#the math notebook is full of sketches

[harimenui-forever]

When you are finally cleaning out your drawers full of old study materials from middle/high school and you encounter an essay, the grade (when converted to the english system) being an A+ and it's A CHARACTER STUDY OF TOM HIDDLESTON LOKI I AM ROTTING INTO THE FLOOR AS WE SPEAK

[hamilton-here]

Hiiii! Could you do please one where Lewis and reader are good friends though Lewis is crazy in love with her since the moment he met her but she has a boyfriend so he is just like yearning for her. Until she and her boyfriend broke up and Lewis is there for her, supporting her, being the good friend he is, helping her heal until eventually she inevitably falls in love with him too.

Thank you so much in advance for reading.

I wish you the best. Have a good day :)

𝒜𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝒴𝑜𝓊

Authors Note: Hey guys! Another request finished. I apologise, I’m slowly getting through them as fast as I can, since I got 3 new assignments recently. Still have another 6 requests to go. Lots of love xx

Summary: Lewis has been in love with his best friend since they were young. Reader doesn’t realise until a break up in adulthood.

Warnings: slight swearing

Taglist: @hannibeeblog @nebulastarr @cosmichughes

MASTERLIST

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

You met Lewis in your final year of secondary school.

You’d transferred halfway through the term - a mid-year shuffle after your parents’ divorce meant moving to a new town, new house, new everything. The school was bigger than your last, louder, the kind of place where everyone already had their people. And you were just floating. Walking the halls with your headphones in, sitting alone at lunch with your tray of untouched food and a book you’d already read twice. Pretending not to notice the stares, the whispered “who’s she?” that always seemed to follow new girls around.

You were used to hiding. The chaos at home had taught you how.

What you didn’t expect was that someone else was hiding too and that someone was Lewis Hamilton.

Even then, he had that spark. Teachers called it potential. Kids called it weird. He was fast not just on the track, but in the way his mind worked, the way he doodled car parts and corner lines in the margins of his maths book. Most of the time, he was quiet. But when he smiled really smiled you could feel the air shift.

Still, he wasn’t exactly popular.

Some of the boys resented him. For being different. For being focused. For being a different skin tone in a school that only ever paid lip service to diversity. You’d seen it in the way they snickered behind his back, the way they'd "joke" about the way he talked or call him names just under the teacher's radar. Not loud enough to get caught. Just loud enough to hurt.

One day, after a PE lesson, you saw him sitting alone behind the bleachers. His uniform was crumpled, his knees pulled up to his chest, and there was a bruise blooming on his cheekbone that hadn’t been there that morning.

You didn’t say anything at first. Just sat down beside him without a word, pulling your water bottle out of your bag and handing it over.

He looked at you like he wasn’t sure if he should trust it.

“You look like you hate this place almost as much as I do,” he said, finally breaking the silence.

You huffed a breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. “Well, I haven’t exactly been given a reason to love it.”

That was the beginning.

From then on, he’d meet you by your locker before class. You started sitting next to him at lunch, not caring that some people looked confused by it. You shared music. Traded secrets. Snuck snacks into the library during free periods. He let you read his notebook full of racing dreams and engine sketches the one no one else was allowed to see. And you let him see the messier parts of you, the way your chest still ached when your mum didn’t call back, the nights you cried into your pillow wondering why everything in your life was temporary.

Somehow, with him, it stopped feeling like you were just surviving.

And for Lewis in a world that often tried to shrink him, to make him smaller, quieter you never asked him to be anything but himself.

He didn’t realise it at first. Not in any dramatic, falling-off-a-cliff kind of way. It was gradual like the way morning light fills a room without anyone noticing until it’s fully bright. One day, he was just your friend. And the next he wasn’t sure how to breathe right when you laughed too hard and leaned into his shoulder. Or why his hands always felt warmer after you touched them. Or why it suddenly mattered so much if someone else made you smile.

He never said anything. Not then.

You were still figuring yourself out and he was still trying to prove himself to the world. So, he tucked it away. Folded those feelings into the pages of his sketchbook and the spaces between texts that said, “You okay?” when he really meant, “I miss you.”

But the truth of it lived quietly in him. The way he always saved you the better half of his sandwich. The way he noticed when your voice dipped just slightly over the phone. The way he’d rather spend hours lying on your floor doing nothing than be anywhere else.

And even after school ended, even when life began tugging you both in opposite directions him into the world of fast cars and global fame, you into uni lectures and internships and early heartbreaks the thread between you never snapped.

But before all that - before all the Grand Prix’s and mechanics and podiums you remember the first time you ever went over to Lewis’s house.

It was a rainy Friday afternoon. He’d noticed the way you lingered at your locker, dreading the walk home. You hadn’t told him your mum had forgotten to pick you up again, or that you’d been surviving on cereal and vending machine snacks for the last three days. But Lewis always had a way of knowing things without you saying them.

“Come over,” he said simply, slinging his rucksack over his shoulder. “Dad’ll be cool with it. He always makes too much food anyway.”

You wanted to say no. To come up with an excuse, a lie, anything that would let you keep your walls up. But something in his eyes made it hard to retreat. So, you nodded and followed him.

The flat was small, lived-in, warm. Racing posters covered the walls, and the faint scent of motor oil clung to the air like a second skin. But it felt like home in a way yours hadn’t in a long time.

Anthony Hamilton opened the door and took one look at you drenched hoodie, tired eyes, polite smile and something in his face softened.

“This her?” he asked, glancing at Lewis.

Lewis nodded. “Yeah. This is her.”

Anthony gave a quiet little grunt of approval and stepped aside. “Well, come on in then. Hope you’re hungry.”

You’d never had someone’s father cook for you like that before. He made spaghetti and garlic bread from scratch, cracked jokes across the table, and never once made you feel like an inconvenience. When you offered to help wash up afterward, he just shook his head and said, “Nah, you’re a guest. But if you’re coming back next week, I’ll put you to work.”

And he meant it. Because you did come back. Again, and again.

Anthony always greeted you like family. Remembered your favourite snack. Asked about your exams. Called you “kid” or “trouble” and sometimes when he thought you weren’t listening - told Lewis he was lucky to have a friend like you.

Lewis didn’t argue. He just smiled, small and secret, and looked down at his plate so no one could see what he was thinking.

You didn’t realise it at the time, but that house became a kind of second home. Not perfect, but safe. A place where you weren’t just seen but looked after. A place where you were wanted.

And it all started with a bruise on Lewis’s cheek and a quiet moment behind the bleachers.

You saw each other. Really saw each other.

And Lewis? He never stopped.

Years passed. The world spun faster.

Lewis became Lewis Hamilton. A name not just whispered between classmates anymore but shouted by fans from grandstands around the world. He wasn’t just the boy who shared your revision snacks and knew all your little tells - he was a world champion. A headline. A global name carved into history.

You watched his name rise from the corner of your laptop screen, from the tiny telly in your university flat with its dodgy antenna and sagging couch cushions. He was there in the background of your life like a familiar song, in magazine covers at the supermarket checkout, in Instagram stories forwarded by old classmates with messages like, “Remember him?”

Of course you remembered.

You never forgot the boy with ink-stained fingers who used to dream out loud to you in the back row of English class, notebook filled with cars and quotes and wide-eyed ambition. You never forgot the way he listened, really listened like every word you said mattered more than the noise of the world around you.

You texted sometimes. Birthday messages. The occasional “Good luck this weekend” or “Saw you on TV — still doodling in margins?” He’d always reply sometimes within minutes, sometimes days later from the other side of the globe. A scratchy voice note from a hotel room in Tokyo. A blurry selfie at an airport gate captioned ‘Look familiar?’ His replies were always warm, always tinged with something that never quite dulled with time.

But life had swept you up too.

There was your degree - long nights in the library, surviving on caffeine and cramming. An internship that turned into your first job. Your first apartment a tiny, creaky flat with paper-thin walls and a shower that only worked when you held the handle just right. You learned how to be alone. How to make instant noodles taste like something resembling dinner. You had your share of flings, mistakes, and one heartbreak so sharp it hollowed you out for a while.

And somewhere along the way, when you weren’t looking, the years folded over each other like pages turning on their own.

Then one day, he was back.

It was off-season. A rare break in the relentless hum of engines and media. He texted out of the blue:

Lewis -

In town for a bit. You around?

You stared at the message longer than you meant to, rereading it with a pulse of warmth you hadn’t felt in a long time. You typed back “Of course. Same café?” before you could overthink it.

And just like that, it was as if nothing had changed. Like the years between you hadn’t stretched or blurred.

He was waiting at the corner table of the café you used to sneak off to after school, the one with mismatched chairs and chipped mugs, the scent of cinnamon and coffee thick in the air. He was wearing sunglasses despite the overcast skies, a hoodie pulled low trying to blend in, though he never really could.

But when he looked up and saw you, his face split into that grin. That same damn grin that used to undo you in quiet, stupid ways.

“I still owe you a sandwich,” he said, holding the door open like always. “And probably a hundred library snacks.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing as you stepped inside. “I think you’re a little behind, Hamilton. More like two hundred.”

He laughed too low and fond but there was something in his eyes now. Something quieter. Something tired. Something that flickered when you told him about your job, your flat, your recent travels. And then—

“Josh, my boyfriend,” you said, smiling as you stirred your tea. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like it didn’t shift the ground beneath his feet.

Lewis didn’t flinch. Not visibly. But his fingers paused their slow tapping against the ceramic mug. Just for a second.

“Good guy?” he asked, voice soft.

You nodded, totally unaware. “Yeah. He’s great. Smart, steady. He makes me laugh. We’re thinking of moving in together next year, actually.”

And just like that, Lewis folded it all back in again.

The ache. The slow, quiet longing that had bloomed again the moment he saw you walk through that café door. The way you’d tilted your head at him and smiled like no time had passed it had unmoored him. For a moment, it had felt like something was beginning again.

He had been falling for you not with the reckless speed of youth, but with the slow, aching certainty of adulthood. The kind of falling that doesn’t feel like falling at all just coming home.

But he said nothing.

Instead, he asked about Josh. Nodded when you told him how you met. Chuckled when you shared some awkward first date story. He laughed in all the right places and nodded at all the wrong ones, because it was the only thing he could do. Pretend it didn’t crush him every time you casually used the word we.

Because he remembered the way you used to lean your head against his shoulder during revision breaks, the way you once cried into his hoodie over a boy who never deserved your tears. The way he used to think even back then — Maybe one day. And the way that day had never come.

He’d waited for the right moment once.

But life got loud, and time got away from him.

So, he backed off.

He was good at that slipping out of reach without causing a ripple. Letting you shine while he drifted just outside your orbit. He’d mastered that balance on the track, and now he practiced it with you letting his love for you live in the space between what could’ve been and what still was.

Still, he stayed.

The friend. The constant. The voice at the other end of the phone when your car battery died or when Josh forgot your anniversary and you didn’t want to make it a thing. He was the one who sent you memes at 2 a.m. when you couldn’t sleep. The one who always answered, even when the call came in the middle of a media day.

Because being near you even like this was better than being without you.

And maybe, deep down, a part of him still hoped. Not for now. Not even for soon. But for someday. Some quiet, unpromised someday when maybe the timing would finally be right.

Because the thread between you might’ve frayed with time, pulled taut with distance and different lives…

But it had never quite snapped.

Lewis started to notice it in the little things.

The way your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes when you talked about Josh anymore. How you used to light up when saying his name, voice soft, full of something warm and certain. Now, it caught on your tongue, like you weren’t sure it belonged there anymore. The way you once laughed a short, sharp sound with no real humour behind it - when Lewis casually asked if the move-in plans were still happening.

He didn’t press. He never did. But he paid attention.

He always had, when it came to you.

You met for coffee now and then, like you used to. Familiar places, familiar drinks. Life was busier now with race schedules, deadlines, missed calls that turned into half-hearted apologies but somehow, your paths kept circling back to each other, like gravity was doing its quiet work behind the scenes.

You told him stories. You always had stories. But lately, they came with longer pauses. You’d drift mid-sentence, distracted by something unsaid. You talked about work, about weekend plans, about Josh but more often now, Lewis noticed the searching in your voice, like you were digging for something good to say and couldn’t quite find it. And when you couldn’t, you’d just smile a little too tightly and change the subject.

Then came the texts.

Late-night ones, mostly. Sometimes after races. Sometimes at the end of an ordinary Tuesday.

You up?

Can I vent for a sec?

Is it bad that I don’t feel excited anymore?

Lewis never asked what had happened. Never dug into what Josh had said or done that night. He just answered, every time. It didn’t matter if he was in another country or a hotel room between races. If you needed him, he was there.

When Josh started missing the important days your birthday dinner, your sister’s graduation, the quiet night in you’d planned for weeks Lewis watched you try to hold the pieces together. You always gave Josh the benefit of the doubt. “He’s just stressed.” “He said he’ll make it up to me.”

But your voice cracked more each time you said it.

And when you said, “He’s just busy,” Lewis heard what you didn’t say:

So am I. But I still show up.

The night it all broke, you didn’t call.

It was Luna, your girl best friend, who messaged him instead, her words stumbling in a rush of panic:

She found him with someone else. She’s not okay. Please can you go? I don’t think she wants me right now.

Lewis didn’t hesitate. He didn’t think about the early call time he had the next morning or the interview he’d probably miss. He just grabbed his keys, shoved on a hoodie, and drove.

When you opened the door, you didn’t speak.

Your eyes were red-rimmed and glassy, lashes still damp. Hair pulled up carelessly. A hoodie too big for you hung off your frame like armour, sleeves falling over your hands. For a beat, you just stood there, like you didn’t know what to say, like you barely recognised yourself.

Lewis didn’t need words. He just opened his arms.

And you folded into him like it was instinct.

He wrapped you up, warm and steady, your face pressed against his chest as the sobs came in waves softer than before, worn down by hours of crying, but still aching. His hand cradled the back of your head, fingertips weaving into your hair, grounding you. You clung to him like you’d been holding your breath all day and only just remembered how to exhale.

He didn’t ask for details. Didn’t say “I’m sorry” or “What happened?”

He just let you break.

He stayed that night.

Made you tea you didn’t drink. Sat beside you on the couch, a blanket draped gently over your shoulders even though you never asked for one. He took your phone when it buzzed Josh’s name lighting up the screen and silenced it with barely a glance. And when you finally fell asleep on the couch, still tear-streaked and trembling, he curled himself into the armchair, kept one eye open, just in case you needed him again.

You woke at three a.m., disoriented, heart pounding, and he was still there - his hoodie bunched around his neck, his head resting awkwardly against the cushion. He stirred the second you shifted. Met your tired gaze with a quiet, reassuring look and asked, “You okay?”

You weren’t. But somehow, knowing he was there made it easier to breathe.

And he didn’t leave.

Not the next day. Not the one after that.

He came over with takeaway from your favourite Thai place, the one Josh always said was “too far out of the way.” He brought pastries from that little café you used to love, and when you couldn’t eat more than a few bites, he didn’t say a word. He walked your route home from work just to be near, to make the air around you feel less heavy. Sometimes, you didn’t talk. Sometimes, he made you laugh with dumb paddock stories impersonations of other drivers, tales from press tours gone wrong.

And sometimes, when the grief caught up to you when you curled into yourself on the couch, shoulders shaking, pain bubbling up without warning Lewis would pull you close, rub slow circles on your back, and whisper soft nothings until the wave passed.

You never thanked him. Not out loud. Not directly.

He never asked you to.

You didn’t fall in love with him all at once.

It wasn’t some cinematic moment or grand realisation. It was slow. Gentle. It was the way he remembered how you liked your tea with one sugar, splash of milk, extra hot. It was the way he read your silences better than most people understood your words. The way he always kept a respectful distance, never pushing, never making you feel like you owed him anything for being there.

It was the morning he dropped off groceries unannounced because you hadn’t been eating. The evening, he fixed the leaky tap in your kitchen without saying a word about it. The day he showed up with flowers not because it was a special occasion but because he thought your flat deserved some colour again.

And then, it was the day you laughed.

Really laughed.

He had said something stupid a joke about his own hair routine, maybe, or a story about George accidentally texting a team group chat instead of his girlfriend. Whatever it was, it caught you off-guard, and the sound escaped before you could stop it. Bright. Unfiltered. Real.

You covered your mouth with your hand, blinking like you couldn’t believe it happened.

When you looked at Lewis, he was already watching you.

Not with pity. Not even with relief. Just that quiet warmth again. That look that told you he’d seen the worst of you and hadn’t flinched.

Something in your chest cracked open.

Not from grief this time. But from something warmer. Something that felt like light creeping into a room you hadn’t stepped into in ages.

And in that moment, it hit you not all at once, but suddenly and sharply, like clarity finally pulling into focus:

This man had been yours all along.

Not in the way Josh had tried to possess you loudly, carelessly, like a prize. But in the way Lewis had loved you in silence. Patiently. Unconditionally. Fully. Without asking for anything back.

He had waited.

Without ever asking you to wait too.

And maybe now finally it was time.

It started slowly, the falling.

You didn’t even notice it at first. Just little things that shifted without you meaning them to. Like how your eyes searched for him in a crowd, without even thinking. Or how your chest loosened just a little every time you saw his name light up your phone screen.

One evening, a few weeks after the breakup, you were sitting on your balcony with him two mugs of lukewarm tea between you, the sun dipping behind the city skyline like it, too, was exhaling. Lewis was telling you about a disastrous team dinner in Monaco, and you were laughing. Really laughing again.

And then he looked at you just looked, not like anything had changed and your heart did something traitorous. It stuttered. Dropped. Caught again.

You blamed the sunset. Or the tea. Or the way he said your name so gently.

But that moment stayed with you.

And so did the next one. And the next.

Like when he reached over to brush a piece of lint from your sleeve and your skin burned under the touch. Or the day he walked you home in the rain, his jacket held over both your heads, and you couldn’t stop staring at the way his lashes caught the water. Or the night you watched a movie together and you leaned into his side a little longer than you needed to and he didn’t move. He just let you stay.

It scared you.

Because for the first time in a long time, you felt something. And it wasn’t grief. It wasn’t the ache of losing something or someone. It was softer than that. Warmer. Like something was rebuilding inside you, brick by brick and it had his fingerprints all over it.

You told Luna one night, voice low, like it was something fragile.

“I think I’m falling for him.”

She didn’t even look surprised.

“You’ve always been his. You just didn’t see it before.”

You didn’t answer. But the words haunted you for days.

One night, you found yourself digging through an old photo album in your parents’ attic a dusty, battered one filled with pictures from secondary school. School trips. Award ceremonies. Blurry selfies from your first ever music festival.

And there he was.

In the background of almost every photo. Always close. Always watching you. Sometimes laughing at something you’d said. Sometimes looking like he was about to speak but didn’t. And then there was that one of you and Josh, smiling stiffly at some friend dinner and Lewis, just off to the side, his expression unreadable.

You stared at that one the longest.

And suddenly, it clicked.

Like a puzzle piece slotted into place after years of trying to force the wrong ones together. You remembered the way he’d waited outside your classroom when you forgot your jacket. The way he’d walked you to the bus stop every day, even though it made him late. The way he never once told you how he felt not because he didn’t care, but because he didn’t want to burden you with it.

He’s loved you since you were kids.

You felt like an idiot. A blind one. Because how could you not have seen it? How could you have missed the kind of love that patient? That selfless?

That real?

You didn’t know what to do with the realisation. It sat in your chest like a secret too big to carry, too dangerous to say aloud. So, you didn’t. Not right away.

But the next time you saw him, something had changed.

It was movie night again your third that week, an unspoken tradition that neither of you ever seemed to want to break. He was curled on the floor, back against the couch, and you were up on the cushions, your legs tucked beneath you.

And you couldn’t stop watching him.

Not in a subtle, sidelong-glance kind of way but openly. Boldly. Like you needed to memorise him. Every line of his face. The soft edge of his smile. The way he knew the movie word for word but still watched it like it was brand new, just because you liked it.

At some point, he turned to say something, and your eyes met mid-breath.

Silence.

Your heart thundered. His lips parted, just slightly, like he was going to say something, but then he didn’t. He just…watched you back.

Your fingers twitched.

You didn’t know who moved first. Maybe both of you. Maybe neither — maybe it was just something that had been waiting to happen for years, and finally, finally, the timing aligned.

Your hand slipped down beside his. Not touching. Just close.

He looked down.

Then back at you.

And then he reached slowly, like giving you time to pull away and let his fingers brush yours.

It wasn’t a kiss. Not yet.

But it was the spark.

You didn’t speak the rest of the movie. You didn’t move away, either.

When the credits rolled, you turned to him, your voice soft, trembling just a little.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

He didn’t pretend not to know what you meant.

He just looked down, let out a breath, and said,

“Because you were happy. And I didn’t want to be the reason you weren’t.”

Your throat tightened.

You reached for his hand again fully this time. Your palm against his. His thumb brushed over your knuckles like a whisper.

“I wasn’t,” you said. “Not really. I just didn’t know what it was supposed to feel like.”

His eyes met yours again, and something flickered there something deep, something vulnerable.

“Then let me show you.”

The words were so quiet, you almost missed them.

And that’s when you leaned in.

It wasn’t a rushed kiss. It wasn’t urgent or desperate. It was slow. Careful. Like the kind of thing that had waited too long to be careless. Your lips brushed his like a question. His answer was the way he tilted his head, deepened the kiss, his hand cradling your jaw like you were something breakable and holy all at once.

It was years of silence. Years of patience. Years of loving each other in the wrong timelines, finally collapsing into one moment where everything was right.

When you pulled back, he didn’t say anything.

He just smiled wide, real, full of every unspoken thing between you.

And you knew this was just the beginning.

You didn’t define it right away.

After the kiss that soft, silent thing that felt like coming home neither of you rushed to fill the space with labels or declarations. You stayed curled on the couch beside him, legs tangled beneath the throw blanket, your fingers still laced together. His thumb kept tracing gentle arcs over your knuckles like he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to touch you like this now. Like if he let go, it might all disappear.

It wasn’t awkward.

It wasn’t loud.

It was just…different.

Softer. Heavier. A stillness that settled between you like shared breath. The world didn’t shift with a bang, but something unspoken clicked into place, quiet and sure like how you always knew you were meant to find your way back to him.

You still messaged the same way stupid memes, check-ins, late-night “did you eat?” texts but something about the timing changed. His replies came faster. Your words lingered longer before you hit send. And the silence between messages stretched not with absence, but with anticipation. A little thrill of “what are we now?” echoing quietly every time you looked at your screen.

The next time he came over, he didn’t knock.

He let himself in, as always, but this time when you turned the corner into the hallway, he kissed your cheek before saying anything. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he’d been doing it forever.

And maybe, in a way, he had just not out loud.

That night, when you curled up beside him again under your well-worn blanket, the space between you narrowed with ease. His arm draped over your shoulder with the same hesitance you'd seen in his eyes when he first took your hand the night before cautious, hopeful. He was giving you an out, if you wanted one.

Instead, you leaned in closer, resting your head against his collarbone.

Your voice came out like a secret. “Is this okay?”

He tilted his head down, met your eyes really looked.

“Yeah,” he said, warm and steady. “If you want it to be.”

And you did. God, you did.

You just didn’t know how to be in love with your best friend without fumbling the very thing you’d both spent years unknowingly building.

The first time you went out in public again not as just friends, but not quite a couple either was for lunch at that little café tucked behind the bookshop you both liked. You sat beside him instead of across. Close enough to feel the brush of his sleeve every time he lifted his coffee.

At one point, his hand found your knee under the table. Not deliberate. Not bold. Just... there. And your heart fluttered like a teenager with her first crush.

No one looked twice. But you did.

Every second.

He’d say something funny that dry, quiet kind of wit that had always made you laugh and you’d look at him with new eyes. Like, how did I miss this for so long? His lips curved, and you caught yourself watching his mouth, remembering what it had felt like against yours.

He noticed.

And he smiled like he couldn’t help it.

“Do you think this is weird?” you asked, peeling at the corner of your napkin.

Lewis shook his head gently, brushing his thumb across the back of your hand beneath the table. “No. But I think we’ve both been scared of it for a long time.”

You looked up, searching his face.

“Are you still scared?”

“A little,” he admitted. “But not of loving you.”

It didn’t escalate right away.

He never rushed. Never asked for more than you were ready to give. Just lingered a little longer when he touched you. A hand on your back when you passed each other in the hallway. A brush of his fingers down your arm as he handed you a cup of tea. A forehead pressed to yours in that quiet moment before goodbye.

He kissed you like it was a promise. Every time. Like it was sacred.

The first night he stayed over again after everything you shared your bed.

Fully clothed. Fully comfortable.

You lay with your head on his chest, legs tangled together beneath the covers, his hand gently resting against your spine like he was grounding you. His heartbeat was steady, strong beneath your ear.

“Is this real?” you whispered into the dark.

His voice was husky, drowsy. “Been real for me since we were kids.”

You tilted your head up, tears stinging the corners of your eyes.

He caught the shift in your expression and kissed your forehead so gently it nearly broke you.

You didn’t say I love you yet.

But you felt it in every moment he reached for you when you woke up panicked from a dream, in the way he stayed quiet when you needed silence and spoke only when your shoulders relaxed enough to listen.

There were bumps.

You panicked one morning when Luna asked casually if you were back on the dating apps, and your mouth opened before your brain could catch up. You froze, unsure what to say, unsure if you could say anything yet. It wasn’t a secret. But it wasn’t public either. Not quite yours to explain without him.

Lewis noticed that night, when you sat a little further away on the couch. When you went quiet in the way that meant your mind was spinning too fast for your own good.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t push.

He just came by the next morning with your favourite coffee, still warm, and a gentle smile on his face.

“Still with me?” he asked quietly, holding out the cup.

You took it with both hands, eyes soft. “I just - I don’t want to ruin this.”

He leaned in, brushing his thumb across your cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You won’t,” he murmured. “We’ve already been through the worst, haven’t we?”

Your breath hitched as you looked at him. All the versions of him you’d loved. The boy who sat beside you in class, the teenager who walked you home in the rain, the man who now held you like you were something precious.

You leaned forward and rested your forehead against his.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “And you stayed.”

“Always.”

The first time you told him you loved him; it wasn’t a grand gesture.

It was late. He’d just come back from a long race weekend a brutal one. You’d watched the whole thing on your laptop, biting your nails and yelling at the screen like he could hear you. When he finally walked through your door, tired and rumpled and so painfully familiar, you didn’t even think. You just moved.

You threw your arms around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder, breathing in the scent of him in motor oil and cologne and something warm beneath it all.

“I love you,” you whispered into his collar.

He stilled.

Then slowly, his arms wrapped around your waist. Tighter. Closer.

He pulled back just enough to see your face, his eyes wide, like he wanted to make sure you meant it.

You did.

He smiled that small, private smile he’d only ever given to you and exhaled like he’d been holding it in for years.

“Finally,” he said. “I can say it back.”

And he did.

He said it again that night, between kisses that were slower than usual. Deeper. Kisses that said I missed you and thank you and I’ve been waiting for this for so long.

He said it the next morning, when he woke up to find you still wrapped around him, one hand curled beneath his t-shirt like you’d anchored yourself there in sleep.

He said it the morning after that, too.

And every day after, like it had been sitting on the tip of his tongue for a decade.

And now, he never had to hold it back again.

[elliesngirl]

Assigned to you

Nerd! Loser! Ellie Williams x Fem! Popular! Reader

WC: 1.6k (sorry it’s short, I’ll make the next ones longer)

Warnings: None

Part 1: Prev/Next

Let me know it you wanna be in the taglist!

—

The school buzzed with its usual chaotic energy—students laughing, lockers slamming, and shoes squeaking against polished floors.

For Ellie Williams, it was sensory overload, a daily reminder of how much she despised high school. She kept her head down as she weaved through the bustling hallway, her headphones perched securely on her head, though no music played.

They weren’t for entertainment; they were for survival, a barrier between her and the world she tried so hard to avoid.

Ellie stopped at her locker, tugging at the handle with her hoodie-covered hands.

Her textbooks were lined up like soldiers, each black cover marked with a tiny sticker: red for maths, blue for physics, green for history.

Ellie loved organization, and she hated bright colors, so this system was her perfect balance. She grabbed the books she needed, carefully closed her locker, and slipped her hands back into her pockets.

Maths, physics, and history made up the start of her day, and while most people would find that lineup miserable,

Ellie didn’t mind. She liked the logic of it, the predictability. There was no guessing, no group work, just numbers, facts, and dates. That didn’t mean she didn’t feel the pressure, though.

An upcoming maths exam loomed over her, and the constant chatter from her classmates made it hard to concentrate.

Ellie clenched her jaw, her pencil tapping rhythmically against the desk as she tried to block out the noise. She had to focus—she couldn’t afford to miss anything if she wanted to get into a good university.

Art was her true escape, though. Later in the day, when she could finally swap equations and historical timelines for her sketchbook, Ellie felt the tension ease from her shoulders.

She loved sketching more than anything else. It was her way of expressing what she couldn’t say, of creating worlds far removed from her own.

Meanwhile, across the school, your day was starting very differently. You strolled into the building a full thirty minutes late, your heels clicking confidently against the tile floor. You were the complete opposite of Ellie—where she avoided attention, you thrived in it. Ellie dressed in dull, baggy clothes, while you dressed in pinks and mini skirts.

Walking next to your best friend, Olivia, you laughed loudly, drawing the stares and whispers of your peers as if you didn’t notice. But you noticed. You always noticed.

“I don’t understand why Jake even tried hitting on you,” Olivia said, rolling her eyes dramatically. “I mean, you’re so out of his league it’s embarrassing.”

You giggled, brushing her comment off with a playful shrug. “Oh, don’t be mean. He’s sweet… in his own way.”

“Sweet doesn’t make him your type,” Olivia said, raising an eyebrow.

You just smiled, dodging the conversation as you reached your locker. Unlike Ellie’s, yours was a chaotic mess of papers, pens, and random odds and ends. You grabbed whatever notebook and pen were closest, not bothering to check if they were the right ones for your next class. Organization wasn’t exactly your strong suit.

“Anyway, I’ll see you later,” you said, waving Olivia off as you made your way to the gym for PE. You didn’t bother changing; your teacher had long given up trying to get you to participate.

Instead, you sat on the bleachers, scrolling through TikTok, sending snaps, and texting your friends about weekend plans.

The attention didn’t faze you. You were used to the way people’s heads turned at the sound of your heels, the way their conversations paused briefly as you passed by.

Back in maths, Ellie was growing more agitated by the minute. The constant chatter of her classmates made it nearly impossible to focus on the teacher’s explanations.

Her hands clenched into fists under the desk, her mind racing with formulas and deadlines. The bell rang, and Ellie shot out of her seat, meticulously gathering her things and heading straight to her next class.

You walked out of the gym and your head quickly shot to the side quickly when you saw Ellie rushing to get to class, it made you giggle as you shook your head, mumbling “Nerd.”

The two of you had passed each other in the hallway before, maybe even brushed shoulders once or twice, but neither of you had ever really noticed the other.

Your next class went by really quickly, now you have history, you slowly walked to history because you really didn’t feel like showing up, but you knew you had to.

When you walked into the classroom, your eyes went straight to Ellie, she was sitting at the front of the classroom, she was sitting up straight and listening carefully to what the teacher was saying, you rolled your eyes and shoved past her and sat at the back of the room, putting your headphones in and ignoring the teacher.

“For the next 3 months, you will be working on a project with a partner, the two of you will choose an historical event and make a physical poster and a presentation,” The teacher exclaims, the students roll their eyes and already plan who they want to be with.

The teacher interrupted them with something all students hated hearing, “I will be assigning your partners.”

Louder groans were heard, and everyone rolled their eyes as the teacher began to list out names. “Dina and James, Vanessa and Lily, Emma and Olivie, Kai and Mike, Ellie and Y/n.” The teacher announced and everyone started moving to be with their partner.

Ellie slowly walks towards you, and sits next to you, but your head doesn’t move, she coughs to try and get your attention but you still don’t move, so she slowly moves your hand to tap your hand on the shoulder.

You take your airpod out and roll your eyes, when you make eye contact with ellie. “Umm, what?” you ask, Ellie fiddles with her thumb and index finger, looking down shyly, “we are partners for our project..”

You take your other airpod out and put it in the case, not saying anything to Ellie, she sighs saying, “look, I really need a good mark, I can do all the work if you want me to.”

You look at Ellie with an annoyed expression, “You think I can’t do it?” You ask, Ellie quickly shakes her head, scratching the back of her neck, “No! No! That’s not what Ii said!” She exclaims in a panic, making you huff and roll your eyes, “It’s what you meant.”

“No!” Ellie yells, catching the attention of everyone in the classroom, as they stare at her, her cheeks go red from embarrassment and she tries to hide her face with her hoodie. “Chill out, I’m messing with you, but I still want to do the work, my parents would kill me if I get another bad grade.” You say, Ellie’s eyes go wide with excitement.

“Great!” She says loudly, but then gets embarrassed again, “I mean great as in- I’m glad you’d join me! not great as in your parents killing you..” Ellie quickly confirms. You giggle, which makes Ellies cheeks grow more red.

“Anyway, Let me give you my info so we can plan when to do this project.” Ellie nods her head, taking out her notebook and pen to write it down. “Do you have snap?” You ask, Ellie quickly shakes her head.

“Insta.” Ellie nods her head, “What’s your username?” You ask, already having your phone out, ready to put her username in. “Umm..Lemme just type it.” Ellie tries to reach out for your phone but you move your arms away and wait for her to say her username.

Ellie looks down at her hands and quietly says “Ellie_theDino” You look back at her confused, not hearing her, “What?” Ellie sighs, saying it louder so you can hear her “Ellie_theDino..”

You type in the username and it’s the first page that pops up, a private account with 43 followers, a profile picture of sharks and a bio that says all her favourite things. Sharks, Dinosaurs, Spiderman and women

The bell rings and you quickly get up, saying to Ellie quickly “I requested you.” Ellie nods, “I’ll follow you when I get home, and I will message you about the details.” Ellie says and you nod quickly and exit the classroom.

-

Taglist

@vahnilla

[woso-story]

Mila's First Real Crush

Ingrid Engen x Mapi Leon x DaughterMila

Twelve-year-old Mila practically floats into the house, her cheeks pink and her eyes glowing in a way that only someone experiencing their first crush can pull off. She toes off her shoes a little too quickly, avoids eye contact, and mutters something about homework before darting down the hallway and into her room.

Ingrid, who had been chopping vegetables in the kitchen, arches a brow. She leans casually on the counter, watching the hallway like a hawk.

“She’s up to something,” she says, voice low.

Mapi looks up from her notebook, where she's been sketching a new tattoo design. She blinks, pen hovering mid-stroke. “What do you mean?”

Ingrid gestures vaguely after their daughter. “You didn’t see that? The blush? The lightning-fast retreat? That’s guilty behavior.”

Mapi shrugs. “Maybe she’s actually doing homework for once.”

Ingrid isn’t convinced. She narrows her eyes. “I’m watching her.”

---

Over the next few weeks, Ingrid’s suspicion grows with every small change. Mila hums when brushing her hair. She checks her phone more often. She starts spending hours at the park “just hanging out,” and she even starts picking out her clothes with actual effort.

Eventually, Mapi notices it too.

“She smiled at her phone,” Mapi whispers one evening, eyes wide. “That wasn't a meme smile. That was something different.”

They try asking her directly, one evening over dinner. Mila stabs at her mashed potatoes like they offended her and says, “Nothing’s going on. Everything’s normal.” She doesn’t look up once.

So, like any good parents, they do the obvious: they send in the reinforcements.

Alexia Putellas, football legend and favorite aunt, has a standing monthly cafe date with Mila. Mila doesn’t usually mind the questions about school or football or whether she’s been practicing her guitar. But this time, Alexia gives her that knowing look and goes straight in:

“All right, Mila. What’s going on?”

Mila hesitates. Her spoon stirs her hot chocolate in endless circles.

Alexia doesn’t look away.

Finally, Mila exhales and mumbles, “I like someone from my class.”

Alexia lights up with relief. “Oh, thank God. I thought you were gonna say you failed math or joined a cult.”

Mila laughs, then slouches. “I didn’t tell Mama and Mami.”

“Why not?”

“Mama would be chill. But Mami? She’d go into full football-defender mode. Asking a million questions. Staring them down. Maybe pull out that look she used on referees when they made a bad call.”

Alexia chuckles knowingly. “True. But Mila, they’re just worried. They love you. And you know what? You should tell them. They’ll understand. Especially if you do it before Mapi starts making PowerPoint presentations on what ‘normal teenage behavior’ looks like.”

Mila snorts. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll talk to them.”

That evening, Mila walks into the living room, where Ingrid and Mapi are half-watching a movie. She stands in front of them, hands twisting nervously.

“Can I talk to you?”

Ingrid immediately pauses the movie and pats the space between them. Mila curls up between her moms, and for a moment it’s quiet.

“I’ve been acting different. And I wanna tell you why,” Mila begins. “I… like someone from my class. And we’ve been spending time together. Just us two. It’s been really nice. I’m just… happy.”

Ingrid breaks into a soft smile and pulls her into a hug. “That’s wonderful, Mila. I’m so happy for you.”

Mila looks toward Mapi, who’s staring ahead, unmoving. Her face is unreadable.

“Mami?”

Mapi blinks. Her eyes are glossy.

“You okay?”

Mapi clears her throat. “Yeah, yeah, it’s just—” Her voice wavers. “It’s happening so fast. Yesterday you were watching cartoons and dressing Bagheera in princess dresses and now you’re… having your first crush?” She sniffles, wiping a tear away. “Soon you’ll be off to college. Then marrying someone. And I’ll only see you at Christmas.”

Mila wraps her arms around her. “I’ll always be your little girl, Mami.”

Mapi kisses the top of her head and holds her close.

As Mila gets up to go back to her room, Mapi calls after her, “I want to meet the boy, you hear me? Just so I can properly scare him.”

Mila pauses, turns around with a smirk, and raises a brow. “Who said anything about a boy?”

With a wink, she vanishes down the hall.

Mapi stares, processing. “Wait. No boy?”

Ingrid sees the wheels turning before Mapi even speaks. A slow, satisfied grin spreads across Mapi’s face.

“No boy,” she repeats, almost dreamily. “Of course not. She grew up surrounded by women’s football and queer aunts and rainbow everything. Why would she like boys?”

Ingrid bursts into laughter and pulls her wife into her arms.

“She’s still growing up,” Ingrid murmurs, kissing Mapi’s cheek.

“Yeah,” Mapi sighs. “But at least I don’t have to worry about a hormone-fueled teenage boy.”

They settle back into the couch, movie forgotten, their hearts full—equal parts joy, nostalgia, and a whole lot of love.

[smallpwbbles]

She didn’t get that sketch book back

Quick fic for my Biolizard shadow au taking place pre Ark incident, just some nice fluff between Maria and Shadow

Feel free to criticise the fuck outta this, haven’t written a fic since I was like 13, did feel nice to write this though, hopefully I can turn write a longer fic for the au like I said I wanted to do

Maria was beginning to get restless, it had been a long week full of tests, resting, recovering and just a general sense of stagnation. The days were beginning to phase into a repetitive cycle and while she could manage with it, she couldn’t say it wasn’t beginning to get boring.

Her studies were just finishing up, she had once again been bested by her least favourite subject, math. Maria was quite smart for her age, a symptom of being a Robotnik no doubt, however math had such a way with turning her brain to mush. She was sick enough as it was, she didn’t need the subject doing away with her mind too.

Her notebook and sticky notes were packed away in a cute little cubby adorably stuck with a tag with her name on it, next to hers was an empty cubby addressed with the name Shadow, it was unfortunate that with the monstrous hedgehogs seemingly unending growth spurts came the ability to not fit almost anywhere on the Ark, apart for his enclosure of course.

Maria put a hand to the unused cubby, she very much missed studying in the classroom with Shadow, but her grandfather did allow for studies to be taught with Shadow in the enclosure when they were both on best behaviour, the old man may be a stickler but was an absolute softie at heart.

Gerald was erasing the algebra on the blackboard with a content smile, Maria could see he was in quite a good mood today which was especially great as the week of tests wasn’t just unfortunate to her. As Shadow was due for many tests to check on the state of his growth, Gerald and his team spent many weeks trying to get it under control right after Shadow had begun to increase in size rapidly.

The scientists had all done their best but to an ailing Shadow, who had to be okay with needles and diagrams shoved in and around him, he was at best irate and at worst, down right hostile. One of the testing scientists was still recovering in the first aid section of the Ark after a particularly vexed Shadow struck out. He was “grounded” after such an incident, which doesn’t mean much when you’re 35 feet and can kill a person with minimal effort, but it meant Maria couldn’t see him at the moment.

That wasn’t gonna stop her from trying.

“Grandfather! Studies were absolutely wonderful today, I feel maths gets easier and easier each time you teach it to me” Maria lied. Her plan was to butter him up, get him in an even better mood, maybe then he would feel lenient enough to let her stay in the enclosure with Shadow.

“It makes me glad to hear that Maria my dear, maths has always been an essential subject matter in the world of education, why I’ve loved maths ever since I was a young tot, you know I solved my first problem when I was just 3 years old-“ Gerald kept on. Oh no, she got him rambling, maybe she could shoot her shot and just ask outright. The last time he rambled it put her right to sleep on her desk, it hurt his feelings but the second she started hearing percentages her brain shut it down.

“May I see Shadow today!?” She hadn’t meant to blurt it out so outright but she felt the ramble was about to edge towards fractions and decimals and she quite had enough of those today

Gerald’s animated ramblings stopped in an instant and he faced his granddaughter who was doing her best to charm him with her childish adorable appeal

He hummed and hawed for a moment before shaking his head “Now Maria I know you miss Shadow very much but he is in trouble at the moment”

A wave of defensiveness washed over Maria as she recounted Shadow was currently punished due to actions he did in a moment of stress and anger, she felt in the same position she would have struck out or at the very least gave that scientist a good old raspberry, she was still proud she taught Shadow that, Gerald didn’t need to know that though.

“Oh but Grandfather, it’s been more than a week, I’m sure Shadow has learned his lesson” Maria begged.

“He growled at one of our scientists who came for a check up this morning, one he particularly likes mind you” he retorted

“I mean it could be a bit of that teenage rebellion you’re always claiming me to have when I’m not happy to see you in the morning” She countered.

“I-“ Gerald stopped himself and put a finger to his lip, honestly he couldn’t dismiss that. As Shadow continued to grow he picked up more behaviours Gerald could attribute to the traditional development of adolescence. It still had him flabbergasted as he recalled Shadow sticking his tongue right at Gerald one time during studies.

“None the matter, I don’t want you getting hurt in there because of the irritation he’s at right now” Gerald commanded. Maria deflated, this definitely wasn’t going out the way she has planned.

“He would never! Shadow absolutely adores us, he wouldn’t hurt us” Maria argued, she trusted this 100%. Although around most people some could say Shadow could be careless, Maria and Gerald were of a select few that Shadow handled with the upmost care and caution. Maria could just about get away with doing anything around Shadow, if not for her sickness she would most definitely use the gigantic hedgehog as a playground.

At quiet times before lights were out, when allowed she would curl up in Shadows large claws, it amazed her how still and gentle he could be, she felt like a glass doll in his hands as she deducted he was so still in fear of jostling her. It saddened her that Shadow was at such a state he felt even the slightest movements would hurt her.

Gerald put a palm to his head, “I know he wouldn’t hurt you on purpose Maria, but Shadow can forget himself sometimes, need I remind you of Steven, who is in the infirmary because of Shadows actions?” He scolded. Maria didn’t have a retort for that, she could defend shadow as much as she liked but it didn’t change that he had indeed hurt someone.

She looked down to her dress skirt and gripped the fabric of it, she knew better than to act like a brat not getting their way but she was getting irate, one more plea, and if no results she would would back down, lest she get into an argument with her grandfather and end up in trouble herself.

“I’ve just felt absolutely restless. I understand he’s in trouble grandfather but he always behaves around me, I could even go in there and get him to apologise! He’s usually nicer after I give him a good talking to” Maria gripped her skirt harder, she was honest about getting him to apologise, she didn’t want him thinking what he had done to that scientist was okay.

Gerald studied her for a moment before letting out a defeated sign, the softie in him had won, he hated seeing Maria as desperate as she was, and she was not wrong. Maria’s presence seemed to greatly improve Shadows mood the most

“Fine, you can see him” Maria almost jumped up in excitement but steeled herself, it didn’t stop her from looking absolutely giddy “but you are not to rile him up in any way, and if I feel you are in danger you are to come out, understand” Gerald instructed.

Maria gave a silly salute, she couldn’t help it knowing her plan came around “loud and clear!”

——————————————————————

He was clearly pouting when she got to the viewing windows of Shadows enclosure, he was lying on his side and had his back to the large reinforced windows, so nobody could see his face. It was cute to Maria, he always did this getting in trouble.

He was also very still, she actually couldn’t tell if he was asleep or not in that position, a second later when he turned his head slightly to notice her presence confirmed he was indeed awake. Shadow had quite the ability to sense the people around him without anyone else knowing they were there. He glared at her before immediately curling in on himself, she had no idea how someone that big could make themselves look smaller but he was managing quite well.

She put her hands to the window, the glare he just gave her hadn’t put her off, he clearly wasn’t as happy to see her as she thought he would be but that was her gigantic, hedgehog, lizard buddy in need and she hadn’t almost got on her knees and begged to see him for nothing.

3 little taps to the glass, Maria did this just to give him a warning whenever she was coming in, in response Shadow seemed to curl further in on himself, he almost looked like a gigantic spiky ball.

Maria made a small trek down a compact set of Stairs to some steel doors that led into the enclosure, there was a code box right next to the doors that needed an input only Maria, Gerald and some trusted scientists knew. Quickly putting in 4 digits, her birthday as predictably done by her grandfather, Maria bounced in excitement as the doors painstakingly opened.

The chamber was quiet and smelled of lavender, Maria had recommended a calming smell might tide over Shadow to act nicer during testing, while it hadn’t, he still very much enjoyed the smell.

Maria encountered the big ball of black and red quills and scales, he was very much still pouting and didn’t seem to want to acknowledge her. She gave a couple pats to what she could assume was his tail but it was quite hard to tell as curled up as he was.

Shadow gave no response to indicate he felt the pats so she grabbed a few quills and gave a small tug, she didn’t want to tug hard as she’d definitely get cut if he bristled his quills in response, yet he still gave no reaction.

Oh he was really having quite the tantrum today. She put her hands to her hips and gave the giant wall of quills a tired look

“Shadow it’s me! Are you not happy to see me?” Maria yelled up at him.

If he was, he gave no reciprocation. It humbled her quite intensely as it was a first for Shadow to completely ignore her.

She looked down at her shoes and decided if he was gonna be the Debbie of downers she would use other means of entertainment. She pulled out her small sketch pad that conveniently fit in her skirt pockets. It was a great source of distraction when she had nothing to do or nobody to talk to.

She walked over to some worn down chairs that were placed carefully far to one end of the enclosure, they were initially placed there for observation of Shadow but it was an overestimated idea as most scientists didn’t have the nerve to be in the same room as Shadow for more than 5 minutes. Maria abused this section of the enclosure to benefit her creative devices and made Shadow the subject of most of her sketches.

It was about 5 minutes into drawing when she had stopped drawing Shadow as doodling a curled up spiky ball hadn’t been as fun as she thought. She looked up from her sketch pad as Shadow began to unfurl, as he stretched out she heard some of his bones crack back into place, bones cracking was already an unnerving sound to her, hearing it at Shadows size was something entirely else so she couldn’t help the look that came on her face.

Shadow stopped his stretching to study her, he smirked at the unsettled face Maria made as it was quite an amusing expression for her to pull, the smirked made her a little irate considering how rudely he was to ignore her just before.

“I see you got tired of pouting” Maria huffed, Shadow simply stuck her tongue at her, she gasped in shock and stook up immediately, absolutely aghast he would use such a move on her of all people, she kind of wish she hadn’t taught him that now.

“That’s absolutely- why I never- you are such a rude-“ she couldn’t make up her mind what to say in response. Shadow sat on his hind legs and looked at her in amusement, to anyone who could have been outside the enclosure, the sight of a young blond girl yelling and scolding the near 40 foot giant beast was bewildering.

“It’s no wonder grandfather didn’t want me to see you, with you acting like such a brat I have half a mind to walk out of here, are you even sorry for what you did?!” Maria furiously turned her back to him and folded her arms, if she looked back she would have seen Shadow flinch at the question. “The scientists are doing the best to help you and you had someone sent into first aid!” She grumbled.

Maria heard some loud shuffling then the room shook for a moment, she steadied herself and looked back to see Shadow had repositioned himself with his back to her. She didn’t know why the sight infuriated her more but it just seemed like he wanted to be insanely difficult today.

She began to march over to him, about to give him a peace of her mind. However when she traversed enough to get a even look at what she assumed would be a unremorseful smug smirk, she was met with a regretful furrowed brow, his red crimson irises met her blue azure ones and he instantly looked away and brought his arms up to hold himself. He wouldn’t look back at her.

Maria began to calm herself, one look at him told her what she knew, of course he felt bad for what he did. She wanted to give herself a right slap for forgetting herself, he obviously found it hard to talk about what happened, she shouldn’t have expected him to be right and ready to talk as soon as she walked through those doors.

She slowly came closer and put a hand to his ankle, that was as much as she could reach at his current sat up stance. He dared a glance down at her tiny form and again looked away, she could feel the giant begin to tremble, she then heard as an unmistakable voice rasped out “…didn’t mean to”.

His voice rumbled throughout her body as her heart wrenched at that statement. She believed it without question, he was gentle and caring, she was tired after the week long tests. Maria could only imagine what it was like for him after being poked and prodded for hours on end.

“I know” she comforted. She really did wish he was at least a little smaller, it was really hard to comfort someone who has a hand as big as your entire body.

She could attempt to climb up his leg but she really didn’t want to risk getting Gerald upset with her if she was to exacerbate her already strained lungs. She motioned at shadow with her hand and got his attention “Shadow your hand please” she gently commanded

He knew what she was asking and took a hand off his person to reach her, only seeing his claws near her had him stop for a moment which Maria noticed. “You would never hurt me” she assured. He gently scooped her up and cupped his other hand to the one holding her.

Shadow brought up a safely secured Maria up to his face in which she at once assaulted him with a full face hug, it surprised him for a moment but he instantly melted into it. She did this when she knew he was even a bit upset. He did find the gesture embarrassing but appreciated it all the same.

Maria nuzzled into his muzzle harder, she’d be finding fur in her dress for ages but she didn’t mind, the priority was Shadow. She was glad he was remorseful, it would have been alarming if she had to explain why it’s wrong to send someone into the infirmary but Shadow seemed to grasp the consequences of the event that transpired.

“You are going to apologise once Steven is out of the infirmary aren’t you?” She left his muzzle alone finally and looked up at him, he seemed embarrassed at such a request but knew he couldn’t argue with something that was the least he could do. He nodded firmly and hoped it would be enough to satisfy Maria.

It definitely was as she once again came full force with a hug to his muzzle, he did wish he could return such a gesture properly but he’d definitely crush the poor girl with such a return, instead he just leaned his face into her arms, she was such a tiny thing to him but the action warmed his heart so immensely he’d almost forgotten why he was mad in the first place.

Maria plopped back into his palm, content with her job as “the Shadow whisperer”, as she had oddly dubbed herself in her mind. She wished she could converse with him about all the events that transpired while he had been “grounded” but it mostly included tests which was the furthest thing she was sure both of them wanted to talk about. In that moment she remembered the little notepad she was doodling in earlier.

Shadow watched as she fought to relieve her pocket of the sketch pad and as she flicked through a few pages of quite nice and detailed drawings of him and a few familiar faces he’d seen on the Ark, his interested peaked as he watched her turn to her recent pages and she chortled, Maria shakily stood up on Shadows surprisingly soft palm and held the sketch pad to Shadow, who’s interested promptly died when he saw a drawing of a spiky ball which had been nicely detailed with an annotate to tell whoever was reading the ball was a “grumpy pouty shadow”.

Maria watched Shadows face fall flat and couldn’t help that roar of laughter that immediately escaped her, this only continued to irritate the humongous hedgehog. He brought over his other hand that didn’t have a laughing Maria in it and swiftly brought it over his palm, Maria yelled out a panicked “NO WAIT-“ as he did so. He didn’t hurt her, he just gave her a quick squish to shut her up. That seemed to do the job as he opened his palms to a silence Maria who had her hair adorably scruffy from the attack “I hate it when you do that, I totally deserved it though” she concluded

He snickered at that and she gave him a quick punch to his pinkie finger

——————————————————————

Maria had lost track of the time she had been in the enclosure after 2 hours. She wasn’t worried she’d been in too long as her Grandfather had cameras in the chamber and would have called her out if he wanted her out.

She had returned to her drawings while she was cradled in Shadows palms. She was absolutely engrossed in her current drawing and hadn’t noticed Shadow wasn’t giving input or feedback on her drawings anymore.

The palm she was in suddenly jerked and she had to grab one of his fingers to keep from losing balance, her sketch pad had fallen to the ground when the motion happened. She looked up when she was steadied and saw Shadow, he seemed to have not noticed what he had done. Honestly he seemed quite out of it, she quickly realised the poor thing was fighting sleep and must have accidentally jerked back to being half awake.

“Shadow” Maria called, his eyes opened fully to address her but immediately went back to being half lidded. “Are you tired? I can leave so you can get some rest” she offered.

He stubbornly shook his head and cupped his other hand under her, normally he would have let her go off when she wanted and went back to doing as he did alone in the enclosure but she was sure it was his sleepy brain not wanting her to leave and he was acting upon that.

“Alright alright, don’t have a fuss I’m not going anywhere, even if I could” he had brought his hand close enough that she could reach a particular spot under his muzzle, she gave it a few scritches and had to steel herself when he began purring, it was an intense and loud sound that she feel sending waves through her entire body but she bared it.

He leaned into it, and began to literally lean his entire body’s forward when the feeling of the scratches began to calm his already tired mind, Maria had to stop and immediately grabbed onto anything she could, which was his ring finger as Shadow fell forward, the enclosure shook from the weight of him falling and Maria waited for the vibrations to die down, she hoped her grandfather was not watching the cameras at that moment as she could of accidentally been hurt, she could hear and feel the vibrations of Shadows quiet snores as it confirmed he has simply fallen asleep.

She hopped off his palm to trek to his face, give him a quick hug. Her mission was to now find her sketch pad, that last drawing she was engrossed with had come along really well and she wanted to show her grandfather how her art skills were coming out. Her face turned grief stricken when she realised her sketch pad had fallen where Shadow lay asleep right now, if he rolled over which she knew he was guaranteed to do, it was completely over for that drawing as well as her entire sketch pad.

Maria inhaled and then exhaled. The stories of the superheroes her grandfather read to her had to go through sacrifice, and right now as the shadow whisperer, she could definitely say she was going through sacrifice right now.

[saymonsays]

‎1 — Solving for X (and Maybe Love)

‎

pairing: kwon jiyong x reader

ep 2 | ep 3

‎Summary: She’s a popular girl who hates math. He’s the quiet genius no one notices. When she’s forced to get tutoring—and he’s assigned as her tutor—their worlds crash into each other. She’d rather fail than accept help. He’d rather disappear than be noticed. It’s slow, it’s messy, it’s unspoken—but it’s real. In a classroom full of numbers, they might be solving for something they never expected: each other.

‎‎Tags: slow burn, highschool romance, opposites attract, art vs math, chaotic friendships, banter, wholesome chemistry, just fluff

‎‎‎‎“Variable Unknown”

‎‎There’s a rule I live by: If you can’t solve it, draw on it.

‎So naturally, my math quiz had a doodle of a frog wearing sunglasses in the margin and a dragon curling around question 7.

‎

‎“Y/N…” Mr. Lee sighed, holding up the paper like it smelled. “This isn’t... art class.”

‎

‎“Wasn’t trying to be,” I muttered, snatching it from his hand. “That dragon’s judging me for trying.”

‎

‎He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re smart. But attitude doesn’t pass exams.”

‎

‎I leaned back in the chair. “I don’t need help. I just need the system to stop sucking.”

‎

‎“You need a tutor,” he said flatly.

‎

‎“I don’t need—!”

‎

‎The door creaked open.

‎

‎And in walked him.

‎Kwon Jiyong.

‎

‎I’d seen him around. Hoodie. Headphones. A ghost in the halls. People said he once corrected a teacher’s math mistake mid-lesson and then apologized for speaking. He was the type who made solving equations look spiritual.

‎

‎He glanced at me once, then looked away. Like I was air. Or less.

‎

‎“You’ll be working with Kwon Jiyong from now on,” Mr. Lee said. “Unless you’d rather fail.”

‎

‎I scoffed. “Why him?”

‎

‎Jiyong blinked, like the conversation was happening in another dimension.

‎

‎“I… don’t mind,” he said quietly, eyes flicking to my desk. “I guess.”

‎

‎Ugh.

‎

‎After class, I stomped to my locker. Saebom was waiting, sipping a strawberry milk like she’d been born to meddle.

‎

‎“Sooo?” she asked, already grinning. “New tutor boy?”

‎

‎“He barely spoke three words. I don’t need a tutor, Sae. I need the Ministry of Education to lower their expectations.”

‎

‎“You do need a tutor,” she replied sweetly. “You also need to stop drawing frogs in your math tests.”

‎

‎Daesung popped up beside her like a gremlin. “Did someone say frogs?”

‎

‎“NO,” I groaned.

‎

‎“Ohhh, this is good,” he laughed. “Jiyong tutoring her? That’s like a cat babysitting a squirrel.”

‎

‎Saebom and Daesung high-fived like the menace twins they were. Meanwhile, I was internally screaming.

‎

‎Back in the empty classroom, Jiyong sat beside me like I was made of static. He opened his notebook—neatly written, color-coded, no doodles. The polar opposite of mine, which featured stickmen sword fighting beside a crying graph.

‎

‎“You really hate math, huh,” he said quietly.

‎

‎“You really can’t draw, huh,” I shot back, eyeing his sketch of a ‘tree’ that looked like an angry fork.

‎

‎He actually blinked in surprise. “It’s… not my thing.”

‎

‎“Well, this whole ‘me getting tutored’ thing? Not my thing.”

‎

‎He didn’t respond. Just turned a page in his notebook and slid it over, his handwriting painfully perfect.

‎

‎“Fine. Let’s just start.”

‎

‎As our pens began to scratch across paper, I realized something.

‎

‎This wasn’t going to be easy.

‎

‎Not because I couldn’t learn math.

‎

‎But because something about Kwon Jiyong made me want to draw him into my world. Even if he hated trees.

‎

‎The second tutoring session started like a funeral. Mutual annoyance sprinkled with suspicious butterflies, and a tutoring session that’s barely a tutoring session because you're too busy drawing and he’s too stunned trying to understand how you exist.

‎

‎Jiyong sat across from me again, silent as a ghost, his pen already poised like he was ready to operate on the math textbook.

‎

‎I, on the other hand, was drawing a chicken in a spacesuit.

‎

‎“Y/N,” he said softly.

‎

‎I didn’t look up. “What?”

‎

‎“You’re not even holding a calculator.”

‎

‎“I’m creating, Jiyong. Let me live.”

‎

‎He paused. “You spelled ‘space’ wrong on the chicken’s helmet.”

‎

‎I looked up. He was staring at my doodle, deadpan. And I swear—I swear—there was the tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

‎

‎“You watching me or tutoring me?” I smirked.

‎

‎“Trying to do both. It’s hard,” he mumbled, eyes darting back to his notebook. “You’re… distracting.”

‎

‎Butterflies. Annoyed butterflies. “I told Mr. Lee this wouldn’t work.”

‎

‎“I didn’t ask for this either.”

‎

‎“Then why’re you here?”

‎

‎“Because I do things properly,” he replied, eyes suddenly sharp. “Unlike some people who draw chickens on math books and expect miracles.”

‎

‎“Correction: space chickens. And miracles are kind of my thing.”

‎

‎He blinked, then shook his head slightly like clearing a mental bug. “Okay. Fine. Let’s try again. Just—answer this equation.”

‎

‎He slid the notebook over. I glanced at it. Numbers. Letters. I wrote down “potato” and slid it back.

‎

‎He stared at the page.

‎

‎“That’s not even a number.”

‎

‎“I know,” I said proudly. “But it’s honest.”

‎

‎Jiyong let out a long, slow sigh, like he was using every brain cell not to give up on humanity.

‎

‎“You’re hopeless.”

‎

‎“No,” I said, tapping the page with my pen. “I’m just creatively rebellious.”

‎

‎He closed his eyes. “You’re impossible.”

‎

‎“And yet here you are. Voluntarily.”

‎

‎Silence. Just the sound of rain hitting the windows and my pen sketching a tiny crown on his doodle of a triangle.

‎

‎Then—he looked up. Right at me.

‎

‎And for the first time, I saw it. A crack in the wall. A question in his gaze. Like he was trying to figure me out—and kind of liked that he couldn’t.

‎

‎“What?” I asked, suddenly a little breathless.

‎

‎“…Nothing,” he said quietly. “Just… you’re loud.”

‎

‎“I didn’t even say anything.”

‎

‎“Exactly.”

‎

‎Our eyes lingered.

‎

‎And I hated it.

‎Because for a moment, I forgot I was supposed to hate being here.

‎——————————

Your room – Saturday Afternoon

‎Your desk was chaos—gel pens, pastel highlighters, open sketchbooks, and a half-eaten box of macarons.

‎

‎You weren’t studying. Obviously.

‎

‎You were halfway through drawing a bored-looking dinosaur holding a “HELP ME” sign on the corner of your planner. Next to it? A list of math formulas Mr. Lee told you to memorize. They were untouched.

‎

‎A text pinged.

‎

‎→ Saebom

‎‎“U still alive or did math murder u?”

‎

‎You smirked, sent a picture of the dinosaur, then leaned back in your chair and stared at the ceiling.

‎

‎Your room looked like it belonged in a magazine—soft lighting, clean aesthetic, shelves with books you might never read. Everything was perfect. Too perfect.

‎

‎And yet, you felt… stuck. Like everyone had already decided who you were before you even opened your mouth.

‎

‎Beautiful. Rich. Dumb.

‎None of it was true.

‎

‎Well, maybe the first two.

‎

‎You sighed, flipped open a new sketch page—and without thinking, started drawing a boy in a hoodie.

‎

‎Glasses. Blank expression.

‎A math book in his lap.

‎

‎You paused.

‎

‎“No,” you muttered to yourself. “Nope. Not happening.”

‎

‎You ripped the page out and threw it in the bin.

‎

‎Jiyong’s Kitchen – Saturday Evening

‎

‎Jiyong was slicing onions with surgical precision, his hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

‎

‎“Jiyong-ah, you don’t have to cook every time,” his mom said gently, walking in.

‎

‎“I like it,” he replied quietly. “It keeps me focused.”

‎

‎She smiled and ruffled his hair, even as he ducked away.

‎

‎In the background, his sister was doing math homework. He glanced over, spotted a mistake, and slid over next to her, correcting it without a word.

‎

‎“Thanks, ” she chirped.

‎

‎He nodded, then returned to the stove, his thoughts drifting back to you.

‎

‎You were everything he wasn’t. Loud. Bright. Effortlessly social.

‎

‎But also… sharp, in ways people missed. Your sarcasm wasn’t empty. Your doodles were alive. You didn’t try to be interesting—you just were.

‎

‎He had no idea how to talk to you.

‎But he couldn’t stop thinking about your hands when you drew.

‎

‎School Courtyard – Monday Morning

‎

‎“Is it true?” someone whispered.

‎

‎“I heard she’s getting tutored by him.”

‎

‎“Why would a girl like her even talk to a guy like that?”

‎

‎The words floated around Jiyong like smog as he walked past a group of boys.

‎

‎One of them—taller, louder—stuck out a foot.

‎

‎Jiyong tripped.

‎

‎His books hit the ground. Pens scattered.

‎

‎The boys laughed. “Woah.. Guess he forgot to solve that equation.”

‎

‎He didn’t say a word. Just picked up his things quietly, face unreadable.

‎

‎But as he stood, he saw someone watching him from the second-floor window.

‎

‎You.

‎

‎Your eyes locked. He looked away quickly.

‎

‎But you didn’t.

‎

‎Your fingers tightened around your sketchbook.

‎

‎School Hallway – After Lunch

‎

‎The hallway buzzed with lazy post-lunch chatter—lockers clanging, sneakers squeaking, some guy trying (and failing) to flirt with the class president.

‎

‎You were walking with Saebom, eating pomegranate seeds out of a ziplock bag and talking about literally anything except math, when you heard it.

‎

‎"Look, it's her nerdy little sidekick."

‎

‎You turned your head, mid-chew.

‎

‎Jiyong stood near the lockers, shoulders tense. One of the guys from the soccer team—Hojun, who was about as sharp as a deflated balloon—was blocking his path.

‎

‎“Oh come on, man. Say something. You tutor the prettiest girl in school and act like you’re above everyone now?” he laughed, glancing around to make sure people were watching. “What are you, mute? Got secret rich-boy confidence?”

‎

‎Jiyong didn’t respond. Just tried to move past.

‎

‎Another guy stepped into his way.

‎

‎You dropped the pomegranate bag.

‎

‎“Hey.”

‎

‎The whole group froze. People turned.

‎

‎You marched forward, voice sharp and crystal-clear.

‎

‎“Got nothing better to do than pick on someone who’s smarter than you?”

‎

‎Hojun blinked. “Wha—hey, we’re just joking—”

‎

‎“Oh no, I love jokes. Want to hear one?” you snapped. “A guy who failed math three times thinks he can bully the kid tutoring me.”

‎

‎Laughter scattered around the hallway like popcorn.

‎

‎Hojun’s ears turned red. “You don’t have to go that far—”

‎

‎“You didn’t either,” you cut in, stepping between him and Jiyong now. “So back off.”

‎

‎They backed down—slow, awkward, tripping over their dignity. The moment they disappeared, you exhaled hard, turning to Jiyong.

‎

‎He was staring at you.

‎

‎Expression unreadable. Eyes wide. Like he was seeing you for the first time.

‎

‎“What?” you asked, still fuming.

‎

‎“You didn’t have to do that,” he said softly.

‎

‎“Well, I did. Because that was messed up.”

‎

‎Silence.

‎

‎“You okay?” you added, quieter now.

‎

‎He gave a tiny nod. “...You made Hojun look stupid.”

‎

‎You shrugged. “He did that on his own.”

‎

‎And just like that, you turned to leave. But he called your name.

‎

‎You looked back.

‎

‎Jiyong wasn’t smiling—but he wasn’t blank either.

‎

‎“Thanks,” he said. Like the word wasn’t something he said often, but meant when he did.

‎

‎You waved it off, walking fast. “Don’t make it a thing.”

‎

‎But your face burned a little.

‎

‎And the worst part?

‎

‎Saebom was waiting around the corner, grinning like she just watched episode 12 of her favorite drama.

‎

‎“Ohhh… we’re getting somewhere.”

‎

‎You shoved her. “Shut up.”

‎

‎But even as you did…

‎

‎You were smiling, just a little.

‎

—

Author's note: i wrote this while pooping because i was bored.. this also my first fic PLEASE suggest more things (im a noob) might also drop another part :3

[magic-shop-stories]

how would bts (ot7) kids react to them being consistently forgotten by their dad ? they would pay attention to their other siblings or their job? please make it really angsty with a fluffy ending only for the kids

💌 Reply:

Thank you so much for the request, I hope that's what you imagined. I loved the idea ... should really turn this into full imagines some day - feel free to reach out if you want to be tagged Lots of Love - C

NAMJOON

silent cries

intellectual withdrawal

nature as a bridge

reparative vulnerability

HOW HIS CHILD SHOWS THEIR PAIN

Indirect Communication

Leaves a dog-eared poetry book on his desk, open to Lang Leav’s “Lost” with lines highlighted:

“You were here, and then you weren’t / And I’ve been waiting ever since.”

Artistic Rebellion

sketches family portraits where Namjoon is a shadow or blurred figure

labels them “Appa’s Priorities (A Study in Absence)”

Academic Overcompensation

wins a science fair with a project on “The Physics of Emotional Distance”

calculates how often Namjoon misses dinner

doesn’t tell him about the award

Quiet Withdrawal

stops asking for help with homework, even when struggling

when Namjoon offers, they reply:

“It’s okay. Google is faster.”

Sibling Contrast

watches him beam at their sibling’s piano recital

slips out to bury their face in the family dog’s fur

“He remembers their C major, but forgets my B+.”

NAMJOON’S FIRST REACTION

Moment of Realization

finds the science fair project while cleaning

stares at the equations mapping his absences

hands shaking

his throat tightens at the footnote: 

“Hypothesis: If love = attention, then Appa’s love approaches zero.”

Immediate Response

runs to their room, knocking frantically

“Can we talk? Please.” 

voice cracks

Internal Turmoil

Self-Accusation

“I’m a hypocrite. Preached ‘love is a verb,’ but failed to act.”

Memory Flash

remembers missing their 10th birthday for a UN panel

they’d said:

 “It’s okay, Appa. The world needs you.” 

he’d hugged them, not realizing it was a goodbye to expectations

Fear

“Have I turned into the distant fathers I criticized in my lyrics?”

WHAT HE DOES NEXT

Apology (Namjoon Style/ No Excuses):

kneels beside their bed at 3 a.m.

voice raw

“I weaponized your empathy. You deserved to be selfish, to scream at me. I’m… I’m so sorry.”

Child’s Reaction

probably silent tears

they whisper -“You didn’t see me.”

Radical Prioritization

Cancels Commitments

postpones album deadlines, surprising his team

“My masterpiece isn’t music, it’s the kids I’m failing.”

”Appa’s Reset”

takes them camping, no phones

at the campfire, he admits:

“I don’t know how to fix this. Will you teach me?”

Rituals of Presence

Daily Check-Ins

sets a 7 p.m. alarm labeled ”Breathe. Listen. Be.”

asks: “What’s something I missed about you today?”

Shared Journal

buys a leather notebook

writes first entry: 

“Day 1: I learned you hate mint chocolate too. How did I not know?”

TYPICAL MOMENTS & DIALOGUE

Past Failures (Angst)

Missed Milestone

they timidly handed him a poem titled “The Invisible Child” during a VLive (don't argue with me it will always be VLive!)

he’d absentmindedly tucked it under his laptop

“Later, yeah?” 

it’s still there, gathering dust

Distracted Praise

when they aced a math test, he’d patted their head while typing lyrics

“Smart kid. Takes after me.”  (they’d flinched)

Reparative Actions (Fluff)

Lecture Crashing

shows up unannounced to their school

embarrassing them with a ”Proud of You” banner during finals week

Vulnerable Confessions

hot cocoa

“I’m scared I’ll never catch up to who you’ve become without me. Let me try.”

Signature Phrases

Growth-Ownership

“I’m not asking for forgiveness. I’m asking to earn it.”

Nature Metaphors

“You’re my redwood, growing tall while I wasn’t looking. Let me be your roots again.”

LONG-TERM CHANGES

Work-Life Boundaries

institutes “Golden Hour” = 4–6 p.m.

daily, no emails

colleagues know not to call; his ringtone during those hours is “Family First (feat. his child)” 

Visible Reminders

wears a bracelet they made, beads spelling “SEE ME.”

Advocacy Shift

launches a campaign: “Present Fathers, Present Futures.” 

quotes his child in speeches

“Love isn’t a noun if it’s not a verb.”

Self-Forgiveness Journey

therapy sessions focused on “breaking the cycle of intellectualized detachment.” 

journals: 

“I can’t philosophize my way into their childhood. I have to live it.”

ENDING

months later, hia child adds a new page to the shared journal

“Day 94: Appa cried when I said ‘hi’ to a fan who recognized me for once. P.S. Mint chocolate still sucks.”

Namjoon tapes the page to his studio wall, beside a dried leaf from their camping trip

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

JIN

humor as armor

performative neglect

culinary reconciliation

grand gestures

love in laughter

HOW HIS CHILD SHOWS THEIR PAIN

Over-the-Top Antics

stages elaborate pranks (glitter bombs, fake spiders) to force Jin’s attention

when he laughs but doesn’t engage, they mutter:

“Guess I’m just the court jester, not the prince.”

Satirical Skits

films TikTok parodies titled “World’s Okayest Dad!”

exaggerating Jin’s distracted nods and half-hearted high-fives

tags him, but he only reacts with a crying-laugh emoji

Food Sabotage

burns his favorite snack and leaves the charred remains on his gaming chair

“If you’re gonna ignore me, at least taste my rage.”

Sarcasm as Shielding

responds to Jin’s absentminded praise with biting wit

Jin: “You aced your test? My genes are unbeatable!” Child: “Yeah, too bad your time isn’t.”

Hidden Vulnerability

practices stand-up routines in the mirror

tears mixing with punchlines

“My dad’s so busy, he thinks ‘family time’ is liking my Instagram story!”

JIN’S FIRST REACTION

Moment of Realization

overhears their late-night comedy rehearsal

freezes outside their door at the line:

“Appa’s love language? Seen but not heard.” 

his smile collapses

Immediate Response

bursts in, still in his pajamas, and blurts:

“Yah! Since when are you funnier than me?!”

then hugs them so tight they drop to the floor

Internal Turmoil

Guilt Masked as Humor

“I’m the Worldwide Handsome dad but made my kid feel invisible. Pathetic.”

Memory Flash

remembers their fifth birthday when he’d joked:

“I’ll always be your main character!” 

now they’re a cameo in his life

Fear

“What if they stop trying to make me laugh? What if they stop trying… period?”

WHAT HE DOES NEXT

Apology (Jin Style)

arranges a “Roast Battle” in the living room

lets his child tear into him mercilessly

taking each joke like a punch

ends with: “You win. Now roast me for forgetting your fencing match. I deserve it.”

Child’s Reaction

laughs until they cry, then whispers:

“I just wanted you to stay.”

Culinary Confessions

”Apology Banquet”

cooks their favorite meal (galbi tang) together

says, “Love’s like soup, needs time to simmer. I rushed us. Let me fix it.”

Food Metaphors

points at the marinade

“See how the meat soaks up the flavor? I need to soak up you. Teach me.”

Scheduled Silliness

”Jin & Me Time”

blocks weekly slots for absurd activities

karaoke battles, DIY spa days (face masks made of literally anything), and “Dad Joke Olympics.”

Public Shame

posts cringey childhood photos with captions: 

“This is what happens when you ignore your kids. Don’t be me.”

TYPICAL MOMENTS & DIALOGUE

Past Failures (Angst)

Missed Recital

they performed a comedy set at school

Jin arrived late, clapping wildly, but they’d already left the stage

found them backstage, fake-smiling

“It’s okay, Appa. Your fans need you more.”

Distracted Praise

when they won a cooking contest, Jin joked

“Took after me, huh?”  they snapped: “No. Mom taught me.”

Reparative Actions (Fluff)

Surprise Cameo

sneaks into their school play rehearsal dressed as a giant broccoli

delivers their forgotten line, then bows

“Your spotlight, not mine.”

Vulnerable Confessions

during a Mario Kart race:

“I’m scared I’ll never be as cool as you think I am. But I’ll keep crashing until I get it right.”

Signature Phrases

Self-Deprecating Truths

“I’m a joke, but you’re the punchline I didn’t earn.”

Culinary Wisdom

“Love’s not a microwave meal. It’s a feast. Let me set the table.”

LONG-TERM CHANGES

Prioritizing Presence

”No-Phone Zones”

designates dinner table and game nights as tech-free

if he slips, his child gets to throw his phone in the pool (it’s happened twice)

Visible Reminders

wears a custom apron they gifted him:

“Appa Chef: Seasoned with Regret, Spiced with Love.”

Advocacy Shift

launches a series: “Cooking with My Kid” 

episode 1 title: “Humble Pie: A Recipe for Redemption.”

Humor as Healing

therapy focus: “Laughter as a Bridge, Not a Wall.” 

journals

“I used jokes to hide. Now I’ll use them to hold.”

ENDING

months later, his child ambushes him with a prank

replaces his gaming headset mic with a kazoo

when he fake-yells:

“Yah! How dare you!”  they smirk: “You’re welcome. Now you have to listen to me.”

Jin starts a TikTok duet with them, caption: 

“My kid’s the main character. I’m just the comic relief (and I’m okay with that).”

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

YOONGI

silent rebellion

unspoken resentment

musical catharsis

pragmatic devotion

echoes of absence

HOW HIS CHILD SHOWS THEIR PAIN

Hyper-Independence

teaches themselves music production using old equipment Yoongi discarded

creates haunting, minimalist tracks titled “Ghost Notes”

each melody a coded cry for attention

never shares them

Academic Overdrive

skips meals to perfect a coding project analyzing “Patterns of Parental Absence in High-Achieving Households.” 

submits it anonymously to a journal

wins an award Yoongi only discovers via a forwarded email

Cold Courtesy

calls him “Mr. Min” in public

when asked why, they shrug

“You’re more a CEO than a dad. Should I curtsy?”

Shadowed Resentment

recreates Yoongi’s studio in their closet

tiny desk, secondhand MIDI keyboard, soundproof foam stolen from his trash

leaves the door ajar, hoping he’ll notice

he doesn’t

Sarcastic Sacrifice

donates their birthday money to an orphanage

leaves the receipt on his desk:

 “Invest in someone who’ll use it.”

YOONGI’S REALIZATION/ FIRST REACTION

Breaking Point

stumbles into their closet studio post-midnight, half-asleep

sees their tracklist: 

“Track 12: The Sound of an Empty Chair.” 

plays it

the melody mirrors his own “First Love”

but distorted, hollow

Immediate Response

storms into their room, voice trembling

“Why didn’t you tell me?”  they retort: “Would you have listened?”

Internal Turmoil

Guilt as Fuel

“I built empires to give them everything. Gave them nothing.”

Memory Flash

recalls their first piano recital at 7

he’d sent a congratulatory text from a conference

they’d replied: 

“Thx. Mom recorded it. Watch it never.”

Fear

“They’re me. Proud, stubborn, bleeding in silence. And I taught them that.”

WHAT HE DOES NEXT

Apology (Yoongi Style)

deletes all his unreleased tracks

replaces them with their “Ghost Notes” 

crediting them as “Producer: My Regret" 

leaves his laptop open for them to find

Child’s Reaction

slams his door

“I don’t want your pity streams!”  he shouts back, “It’s not pity. It’s a truce.”

Radical Transparency

”Business Proposal”

drafts a contract: 

“Min Family Terms: 1. I work 9–5. 2. You get 6–9. 3. Breach = I retire.” 

signs it in blood-red ink

Studio Integration

moves their closet setup into his studio

“Your corner. Your rules. I’m just the intern.”

Unflinching Acts

Public Shaming

cancels a collab with a top artist

posts: “Priorities shifted. My kid’s dropping a mixtape.”

Vulnerability in Code

rewrites their neglected coding project

adding a subroutine: 

“IF Dad = ‘Absent’ THEN Alert: ‘Yah, Min Yoongi, get your ass home.’”

TYPICAL MOMENTS & DIALOGUE

Past Failures (Angst)

Missed Milestone

they coded an app tracking his travel days

sent him a notification: 

“Day 107: Still CEO of Missing Dad Inc. Congrats!”  he’d texted: “Clever. Proud of you.” 

they blocked his number for a week

Empty Praise

when they aced a music theory exam, he’d said:

“Good job. Let’s collab sometime.”  they’d hissed, “I’m not one of your bandmates.” knowing it will hurt

Reparative Actions (Fluff)

Midnight Session

teaches them to sample the sound of his old Hyundai

the engine that once kept him from them

“This noise? It’s my shame. Make art from it.”

Blunt Confession

over ramen: 

“I thought success was my apology. It was just my excuse.”

Signature Phrases

Raw Truths

“I’d rather hear you scream than starve in silence.”

Musical Metaphors

“You’re my bridge verse. The part I skipped. Let me loop it now.”

LONG-TERM CHANGES

Structural Sacrifice

”CEO Hours”

limits work to ~40 hours/week (as much as possible, but he's really trying hard)

delegates the rest

his team mocks him: “Dad-Joon 2.0.”

he wears it as a badge

Visible Reminders

tattoos their “Ghost Notes” sheet music on his forearm

“My greatest hit.”

Advocacy Through Art

produces a documentary

“The Beats Between Us.” 

interviews fathers (in the industry)

ends with his child’s track: “Empty Chair (Full Heart Remix)”

Emotional Pragmatism

therapy focus: “Silence as a Weapon, Presence as a Balm.” 

journals: 

“I don’t know love songs. But I’ll learn theirs.”

ENDING

months later, they release a joint EP

“Dissonance to Harmony.”

final track samples Yoongi’s voice mail from Day 107: 

“I’m here. I’m here. I’m...” cut with their laugh

at the listening party, Yoongi murmurs:

“You’re the CEO now.”  they smirk: “Cool. You’re fired.”

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

J-HOPE

perfectionism as a cry for help

choreographed neglect

fractured sunshine

healing through rhythm

HOW HIS CHILD SHOWS THEIR PAIN

Obsessive Achievement

creates color-coded schedules mirroring J-Hope’s

slotting in self-imposed “training” from 5 AM

dance drills, volunteer hours, straight-A study marathons

tags him in Instagram posts:

“7 AM: Morning Run (Faster Than Appa’s Regrets!).” 

he likes them, never comments

Physical Collapse

faints during a dance practice at school

when teachers call J-Hope, he’s in a meeting

they wake up to a text: 

“Proud of your hustle! 💪”

Smiling Mask

practices grins in the mirror, reciting: 

“If I’m perfect, he’ll stay.” 

develops TMJ from clenched jaws

Passive-Aggressive Perfection

gifts him a mug filled with espresso beans

counted to match the days he missed dinner

Spreadsheet Resentment

charts his empty promises in a Google Doc titled:

“Hope vs. Reality.” 

shares it with siblings: 

“His ‘I’ll be there’ has a 12% accuracy rate. Optimistic!”

J-HOPE’S REALIZATION/ FIRST REACTION

Breaking Point

discovers their hidden Tumblr blog: 

“Dancing on Eggshells.” 

a post reads: 

“I’m his shadow, stretching to touch him, but he’s always chasing light I can’t reflect.” 

attached: a video of their fainting spell set to “MAMA” on loop

Immediate Response

cancels a photoshoot

sprinting to their school

finds them rehearsing alone

ankle wrapped

“Why didn’t you stop?”  they snap, “You didn’t start!”

Internal Turmoil

Guilt as Choreography

“I taught them to dance through pain, not to scream from it.”

Memory Flash

their first dance recital at 6

he’d video-called from a shoot: 

“Appa’s watching! Nail that spin!” 

they’d spun until they fell, sobbing

he’d laughed: “That’s my trooper!”

Fear

“I’m the sun, but I burned my own garden.”

WHAT HE DOES NEXT

Apology (J-Hope Style)

hosts a “Dance Court” in their living room

lets his child judge him as he performs their routines

stumbling, sweating, almost tearing his ACL

ends with a bow

“You’re the teacher now. Fail me.”

Child’s Reaction

“You’re… terrible.” 

he grins, tearful

“Finally something I can’t half-ass.”

Radical Restructuring

”Sunset Law”

no work after 6 PM

installs a Disney-themed alarm

“Step back, Appa! Your Elsa needs you!” 

forces staff to call their older sibling if he breaks it

Collaborative Choreo

co-creates a dance titled “Broken Beats” 

his move: collapsing to his knees

theirs: rising alone

Public Accountability

VLive Confession

crying, no makeup

“I’m BTS’s hope, but I broke my own. If you see me working past 6, throw eggs.” 

ARMY sends egg emojis for weeks

Merch Redemption

releases “Hobi’s Humble Hoodies” 

with slogans

“I FORGOT MY KID’S RECITAL AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS LOUSY APOLOGY.”

TYPICAL MOMENTS & DIALOGUE

Past Failures (Angst)

Missed Milestone

they won a dance battle with a routine mocking his catchphrases

“I’m your hope, you’re my joke!” 

he’d reposted it with 💯 emojis, oblivious

Empty Encouragement

when they sprained their wrist, he’d cheered:

“Pain is growth!”  they’d hissed: “So is parenting.”

Reparative Actions (Fluff)

”Imperfection Day”

forces them to binge-watch bad movies

eat junk food

dance off-beat

“You’re allowed to suck. I’m proof!”

Blunt Confession

during a nail-painting session: 

“I thought love was a performance. You’re my standing ovation.”

Signature Phrases

Structured Love

“I’ll schedule my soul if it means clocking into yours.”

Rhythmic Truths

“You’re my bridge, not my backup dancer. Let me follow your beat.”

LONG-TERM CHANGES

Systemic Shifts

”Hope’s Hours”

restructures his company/team to prioritize family time (I imagine him opening a dance school)

employees get “Kid Credits”

leave bonuses for school plays

Visible Reminders

wears mismatched socks they pick daily

“My dress code? Whatever says ‘I’m here.’”

Advocacy Through Art

choreographs speech on work-life balance

ends with their “Broken Beats” routine

trends as #HumbleHobi

Emotional Re-education

therapy focus: “Joy as a Journey, Not a Performance.” 

journals: 

“I don’t need to shine. I need to reflect.”

ENDING

months later, they co-host a dance workshop for neglected kids

his child demonstrates a move: 

“The Appa Apology Shuffle.” 

J-Hope messes up, laughing

“See? Progress!”

they gift him a new mug: “World’s Best Dancer Dad"

he never drinks from a different mug again

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

JIMIN

emotional sabotage

mirroring abandonment

performative self-destruction

tactile reconciliation

HOW HIS CHILD SHOWS THEIR PAIN

Self-Destructive Perfectionism

too much skincare, bleaches their hair, starves themselves to look "idol-thin"

mocking Jimin’s past diets

posts edited selfies: 

“Appa’s Mini™️ (Just as Hollow!)"

Physical Rebellion

gets a tattoo of a wilting rose over their ribcage

where Jimin’s “Nevermind” ink sits

when he gasps, they smirk: 

“Yours is about pain. Mine’s about yours.”

Artistic Screams

writes slam poetry titled:

“Love is a Contact Sport (But You Forgot to Touch Me).” 

performs it at open mics

tagging venues he used to go to

he never shows

Weaponized Affection

flings hugs at everyone but Jimin

when he reaches out, they dodge

“Careful, Appa. Your fans might get jealous.”

Guilt Trips via Proxy

befriends a classmate’s dad who coaches soccer

posts pics with him captioned

“Found someone who notices when I score.”

JIMIN’S REALIZATION

Breaking Point

finds their poetry notebook hidden under their bed

a page titled “Choreography of Absence” 

details his missed milestones in dance terms:

Pirouette: Dad missed my recital. Grand Jeté: Dad jumped over my graduation. Collapse: Me, always.

Immediate Response

drives to their school

storms into the cafeteria

demands: “Why didn’t you fight me?!”  they retort: “You weren’t there to fight.”

Internal Turmoil

Guilt as Choreography

“I taught them to shrink their pain into pretty shapes. Now they’re dancing my sins back at me.”

Memory Flash

their first ballet solo at 8

he’d sent a bouquet with a note: 

“Appa’s stuck in Tokyo. Dance like I’m watching!” 

they’d burned the note years later

Fear

“They’re my reflection, shattered because I couldn’t stand my own.”

WHAT HE DOES NEXT

Apology (Jimin Style)

performs their slam poem at a BTS concert

stumbles through tears, mic shaking

“This… this is my kid’s voice. Listen.” 

ends crumpled onstage, whispering: 

“I’m sorry I made you scream alone.”

Child’s Reaction

skips school to watch the livestream

texts: “You looked pathetic.”  he replies: “I am.”

Radical Vulnerability

”Touch Therapy”

institutes daily 20 minute cuddle sessions

no talking, just holding

first time, they’re stiff as mannequins

by week three, they claw his shirt, sobbing

Public Shaming

posts unedited selfies

dark circles, no filter

caption: “This is the face of a dad who failed. My kid deserves better.”

Artistic Reparations

Collaborative Tattoo

adds a blooming rose next to their wilting one

the artist inks “Water Me” beneath it

Dance Duet

choreographs a routine where he follows their lead

at the finale, they push him away

he crawls back

repeats until they let him stay

TYPICAL MOMENTS & DIALOGUE

Past Failures (Angst)

Missed Milestone

they starred in The Nutcracker

Jimin sent a backstage VIP pass for his manager

they gave it to a janitor

Empty Affection

when they fractured their wrist, he’d kissed it and chirped:

“All better!”  they’d snarled, “You’re not a prince. You’re a stranger.”

Reparative Actions (Fluff)

Midnight Kitchen Confession

makes them hot chocolate

hands trembling

“I’m scared to touch you. What if I break us more?”  they slam their mug: “Then glue me!”

Vulnerable Ritual

forces them to style his hair before work

“You’re my mirror now. Show me who I need to be.”

Signature Phrases

Raw Pleas

"Hate me, hit me, anything, but don’t starve silently.”

Dance Metaphors

“You’re my center. I spun too far. Pull me back.”

LONG-TERM CHANGES

Systemic Shifts

”Jimin’s Pause”

adds a clause in his contracts: 

“No schedules during Kid’s Events. Penalty: Forfeit entire fee.” 

labels grumble; ARMY calls it “The Papa Clause.”

Visible Reminders

wears a necklace they designed: 

“CHOKE ON MY ABSENCE” in tiny beads

Advocacy Through Art

releases a solo song: 

“8th Member.” 

lyrics: 

“I built seven worlds / But let yours crumble / Forgive me— / I’m just your apprentice.” 

dedicates it at awards shows

Emotional Rebirth

therapy focus: “Affection as Accountability, Not Performance.” 

journals: 

“Love isn’t a stage. It’s the crowd I neglected to see.”

ENDING

months later, they co-choreograph a duet for a charity gala

mid-performance, Jimin lets them drop from a lift

instead of catching them, he falls too

they land tangled, laughing

the video trends as “#FlawedFlight.” 

they caption it: 

“Perfect is boring. This? This is us.”

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

TAEHYUNG

artistic abandonment

vintage vengeance

escapism as rebellion

Jungkook as a mirror

poetic reconciliation

HOW HIS CHILD SHOWS THEIR PAIN

Symbolic Sabotage

repurposes Taehyung’s vintage film cameras into planters

stuffing them with cacti

leaves them on his desk with notes: 

“Since you’d rather focus on dead things than living ones.”

Artistic Mockery

redraws his iconic “Singularity” concept

replacing Taehyung’s blindfold with Jungkook’s bandana

tags him: 

“New muse. Better uncle. @jungkook”

Jungkook’s Shadow

shows up at Jungkook’s gym daily

lifting weights in oversized hoodies

posts mirror selfies: 

“Uncle Kook’s proteg�� > Dad’s props.”

Emotional Escapism

runs away to Jungkook’s apartment

blasting “Euphoria” at 3 AM

when Jungkook answers, they snap: 

“You’re cooler anyway. At least you finish games you start.”

Theatrical Exit

leaves a film reel on Taehyung’s pillow

a montage of Jungkook teaching them guitar, cooking ramen, laughing

ends with text: 

“DIRECTOR’S CUT: The Dad I Wish I Had.”

TAEHYUNG’S REALIZATION/ FIRST REACTION

Breaking Point

Jungkook forwards their texts: 

“Uncle, can I stay? Dad’s too busy being a concept to be a person.” 

attached: a Polaroid of them asleep on Jungkook’s couch, clutching his hoodie

Immediate Response

drives to Jungkook’s in last night’s shooting makeup

smudged and frantic

bangs on the door: 

“They’re mine. Give them back.”  Jungkook blocks him: “Not until you earn them.”

Internal Turmoil

Art as Armor

“I turned love into aesthetics. Now my kid’s a moodboard of my failures.”

Memory Flash

their 10th birthday

Taehyung styled a lavish “Vintage Wonderland” party

missed it for a photoshoot

they’d worn his outfit, smeared it in cake

texted: “Now it’s art.”

Fear

“They see my soul as a gallery, all observation, no touch.”

WHAT HE DOES NEXT

Apology (Taehyung Style)

”Empty Gallery” Stunt

rents a museum

fills it with frames of his absence

blurry photos of their back, half-eaten meals, voicemail transcripts

invites them via Jungkook: 

“Curate your pain. I’ll sit in it.”

Child’s Reaction

brings a hammer, smashes a frame labeled “First Steps (Dad: Not Present).” 

Taehyung whispers: 

“Break it all. I’ll pay to rebuild.”

Radical Rebirth

”Unfiltered” Project

destroys his vintage wardrobe, livestreaming it

“This isn’t art. You are.” 

lets them pick his outfits for a month

even if it’s Jungkook’s gym tees

Jungkook’s Role

forces Jungkook to chaperone their “Dad Dates.”

they hike

Taehyung struggling to keep up

Jungkook smirks:

“Old man. Should’ve stayed in your beret.”

Tactile Truths

Midnight Collages

sneaks into their room

leaves hand-cut paper hearts on their pillow

each with a regret: 

“Missed recital,” “Forgot phobia of spiders,” “Stole your laugh for a song.”

Public Accountability

changes his Instagram bio to “Recovering Aesthetic Addict.” 

posts unedited videos of their fights: 

“This isn’t V. This is Dad.”

TYPICAL MOMENTS & DIALOGUE

Past Failures (Angst)

Missed Milestone

they starred in a school play

Taehyung sent a theatrical bouquet but attended a gallery opening (contract)

they left the flowers on Jungkook’s doorstep: 

“Here’s your prop.”

Aesthetic Wounds

when they begged for a normal family photo, he styled a surrealist shoot

they scratched their face out

"Finally, your masterpiece.”

Reparative Actions (Fluff)

”Ugly Art” Day

forces them to make ”the worst craft possible” together

glues macaroni to a thrift store painting

Taehyung hangs it in his studio: “Our Mona Lisa.”

Raw Confession

during a karaoke duet of “Winter Bear,” he ad-libs: 

“I’d freeze every season just to thaw your heart.” 

they roll their eyes but lean into his shoulder

Signature Phrases

Poetic Penance

“I’ll burn every camera if you’ll be my muse again.”

Vintage Vows

“You’re not a concept. You’re my cure.”

LONG-TERM CHANGES

Systemic Shifts

”V’s Vow” 

caps photoshoots at 12/year

donates vintage collection to a youth art program

“Create your own lens, kids. Mine’s cracked.”

Visible Reminders

wears a keychain they made

a smashed camera lens encased in resin. “My favorite scar.”

Advocacy Through Art

curates an exhibit: “Fatherhood Unframed.” 

features messy, unposed photos of dads

his contribution: a polaroid of their macaroni art

Emotional Renaissance

therapy focus: “Love as a Verb, Not a Vignette.” 

journals: 

“I used to collect moments. Now I live them.”

ENDING

months later, they co-host a “Trash Art Fair” in their backyard.

Taehyung wears a shirt they tie-dyed (badly)

Jungkook heckles: 

“Looks like a unicorn puked on you.”  they retort: “Better than your swole aesthetic.”

Taehyung gifts them a rebuilt camera

now a music box playing ”Winter Bear.” 

inside: “For capturing us, unfiltered.”

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

JUNGKOOK

Silent endurance

idolization turned resentment

physical overcompensation

intergenerational healing

sweat-soaked apologies

HOW HIS CHILD SHOWS THEIR PAIN

Athletic Overdrive

trains relentlessly in boxing, soccer, and weightlifting

chasing Jungkook’s records

posts workout videos tagged “#NotYourShadow”

filmed at 5 AM in his empty home gym

Injury Ignorance

sprains their wrist/ankle but hides it

wrapping it in his tape

when he asks why, they snap: 

“You’d only notice if I bled on your trophies.”

Hero Worship Sabotage

wears his Golden Clothes MV outfit to school

then dyes it black

posts: “Rebranding Dad’s legacy. Who’s next?”

Hyung Hopping

adopts Yoongi’s studio as a sanctuary

brings him convenience store coffee

begging: “Teach me to produce. I want a real skill, not just Dad’s abs.”

Sibling Rivalry

challenges their (older) siblings to push-up contests

snarling: “Winner gets his attention for a week.”

JUNGKOOK’S REALIZATION/ FIRST REACTION

Breaking Point

Yoongi texts him a voice memo of the child crying over a beat

“I’m just his rep count, something to finish fast.” 

attached: a photo of their bleeding knuckles gripping Jungkook’s dumbbells he was looking for

Immediate Response

drives to Yoongi’s studio

slamming the door

sees them asleep at the mixing board

hoodie stained with ramen and tears

“I’m… I’m the villain, aren’t I?”  Yoongi grunts: “Fix it before they turn into me.”

Internal Turmoil

Guilt as Fuel:

“I wanted them to be strong. I made them breakable.”

Memory Flash

their first soccer goal at 7

he’d cheered:

“Do 10 more!” 

instead of hugging them

they’d scored 20, vomited, and lied: “I’m fine!”

Fear

“They’ll outgrow needing me before I learn to be needed.”

WHAT HE DOES NEXT

Apology (Jungkook Style)

Public Humiliation

posts a ”Fail Compilation”

him dropping weights, tripping on stage, crying mid-concert

caption: “I’m not Superman. Just a dad who fell.”

Child’s Reaction

comments: “Cringe.”  he replies: “Deserved. Roast me harder.”

Radical Surrender

”Apprentice Dad”

forces them to train him in their hobbies

lets them critique on the soccer field

“Faster” he grits when they overtake him 

“I can take it.”

Yoongi’s Role

sits in on studio sessions, taking notes

“Hyung, how do I… parent?” 

Yoongi tosses him a lyric sheet: 

“Try listening, not fixing.”

Tactile Vulnerability

Injury Ritual

cleans their bloody knuckles/scraped knees nightly

rewrapping them with ”Sorry” scribbled on the tape/band aids

Bedtime Confession

reads Green Eggs and Ham in silly voices

like they’re 5 again

“I missed this. Missed you.”

TYPICAL MOMENTS & DIALOGUE

Past Failures (Angst)

Missed Milestone

they won an important soccer match

Jungkook sent a new pair of soccer shoes via assistant

they sold them

buying Yoongi and them coffee for studio sessions

Empty Praise

when they aced a math test, he’d flexed: 

“My genes are fire!”  they’d hissed: “Mom’s a professor. You’re just… you.”

Reparative Actions (Fluff)

”Weakness Workshop”

Jungkook cooks burnt pancakes

laughing as smoke alarms blare

“See? I suck. Teach me.”

Raw Confession

mid-sparring, he lets them knock him down

“You’re stronger. Be stronger. Forgive me.”

Signature Phrases:

Painful Truths

“I thought love was a competition. You’re my coach now.”

Athletic Metaphors

“You’re my personal best. Let me be your warm-up.”

LONG-TERM CHANGES

Systemic Shifts:

”Golden Hours”

limits their training to 3 hours/day

buys a family-sized gym where staff call the child ”Boss.”

Visible Reminders

tattoos their initials next to ”ARMY”  

“New recruits ...”

later they get matching tattoos

Advocacy Through Action

launches ”Rest Days” campaign for (athlete) mental health

speeches quote their fights: 

“Trophies rust. Kids don’t.”

Emotional Rebuilding

therapy focus: “Strength as Softness, Not Swagger.” 

journals: 

“I don’t need to win. I need to stay.”

ENDING

months later, they co-host a ”Dad vs. Kid” match

Jungkook takes a dive, theatrically collapsing

they sit on his chest, grinning: 

“You’re washed up, old man.”  he pulls them into a hug: “Nah. Just letting you lead.”

they gift him a new jeans jacket, hand painted:

“World’s Strongest Dad - almost” 

he wears it to the Grammys

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

[kelari-talks]

head-canons i have for tsc (mostly jerejean)

jean is unbelievably good at art.

cat, laila and jeremy leave sticky notes on the fridge and most are/include drawings of the most random shit

jeremy usually draws barkbark

jean takes note of this and for a couple of months just ignores it.

that was until jeremy draws a ridiculously bad portrait of jean, next to months old drawings of laila and cat

the next day jeremy wakes up and finds a yellow sticky note stuck to the fridge. its a remarkable drawing of jeremy, not by himself or either of the girls

needless to say he keeps the sticky note of himself forever and goes out with cat to get jean a sketch book.

jean thinks its stupid and a waste of time. this goes on for another two months before he is benched for being a little too rough during scrimmages. this turns into a very bored jean on the bleachers with nothing but a pencil and math notebook

one picture of jeremy turns into two. then three. then renee and her bright hair. so on and so forth

he ends up drawing quite a lot and of course his flat mates try to get a peek every chance they get.

jean doesnt care so much as its he is usually drawing scenery when around watching eyes

that was untill jeremy menages to sneak up on the french man sitting at his desk and sees a picture of himself.

he was a VERY happy camper that day and begs jean to let him have the picture

jean takes his book and leaves the room.

another artistic trait from jean is his surprising like of his pottery class.

jeremy is awful at it. thank go he pursued exy.

jean is again, unbelivably good at it. he has never been have to express any artistic talent in the nest so this is a weird, new feeling he finally doesnt resent

everything jean makes jeremy wants to keep. before they know it their cupboard is full of hand made mugs, cups, bowls etc.

jean thinks nothing of it at first. then he wakes up to see his flat mates in the kitchen with jeans hand made plates and mugs filled with coffee and food

for the first time in his life he feels like he is truly appreciated and somewhat wanted, at least a part of him

cat and laila try it out and make each other something for their anniversary. cat makes a dish for lailas jewelry and lila makes a very wonky vase

cat regularly has flowers in it either in the kitchen or living room

once jeremys birthday rolls around the girls drag jean out o get the birthday boy a gift

jean ends their trip empty handed as he slowly feels pressure (he doesnt quite understand) to find something for his friend

once the day before jeremys 23rd birthday rolls around, cat and laila make him a redvelvet cake with bright yellow frosting and make jean pipe on a simple barkbark drawing ontop

(it did not turn out as good as they expected)

jeremy still loves it.

as jean is getting ready for bed jeremy walks into their room to find a small box on his bed. opening it he finds a red and gold metal yo-yo and a beautifully detailed portrait of himself. the same one he asked to keep months prior, but now fully finished.

once jean is back in the room hes greeted with a tight hug from the shorter man and a very happy 'thank you'

for the rest of the evening jeremy is trying all sorts of tricks on his new yo-yo as jean watches. a soft smile onhis lips every time jeremy gets it tangled and swears to himself.

[myadagoat22]

Poly Ghostface part 4 (Another long one but with smut)

SUMMER DAY 12 – AFTERNOON – OUTSIDE THE DINER

Y/N’s pacing outside the diner like she’s rehearsing for a one-woman play titled “What The Hell Are We?” She’s crossed her arms, chewing her bottom lip, and muttering to herself like a caffeinated ghost.

Y/N “Okay. Okay. Just say it. You kissed them. They kissed you. It’s not a math problem, it’s just feelings. Two...very complicated...very hot feelings.”

She spots them—Billy and Stu, sitting in their usual booth like some dark/light side of the Force duo. Stu’s already waving like a golden retriever. Billy gives her that look—sharp, unreadable, but with a smirk tucked in the corner.

She storms in before she can chicken out.

INT. DINER – BOOTH

Y/N slides into the booth across from them. She looks Serious™. Like “Stop playing with me” seriously.

Y/N “We need to talk. Right now.”

Stu, mouth half-full of curly fries: “Whoa, hello to you too.”

Billy raises a brow, sipping his drink. “What’s this about?”

Y/N leans in, elbows on the table, voice low but intense.

Y/N “I kissed you, Billy. And you, Stu. And I’ve been thinking about it nonstop. I can’t sleep. I can’t think straight. I feel like I’m losing my damn mind.”

Stu tilts his head, curious. “That’s not a bad thing though, right? Like...you kissed us. We kissed you back. That’s kinda the point of kissing?”

Y/N “No, Stu, listen to me. I like you. Both of you. It’s not just kissing. I mean—I actually feel something. And I know you both have girlfriends and I know this whole thing is insane, but I couldn’t go another day without saying it.”

She looks at them both. Defiant. Scared. Heart fully on the table.

Y/N “I think I’m falling for both of you.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then:

Billy leans forward, resting his arms on the table. Calm. Controlled. But his eyes are softer than usual.

Billy “Good. Because we feel the same.”

Y/N’s eyes widen. “Wait, what?”

Stu nods eagerly, grinning. “Dude, I’ve been spiraling since the mall. I couldn’t even finish my Icee.”

Billy “You get us. Both of us. That doesn’t happen. Not with anyone.”

Stu “You’re not afraid to call us out. You don’t just roll over. You see us. And We’ve been trying to act normal, play the game, but honestly? Screw it.”

Y/N’s blinking. Processing. About to cry or faint or scream. Possibly all three.

Y/N “So…what now?”

Billy smirks, and for once—it’s not cold. It’s real.

Billy “Now we stop pretending.”

Stu’s already halfway out of his seat. “C’mere.”

They meet in the middle of the booth—awkward, clumsy, real. First Billy kisses her. It’s slow, intense, like he’s savoring it.

Then Stu leans in. His is wild and warm, full of breathless laughter.

And then—screw it—they all kiss at the same time. It's ridiculous. Their noses bump. Stu giggles. Y/N laughs into it. Billy groans like he's too cool for this but doesn’t pull away.

When they break apart, they’re all breathless, grinning like fools.

Stu “Okay, now this is definitely not in the boyfriend handbook.”

Y/N (quietly) “Yeah…but it feels right.”

Billy leans back, arms over the booth like a king with his favorite chaos duo.

Billy “It is.”

Stu “So uh...does this mean we’re like...a thing? The three of us?”

Y/N “Guess so.”

Stu fist pumps under the table.

Billy just smirks, watching her like she just signed a contract she doesn’t fully understand. But his voice is smooth when he says:

Billy “Welcome to the dark side, baby.”

INT. BILLY’S GARAGE – EVENING

The three of them lounge around a cluttered table strewn with pizza boxes, soda cans, and that infamous horror flick “Costumes and Killers.” Y/N kicks off the convo, her voice steady but nervous.

Y/N “So... we need to figure out how to tell Sidney and Tatum, right? I mean, they’re part of the group  and they deserve to know something.”

Billy leans back, smirking like he’s got a secret sauce recipe.

Billy “Yeah... about that. There’s more they don’t know. Way more.”

Stu flips open a notebook with detailed sketches — costumes, masks, and a whole list of names.

Stu “Here’s the thing, Y/N. Sidney and Tatum? They’re just the cover. We’re just playing boyfriend-girlfriend for fun. We’ve been planning something bigger... something real.”

Y/N blinks heart, skipping a beat.

Y/N “Wait. What do you mean?”

Billy’s grin turns serious, almost cold.

Billy “We’re the Ghostface. The real deal behind the mask. The killings. The scares. The perfect plan to take out Sidney and anyone who gets in the way.”

Stu nods, pointing to the list.

Stu “Here’s everyone. Tatum, Sidney,  Cotton, and yeah — even Randy. We’ve been watching, waiting. And soon, it’s time to act.”

Y/N’s mouth goes dry. Her mind flashes back...

FLASHBACK — Y/N’S CHILDHOOD ROOM — NIGHT

A little Y/N, maybe 8 or 9, sits cross-legged on her bed. Her eyes are glued to a flickering TV screen showing a true crime documentary about serial killers.

Parents’ voices echo from the other room, talking about “normal kids” and “good girls.” But Y/N’s expression is intense, fascinated.

Y/N (V.O.) Ever since I was little, I always loved the killers more than the victims. Not because I wanted to hurt anyone... but because I understood the power. The control. The way they became legends.

She picks up a notebook filled with sketches — not drawings of cute animals, but masks, weapons, and notes on “how to disappear.”

BACK TO GARAGE

Y/N blinks away the memory, looking at Billy and Stu with new eyes.

Y/N “Okay. I’m not gonna lie... this is insane. But also... kinda perfect.”

Billy raises an eyebrow, intrigued.

Billy “Are you in or out?”

Y/N smirks, eyes flashing with dark excitement.

Y/N “I’m in. But I wanna help. I’ll pretend to like Randy. Get close. Learn what I can. We keep our circle tight.”

Stu pumps a fist.

Stu “Hell yeah! The more, the scarier.”

Billy grins wide, the three of them suddenly not just a messy love triangle — but a deadly team.

VARIOUS LOCATIONS – OVER THE PAST 3 WEEKS

— The Woodsboro Cinema, dim and near-empty. Y/N is in the middle seat. Billy on one side, Stu on the other. All three sharing a large popcorn. Stu sneaks a hand over hers. Billy catches it, smirks, then leans over and kisses Y/N's cheek. She just giggles, playing it cool while they all watch The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

— At Stu House Billy tells Stu and y/n more about himself, from his mom to his childhood and both of you guys were there for him. When he is done Stu goes next talking about his life, his distant parents, then it was your turn with how you were always different. That day was truly a mark for your relationship, and it was beautiful how all three of you opened up to each other.  

— In the woods behind the neighborhood. The three lie in the grass under the stars. Stu's telling a twisted joke, Y/N is laughing so hard she falls into Billy, who wraps his arm around her like it’s the most natural thing in the world. They kiss quietly. Then Stu joins in.

— In Stu’s garage. They’re going over the voice changers, the masks, the list. Blood red ink circles names. Y/N picks up a knife and tests the weight of it. The boys just watch her with something between adoration and awe.

This isn’t just sneaking around. This is love. Fucked-up, beautiful, thrilling love.

INT. Y/N’S BEDROOM – NIGHT – PRESENT DAY

Y/N sits on her bed in an oversized T-shirt, legs crossed, notebook open. Billy leans against her desk, thumbing through her notes. Stu is lounging like a bored cat in her swivel chair, spinning slowly as he flips open her CD case.

"Okay," Y/N says, pointing at her planner. "So, are we kidnapping Steve or Casey first.

"Steve it will be easier to get him first," Billy says, eyes narrowed like he’s already picturing it.

"yea and I bet Stu can’t wait to gut Casey," Y/N adds, smirking.

Stu cackles, tossing a pencil at her. "You’re right and evil. I love it."

Y/N tosses it back. "You taught me well."

Billy walks over, placing a hand on her knee. "You’ve come a long way, Y/N."

"Guess all those years of watching true crime and hiding it from my Jesus-freak mom paid off," she jokes.

"Hey," Stu says, leaning in close, "if we survive all this, I’m marrying both of you."

Y/N grins. "That’s legal?"

"We’ll find a way," Billy mutters. "We always do."

The mood shifts. It’s warm and electric. Billy leans in first. Then Stu. The kisses come slowly, then all at once. Soft moans. Tangled limbs.

CREAK.

FOOTSTEPS.

Y/N’s head snaps toward the hallway. "Shit. My mom."

Billy freezes. "You serious?"

Stu bolts upright. "Closet. Closet. Closet!"

"Now!" Y/N hisses, shoving them both off the bed. Stu dives into the closet like he’s sliding into home base. Billy follows, muttering, "This is ridiculous," as he pulls the door shut behind him.

The door opens.

Y/N’s mom steps inside with a frown.

"Why are you still up?"

"I was... memorizing lines," Y/N says quickly. "Drama club. We’re doing Macbeth."

Her mom sniffs the air. "Smells like teenage boy in here."

Y/N laughs awkwardly. "I... burned a candle. It’s, um, Axe-scented."

Her mom gives her a suspicious look but lets it go. "Keep it down. And don’t stay up too late."

"Got it. Night, Mom."

She leaves. The moment the door clicks shut, the closet door creaks open. Billy and Stu tumble out, looking both relieved and ridiculous.

"Your mom is terrifying," Stu whispers.

Billy adjusts his shirt. "We are never doing this in your house again."

Y/N just smirks, pulling them both back toward the bed. "Don’t worry, I’ll lock the door."

They fall into each other again, laughter spilling out under whispered promises and bloodstained dreams.

Y/n locks the door, goes over to the bed then starts kissing Billy while Stu watches.

straddling his lap and draping her arms around his neck. She leaned in to kiss him deeply, tongue sliding against his as she ground down against the growing bulge in his jeans.

Stu moved up behind her, hands sliding under her shirt to caress the bare skin of her stomach and back. "Damn, you're so sexy," he murmured against her ear before nipping at the lobe. Y/N shivered, arching back into his touch.

"Fuck, I need you both so bad," she breathed, breaking the kiss with Billy to turn and capture Stu's lips next. He groaned into her mouth, fingers dipping into the waistband of her jeans to pop the button.

They made quick work of removing Y/N's clothes, leaving her bare and aching between them. Billy laid back on the bed, pulling her on top of him so she was straddling his face. Stu knelt behind her, spreading her ass and diving in to lick a stripe up her dripping slit.

Y/N cried out softly at the dual sensations, one hand fisting in Billy's hair as she ground her pussy against his eager tongue. The other reached back to stroke Stu's hard cock through his jeans.

"Shhh, baby," Billy warned against her folds, glancing up at her with a wicked grin. "We gotta be quiet, remember? Don't wanna wake your mom."

Y/N bit her lip hard, nodding mutely. Stu chuckled behind her, fingers delving into her heat to pump in and out. "She's so fucking wet," he informed Billy. "Can't wait to be buried in this tight little cunt."

"Mmm, I know the feeling," Billy agreed, tongue swirling around Y/N's clit. She whimpered, hips rolling shamelessly against his face.

Stu undid his jeans, freeing his thick cock. He stroked it slowly as he watched Y/N get eaten out, licking his lips hungrily. After a few moments, he tapped her hip.

"Come on up here, beautiful," he coaxed, laying back and patting the mattress beside him. "Let me taste that sweet pussy."

Y/N crawled up Billy's body until she was straddling his waist, then turned to kiss a trail up Stu's abs and chest. She licked a slow path up the underside of his shaft before wrapping her lips around the head and sucking gently.

"Fuck yes," Stu groaned, tangling a hand in her hair. "That's it baby, take it deep."

Billy watched them intently as he stroked his own cock, head thrown back in pleasure as Y/N worked Stu with her mouth. When Stu tapped her shoulder to indicate he was ready to switch places, she reluctantly released him with a pop.

Billy manuevered Y/N onto her hands and knees, positioning himself behind her. He notched the head of his cock at her entrance and pushed in slowly, letting her feel every inch as he stretched her open.

"Oh fuck," Y/N whimpered, lowering her chest to the mattress as Billy bottomed out inside her. "So big."

Stu settled beneath her, guiding her hips down until she was straddling his face again. His tongue immediately delved between her folds, lapping at her clit as Billy started to thrust.

They fell into a rhythm, one pushing into Y/N's cunt as the other licked and sucked at her pussy. Hands roamed her body, tweaking nipples and kneading her ass. It wasn't long before Y/N was trembling on the verge of climax, a hand clamped over her mouth to muffle her cries.

"Come for us baby," Billy urged breathlessly, slamming into her harder. "Let us feel this tight little cunt squeeze our cocks."

With a muffled sob, Y/N came undone, spasming around them as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over her. They followed quickly after, pulsing deep inside her as they filled her with their releases.

When it was over, they collapsed together in a tangle of sweaty limbs, hearts pounding in sync. Y/N laid her head on Stu's chest, Billy curled up behind her spooning style. They lay there for a long while, basking in the afterglow.

"Fuck that was intense," Stu murmured eventually, pressing a kiss to Y/N's temple. "We should do this more often."

Y/N just hummed in agreement, too sated to form words. She knew she was going to be feeling this for days - in all the best ways.

[madaqueue]

Practice Makes Perfect | Chapter 4

synopsis: you and yuji have been best friends basically as long as you can remember, and you made a promise to each other to stay friends and help each other be the best versions of yourselves for your future partners. but will things change when yuji finally starts looking for a relationship?

pairing: yuji itadori (18+) x f!reader

themes/content: modern college au (characters aged up to 18+). language, fluff, angst. some suggestive language at the end. 18+, MDNI

word count: 2.0k

a/n: RAAAAAA it’s getting real lmao

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Sitting towards the back of the room, you take note of the messy black hair and all black clothes. You walk over to him with a smile on your face. “Megumi?” you question.

The boy looks up from his notes and meets your eyes. “Oh, hey, Yuji’s friend. I didn’t know you were in this class,” he says, gesturing at the seat next to him and inviting you to sit.

“I could say the same to you,” you respond, setting down your backpack and getting settled next to him. You have never been this close to Megumi before, and notice his very subtle cologne that leaves a warm and almost smokey scent hanging in the air around him.

“I’m a biology major, so it kinda makes sense I’d have to be here,” he says, turning back towards his notes. You notice a small smirk forming on one side of his mouth as he does so.

As soon as you open your mouth to reply, your professor waltzes in at the front of the lecture hall, her heels softly clacking against the wood floor and the room falls quiet except for her voice. You and Megumi sit in silence for the rest of the class as you furiously scribble in your notes, trying to keep up with what Dr. Ieiri is lecturing on. Halfway into the class you glance over at Megumi’s notes and see he’s just…doodling? His page is full of drawings, from dogs to birds and frogs, covering the lined paper in front of him. He notices you staring and glances up at you out of the corner of his eye before turning his attention back to the paper. His drawing style suddenly shifts as he sketches a new shape. You watch him, mesmerized, as you realize he’s drawing…you?

Dr. Ieiri seems to end abruptly as she dismisses everyone, but you stay seated, waiting for Megumi to finish up his work. He tears the page out of his notebook and hands it to you without a word before putting everything on his desk into his backpack. You begin to pack up, unsure of what to say. After all, nobody has ever drawn you before - are you supposed to thank him? Should you give it back? In a panic, you stutter, “U-um, I’m going to go study at the library, if you want to come with me?”

Megumi glances up at you and softly responds, “Sure,” before tossing his backpack over his shoulder.

–

The two of you find a quiet table in the back corner of the library, dimly lit from the overhead lights and warm afternoon sun pooling in from a nearby window. You get started on your work quietly until Megumi clears his throat. “So, you never answered why you’re in Dr. Ieiri’s class,” he invites.

“Well, I’m an engineering major, but I’m still not sure what kind I want to be yet, so I have to take all these classes that are supposed to help me figure it out, and biology is one of them,” you explain. Megumi nods in response, before you continue, “I know I like to work with my hands, but I also like to think about problems before I have to solve them, which makes it hard to decide on a path. I know I don’t like computers, but I do love math. And I really didn’t expect to like Dr. Ieiri’s class as much as I do, so now I’m not sure,” you trail off. You pause for a moment, hoping you weren’t rambling. “You said you’re a bio major, right? Why’d you choose that? Also, I didn’t see you in her class last week, but we had definitely already met at Yuji’s, and you weren’t really paying attention today-” you stop yourself, realizing you were definitely rambling this time.

Megumi looks down. “Yeah I’m um…I’m actually retaking this class, so I kind of know it already.” You wait for him to continue. “Last fall my sister got really sick. Well, she got more sick, I guess. I had to take some time off to take care of her, so I ended up failing Dr. Ieiri’s class the first time I took it. I was gone last week because my sister was supposed to have this really big surgery and I wanted to be there for her, but they ended up postponing it, so I just stayed at the hospital with her for the rest of the week. She’s actually the reason I’m a bio major - I want to be a doctor so I can help people like her. It’s not fair what happened, and I want to make sure it doesn’t happen to anyone else.” He stops, realizing his hands had formed into fists as he was talking. His body relaxes and he shrugs, trying to ease some of the weight from the information he had just shared with you.

“I think it’s really sweet that you care about your sister so much,” you say. “It sounds like she is really important to you.” Megumi nods, still not looking up from the table. Unsure what else to say, you reach a hand out to touch his shoulder, hoping it provides some comfort. He leans into your touch, resting his cheek on the top of your hand. The feeling of his hair brushing against your arm gives you the ever-familiar butterflies and you try not to visibly blush. The two of you stay like that for a moment, comfortable in the silence, before you hear your phone buzz in your pocket. Megumi lifts his head up so you can use your hand to answer it, and he slowly gets back to work as you pull your phone out and look at it.

Incoming call: “YuYu”

You smile at the nickname he put in your phone for you when he first gave you his number back in highschool. You answer it and hold the phone up to your ear.

“Hey! Sorry I keep calling you randomly, but I have a bit of an emergency. But, this time it’s a good emergency, I promise. Remember that date I was supposed to have tonight? Turns out she can’t go anymore, but I already have a reservation at this new sushi place I have been dying to try, and I knowwwww you love sushi,” he says, and you can practically hear his smile through the phone. “I already know you’re going to say yes, so I’ll meet you at your place at 6:00 and we can walk over together. Oh, and it’s kind of fancy but not too fancy, but don’t worry about it too much! Okay great, I’ll see you then!” he finishes before hanging up.

You didn’t even get a word in for that entire conversation, but it looks like you now have plans tonight. Glancing at your now unlocked phone screen, you realize it’s already almost 5:00. “Shit,” you mutter under your breath. “I’m sorry Megumi, but I have to go,” you say, turning your attention back to the boy across from you.

“No worries,” he says with a soft smile. “This was really nice, we should study again sometime. Here, let me give you my number.” He holds his hand out for your phone and you give it to him, watching him put in his contact information before handing it back to you. You collect your study materials and wave at him as you walk out of the library.

–

When you arrive at the restaurant, you are shocked by Yuji’s definition of “kind of fancy.” The place is absolutely gorgeous, with natural wood and stone forming high ceilings, small fountains and mini waterfalls creating a soothing ambiance as the water collects in a river that winds throughout the restaurant. You walk over small bridges that decorate the interior to reach your table, surrounded by plants that provide some natural privacy. You felt slightly out of place despite wearing your nicest dress and heels, especially compared to Yuji in his black slacks and sport coat. You have to admit, though, the boy does clean up nicely.

Without getting a chance to even look at the menu, Yuji orders for both of you when the server returns. You gently smack his arm from across the table. “Hey, why did you do that? How could you assume what I wanted?” you ask playfully.

“I told you, I know you,” he shrugs. “Besides, dinner is on me since I dragged you out here last-minute. There’s some stuff I’ve been wanting to try ever since this place opened, and I got some things you’ll like, too,” he explains through a toothy grin.

“How generous, getting me things I’ll actually like,” you smirk, rolling your eyes. “Speaking of ‘dragging me here,’ what happened with your date?” you ask, trying to hide any remnants of jealousy.

“Oh, she just had something come up with a friend, but we rescheduled for next week. Plus, after the last practice date kind of went to shit, I figured it would be nice to actually get used to this place before the real-deal,” he says nonchalantly.

For some reason, his words sting more than you expect. Referring to this girl as the real-deal means that he must think you’re less than her, less deserving of his time or energy or-

Your thoughts cut off as an enormous pile of food gets set down on your table. There seems to be everything from nigiri to sashimi and tempura, all of it looking mouth-wateringly good. Yuji thanks the server and immediately starts digging in. Your stomach growls involuntarily and you’re forced to push your thoughts aside as you take a bite.

“Oh, my god,” you practically groan through the rice. “This is insane.”

“Right?” Yuji agrees, his cheeks puffed out from being so full of food.

The two of you eat in silence, savoring the combination of flavors in front of you, until Yuji pulls his phone out of his pocket. He smiles down at it and starts typing a message, and you can almost feel your blood boil. In an attempt to defuse your emotions you glance down at your phone, which unlocks to the recent contact page with Megumi’s information open on it. What the hell you think, typing out a message to send to him.

You: “hey Megumi, thanks for hanging out today, it was really nice”

Your phone buzzes almost immediately.

Megumi: “If this is who I think it is, I agree. Are you free tomorrow? There’s a new cafe off campus that’s really cozy, and I have some exams next week I need to study for. I’d love to see you”

The message makes you feel warm inside - he would love to see you? Of course you have to say yes.

You: “i’m free, how’s 11:00 sound? meet at your place?”

He ‘love’ reacts your message, which you take as affirmation of your plans. You put your phone back into your purse and look back up to see Yuji still smiling down at his phone. “Hey, it’s rude to be on your phone at the table,” you tease, but it comes out more irritated than you intended.

“Sorry, Nobara just said something funny and-” he cuts off, looking up at you realizing he had never told you the name of the girl he actually had feelings for, even though you already knew from seeing her name on his phone this morning.

“Oh, so is this ‘Nobara’ the one you were supposed to take out tonight?” you ask slyly. Yuji just nods blankly, trying to read your facial expressions. “Well, she must be quite special then,” you respond, desperately attempting to shove down any lingering jealousy as you maintain eye contact. “I actually have a date tomorrow, too,” you continue, not looking away from him. He cocks his head to the side, waiting for you to continue and taking another huge bite from the dwindling pile of food between you. “Speaking of which, I actually was hoping to get some practice too…” you trail off. “I want to suck your cock.”

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[mariamlaila]

i had creative energy oozing out of my pores when i was a child. and my dad either ignored or, worse, didn’t notice it

he shoved me into STEM and made his love conditional so that i became a high achiever and got all As to receive his praise and love. i begged to join orchestra in 4th grade, wanting so badly to play an instrument. but that was deemed a distraction and unnecessary

he stifled my creativity for so many years, but it always rebelled. doodles on the margins of my math homework. full sketches on the blank side of my chemistry lab notes. drawing portraits of my friends during class on the last pages of my notebooks. taking ceramics and oil painting classes in between physics and calculus. listening to music when studying

when i finally had the space to come back to it, i thought what i had to create had to be perfect to be worthy of creation. unlearning this is hard, the negative self talk always picks up. it’ll probably take years. but i’m slowly allowing for the imperfections, the messiness, the mistakes again

[letters-unsending]

No. 46

////

“You left. You chose to leave. Not many get to, you know that?”

“I should let you have this. I should let you have your peace–your normal life with those fake papers and fake memories. I think it would be the kind thing to do. But you asked me to find you once they..removed you and I honor my word, if nothing else. I owe you this, [Hero]. I owe you so much more.”

Hero sipped their coffee as they flipped through the notebook. When they’d returned from the library, they’d noticed an extra notepad in their backpack, wedged between their [class] textbook and laptop. It was slim and black, like a misplaced slip of shade. Hero assumed they’d accidentally snagged it from the neighboring desk, but as they peeked at the first page, they discovered their name, penned in their own handwriting over the top line. The date beside the signature was more than four years ago.

The initial pages were full of diagrams. There were outlines of armor and weapons, fringed by impossible chains of numbers and equations. Deeper into the book, the math grew tangled and senseless, sprouting nonsense conclusions and diverging into page-long tangents. Rants spilled over sketches.

After pages of slantwise and ragged scrawl, the neat lines of text came as a surprise. They were written by a different hand, one characterized by tight loops and impeccably even spaces.

“You can choose to stop reading. If you care about this normal life of yours, if going to college and getting a job fulfills you, you should discard this book. Burn it. Shred it. Tossing it leaves too much risk.”

“I know you won’t though. You’re curious. You always asked questions and pushed limits–that’s what got you into trouble. It’s also what made you the best. You were are a hero, [Civilian Name], and you should’ve never needed me, of all people, to remind of you that. But I will. I’ll tell you as many times as it takes you to remember.”

A few of the next pages were ripped out, leaving shredded tufts. Hero traced the paper’s ragged edge and set their coffee down. They looked over their shoulder, then out the window, and then down the hall, as if expecting someone to break through the woodwork and declare this was all a ruse. The dining room clock ticked. The din of passersby and cars warbled stories below.

“None of the books you gave me make sense. There’s no answer. You told me there was an answer.”

“I wrote down a few memories from the missions we shared. I never knew you as a person…I didn’t know your name or face, not until the night before you left. But I hope my recollections may jog your memory. There are also some pictures, a summary of your missions as a Hero, and a list of the few things you did share with me when we were together.”

“If you do remember, there’s a place we used to meet–”

“I can’t figure this out without you. We were so close to an answer. I don’t know why you left, but we’re the city is running out of time.”

[enterprisewired]

Georgia School Shooting Suspect Revealed to Have Hidden Weapon in Poster Board

Source: abcnews.go.com

Colt Gray’s Alarming Method of Concealment

In a tragic incident that unfolded on September 4 at Apalachee High School in Georgia, 14-year-old Colt Gray is accused of fatally shooting two students and two teachers while injuring several others. A Georgia Bureau of Investigation (GBI) agent testified in Barrow County court on Wednesday, detailing surveillance footage that revealed Gray’s unsettling tactics as he concealed a long gun within a poster board resembling a school project while boarding the school bus.

The GBI agent recounted that on the morning of the shooting, Colt Gray rode the bus with the weapon hidden from view. After arriving at school, he reportedly left a notebook on his math desk that outlined a plan for the shooting, including estimated casualty counts and sketches of the classroom layout. Gray then proceeded to the restroom, emerging with gloves on and the poster board covering the AR-15-style rifle, which he was allegedly trying to conceal. As he attempted to re-enter his classroom, a classmate spotted him through the door’s window, prompting her to alert the teacher and initiate a lockdown.

Shooting Incidents in Classrooms

Following the lockdown, Colt Gray reportedly entered a nearby classroom, where he began firing indiscriminately. The GBI agent stated that within approximately seven seconds, six or seven individuals were struck by gunfire. After this initial burst of violence, Gray allegedly fled toward the bathrooms, only to reappear moments later, aiming his rifle at a teacher and firing multiple shots. The attack escalated as Gray turned and shot two coaches in the hallway. Tragically, a student exiting a bathroom was shot and killed in the process.

The chaos in the hallways prompted two school resource officers to confront the 14-year-old, ordering him to drop the rifle and surrender. The rapid response from law enforcement was crucial in preventing further tragedy in what has been described as a harrowing episode.

Legal Proceedings and Parental Responsibility

In the aftermath of the shooting, Colt Gray has been charged with multiple counts of murder, while his father, Colin Gray, faces serious charges including four counts of involuntary manslaughter, two counts of second-degree murder, and eight counts of cruelty to children. The GBI contends that Colin Gray knowingly allowed his son to possess the weapon used in the tragic incident, raising significant questions about parental responsibility and oversight regarding firearm access.

As investigations continue, the community grapples with the devastating impact of this shooting, raising awareness about the urgent need for discussions around gun safety and mental health support in schools. The hearings are set to explore the full circumstances surrounding the incident and the accountability of those involved, both directly and indirectly.

[whispersfromtheshadowsoffical]

What are some fun facts from all of them?

Hello! Thank you for sending in an ask 😈

Apollo loves giving nicknames to everyone, especially the person he loves. He’d come up with the silliest or sweetest pet names on the spot.

Apollo is always full of energy and enthusiasm, making him the life of any situation. He can turn even the most mundane activity into something exciting.

Apollo thrives in fun environments like carnivals. He’s incredibly good at balance games but hilariously bad at any game that involves skill shooting, like water guns or darts.

Apollo has a huge appetite for snacks. If you take him anywhere expect him to eat almost everything, to the point of nearly putting the place out of business

Apollo believes that narwhals are fake

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Soren has an obsession with all things cute and beautiful. He loves collecting dolls and pretty trinkets, sometimes treating people like one of his collections once he becomes attached.

While Soren has a sweet and innocent facade, he’s a master at using his cute looks to manipulate others. If he feels like he’s losing control, he’s not above shedding a few tears to gain sympathy.

Soren hates reading and math

Soren’s obsessive about his appearance and will spend hours getting ready just to look perfect. Even the smallest detail, like a hair being out of place, can ruin his mood.

Though Sorens prone to crying as a manipulation tactic, Soren is careful never to let his tears become "ugly crying." He’s always mindful of his appearance, even when upset.

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• Lynx has a penchant for anything luxurious or high-end. He gravitates toward expensive clothes, accessories, and lavish surroundings, as it aligns with his desire to be worshipped and pampered.

• Lynx loves collecting rare and expensive items, seeing them as extensions of his own status. He takes great pride in showing off his collection.

• Despite his prickly personality, Lynx has a secret fondness for cats. Their independent yet pampered nature resonates with him.

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• Xenos thrives in the nighttime, preferring to operate in the shadows. He finds peace in the quiet of the night, often using this time to stalk the person he’s obsessed with or take photos of them without being seen.

• Xenos has an uncanny ability to remain unnoticed, whether he’s watching from afar or blending into the background.

• Xenos notices every little detail about the person he’s obsessed with, from the way they dress to the smallest changes in their appearance or behavior.

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• Nox has a collection of notebooks where he writes down poems, thoughts, and sketches. Each notebook holds different memories or ideas he’s had, and he carries one with him at all times to jot down inspiration when it strikes.

• Despite his quiet nature, Nox has a soft spot for physical affection. He won’t ask for it, but he appreciates it when his Darling initiates things like hand-holding or resting their head on his shoulder. It’s one of the few ways he feels connected without needing to speak.

• Nox enjoys spending time outdoors at night, particularly under a starry sky. He finds peace in the stillness of the night and often takes his Darling to quiet places where they can stargaze together in comfortable silence.

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• Kaine hates being bored and is always looking for excitement. Whether it’s taking his Darling on a wild adventure or finding new ways to tease them, he constantly seeks thrills and challenges to keep life interesting.

• Kaine is big on physical touch, from playful nudges to full-on embraces. He’s not shy about wrapping his arm around his Darling or pulling them into his lap, often using touch to fluster and tease them.

• Kaine is half snake and if your not careful he might eat you 🤭

[saymonsays]

‎2 — Solving for X (and Maybe Love)

‎

pairing: kwon jiyong x reader

ep 1 | | ep 3

‎Summary: She’s a popular girl who hates math. He’s the quiet genius no one notices. When she’s forced to get tutoring—and he’s assigned as her tutor—their worlds crash into each other. She’d rather fail than accept help. He’d rather disappear than be noticed. It’s slow, it’s messy, it’s unspoken—but it’s real. In a classroom full of numbers, they might be solving for something they never expected: each other.

‎‎Tags: slow burn, highschool romance, opposites attract, art vs math, chaotic friendships, banter, wholesome chemistry, just fluff

‎

‎“Things I Can’t Say Out Loud”

‎

‎Empty Classroom – After School

‎

‎You were already at the desk, sketching absentmindedly in your notebook when Jiyong walked in.

‎

‎“Hey,” you said without looking.

‎

‎“Hey,” he echoed, quieter.

‎

‎He sat beside you, pulled out his books like always. But something felt… different. Slower. Warmer.

‎

‎After a few minutes of silent scribbling (you: a cat riding a skateboard, him: formulas), he cleared his throat.

‎

‎“I, uh…” he began.

‎

‎You looked up.

‎

‎“I wanted to say… thank you again. For the hallway. The other day.”

‎

‎You rolled your eyes. “Didn’t we go over this?”

‎

‎“I know. I just… I don’t say stuff like that. Not well.”

‎

‎You looked at him—really looked.

‎He wasn’t just quiet. He was careful. Like he had walls, not because he was cold—but because he’s been let down before.

‎

‎He opened his notebook, hesitated, then turned it toward you.

‎

‎Your eyes widened.

‎

‎There was a drawing on the page.

‎Sort of.

‎

‎It was… an attempt of a flower. Slightly lopsided. The petals were uneven, the stem was kind of a sad line, but the effort was there. Underneath it, in tiny neat letters:

“I tried. For you.”

‎

‎You stared at it. Then at him.

‎

‎“…You tried to draw for me?” you asked slowly.

‎

‎He nodded, not meeting your eyes.

‎

‎You bit your lip—hard—to stop yourself from smiling.

‎

‎“It’s awful,” you said gently.

‎

‎“I know,” he replied.

‎

‎“But it’s also…” You paused. “Kind of everything.”

‎

‎That made him glance up. His ears were red.

‎

‎You carefully tore out the page and tucked it into your sketchbook like it was a museum piece.

‎

‎“I’m keeping this forever.”

‎

‎“You really don’t have to—”

‎

‎“I’m absolutely going to.”

‎

‎And then, silence. The good kind. The kind where you both breathe at the same rhythm, even without meaning to.

‎

‎Jiyong opened his notebook again. Then stopped.

‎

‎“…Can I tell you something?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

‎

‎You turned to him, still holding the drawing like it was sacred. “You just did.”

‎

‎He smiled, just barely.

‎

‎“But yeah,” you added, softer now. “You can.”

‎

‎He looked down at his page, fingers tense.

‎

‎“…Sometimes, I feel like everyone’s talking around me. Not to me. Like I’m… invisible unless they need an answer.”

‎

‎You didn’t respond right away. Instead, you picked up your pen, flipped to a blank page, and drew something fast—simple, clean.

‎

‎It was a boy, hoodie up, surrounded by people. None of them saw him.

‎

‎But in the corner, a girl sat on a table, drawing.

‎And she was looking right at him.

‎

‎You turned the page to show him.

‎

‎“I see you,” you said.

‎

‎And in that moment, Jiyong didn’t need math to understand what that meant.

‎—————

‎School Library – Late Afternoon

‎

‎You weren’t supposed to be here this late.

‎But Saebom got detention (again), and the driver was late, and your phone was at 2%.

‎

‎So you were at your usual table, curled into a corner, sketching a wolf wearing sunglasses.

‎

‎And then—he walked in.

‎

‎Jiyong. Hoodie up, satchel slung across his chest, looking like a stray thought.

‎

‎He spotted you.

‎

‎Paused.

‎

‎You raised a brow. “This seat taken?”

‎

‎He didn’t answer. Just slid into the chair beside you.

‎

‎He smelled like fabric softener and pencil shavings. Familiar now. Comforting.

‎

‎“You draw everywhere,” he said after a while.

‎

‎“I exist everywhere,” you replied.

‎

‎He watched you draw in silence.

‎

‎And then—out of nowhere—he reached into his pencil case and pulled something out.

‎

‎A mechanical pencil.

‎But not just any. It was black and silver, sleek, fancy-looking.

‎

‎He placed it on the table between you.

‎

‎“What’s this?” you asked.

‎

‎“I thought… it might work better than the one you keep chewing on.”

‎

‎You looked at the pencil. Then at him.

‎

‎“…Is this a gift?”

‎

‎“No.”

‎

‎You tilted your head. “Feels like one.”

‎

‎“It’s just… a functional exchange.”

‎

‎You smiled, slow. “Right. Functional.”

‎

‎You picked it up, clicked it once. Twice. The sound filled the silence like thunder.

‎

‎“Don’t lose it,” he muttered.

‎

‎“Why?” you teased. “Is it precious?”

‎

‎He paused. Then, without looking at you:

‎“It was my brother’s.”

‎

‎The world paused.

‎

‎You stopped fidgeting with the pencil.

‎

‎“…You never told me you had a brother.”

‎

‎He nodded. “He’s… not around anymore.”

‎

‎You didn’t push. You didn’t say sorry, because some things don’t need apologies. They just need presence.

‎

‎So instead, you slid your sketchbook toward him.

‎

‎“Draw something.”

‎

‎He blinked. “We already went over this. I can’t draw.”

‎

‎You shrugged. “I still kept the flower, didn’t I?”

‎

‎Reluctantly, he took the pencil. Gripped it awkwardly.

‎

‎Then looked at you. “What should I draw?”

‎

‎You met his gaze.

‎

‎“Whatever you think of… when you think of me.”

‎

‎He froze.

‎

‎Dead silence.

‎Then—you.

‎

‎You felt the air shift. Like the room got smaller, warmer, closer.

‎

‎His eyes flicked down. The pencil started to move.

‎

‎After a minute, he turned the sketchbook back toward you.

‎

‎It was a mess. Scribbly lines. Crooked heart. A vague attempt of… sunglasses?

‎

‎“…Is this the wolf from earlier?” you asked.

‎

‎He nodded. “Cool. Unbothered. Not afraid of anything.”

‎

‎You looked at him.

‎

‎He wasn’t blushing.

‎

‎But he couldn’t meet your eyes, either.

‎

‎Your heart thudded. Loud. Stupid.

‎

‎“Okay,” you said, voice smaller than you meant.

‎

‎You closed the sketchbook, tucking it to your chest like it was gold.

‎

‎And he reached for the pencil—

‎—but you stopped him.

‎

‎“I’m borrowing this,” you said softly. “Indefinitely.”

‎

‎His lips twitched.

‎

‎“I didn’t say you could.”

‎

‎“You didn’t have to.”

‎

‎And for a second—just a second—he looked at you like you were the only thing real in the world.

—

Author's note: sorry this part is kind of short BUT I SWEAR THERE'S ANOTHER PART AFTER THIS LOL this was kind of rushed :')

‎

[poeticexhalations]

Two People in Love

I think that sometimes, opposites attract. And that attraction is an explosion of stars in a universe where everything is supposed to be contained. You see, people are messy and complicated; we are supposed to fit comfortably into our little bubbles and remain there for our whole lives. We aren’t supposed to question what it is like to feel love from someone who reveals your weaknesses as their strengths. The introverts seek the introverts. The scientists seek the scientists. The healers seek the healers.

Not my parents.

I heard their love was haunting, radiating, and full of misunderstandings.

The way that my mother and father would have died for each other, yet killed one another on bad days, is a tempest that I only hope to feel one day. 

She was fire, and he was ice.

She was dark, and he was light.

She was music, and he was silence.

My father claims that there was something about her deep, chocolate eyes that drew him in on a cold night in Bloomington, Indiana. He wasn’t looking for love. He was there after long, tedious exams with a few of his dudes, getting watered-down beer at the pub across the street from the university. It was autumn, 1989. My father tried his best to look presentable at all times, but I can only imagine the hole in his polished shoes, the missing button at the top of his shirt, and the frazzled look of his wavy hair from running his hands too many times through the golden strands.

My mom would have been the kind of person to notice these things and see them as strengths, not flaws. Because even though he was tired, and put-down, and frazzled, he did his best to present himself to the world. In youth, my mother saw the strengths in everyone. Even someone who was as cold and calculating as my father.

He tells me he saw her across the pub, sketching in her notebook, and fell instantly. He knew he was going to marry this woman, and he didn’t even know her name. She ignored him completely, not out of disinterest, but because she was existing in the world of her graphite pencil and coffee-stained pages. My father sees the logic behind everything, and she shattered this ideal. How could he, a man of logic and intuition, fall so quickly for a woman he had never seen before, and may never see again? And my mother was lovely, but she was no superstar model. She was modest in her beauty. She had beauty for those who knew where to look. 

Sometimes I wish I had a man find me that way; pick me out of a crowd of people, and gravitate towards me. Then I remember what happened to my parents and it makes me feel safe to be, for the most part, fairly invisible.

Maybe this is where I learned the trait of invisibility and silence, as many girls do; to avoid men like my father finding us.

Their love wasn’t a steadfast one. It was lots of angry kisses, messy sex in coat-closets, making up at parties before screaming fights under the stars, and wrathful jealousy.

Both of my parents came from humble beginnings. The difference between my mother and father’s upbringings, however, was a catalyst for their lives. My father was raised with many boys in a small adobe house in (our city), New Mexico. His father before him, a World War II veteran, was about appearances. 

The ******** had a name to uphold in (our city), apparently, though no one really knows why. 

My grandfather wrote for the newspaper, and my grandmother was a math teacher in a middle school. They were to live as a nuclear family, and then each one of those boys was to grow up, be humble, have children, marry a respectable white woman who listened to her husband, and change the world. 

Each son had to be college educated. 

Each son would pursue science, math, or engineering and then serve their country. 

These rigid expectations for how my father and uncles’ lives would play out is probably why two of my uncles are dead, and one of them lives in Portland believing that Bigfoot is his neighbor and aliens took him in the middle of the night. 

Trauma does that to people.

My dad and my uncle P were the only ones who thrived. They both made their living on destruction, which is something I’m not personally interested in, hence my distance to them both. My father designs explosives for the government, and I imagine some of his work has been used on innocents in other countries. My uncle is a defense lawyer who makes sure that murderers and rapists go free, destroying the lives of the victims. Supposedly, they’re happy men. I think they’re both as miserable as can be, but they both have ass-loads of money, mansions in the woods, and beautiful, blonde wives with large tits and plastic surgery. Their wives hate me, so I must be doing something right.

My mother was opposite in just about every way. She grew up in (city), Indiana, with many siblings. Her favorite pastime was scraping her knees, swimming in the natural lakes, and riding her rusty bicycle down to the local library to check out mystery novels. She was close to her siblings and parents, who lived chaotic in every way that was possible. Every family vacation was spontaneous, every musical concert was a family gift, and becoming college-educated was a luxury that my grandmother and grandfather thought impossible for someone of their means. 

My mother was connected to everything in this natural world. The universe was exceptionally kind with my mother when she was born and gifted her abilities that I still desire; the ability to connect with the squirrels on the hiking trail, the ability to be seen wherever you go, the ability to talk your way out of paying for your car repairs, the ability to make the sun shine specifically on your face on a rainy day. When she was young, she was as authentic as possible, and mystery and creativity flowed through her veins. She lost her touch with life as she aged, but in her twenties and thirties, my mother was like a hurricane that destroyed everything in your life before it was repaired better than before.

My maternal side of the family had a rich, historical connection to Scotland, including family heirlooms that were supposed to go to me, poetry books, the Gaelic language, and rich family connections. Too bad that when my grandmother died, it all got pillaged and the opportunity to connect to my roots was taken away from me from a man who saw dollar bills in his eyes upon her passing.

Oh well.

I think that opportunity was gone long before that fucker my grandmother married stole everything.

My father wasn’t in a “place for love”, yet he loved my mom. So he pushed her away at every given opportunity for years. They’d encounter each other on campus only to go the long way around to avoid eye contact. He was older, about to graduate, and she was still existing in her sketchbook. He said he’d watch her for minutes on end by the fountain, in the food hall, walking home under the shaking trees of autumn. But it wasn’t until she was walking under those trees, hand-in-hand with another man, that my father finally was spurred into action.

And not only was it another man; it was his best mate. Sam.

I imagine something about seeing the woman you love, and denying being in love with, kissing your best mate, does something to a man’s heart. And spine.

My father, incapable of loving a woman, who was supposed to marry an obedient woman whom his parents approved of, knew then that he needed to marry this wild, untamed wreck that was my mother. And I love her, but she was a disaster for him. She unraveled everything he thought he knew about the world, and he unraveled her until she died. Sam was everything that my father wasn’t, so I don’t know how the two of them ended up as friends. Sam was kind, soft, and artistic. He had square glasses the size of Colorado over his bright green eyes. Whereas my father was motivated and analytical, Sam was gentle and dashing. Their group would always go to the films, to the pubs, and to parades together, and my father explained that he would see Sam with “his girl”. 

Though, she wasn’t his, because my father had pushed her away. 

You see, my mother waited years for my father before she finally gave up on him and met Sam. My father didn’t want something when it was offered to him; he wanted to take it. I don’t know how he managed, but it must have done some real damage, because Sam and my mother rarely spoke in their adult lives. And my father whisked away a bride. 

My mother would always tell me she “should have married Sam.”

But my father always gets what he wants.

I don’t think their marriage was all bad. It was a hurricane, but I imagine that there were peaceful, romantic moments, too. There is a reason that thirty-two years later, my father’s eyes glisten and he smiles when he sees a photograph of her. I think she softened him; she sawed away his rough edges and made him see beauty that he hadn’t seen before. I think she made him appreciate sunsets a little more. I think that she probably made him question everything. 

But I think he destroyed her.

They did the societal appropriate approach to their lives together. Marriage. Kids. Move to our city. A few affairs. Loveless nights. Screaming under the fluorescent lights in the kitchen. Divorce. Rage. Death. Unresolved grief.

The American thing.

My grandparents wanted a nuclear family, and I suppose they got their wish. It just wasn’t the happy ending everyone hoped for.