who thought you hated him, that Mark. And he just kissed your cheek.

"Was that okay?" He asked quietly, a concerned, but caring smile playing on his lips. "I just didn't want you to start panicking." You just sat for a moment, trying to wrap your mind around what just happened.

"You... you just kissed my cheek." You managed to say. You didn't know how, but you felt as if your cheeks had gotten even more red after the little peck.

"I did." Mark responded, his smile more prominent this time as he spoke. "I mean, you said you wanted to kiss me, didn't you?" He laughed softly as he watched you pretty much short circuit, stumbling over your sentences and fidgeting with your hands. "Aww, you're cute..." He chuckled.

"Don't call me cute, that will just make it worse..." You curled in on yourself further, but Mark pulled your hands away from your face, trying whatever he could to get you to open up.

"I'm not trying to make it worse. I'm trying to tell you it's okay." He leaned in and kissed your cheek again, his lips lingering this time around. The small whimper that escaped your lips made him laugh again. "It's okay." He repeated, holding your hands a bit tighter.

"...It's okay?" You whispered, trying to get your train of thought onto the track that it needed to be on; the one that said Mark was okay with all of it. Mark nodded at your words, and you couldn't help but scoot closer, which made the other beam.

After a minute or two of quiet reassurances and soft compliments from Mark, he leaned in and kissed your cheek yet again, then your nose. His gaze lingered on your lips, but you ended up having to tell him yourself.

"You can kiss me properly, Mark. ...Please do, actually." You smiled, causing him to giggle. He seemed so giddy. When your lips finally connected, too, you felt that maybe everything would be okay.

After a few lingering kisses and a couple more comforting words, you and Mark ended up tangled with each other on the couch. You were fully at ease, and Mark found it wonderful, how you were no longer so curt or tense. "I'm tired." you yawned, and Mark's hand found its way to your back, rubbing soothing circles against your clothed skin. As much as you tried to fight it, you were out like a light within minutes.

You woke up a little under an hour later to a loud, startling voice. "Ohh, cute!" You lifted your head, blinking the sleep from your eyes to see Yuta cooing at you and Mark. Speaking of Mark, he looked just as embarrassed as you did, if not more. Haechan already had his phone out, snapping pictures of the two of you... less as a cute memory, and more as blackmail against Mark. Doyoung was tapping his shoulder and telling him to send him the photos when he was done taking them. "This is adorable! I don't know what you're so uptight about, Taeyong..." Yuta's voice caught you off guard again, and when you turned your head, you saw your brother, looking furious; not at you, but Mark. "My little brother, Mark?" Taeyong mumbled through gritted teeth. You knew that look, and you knew you didn't want to get caught in the crossfire.

You got up from where you were laying with Mark, patting his chest gently as you did so. "Well, I think that's my cue," You smiled, pressing a tiny kiss to Mark's cheek, chuckling as everybody — apart from Taeyong — seemed to melt at both the idea of Mark getting a bit of action, and you being a bit bold, in front of all of them. "See you later," You said to your brother as you grabbed your things. "See you, Mark," You added quickly, needing to get out of there before all hell broke loose. You didn't leave, though, before bringing your hand up to your face, your thumb at your ear and your pinky at your mouth, the rest of your fingers in a closed fist. Call me, you mouthed, and as terrified as Mark was at the wrath of your older brother, he found the courage to smile and nod.

—

[fortes-fortuna-iogurtum]

turns out poetry and fiction aren't that great when you can't feel any connection with them 90% of the time

[lynnetendo]

TRIED DRAWING SIFFRIN FOR THE FIRST TIME!!! FINDING MY STYLE FOR FUTURE ISAT FANART BLAH BLAH!!! NEED TO PRACTISE DRAWING SIF. SIF IS INEVITABLE

[advluv4life]

I don't want to brag but I've gone from 10 words to 416 and after the past year of a drought I want to express that I am proud of myself. I will get these last two chapters out. I will do it.

[deoidesign]

.

[blessedcactus]

Me remembering I also have to do a character animation assignment oh jeezuz...

[prismatoxic]

a food i haven't been able to have in forever is now available to me again, and i ate it, and it's so good. it's so fucking good. oh my god i'm going to be able to actually eat food. this is awesome

[biillys]

was rereading a doc i had (titled christmas!!!!!!!!!) of neil inviting billy back home for christmas after not speaking with him for years cos billy told him he was fucking a dude in a going steady kinda way, but then neil had some health scares (cancer) and susan missed the kids, so next thing u know, neil's begrudgingly on the phone, gritting out a 'we're having christmas day here. if u care. sure. ur fag boyfriend can come too.' and then was like. well what happens BEFORE all that.

and for some reason my brain decided it was gonna be billysteeve but make it shitty. anyway.

steve cheating on billy becos i can. and i love to give billy attention in the form of everyone else.

anyway. warning for cheating and steve//nancy ??? is that a warning?

billy hears them before he sees them, but still can’t stop himself from walking up the stairs and pushing their bedroom door open anyway.

meets the sight of nancy fucking wheeler’s bare back sitting upright on his bed, steve's voice carrying from somewhere underneath her, and turns around and walks straight back out, slamming every single door he touches behind him. 

loses himself at the bar two blocks over before somehow carol’s manhandling him into an uber, her getting in after him, then loses the rest of the night to hers and tommy’s couch, only vaguely aware of where he is. 

he wakes up to a kick to the thigh, then a jab to the ribs.

grabbing the pillow from under his head, he shoves it on top and groans.

“wake up, asshole. it’s 2pm.”

“fuck you,” he mumbles, gripping the pillow tight when carol tries to pull it away.

“fuck you too for waking me up at 1:36am and making me get out of bed. you know how much work your drunk ass is?” carol bitches, resorting to sitting in him and tugging at his hair, before turning gentle, running her fingers through it instead.

billy relaxes into her touch for a moment before her words catch up with him and he remembers what happened the night before, and after his mind flashes him an image of nancy wheeler riding his fiancé’s dick, he shoves himself up and stumbles to the bathroom. 

finds himself on his knees and spewing into the toilet bowl, fighting for his fucking life just to get a breath.

“you wanna talk about it?” carol asks from the doorway, leaning against the frame.

billy spits in the toilet bowl. “not fucking really.”

“steve called,” she says airily, smirking at him when he snaps his head up, only to groan from the way it makes his stomach spin.

billy glares at her, his insides slowly settling. 

out of everyone, carol’s probably the one who doesn’t care for steve’s shit the most. billy wishes she could teach him how to do it. 

wishes he could tell her.

“yeah?” he croaks, pushing himself up to standing so he can brush his teeth. “what’d he want?”

“just wanted to see where you were,” she replies casually, all the power in her fucking hands.

billy brushes his teeth, spits, gargles some fresh water, then spits again, before turning around to face her, his breath squeaky clean. “and what’d you tell him?”

carol shrugs. “said i hadn’t heard from you.”

billy feels his inner growing panic start to recede. at least steve won’t look for him here.

“tommy texted though, said steve turned up at eddie’s place looking for you.”

she’s watching him closely, looking for any give. any weakness. she’s smart like that. 

billy usually loves it about her. right now, though, she can fuck right off.

“yeah, well,” he sighs, done with this entire mess, “he can keep looking.”

she smirks at him again before reaching a hand out and tugging him over, pulling him out of the bathroom. “c’mon, i stocked up on alcohol on sunday. whatever happened, let’s get wasted.”

billy stays at carol’s and tommy’s for two more nights. 

tommy comes home the second day, looking at them both on the couch, completely faded and fucked up; billy three sheets to the wind, carol at least slightly steadier than him on her feet; with worry written all over his face, but he’s a good sport about it and instead of asking questions, he picks up a joint and joins in, lacing his fingers with carol’s when he comes over to sit beside her.

by the time billy makes it home three days later, he’s mostly got his shit in check.

he makes it through the front door, having spotted steve's car in the driveway, and prepares himself for whatever’s about to happen.

gets through the kitchen next, then past the living room, walks up the stairs again, and braces himself.

he finds steve sitting on their bed, the sheets and pillows all done up and neat, like he went to the effort to wash it and make it, but billy’s not actually that stupid or naive, and steve’s never been able to work their stupid fucking washing machine, no matter how many times billy’s told him which dials to turn and what buttons to press. guesses he’s just covering up the evidence.

billy doesn’t say anything. 

steve seems speechless.

billy waits. wants to see where he takes this. 

if he’s even gonna apologise or beg for forgiveness.

if he’s gonna end it.

“listen…” steve starts, and just that one word alone has reality hitting billy like a fist to the face.

whatever he hoped would come of this, if it ever came to a head–whatever fucking unrealistic dreams he had of steve tripping over himself to patch things up, running back to him–disappear before his eyes, and he realises steve’s never gonna give a shit about him enough to care. 

billy’s never gonna be worth it.

he looks at him sitting on the bed, looking like he’s barely slept, except he knows it’s not guilt that’s kept him awake but instead his fucking decade long insomnia, childhood and teenagehood trauma that billy has no hope of fixing taking it's toll, and he can see clearly how this is gonna play out. 

there’s gonna be no i’m sorry’s, no i’ll do better’s; nothing’s gonna fucking change. 

steve’s just gonna excuse his shit life choices, like he always does, and billy’s either gonna accept it and live with it, or he’s gonna be alone, and everyone in the entire goddamn world is gonna know he can’t keep someone interested. that he’s not worth loving. 

“it was just…a one time thing,” steve bullshits, looking at him the same way he always looks at him. like he’s a million miles away. “and i promise, it won’t happen again.”

billy swallows. feels like he’s just swallowed acid and his insides are swimming with it.

“so this only happened the once?” billy checks, his voice flat. he already knows the answer. he’s seen the text messages. has read the business trip itineraries. 

“yeah,” steve promises–lies–eyes so fucking big and brown. 

billy used to love them. 

“yeah, it was only one time, billy. i swear.”

billy lets the few feelings he had left go numb. finds it in his muscle memory to nod his head then turns around and walks straight back out. 

“i need to sort my head out. gonna crash somewhere for a few days.”

steve catches up to him quickly, grabbing him by the arm.

billy flinches.

steve barely notices. 

“you’re coming back, right?” he asks, and this is the most emotion billy’s seen from him in months. since that first year they dated, back in high school, probably. he’s spent just over three years of his life with him and can’t remember the last time steve actually looked at him. “i have a business trip on friday, so you’re gonna like, come back and feed the cat, right?”

billy’s gonna choke. “you have a business trip on friday?”

steve looks cagey. “well, yeah? i still have to work, billy.”

billy’s pretty sure he’s gonna punch something. he clenches his hands into fists instead, letting his nails dig in until he fucking bleeds.

“yeah, steve,” he says, voice as even as he can get it. ”i’m coming back. how about–you leave friday 2pm, and i’ll come back friday 2:05pm, and i’ll feed your damn cat.”

steve nods at him, looking relieved, like the cat he convinced billy into letting him get was his biggest concern about today, and not their entire fucking relationship.

steve comes back on a tuesday.

“how was your trip?” billy asks, leaning against the kitchen counter, watching steve’s every move.

steve shrugs, leaning down to stroke his cat’s back. “fine.”

billy clenches his jaw. nods to himself and pushes himself off the counter, making his way out the back to lounge on one of the backyard chairs, cracking open a beer. 

thinks about walking out. 

stays.

maybe his dad was right, all those times he blamed him for everything in their life going wrong. for his mom leaving. for fucking everything up. 

billy knows, now.

he takes a sip of his beer and thinks, this is as good as it’s ever gonna get.

they’ve been together for 3 years and 4 months when eddie and tommy corner him in an alleyway before a show, looking at him with guilt written all over their faces.

“we need to talk to you, man,” tommy says quietly, looking around and making sure they’re alone.

eddie’s face looks serious. billy feels his stomach drop. 

whatever they’ve got to say, billy doesn’t want to hear it. he’s hanging on by a fucking thread these days as it is.

“listen, man,” eddie steps in close, resting a hand on his shoulder, and billy can’t handle that right now. 

he shrugs him off. 

eddie takes it in his stride and lets his hand drop back to his side, but still stays standing where he is, bowing his head in close. 

billy doesn't know what they've got to say, but can feel it like a lead weight in his stomach already. whatever it is, it’s gonna be fucked, and billy straight up can't handle that right now. 

he thinks about pushing past them and walking away but knows it won’t work. knows he’s not getting out of this little heart-to-heart, no matter what move he pulls. 

raises his stare to meet them both head on and straightens out his shoulders. 

waits for them to spit out whatever it is that they’ve got to say and get it over with.

“it’s about steve,” tommy steps in, looking between them both, hesitating when he looks at him.

shakily pulling out a lighter and a cigarette, billy lights up, shoving the stick in his mouth and taking a deep inhale. “what about steve?” he says, cigarette dangling from his lips.

doesn't think about the million and one different things it could be from that sentence alone, ‘cause if he does, he knows whatever grip he’s got on his life right now will shatter. 

eddie takes a deep breath, and billy clocks the way his face is full of regret. 

“he’s cheating on you, man,” he says quietly.

billy’s ears start ringing. feels his fingertips and toes go numb, his blood run cold. 

no one was meant to know. 

he was meant to live in denial and settle for whatever steve could be bothered to give him, and no one was meant to fucking know that he wasn’t enough.

“what?” he says back numbly, his voice flat. 

can’t show emotion, ‘cause if he does, he’ll break.

“he’s seeing nancy,” tommy says, looking like he regrets every word. “we don’t know how long for, but we caught them together when we played that show in new york last week.”

“seriously, man, we just found out, and we fucking flipped on him, but he’s like, trying to fucking deny it, which–how. we literally caught them fucking–” eddie word vomits, looking at him like he’s waiting for him to fly off the handle.

billy can’t react. can feel the fragile hold he’s had on every single part of his life slowly start to unravel, like someone's pulled the string and let the ball of yarn roll along the floor, and knows he’s got minutes at best to pull himself together. to save face.

doesn’t know how to live in denial, though, when the people closest to him are trying to shove the truth in his face. 

his mind races in a million different directions as he tries to figure out how to play this. how to make it out the other side unscathed, without ripping out his heart and leaving himself a bloody open mess. 

can’t find a single path that doesn’t lead in that direction, or a variation of.

he takes another inhale of nicotine then exhales it out, preparing himself for what comes next. 

they’re gonna know. 

everyone’s gonna know. 

billy’s nothing worth staying for. there’ll always be someone better, someone worth risking it all for, even if for just a weekend, and it’ll never be him.

“you okay, man?” tommy checks, taking a step forward, seeming to realise he’s seconds away from falling apart.

billy sniffs and swipes at his nose, gathering every last bit of strength he can muster and pulls himself together. “fine,” he clips back, voice tight.

“you’re uh–you’re taking this surprisingly well,” eddie points out, and when billy looks at him, he sees the wheels turning in his head, then watches it click into place. 

eddie stares at him, his mouth dropped open slightly. “you knew.”

“it’s fine,” he says back automatically, ‘cause that’s what he’s been telling himself for months. for over a year. for almost two. 

it’s fucking fine.

“it’s not fucking fine, it’s fucking bullshit,” tommy cuts in, and he sounds pissed. 

billy doesn’t know what to make of it. tommy and steve have been best friends since diapers, long before he came on the scene, and if you don’t count their little high school fallout, they’ve been going strong for almost twenty years. 

billy can’t compete with that. 

“how in the world is it fine?” eddie adds as he gives him an disbelieving look, searching his face like he’s waiting for the punchline.

billy closes his eyes. knows in their own twisted way, they're doing this because they care, but it doesn't feel like fucking care right now. it feels like a fucking knife.

opening his eyes again and blinking away the tears, he thinks about how steve and eddie were friends first. how, technically, steve was the one who introduced them, both the guys having teamed up for some random shit billy doesn’t even remember just before he rolled into town, and when he sucked up his pride and went to make peace with steve after the shitshow that was his first week in hawkins, then asked where the best place to get green was around here, steve offered to lead the way, and less than 15 minutes later they were pulling up in front of munson’s trailer, and billy’s never really looked back.

realises only now how fucked it is that the only friends he’s made were actually steve’s first, and at the end of the day, he’s gonna lose them in the break up. 

billy’s been a part of their lives for barely 5 years. he’s got nothing on a lifetime of memories. definitely hasn’t earnt their loyalty.

his chest squeezes painfully and he struggles to take in a breath as he looks out in front of him and forces himself to face facts. 

this might be one of the last times he sees them. 

the bands probably over, billy’s definitely kicked out, and they're never gonna stay up for 34 hours straight because they want to finish recording just one more song again.

when he thinks about it, he probably won’t even miss steve that much when he leaves, but he doesn’t know how he’s gonna cope when he loses the guys. 

the band. 

the girls. 

shudders out a breath and tries not to fucking break down.

chrissy; who runs her hands through his hair whenever he lays his head on her lap, always just as drunk as he is and so goddamn happy to see him, and carol; who stays up ‘til 7am drinking with him and watching real housewives and fucking love island, and is the first person to call whenever billy sends out an sos.

shit, he’s gonna fucking cry.

he clenches his jaw and refuses to make eye contact. “show’s gonna start soon, we should get inside.”

“billy, steve’s fucking his ex,” eddie spells out, sounding pissed.

billy wishes he didn’t flinch.

tommy pushes himself front and center then, standing in front of eddie and getting right up in billy’s space.

resting his hands on billy’s shoulders, he forces eye contact.

“how long?” he asks quietly.

billy tries to look anywhere but straight ahead. feels his eyes watering, the tears he blinked away earlier coming back to the surface. can feel the weight of tommy’s hands on his shoulders grounding him, keeping him tethered.

“bill’s, man. how long?” eddie repeats, and billy’s gotta give him credit. he sounds calmer. gentler.

he sucks in a deep breath before throwing his cigarette on the ground, wishing he didn’t need to be handled gently right now as he stomps it out.

this is exactly why he wasn’t enough for steve.

“how long with nancy?” billy pushes past the lump in his throat, his voice catching and wishing the ground would swallow him whole, “or how long with all the other girls?”

“how many girls was he fucking?” eddie yells, giving up on being calm.

tommy elbows him but says nothing, giving billy space to talk.

billy can’t, so he shrugs. doesn’t know what’s more embarrassing now that he’s been interrogated about it. 

steve cheating, or him letting it happen.

“dude, what the fuck?” tommy asks after a moment, looking at him in disbelief.

the judgement gets too heavy to bear and he feels himself cracking. he looks at their faces, the way they’re waiting patiently for some sort of explanation, like this is all billy’s life dream and he’s completely on track for his 10 year plan, and not stuck on a ride spinning out of control, no one in the driver's seat to guide the way, and feels whatever grip he’s got just–slip.

he can’t take it anymore. can feel his anxiety and humiliation turning to anger, ‘cause it’s the safest place to hide.

“what?” he growls, wiping at his eyes and stepping forward, making himself tall–big–just like neil taught him. “you think i can do better? you think i can fucking ask for more?”

“better than steve–” ”–yes!” they yell simultaneously, eddie sounding just as mad, tommy sounding exasperated.

“jesus, then you’re stupider than me!” billy yells back, throwing his arms out wide. he hopes to god no one comes out anytime soon and witnesses this, ‘cause this is already too much to handle. “yeah, steve cheating fucking sucks, but hey! at least he comes home to me! at least he puts up with my shit. at least he still agreed to marry me!”

“dude, that’s like–” tommy tries, but he doesn’t want to hear it.

“and i know i’m a lot, okay? i know i’m hard to fucking deal with,” he lists, counting off in his fingers, “so, if the best i’m ever gonna get is every other weekend and the occasional christmas, then so be it!” 

he steps back, suddenly exhausted. hears the way his voice cracks and hates himself.

jesus, he’d fucking leave him, too. 

“what–you want me to ask someone to love me for fucking life? you think there’s a single person in the entire goddamn world who could commit to me, and only me, and never stray?” he’s begs, aiming for mean, but he hears how he misses the mark by a mile and just sounds desperate. looks at the guys he’s called his best friends for years now and pathetically wishes they'd answer him, that they’d tell him. that they’d be honest and give him what he needs to hear.

needs somebody, just one person, to tell him he’s worth something.

he pushes that need down deep and lets his voice give out, feeling fucking ruined. “don’t be delusional.”

they stare at him silently for a beat, then another, before eddie breaks the peace.

“jesus, man. what the fuck’s steve done to you?” he asks quietly, and when billy meets his eyes, he’s not mad anymore, instead is just looking at him like he cares.

uhhh and then heather comes back in the picture after drifting away, living her best college life, except it wasn't really her best college life, and that dick boyfriend that billy and carol told her to dump actually turned out to be a real dick, but his brother was worse, and suddenly she's picking up the phone and calling billy, asking if she can hide out at his for the night, and if he can pick her up from hospital, and he's barely been in georgia for a month when he gets the call, so he makes the drive back to california then drives them both back, and they send a selfie to the group chat like 'hoes in georiga do it better' and suddenly carol and chrissy are turning up on his door step like what the fuck? heathers back? after not returning our calls for months? years? let me the fuck in?

and then theyre getting spectacularly drunk and recounting their worst hits, and billy's fessing up his Feelings about everything that went down with steve, trying to be Nice about it cos he's aware who he's in a room with, and carol's like 'you know we chose you, right? like you know you won us in the divorce?' and billy's like. too drunk to process that elequantly, and is like. well obviously you're saying that to make me feel better but i Know steve's always gonna be more important to you. and carol and chrissy are like. we may have known him longer, but we love you better.

carol: who offered to be designated driver to my planned parenthood appointment when we were seventeen and me and tommy were scared shitless of what was gonna happen if we didn't make it. who shoved four weeks worth of pay in my hand as they pushed me out the car door. not fucking steve.

chrissy: you squared up with my dad the day i got kicked out of home while eddie helped me pack and carol caused bodily harm to my mom. you sat with me for every meal i ever ate all through my last year of school, no matter how long i took to eat it.

heather: i never fucking liked him. thank fuck he's out of your life. me and max gonna be poppin the biggest bottles when we see each other next.

tommy and eddie when they find out: bro you literally made this band. if it weren't for you, we'd still hate each other. you changed our lives, bro.

and lots of other stuff but. billy having FRIENDS that love him dearly and he loves dearly back and living his best life.

then like. 4 years later:

billy pulls the phone away from his ear to stare at it in shock before lifting it back up. “i’m sorry–what?” 

neil clears his throat, and billy’s pretty sure there’s a gun pointed at his head. there's no fuckin' way his dad just invited him and daryl home for christmas. 

“i said–he can come, too,” neil says after another minute of silence. he sounds like he’s talking through clenched teeth.

holy fuck. 

so he didn't hear him wrong. he’s officially invited back home, after three years of radio silence. neil didn't even reply to the birthday text he sent him that first year, and now he’s being invited to christmas? daryl, too? something’s fucked.

“you dying?” he blurts out, ‘cause that's probably the only realistic option.

his dad sighs, sounding burdened. tired. billy feels his heart start to race. 

“no, son,” neil responds, letting the silence hang.

“okay, then. what?” he presses, ‘cause shit’s not making sense. why now? why’s he been a homophobic piece of shit his entire life only to suddenly now decide to not care? 

“me and susie just want our kids home for christmas,” neil explains.

billy’s not buying it.

billy eventually tells his dad he’ll get back to him, he’s just gotta discuss holiday plans with his partner first, and neil replies that him and sue would really like them to join them. 

billy feels like he’s talking to a stranger. 

says he’ll text when he knows what the plan is.

texts max to see if she's got any similar phone calls recently, then tries to forget about it.

gets home from work that afternoon and he attempts to start dinner, but doesn't take long to get distracted and burn it, deciding to give up halfway through. 

daryl comes home just as he's throwing the towel in, lydia in tow, and finds him sitting on the kitchen counter eating chocolate from the packet, food burnt on the stove.

“my turn to cook,” billy states, offering lydia some chocolate, eyes focused on daryl. “so, takeaway?”

daryl eyes the mess on the stove and sink and sighs, grabbing the pamphlets from the top drawer.

“don’t care, you’s pick,” he hands them over to lydia, lydia jumping on the counter beside billy. billy looks at their choices over her shoulder before his eyes catch on daryl starting to walk away. “ring and order, i’mma go shower.”

billy nods, focusing back on the task at hand, pushing all thoughts of his dad and christmas out of mind.

lydia holds up the thai food pamphlet.

“fuck yeah,” billy says, picking his phone up from the bench.

while he calls and orders, lydia and daryl switch. her in the shower, and daryl coming out to lean against the kitchen bench.

“you good?” he asks, watching billy try and scrub the pan he burnt.

“what are we doing this christmas?” billy replies, dropping the pan back in the sink and turning to him, completely changing the subject.

daryl shrugs. it’s november, he’s barely thought about christmas beyond trying to figure out what to get lydia. 

“usual, i guess,” he answers, picking up a tea towel and wiping the few dishes billy washed before he got stuck on the pan. “might go to rick’s for lunch, might go there boxing day instead, or the greenes. might just hang out here.”

“so, nothing’s planned,” billy summarises, picking the pan back up. he scrubs a bit before giving up again, putting more hot water in the sink before turning to him. “my dad called.”

daryl snorts. him and billy haven't sat down and painted detailed pictures of their childhoods, but they've shared the broad strokes, and he’s not stupid, or an idiot. has enough experience in the shitty childhood department to fill in the blanks.

neil wasn't good people.

will wasn't a saint either, but something about the way billy talked about neil, especially about the years after he moved out, and the way neil treated him that one time daryl met him, made him more slimy–more manipulative–in his opinion. 

at least will never pretended with him. he always had his own principles and morals, and he stuck with them. daryl always knew where he stood. 

neil, on the other hand, seemed like all his principles and morals depended on public perception, and could change at the drop of the hat. was a wishy-washy bastard, always too busy caring about everyone else's opinion rather than his own, which meant if billy was never good enough to get every single person's approval, he never got neil's.

daryl hates him.

“yeah?” he says, throwing the tea towel down on the bench. “what’d he want?”

billy chews his cheek. 

“invited me home for christmas,” he admits, then corrects, “us. he invited us home for christmas.”

daryl raises an eyebrow at him. 

“he invited us to fuckin’ hawkins?”

billy shrugs this time, testing out the pan again before giving up and letting it soak. “yep.”

daryl stays silent, letting billy get his head straight. the only reason he would be bringing it up is if he had something to say about it.

“asked him if he was dying, he said him and susan just wanted to see their kids for christmas,” he explains, looking at him out of the corner of his eye like he’s too scared to turn to face him properly, but still wants to see his face. daryl gets it.

“what’chu wanna do?” he asks after another few minutes of silence.

billy shrugs.

“going there would be stupid,” he finally says, turning to him properly. “it’d be awkward and rough and it’d be a shit christmas. he’d probably hate you, he definitely hates me, fuck knows lydia doesn't need to be subjected to him, and max probably won't even be there.”

“so we don’t go,” daryl says, then waits.

billy cracks less than a minute later. “but why did he call? why’d he invite us? why now, when for the past few years, i’ve been as good as dead to him?” 

daryl let's him talk it out. knows he’s not asking him anyway.

“surely he must be dying, right? like, cancer or some shit? there's no way he woke up this morning like hey, let’s reach out to my greatest failure and make amends–”

“you ain’t a failure,” he cuts him off.

“no, i’m just his failure,” billy rolls his eyes before rubbing a hand down his face.

daryl knocks his arm into his, nudging him with his shoulder. billy grips the counter behind him tighter.

“i don't even know why i care so fucking much,” he whispers, so fucking confused his head hurts. “if he’s dying, then, like. so what. who gives a shit, right?”

“ain’t that simple,” daryl says back, and billy slides his hand over until their pinkies overlap. daryl knocks his elbow into his again. “it’s fucked up, what parents do to their kids. even more fucked up how we still treat them like parents. expect them to love us, ‘cause we fuckin’ blindly love them.”

billy blinks at him and daryl realises his eyes are wet. 

“ain’t blindly,” billy states, voice firm.

daryl nods. “that's why it’s fucked up.”

and then the idea of them going home for christmas and introducing his boyfriend and kid to neil, finding out about the cancer, and neil being like. it's physically killing me to pretend to be okay with this. and billy being like. cancer's a bitch, huh. bet you never saw this side effect coming, did u, dad? who knew liver cancer said bi rights.

[mirmidones]

3.40 i woke up bc i was cold and needed to pee and now i can't fall back asleep i keep thinking of the people i accidentally ghosted. is it ghosted if there was no intent to ghost? i feel so bad and it's not even like i don't think about them i often do think "i should really reply to them... once this is over ill properly sit down and write them... " and then i don't bc something else happens and im dealing with that and the longer i leave it unanswered the more difficult it becomes because i feel so guilty and therefore want to do things properly not half assed but bc i feel so guilty a part of me also tends to avoid it even more. if i do this to you just know i'm really sorry and ill get back to you i swear

[timelessbian]

i haven't said it in a while bc i haven't written much of anything outside of the height of hyperfixation in like 4 years lmao but my inbox is always open to prompts!! can't promise i'll always fill them, but i'm slooowly dipping my toe back into writing for pleasure again and i'll take any inspo i can get rn lol

[ellcrys]

in other news the orange tree book is finally picking up after like 500 pages lmao

[your-internet-bf]

We hadn't always gotten along. When our parents got married, we could barely stand each other. How could we get along with some brat we barely knew? Luckily, I had an idea. I bought a clicker - you know, the one they use to train dogs? - and got to work.

I started with "thank you". Every time you said it, maybe at dinner, in the car, at a restaurant, I pressed the clicker. You couldn't tell where the sound was coming from, and nobody else seemed to know what you were talking about. But soon, I started helping you with chores around the house and when we finished, *click*. And without really thinking about it, you'd say "thank you."

A few months passed, and you'd started to notice things about me. I took care of myself. I was clean, and I exercised regularly. You'd hang around when you knew I'd be back from the gym just to catch a whiff of the sweat and metal on me when I returned - our eyes caught once when you got a little too close, and for the first time you saw something primal, a little dark, in my gaze. But it passed in an instant.

We started getting along better, now. So one day, when you were lying on the couch with a snack bowl, I snatched it up and motioned to throw it into your mouth. Well, innocent enough, right? And it wasn't like I was eating much, so it's fine, right? Every time you open your mouth to catch, *click*, *click*, *click*.

Then, I invited you to come work out with me. Every time you did a squat, *click*. I told you it was a metronome to keep your intensity up, but you noticed the bulge in my sweatpants was bigger than usual. Wait, when did you start noticing my bulge, especially enough to know that...?

Finally, it was time. I'd been listening outside your bedroom door for weeks now, and I knew when you'd be asleep. I quietly opened your door and stepped into your room, locking it behind me. You stirred at the sound of the lock clicking, but I wasn't afraid.

I gingerly pulled down the covers and just... stared for a while. I'd never taken the time to really look at how beautiful you are, how gorgeous those curves were. I could hardly stand it. As you lay on your side, I took out the clicker, and *click* it once. Laying on your side, like you were on the couch with the snacks, you obediently open your mouth.

I pull down my pants, my long, thick cock swinging between my thighs. I brush the back of my hand over your cheek, then set it firmly against the back of your head, and push into your mouth.

You wake up almost immediately, but my hand stops you from pulling back as I force inch after throbbing inch down your throat. The more you struggle, the tighter you feel, the harder I push, until you felt your nose press into my hips. You push as hard as you can against me, but I'm so much bigger and stronger than you it doesn't do anything. I don't even budge.

I start to grind into your skull, making you swallow the thick, heavy head of my cock again and again, as I groan in pleasure. I start thrusting harder and harder, making your eyes water as I slam my hips into your face again and again, until finally, mercifully, I release inside you, deep inside your throat. You feel me pulse with your whole mouth, and you struggle to swallow each load of thick, hot, sticky cum while I'm still inside you.

With a shuddering breath, I pull out, letting you breathe properly for the first time in minutes. I watch while you cough and catch your breath, and then I ask, "what do you say?"

You breathe in intending to scream, but then you hear it, just one soft *click*, and all you can say is "thank you".

You stare at me, confused. I wipe my cum off your chin with my thumb, and *click* again. "Thank you", you say.

"I knew it. You're such a good girl, aren't you? Now," I push you onto your back, "spread for me."

*click*

You raise your legs to either side, exactly like you're doing a squat.

"I don't - I don't understand," you whimper, legs still in the air.

"You don't have to," I reply, reaching one hand between your legs to feel how wet you are.

"You're soaking, little girl," as I bring my hand up for you to see... Then make you taste it. I reach back down and slip in two of my thick, strong fingers, and cover your mouth with my other hand as you moan. I press up in just the right spot, rubbing in tight, quick circles so deliciously that you can't help but arch your back and grind into me. You feel the pleasure build and all thought leaves your mind; the only thing that matters is my fingers inside you, the scent of my hand over your mouth, and the lingering taste of me.

But before you can finish I pull my fingers out, pressing up and out, leaving you twitching and gasping. "Not yet," I mutter, and I move myself down between your legs. I line up my cock, slapping it down on your tummy first. It reaches your navel, and you feel a wave of fear that only makes you wetter. I pull back, then start pushing in.

It's thick, thick, thick, and heavy. I stretch you out wider than you thought possible, pressuring you in every direction, spreading your aching cunt and making you feel full inside for the first time in your life. Long, deep strokes, moving your whole body with every thrust, reaching inside you, my breath coming fast and hard.

And you hear it again.

*click*

"Thank you," you choke out between sobs.

*click*

"Thank you," you moan.

*click*

"Thank you," you plead, tears in your eyes.

My strokes come faster now, slamming inside you like an animal as you continue to thank me for raping you. Finally, finally, finally, you feel me tense up and slam deep, deep, deep inside you, pressing your whole body into the bed, as I cum again. Huge, hot, sticky white loads of my cum shoot inside you, filling you, as my breath comes in gasps, and as I do you feel it too, now, the wave of pleasure cresting, and you cum, your legs squeezing together, your face screwed tight, moaning with the release of months of tension. And as you cum, you hear a new sound, a familiar sound, but it's deeper than the others...

*click*

And you cum harder, knowing I'm training you like a bitch in heat.

I climb up next to you, and just gaze into your eyes for a moment. Then I smile. "Let's go again."

*click*

[clownfangs]

-

[ms-demeanor]

Sometimes college professors like to hop on my posts lamenting the sorry state of syllabi these days and joke about how they haven't thought that far ahead in the course themselves, or talk about how they struggle to complete a schedule for their students.

With all due respect, that's your job. If you can't do your job, you should have a different job. If you need help, ask your colleagues or your department chair or *someone* because I know that professors aren't given a hell of a lot of education on how to educate, so you probably *need* help.

But every single time I make one of those posts I get anywhere from ten to thirty messages, replies, reblogs, and asks say "oh man, that's exactly why I had to drop out of school; I couldn't keep up with the assignments because I didn't know when they were due until the week they were due."

I have been a college student in three separate decades, and "not having a schedule of assignments in the syllabus" is new to my experience. That shit didn't fly in the 2000s or 2010s and I think it likely has to do with professors being overly reliant on apps.

AT A MINIMUM your syllabus should have:

Contact information (including preferred method of contact) for the professor

Office Hours

Grading Policy

Assignment schedule.

Your assignment schedule doesn't necessarily need to have the exact page numbers of every reading or a full assignment sheet for each project, but it should have things like:

December 1st - Major Project 3 second draft due December 9th - Quiz 10 December 12th - Major Project 3 final draft due December 15th - Final Exam

If you end up presenting a more thorough schedule with readings and homework later, that is acceptable to present a week or two into the semester but it is absolutely insane to me that students these days don't know what homework they're going to have to get done over Thanksgiving break during the first couple weeks of class.

If I had three professors at once who didn't give me a schedule, how on earth would I know if I was going to have to read three chapters of a novel, take a midterm and turn in two stats homework assignments, and complete a history research paper the same week that I'm planning to travel to see family? If I'm aware of this from the beginning of the semester I can make sure not to pick up extra shifts, or I can plan to leave a day later to accommodate the midterm, or I can start working on the paper early to complete it before the due date but if I don't know what's going to be due when, I'm going to have a big problem.

If you don't give your students a schedule you are communicating that you don't care about their schedule, and that you think it's their responsibility to contort their life (and their job, and their other classes) around your class, and honestly my advice to students in that situation is "drop in the first week and pick up another class". That's actually part of why I recommend signing up for one more class than you can really manage - if you get a professor whose class looks like it's going to be a disaster because they don't have a schedule, you can bail before the withdrawal period and get a refund for the class.

I'm only in one class this semester but the professor's response has fully dropped me into "Fuck it, I guess I'll fail" mode and I don't even know if I can pull myself out of my current D grade because I don't know how many assignments we have left in the semester.

This is a shitty way to run a class. If you can't do better than this, you shouldn't be running a class.