#me: is in the middle of an academic breakdown

[cyeayt]

I'm never going to be able to watch every movie, or listen to every song, or read every book. i am fine with this.

[Crying screaming throwing up wondering what the point is contemplating abandoning my life for this futile pursuit]

it's fine, and i will learn to live with it.

#in other words places i really should love based on my interests can be incredibly stressful for me #decision paralysis #adhd #books #films #god #its fine its fine its fine #i have it on good authority that this feeling never goes away but we will learn to live with it we have to #anyway #the best way ive found to mitigate this is to chose a book any book and read it and if you dont like that chose another one #solution that only works when youre halfway to a breakdown in the middle of a bookstore/library #angelland this has nothing to do with your ask btw and more to do with the academic panel on horror movies i attended today which #was very cool but i hadnt seen any of the movies which was upsetting

[giorno-plays-piano]

Binary Star

Part I

Pairing: academic rival!Satoru Gojo x reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, power play, hurt/comfort, no curse au, this series will get darker as the story progresses.

Words: 1.2k

Summary: It has to pay off, he thinks as he waits for the headmaster to finally announce the valedictorian, knowing she is there too, shifting from one foot to the other impatiently. What face is she going to make when his name will be called? Is she going to cry? To yell at him and publicly demand a re-evaluation? Or will she, perhaps, finally admit he's done a fantastic job and won fair and square?

____________

He is really going to get her this time. This is the finish line, quite literally: the graduation; his last attempt to win and emerge victorious from the very last battle between him and her. It has to be it.

If he couldn't win against her for the last time, Gojo would probably have a mental breakdown right in the middle of the ceremony. Geto standing right next to him rolls his eyes to the ceiling over his friend who's shaking from excitement and fear. Of course, Satoru wouldn't admit it even under torture, but Suguru knows better. The girl his friend has been competing with throughout high school isn't just smart: she's completely insane like Gojo and as big pain in the ass as him. Who knows, perhaps she'll really win this round. He prefers not to think of it.

Satoru searches for her in the crowd, standing on his toes despite already being a foot taller than anyone else in the hall. Is she here? This nightmarish woman who has been pushing him to give high school his all because she dared to take away his crown of the best student during their freshman year? When Satoru saw the scores, he thought he might have had a heart attack. There was no way he was no longer #1.

"That's what you get for messing around the chem lab," Shoko snorted while Satoru dumbly stared at the name of that annoying girl, always the teachers' pet, heading the list. His name was written right under hers.

What the actual fuck?! She got a better score than him? Him, the genius, with his undeniably superior IQ of 180 that he flaunted at any given time? Who did she think she was, Sheldon Cooper or something?

It got him so fired up he actually started studying.

"You're so dumb," Geto eventually said after his friend had gotten in the argument with the girl during their ethics class - again. "You know you could be making out with her now, right? She's the only person who could actually get along with your stubborn ass."

"Wha-a-at? What about you?" Immediately disregarding his question, Satoru was already pouting like a kid. "Wouldn't you date me?"

"Yeah, over my dead fucking body."

To be fair, it's not that Gojo never thought of her that way - she was pretty, even if he was never going to admit it out loud - but she was also so insufferable Gojo really couldn't focus on anything else but beating her in that game they were playing. The best score on the history exam? They both wanted it. Math test? Him and her were working on those questions as if their lives depended on it. Biology project? Satoru made sure to do the impossible, submitting something he would get a Noble prize for, and yet he still somehow managed to get the same grade as her. It was absolutely infuriating.

Why on Earth did she decide she could be better than him? He was Satoru Gojo, after all. The one and only son of Gojo family, who was not only embarrassingly rich but also fucking smart - his parents used to flaunt his talents throughout his whole childhood and continued doing it well into adulthood. He couldn't tell them he was no longer #1. What would his mother say? Dear God, it was hard to imagine what would happen to his father of he learned some random girl got a better grade for that English paper than him. It was, at the very least, unbecoming of Satoru.

But she was unrelenting, irritated with his status of the school genius, and ready to fight him on every occasion. Satoru had no idea what could piss her off so much - in the end, he was the most charming guy around, wasn't he? - but there wasn't a day she'd let him have his way. She was brave, persistent, and knowledgeable, and he hated her very much.

The fact that Shoko and Suguru were asking him to please get together with her and stop antagonizing the whole school only riled up Gojo even more. As if he was going to date that nerd!

When he learned she'd be running for the valedictorian, it was the last drop. No fucking way. She couldn't take it away from him - even if he had never actually cared about being a valedictorian.

If his friends had thought he was obessessing over her, now they realized Satoru went completely nuts. He started studying so much he barely slept: it was a given, considering the bags under his eyes were making his skinny ass look like a starving raccoon. Geto couldn't drag gim out even in between lessons because Satoru was immediately burying his head in the books.

It has to pay off, he thinks as he waits for the headmaster to finally announce the valedictorian, knowing she is there too, shifting from one foot to the other impatiently. What face is she going to make when his name will be called? Is she going to cry? To yell at him and publicly demand a re-evaluation? Or will she, perhaps, finally admit he's done a fantastic job and won fair and square?

Pfft, of course she won't. She'll probably stab him in the parking lot once he tries to get into his car.

But when the headmaster finally announces the results, and his, Satoru Gojo's, name is called, he no longer sees her in the crowd, and the sweet taste of victory suddenly turns to ashes in his mouth.

Where is she? She couldn't have known it would be him. To be frank, he didn't either. How could she leave right before the results were announced?

He gives his speech with a stupid smile plastered all over his face, but his mood has already soured. She had to be there to hear he was named this year's valedictorian! What face did she make? Did she leave right after she heard it wasn't her? Did she cry? Did she run away because she couldn't take it? Wasn't she going to say to him anything at all?

How could she just... vanish?

He doesn't know why he expected her to be the bigger person and come tell him he did great, but he truly did. Suddenly, he realizes he wants her to look him in the face and say he is good enough.

Did he need to be the bigger person, perhaps? But, wait, isn't he a bigger person by default because he's the winner, he wondered. The winner is always the bigger person if he doesn't rub loser's face in the dirt, right?

In the end, he couldn't even enjoy the victory he had been craving for so long.

"She had something urgent come up," Shoko says later in the restaurant, making a tsk-ing sound while Gojo listens to her with a frown on his face. "Something about her family."

Something about her family? What could be as important as the announcement of valedictorian?

"Are you dumb?" With a sigh, Suguru cocks his head to the side. "Plenty of things are more important than this valedictorian crap."

Maybe to somebody else, but not to her, Satoru thinks. Beating him has always been the only thing on her mind, and nothing could have changed that.

__________

He will be mulling over it for a long, long time once he realizes she did not follow him to Harvard despite her scholarship.

Part II

Tags: @minshookie29

#yandere #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk satoru

[oscar-wilde-thing]

Four years ago I sat in a psychiatrist's office. I was explaining why a certain Cognitive Behavioral Therapy technique felt impossible.

"If I don't think I know how a social interaction is going to work out, if I don't know the pattern, I can't do it."

The Dr nodded, and we moved on.

A few sessions later, she said she didn't think she could work with me anymore.

Great, I thought to myself. I'm being dumped by my therapist.

"I don't think I can work with you, because I think you're autistic."

I literally felt my world shift underneath me.

She explained more, about social interactions, about hyper sensitivity, about pattern recognition and anxiety and early-life academic achievement. I did end up stopping treatment with her, I don't really remember why. But I held that suggestion in my head.

The end of 2019 was rocky- working retail around the holidays is its own special hell, and my grandmother died in December of that year.

Then 2020 happened. COVID and isolation and protests and my workplace unionizing. Through all of that I was reading, and watching videos, and researching. About how autism and neurodivergency presents differently in girls and AFAB people. How the research is incredibly outdated and mostly focused on white, middle class boys. How getting a diagnosis as an adult, let alone an AFAB adult, is a fight.

I kept trucking along, learning new ways to cope. Figuring out that sometimes what I had thought were anxiety attacks was actually sensory overload. That my penchant for spreadsheets and what I called my "encyclopedic nerd brain" were probably hyper fixations.

It took 4 years.

4 years, 8 more mental health professionals, a mental breakdown, a month in residential mental health care, and 5 more months in acute daily mental health care, but today, at 12:55PM, I was officially diagnosed with Autism.

I'm sitting here at my desk weeping because I'm both so happy and so angry. Happy that there's a reason I feel the way I feel, that there's a reason why the world seems so harsh, that there's a reason why I sometimes physically can't talk and a reason why certain foods and sounds and textures make me want to crawl out of my skin. But I'm also so angry that it took 26 years for anyone to see. That it took another 4 years for me to get any answers. That there are countless other little girls and adult AFABS like me out there who feel like they're doing everything they're supposed to but not getting what the world tells them they should be getting.

My life has changed. Or maybe it hasn't changed. Maybe a door has opened that had never been seen before.

I'm not sure how to wrap this up.

I just know that learning more about myself is rarely a bad thing. And now that I know this big piece of who I am, I'll be able to go forward and learn more ways to exist in this world as an autistic person.

#actually autistic #autism #autistic #mental health #neurodiversity #neurodivergent #autistic adult

[subskz]

ʚïɞ butterfly bandage - 03

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

content: bang chan/reader, university au, themes of soulmates, reader is female and referred to with she/her pronouns, mentions of past unhealthy relationships, slight jealousy, brief mentions of alcohol, sickness, academic stress, angst, hurt/comfort, crying, chan has a bit of a breakdown, bathing scene, nsfw scenes

18+ content: sub chan, dom reader, praise, possessiveness, biting/marking, the slightest hint of exhibitionism, chan is very needy, stopping in the middle of a scene, oral (reader receiving), lots of begging, crying during and after sex, nursing, handjob, aftercare

word count: 22.6k

There were parts of Chan in everything you did now.

It took a while, but eventually, it dawned on you with a strange sort of delight that you’d subconsciously taken on his habit of pressing his lips together into a thin line—when giving a quick smile, when lost in thought, and, most importantly, when silently dissatisfied. For such a subtle movement, you found that, at times, it expressed your frustration better than voicing it ever could. A Chan-like quality, through and through.

Likewise, he’d adopted your habit of reaching up to brush the tip of your nose whenever you felt self-conscious. Of all the quirks he could’ve picked up on, naturally, it had to be one he could make ample use of. Now, any time your gaze lingered on him for a bit longer than necessary (which admittedly, was often) his thumb would swipe over the adorable apex of his nose, a shy half-smile following the action like clockwork. It took some audacity, really, for him to steal a mannerism of yours and make it infinitely more endearing.

Even less obvious details were fair game for the two of you to snatch up, from mirroring each other’s walks, to parroting certain words and phrases. You’d melded into one another, so much that, in some cases, you weren’t quite sure which traits he’d gotten from you, and which traits you’d gotten from him.

You wondered if the marks you’d left on each other were what had landed you in the situation you found yourself in now.

“Betrayal! That’s what this is! A Sanrio pencil stabbed straight through my giant, loving heart!”

It had been a good five minutes of this. Changbin was back from summer break—skin tanned, hair fluffy, muscles somehow more defined than ever—and with the way his voice echoed shamelessly throughout the cafe, he was making sure everyone knew it. You hadn’t even gotten a chance to greet him properly before the one-man show (which you’d prepared for, but clearly not enough) began; starring none other than Seo Changbin himself, of course.

“Please calm down before you get us kicked out.”

“Calm down, she says!” he cried. “You’re a real scary person, y’know that? Hiding this from me, your good friend, Changbin—your best friend, Changbin—all this time!”

You felt a tinge of guilt for what wasn’t the first time. Despite the melodrama of it all, you knew that he had a point. There was no reason for you to have kept something like this from him for so long, especially when it involved not only one, but two of his closest friends.

“I’m sorry, Bin,” you sighed. “I really did wanna tell you. I was just worried it’d make everything so awkward.”

“Well, of course it’s awkward,” he agreed. “But I still want to know! At least that way, we can feel awkward together!”

Something about his reasoning made you soften. It was just like him, to be more concerned that he’d missed out on the chance of being a supportive friend rather than the potential mess that could stem from your involvement with Chan. You would probably do well to have a little more faith in people—a message the universe seemed to have been hammering into your brain a great deal lately.

“Maybe I would’ve told you if you’d talked to me more than once over your entire vacation,” you teased.

Changbin’s mouth fell open in protest, suddenly finding himself playing defense. “Twice!” he corrected indignantly. “And don't try to spin this on me! What about when you called me, huh? That was the perfect opportunity!”

“The perfect opportunity?” you echoed in disbelief. “In that case, I’ll be sure to follow up your birthday wishes next year with news that I’m dating your best friend.”

“Scary, scary person,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I’m almost afraid to ask for a hug—you’re not gonna put a knife in my back are you?”

You rolled your eyes. “What’s in the air back home that makes you act like this?”

Still, you felt nothing but fondness as you leaned fully into him, letting it sink in for the first time just how happy you were to see him again. With the way his big arms squeezed around you, you knew he wasn’t truly upset either—even if, quite frankly, he had a right to be.

“I missed you, though,” you patted his back. “You and all your drama.”

“Well, I missed you too,” he huffed. Just when you thought he might be ready to drop the theatrics and move on, he pulled away from the hug, a horrified look forming on his face.

“Oh my God…have I been third wheeling this entire time?”

“Get in line, Seo Changbin.”

His nagging and whining eventually died down, morphing into more playful jabs as the two of you ordered your drinks and found a table to sit at. Exactly as you’d predicted, once he’d recovered from the initial shock, he was all proud grins and smug righteousness, preaching on and on about how he’d told you so from day one and how you should never doubt him or his genius intuition ever again.

“I was mostly joking when I said all that stuff about you falling in love with him, y’know,” he clicked his tongue. “Didn’t think you’d actually go and do it.”

“I’m not in love with him,” you tried to retort, but much to your dismay, your voice cracked right as you uttered the dreaded word.

“No way,” Changbin broke out into cackles of pure glee. “Don’t tell me you went and had a secret wedding without me, too?”

You shoved your straw into your iced coffee with a bit too much force, face heating up. “The more you laugh, the more you sound like someone who isn’t getting his belated birthday present.”

At that, he clamped his jaws shut, giggles halting with a speed that was almost impressive. “Sorry, sorry,” he gave you a sheepish grin. “Behaving, now.”

“How’d you find out, anyway? Did Chan tell you?”

“Nah. Though, I should’ve guessed just from the way he gets whenever you’re brought up. All shy and smiley, it’s honestly kinda nauseating.”

He scrunched his nose up in distaste, but the words had no real edge to them. In fact, there was nothing but affection there. It made your heart skip a beat, embarrassingly enough, to know that just the mention of you was all it took to have that kind of effect on Chan. Every time you thought you couldn’t possibly be more taken by him, he proved you wrong.

“If not Chan, then who?” you hesitated before asking. “Minho?”

“Hey,” the whine was back in his voice. “Why’s it so hard for you to believe I figured it out myself?”

You said nothing, smiling around your straw and sipping contently away at your coffee.

“Yes, it was Minho,” he grumbled.

Though you’d been expecting it, the confirmation still made your skin crawl, overtaking Chan’s warmth with a cold discomfort. You hadn’t seen or heard from Minho since your encounter in the convenience store a few weeks ago, and each time you thought back to him, the pit of unease in your stomach grew stronger. You wondered just how much he’d told Changbin. Judging by his behavior that day, he seemed to be aware of everything—whether he was the type to mince his words, or to expose it all without a care in the world, you weren’t quite sure. Even if you’d spent more time around the guy before he’d decided to switch up on you, you got the feeling that you still wouldn’t have any clearer insight into how his mind worked.

“Speaking of Minho,” you began slowly. “Has he…said anything lately?”

Changbin snorted. “He’s said a lot of things.”

“Sorry. I mean, like, about me.”

“I don’t think so,” he squinted, eyeing you up and down. “Why? Are you planning on picking off my friends one by one?”

It was lighthearted, just a joke, but it nearly made you grimace. You’d be glad to never even cross paths with Minho again if it meant avoiding that harsh, accusatory glare that had yet to fade from your mind. Experiencing it once was more than enough.

“C’mon, Bin. It’s nothing like that.”

“Uh-huh, that’s what you said last time.”

You gave a half-hearted chuckle in response, only noticing a moment too late how unconvincing it’d come out. It caught his attention, and he glanced up from his drink to give you a curious look.

“Everything alright?”

You were reluctant to confide in Changbin about the matter, both to avoid burdening him with something so silly, and because of the very unavoidable fact that Minho was just as dear a friend to him as Chan. He’d only just found out about your relationship; immediately piling its potential problems on him was the last thing you wanted to do. At the same time, however, you figured it was better to ask someone who knew Minho well before you jumped to conclusions. Not to mention, Changbin might genuinely believe you were interested in rounding up all his friends if you didn’t clarify why you’d brought up the subject of Minho in the first place.

“I saw him a few weeks ago, and he was being kinda weird.”

“No issues there.”

“Not in his usual way, though—at least, I don’t think so?” you tried to be careful with your words, acutely aware of how sensitive you may come off if you chose the wrong ones. “I just got the feeling that he doesn’t really like me all that much. So, I was wondering if he’s brought it up with you.”

Changbin frowned, taking a moment to mull over what you’d said.

“You think Minho doesn’t like you?” He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back in his chair. “What’d he say to you?”

“Just some weird things about me and Chan,” you shrugged. “It almost felt like he was trying to intimidate me, or something. Like, he thinks I have bad intentions.”

A troubled look crossed his face—brief, but just long enough to foster your unease. He went quiet for a few moments, nibbling thoughtfully on his bottom lip, then, at last, gave a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Nah, that can’t be it.”

You tilted your head. “Why not?”

“Minho knows you’re not like that,” he said simply. “And he wouldn’t just hate you for no reason, either. Definitely not it.”

You made a small noise of acknowledgement, pretending to understand what he meant, but Changbin still seemed to sense that he hadn’t gotten through to you.

“You’ve seen the way he acts around us, right? He’s probably just messing with you now that he feels more comfortable,” his voice mellowed. “He might seem difficult, but he’s not a bad guy. He’s a pretty great guy, actually. Soft at heart.”

“I believe you,” you murmured. You didn’t doubt for a second that he was a good friend to Changbin and Chan; you’d witnessed it firsthand in the time you’d spent around them. The problem was, you seemed to have done something to land yourself as the target of his inexplicable wrath, and you weren’t sure how to get yourself out of the line of aim before his eyes pierced an arrow straight through you.

“Maybe you’re right. I must’ve just misunderstood him.”

“He’s easy to misunderstand,” Changbin reassured you. An unpleasant thought appeared to cross his mind, twisting the small smile tugging at his lips right back into a frown. “Just…don’t tell him I said any of that. He didn’t put you up to this, did he?”

“Of course not,” you grinned. “Your secret is safe with me.”

Though you weren’t entirely sold on Changbin’s reasoning, it was at least worth a shot to reconcile with Minho before completely giving up on a positive relationship with him. It wasn’t even so much that you were hurt by his unexpected hostility, you just wanted to know what had caused it. You wanted to fix it.

In fact, you were determined to fix it. For both your sakes, and—most importantly—for Chan’s, you were going to make it right.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

College parties, as it turned out, were still very plainly, very aggressively, not your scene. Even with Chan and Changbin there, even with some of the most talented students on campus putting on performances that were, unsurprisingly, really, really good, even with the three-month long promise of getting to see 3RACHA live finally coming to fruition, you were having a hard time enjoying yourself.

You didn’t think it was possible to be experiencing this many different emotions at once. Every one of your senses was suffocated with something. The stinging smell of alcohol, the uncomfortable sheen of sweat on your skin, the perpetual ringing in your ears, the swarming mass of people, and the residual taste of artificial strawberry—the only refreshment you’d managed to take a few sips of before being swept away into the crowd over an hour ago. You were overwhelmed, you were exhilarated, you were anxious, you were impatient. You appeared completely calm amidst the chaos ensuing all around you, yet somehow, were more of a mess internally than even the most intoxicated of attendees.

You’d spent a majority of your time scattered, tossed amongst your friends at random intervals throughout the night. Fifteen minutes with Changbin before he and Jisung had retreated to the bathroom to practice their lyrics, twenty minutes with Iseul before she and her boyfriend had gotten into a heated argument about him not matching the energy of her dancing (something you were sure to get earful of later), thirty minutes with various friends from class before realizing in dismay that they consisted almost exclusively of touchy and crybaby drunks, and a mere five minutes with Chan.

Shortly after the party had begun, you’d arrived to find him already looking cheerfully exhausted. He’d been there for hours already, having offered to help the committee with all the setup and decorations for the event. Even once the festivities were in full swing, he was still dashing around the venue left and right, assisting with soundchecks and the transfer of equipment with hardly any time to prepare for his own performance, let alone to socialize. It warmed your heart as much as it tugged at it. Even on a night where he should be his own top priority, he was still bending over backwards to help everyone else but himself.  

It lasted until he was all but forced to stop, dragged away by Changbin and Jisung to set up for 3RACHA’s showcase. The moment you’d been anticipating all night—all summer, really—the sole reason you were even putting up with an environment so out of your wheelhouse to begin with, came at last. The three men shuffled on to the makeshift stage with an awkward sort of swagger that you only ever saw in them when they were together. It was like each one of them needed the other two with him to lock properly into place, to align their energies and bring out the best in each other like a finely-tuned machine. In a way, that in itself was a testament to the song they’d be performing.

The familiar sirens you’d heard countless times before, pumping through your phone speakers in a personal concert, now blared through the hall for everyone to hear. Chan’s eyes fell from the screen of his laptop where he’d been getting things situated, landing directly on you without even having to search the crowd. He gave you a grin, dimples flashing, and that was the last you saw of it for the next three minutes and thirty seconds.

You’d already had an idea of what Jisung was capable of based on the handful of 3RACHA songs you’d heard, but to see it unfold in person was something entirely different. The goofy, scatterbrained junior that always looked a bit on-edge every time you spotted him, now rapping at the speed of light with each word flowing like torrents in a stream. Something about the way he read the lyrics directly off his phone, even for a performance like this, made it all the more mesmerizing to watch. He was the kind of person you could tell was a hidden genius.

Changbin became every bit as fierce and intimidating as you’d initially believed him to be the first day you’d met. Voice raspy and eyes dark, looking straight into the crowd almost like he was challenging them with each effortless line he spit out. It served as a reminder that all his drama and flair wasn't just something you could tease him for; it was something he could own the stage with, as well. His pride radiated off of him in waves; not only in himself, but in them as a unit, and every ounce of it was justified in your eyes.

Undoubtedly the most drastic transformation, however, was Chan. From the moment Zone began, the boy you’d come to know seemed to go dormant for a while, replaced with something you’d never quite seen in him before—something approaching confidence. You thought back to that day in the library, where you’d tried to imagine in amusement how someone like him, who could hardly look you in the eye while playing snippets of his Placebo instrumental, could be the one behind such powerful lines. You didn’t have to imagine it now. He had the least parts out of the trio—you were certain he’d chosen Zone as a way to give Jisung and Changbin more time to shine—but he made just as great of an impact. You could feel the effects of it, on you and everyone else around you. There was no question about it; he belonged there.

By the time the performance was over, you could add a few new emotions to the ones swirling inside you: happiness, pride, and something else you couldn’t quite place. You found Changbin amidst the sea of people first, weaving and dodging through the crowd until you reached him, or, rather, crashed directly into him. His face broke out into a wide smile as soon as he realized it was you, barely getting the chance to say anything before you pulled him into a hug.

“So?” you could hear the giddiness in his voice as he gave you a tight squeeze.

“You killed it, Bin! That’s gotta be the best you've ever sounded,” you hoped he could hear your praises over the pandemonium. “You gonna remember me when you’re famous?”

He pulled away with a laugh, lifting his chin in—mostly—feigned bravado. “I’ll consider it,” his eyes sparkled. “Did you notice the new move I did?”

“Obviously,” you imitated his stylish salute with two fingers, and his smile grew even wider. “And what’s with that sound you made at the start of your verse?”

“It’s my new signature!” he declared.

“So cool! You’re so cool, Seo Changbin!” You threw a hand over your heart with a giggle, and he bumped his shoulder against yours, suddenly embarrassed.

If he said something in response, you didn’t quite catch it, effectively losing all focus the instant your eyes caught sight of a group of people gathered nearby. Chan was at its center, grinning from ear to ear as he tried to keep up with everyone’s chattering all at once. A visual of him you’d pictured so many times before, now right before your eyes—a charming, social butterfly who made befriending others look as simple as breathing. It truly sank in at that moment, that the boy who’d come to mean so much to you in so little time, had a whole other side to his world that you didn’t even know of. The view of his thousand-watt smile wasn’t for your eyes alone, the pieces of himself that he put into his music weren’t solely for your ears.

It made your heart sing; he should be adored. But at the same time, that sensation from earlier made its presence known once again. The girl next to him, the head organizer for the event, if you remembered correctly, reached out to touch his arm as she laughed. Her hand lingered for a moment too long, a look you knew all too well swimming in her eyes.

Oh. Suddenly, the mystery feeling wasn’t so much of a mystery anymore.

Something ignited deep within you, completely different from the familiar heat Chan set off in your skin. It was immediately followed by a wave of embarrassment. You weren’t the type to bristle over something so small—at least, you’d never thought you were. You wanted to blame it on something; the fact that you hadn’t seen Chan for most of the night, the fact that it felt a bit too reminiscent of what he used to do whenever you’d dared to take your attention off of him for even a moment. But Chan would never even think to pull anything like that, it went against his nature. His nature just so happened to entail being adored wherever he went.

You knew it was nothing more than that same selfishness that had reared its head the night you’d first slept together. Not quite insecurity, and not quite jealousy. It was rooted in something much simpler: a matter of what felt right, and what didn’t. You’d wanted to be done with the troublesome feeling from the moment you’d first encountered it—to nip it in the bud before it sprouted into something uglier—but just like everything about your relationship with Chan, it was out of your hands. It was inevitable. With the wholeness that came with his presence, an emptiness was left in his absence.

“Oh my God,” Changbin’s exasperated voice cut through the music, and, in turn, the thoughts swarming your head. “Stare any harder and he might just burst into flames.”

You blinked, embarrassment increasing tenfold. “Sorry, Binnie,” you muttered. “What were you saying?”

He gave you a knowing nudge. “Just go talk to him so I don’t have to look at your lovesick face anymore.”

“Not lovesick,” you protested, but the way your eyes darted right back to Chan did nothing to help your case. You found him staring at you this time, his overwhelmed beam shifting into something softer, sweeter—a look of relief. He dismissed himself from the group just as your feet were preparing, almost reflexively, to pull you in his direction. You turned to give Changbin another apologetic glance, only for him to roll his eyes and gesture for you to leave.

“I need to find Jisung, anyway,” he told you. “Talking to more than one stranger at a time probably has him looking for an escape route.”

Promising to meet up with him again later, you parted ways, a strange sense of calm washing over you as you came face to face with Chan at last. The pungent smell in the air was replaced with his fresh citrus, the clamoring sounds around you suddenly much quieter in your ears, as if waiting with bated breath to hear what he had to say.

“Hey, you,” he grinned.

“Hi, Channie,” you held out your hands, skin tingling when he rested his palms against yours. Slightly clammy from the adrenaline rush of the performance, but soft to the touch. Warm as ever.

“So, were you ever planning on telling me that you’re a shapeshifter?”

“A shapeshifter?” he giggled, more melodic than any of the music you’d heard that night.

“Those moves? The growling?” you marveled. “Even the way you carried yourself; you really know how to put on a show.”

Chan’s fingers—topped off with black nail polish, you noticed for the first time—twitched in your hands, resisting the urge to reach up and adjust his cap, tug at his ear, swipe over his nose, do something to try and alleviate his embarrassment.

“Did you like it? Or was it too much? I know this one’s your favorite, so…”

…I hope I didn’t mess it up. You could hear the words on the tip of his tongue without him even finishing. They were clear in every nervous flicker in his expression, every awkward shift in his feet.

“Are you kidding?” you rubbed your thumb along the back of his hand. “You were made for this.”

The flashing lights around you illuminated his face just in time for you to see his eyes widen. It almost made you sad—the genuine shock etched into his features.

“Ah…” he ducked his head, speechless. Suddenly, you completely understood why he’d been reluctant to ask you to attend the showcase. You should’ve known by now; Chan didn’t have to play coy to endear you, he accomplished that just fine by simply being himself.

“You really think so?” He kept his stare glued to the floor.

“Of course. Everyone else can see it, too,” you added. “I’m really proud of you, Channie.”

His cap hid his expression from your view, but you were certain that his brilliant smile was there—the one you loved so much, the one so wide that it couldn’t be contained, swelling his cheeks and squeezing his eyes shut.

“Thank you,” it was meek, barely audible above the roar of the crowd. “That means a lot.”

You wanted to dip your head under the brim of his hat and meet his gaze, to let him know just how much you meant it. You wanted to kiss him, unconcerned with the people around you who might see—in fact, it only strengthened the desire, the chance to witness his cute, flustered reaction to a public display like that.

Your hesitation lasted a split second too long, however, as you spotted a fresh group of people approaching the two of you; some faces recognizable, some entirely new. You kept your smile as they made their way over with shouts and cheers, but your hand gripped Chan’s just a bit tighter.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

Tonight was full of firsts for you, it seemed.

Attending a university party without leaving within the first hour, mingling with more people than you’d ever thought existed on campus, and now, as you currently were, lacking so much in self-control that you were pressed up against Chan in the venue bathroom.

You weren’t quite sure how you’d ended up there, the only thing you were sure of was the slew of emotions leading into it. Chan could tell that you were antsy, and, maybe, he was feeling antsy too. The number of times you’d been separated throughout the night only to drift right back to each other was too many to count. It got to the point where the final time it happened, you’d opted for linking arms to avoid getting lost again.

You wanted to go home—you’d been more than ready to from the moment 3RACHA had finished performing—and you would’ve gladly left Chan to enjoy the rest of the event with his endless rotation of friends if it weren’t for the fact that every time you were apart for too long, he’d go looking for you. At first, you’d tried to tell him not to worry himself over whether or not you were having fun, but eventually, you realized with a flutter in your chest that it wasn’t just his usual attentiveness at play; he wanted you next to him.

When he’d asked if you wanted to retreat somewhere quieter for a bit, it had been innocent enough. You didn’t think he’d expected things to head in this direction—you certainly hadn’t. With your vigilance and his shyness, neither of you were exactly the type.

“This okay?”

“Mhm,” he breathed against your lips. The faint pounding of the bass outside could still be heard through the bathroom door, but you were much more fixated on Chan’s racing heartbeat.

“You look—mmph—so pretty tonight,” he slurred. “Been wanting to kiss you.”

His voice still had the faintest rasp to it after the strain of performing, exciting you more than it probably should’ve. “You’re so sweet,” you cooed, pressing a peck to the corner of his mouth. “How do you think I felt seeing you up on that stage?”

He made a soft noise, unable to protest when you took his bottom lip into your mouth, sucking delicately and making him melt into you. His mouth fell open for you to devour freely. His hands, which had been hovering uncertainly over your hips, rested on them at last. From the way his fingers constricted around your clothes, you knew he was itching to bring you closer; he always was. 

“You don’t believe me?” You pulled back just slightly, tugging at his plush skin between your teeth as you did.  He tasted sweet, even sweeter than usual. The same artificial strawberry you’d tried earlier in the night. Gently, you used your hold on his cheeks to turn his head in the direction of the mirror.

Chan’s eyes fell instantly, avoiding his reflection like second nature.

“Look at yourself, Channie,” you encouraged. “I want you to see what I see.”

A quiet whine built in his throat, but he complied nonetheless, meeting his own, timid gaze in the mirror. You let your hands slip from his cheeks to give him a clear view of his face, shifting your position so that you stood behind him, admiring the view together.

“Pretty boy,” you drawled, running your hands along his shoulders. “For someone who’s so good at reading people, you’re clueless about how bad they really want you.”

He tensed up, a breathy chuckle escaping him. “What?”

“You didn’t notice?” You tilted your head. “That's okay. It’s cute, actually.”

Your lips found his neck, breath fanning over his warm skin in a way that made goosebumps rise to the surface. Keeping your eyes locked on his reflection, you pressed a trail of kisses down his throat, doing little to hide how high your emotions were running.

“D-did something bother you?” he stuttered out, and if you hadn’t known him any better, you might’ve thought he was trying to tease you. Hearing him say it out loud nearly made you cringe at yourself. It was so trivial, so ridiculous. You didn’t want him to see that side of you—a side you’d hardly even known you had before tonight. Still, the burning sensation had grown too strong for you to ignore anymore, with each suggestive touch or longing glance thrown Chan's way serving as fuel to the fire.

“Why would I be bothered?” you said at last. “They don’t get to see you like this.” His breath hitched as you grazed your teeth along his skin. “Or hear you like this. Do they?”

“N-no,” he agreed. “Just you.”

Just you. You wondered if he’d said it knowing full well the kind of effect it would have on you.

“Do you like all the attention?”

He pressed his lips together, averting his eyes from the mirror again. It was subtle, but you could’ve sworn his hips jutted forward just a bit.

“I like your attention,” he said softly.

Another perfect answer from a perfect boy. Your hands fell from his shoulders, sliding down his body to give his waist a squeeze through the thin material of his shirt. “You deserve it,” you licked a stripe up his neck. “All of it. Who wouldn’t go crazy over you when you look like this?”

“I…” He bit his lip, no doubt to hold back what he really wanted to say. “Please, ‘m getting shy.”

You were almost tempted to grab hold of his chin and tilt his head up, giving him no choice other than to take in the breathtaking sight of himself. But judging by his bright red ears and restless squirming under your palms, he was flustered enough already—so much that you worried it may actually mortify him to face his appearance on top of your praises reverberating in his mind. Instead, you pressed more wet kisses to his neck, hands roaming further down his body and feeling up the expanse of his stomach, right above the waistband of his pants. He whimpered, pushing his hips forward much more noticeably this time.

“It’ll be bad if we get caught,” you hummed. “Keep quiet, Channie.”

Chan sucked in a sharp breath as you ran your tongue along his ear. You took his hoop piercing between your teeth, tugging at it in a gentle, but deliberate taunt.

“I can’t,” he whispered. “You know I can't.”

You smiled deviously around the silver. “I know.”

The sound of your voice was nothing short of intoxicating, smooth and sultry and pooling heat in his abdomen at an alarmingly quick rate. Your fingers traced over the buttons of his jeans, playing with them in a tortuous dance, but not quite popping them open. The material was already starting to feel tight around him, and when you fully cupped the area without warning, his mouth fell open to spill out a shaky moan.

Your heart jumped; he was so sensitive, reduced to the flushed, noisy mess you saw before you with just a few touches and kisses. You thought back to what he’d said that night—about how it’d been a while—a small part of you wondering if that was the real reason, or if he was just always this reactive. It thrilled you like nothing else, the prospect of him being so vocal, so vulnerable to every bit of stimulation no matter how many times he’d felt it before.

“Maybe that’s what you want? For everyone to hear all these pretty sounds you make for me.”

You dragged your tongue up from his lobe, swirling it around the shell of his ear and practically tasting the heat radiating off the reddened skin. Frantically, Chan tried to mask another moan, hands gripping the sink for support.

“No—ah—just you. Only for you.”

“Only me?” You gave him a squeeze, curling your fingers around his growing bulge and making him shudder against you. “Should I make sure they know that?”

He peeked up at last from under the brim of his cap, eyes already so foggy, lips already puffed. Your mouth traveled down from his ear, pressing a kiss right to the junction of his shoulder and neck. A light hiccup escaped him when your front teeth tickled the flesh, threatening to bite down in full.

“Can I?” you checked.

Chan leaned in further so that nearly all his weight was resting against the sink, knees weakening at the mere thought of what you were going to do. “Yeah,” he gasped. “Please.”

“It’ll show,” you warned, basking in the feel of his pulse beneath your lips.

“Please,” he repeated. “I want it to.”

Any composure you had left was no match for the desperation in his voice. He always knew exactly what to say—or, rather, anything he said was exactly what you wanted to hear, solely because it came from him. Without wasting another moment, you sank your teeth into his neck, wrapping your lips around the patch of skin to create a hot, delicious suction that nearly made Chan fold in half.

He squeezed his eyes shut, a sharp cry escaping him despite his best efforts. You tightened your grasp on him in an attempt to keep him steady, but the added pressure to his length only seemed to make things worse. He whimpered something incoherent, hips rolling forward to grind into your palm—uncharacteristically shameless of him.

You sucked to your heart’s content, nibbling and running your tongue along the sensitive area until you were certain a mark would be left behind for days to come. When you finally released his flesh from between your teeth, Chan was all but panting, face scrunched up with pleasure and bulge twitching in your hand. You gave the mark a delicate lick, soothing the flared skin while he caught his breath.

“Mine.”

It sent a shiver down his spine. Just as you were preparing to sully a new spot on his neck, a sudden knock on the bathroom door made you both freeze in place. His body stiffened against yours, head shooting up in a panic.

“Is anyone in here?” a girl’s voice came muffled through the distant rumble of the music.

The doorknob wobbled, and you steeled yourself to respond, knowing that Chan was in absolutely no state to.

“Yeah, just a minute!” you called, throwing out the first excuse you could conjure. “My friend’s feeling a bit sick.”

Carefully, to avoid drawing out any more questionable noises from the boy, you pulled your hand away from his crotch and peeled yourself off of him. He straightened up as best he could, blinking rapidly to clear the haze from his eyes. Guilt pricked at you, among other things, for allowing the situation to get to this point, but even as Chan urgently tried to adjust himself so the hardness in his pants would be less obvious, he didn’t look upset—not in the slightest. He gave you a sheepish half-smile when he met your gaze, eyes gleaming with pure, unfettered adoration.

You smoothed out your clothes, trying to ignore the very prominent ache between your legs.

“Sorry, Channie,” you murmured. “I guess I got carried away.”

His fingers brushed tentatively over the mark you’d left, cheeks matching the shade of his ears. “S’alright,” he licked his lips. “I like it.”

He had to stop saying that—for the sake of your sanity, if nothing else. You cleared your throat, reminding yourself that there was, in fact, some poor soul out there waiting impatiently for the restroom.

“And all the…possessive stuff I—” you paused. “I hope it wasn’t too much.”

“Too much?” he cocked his head to the side. “You didn’t notice?”

A repeat of your question from earlier. You went quiet for a moment, trying to decode the meaning behind it. Everything that had transpired throughout the course of the evening flooded your thoughts at once: the fixed stares from across the room, the hand-holding, the arm-linking, the search for you every time you strayed too far. Butterflies fluttered to life your stomach the instant you wrapped your head around it.

“Oh.”

His giggles mixed with yours, light and timid. How very like him, to admit so openly to the exact feeling you’d been hoping to hide. Hiding with him was a fruitless endeavor, anyway.  

You rested your hand on his lower back, reaching for the handle with your other. “Look sick,” you whispered.

Chan leaned over slightly, masking both the lingering flush on his cheeks and the blossoming lovebite on his neck. On the opposite side of the door, you found none other than the event organizer standing there, watching the two of you inquisitively as you shuffled out of the bathroom. You gave her a polite dip of your head, and Chan offered a quick greeting as you ushered him along. You weren’t proud of it, but any self-consciousness you’d felt before was instantly overtaken by that selfish satisfaction.

As the two of you re-entered the fray, your hand slid down from Chan’s back, allowing him to walk normally again—or, as normally as he could when he was still very much trying to ebb the arousal you’d set off in him. He flexed his fingers as they brushed against yours, lacing them together before you could even think to pull away.

By some miracle, you managed to locate the other two thirds of 3RACHA with just a bit of sifting through the crowd. The relief was short-lived, however, alarm gripping you in its place when you noticed who was standing with them. Lee Minho.

It was no surprise that he was there, but you’d somehow managed to go the entire night without catching so much as a single glimpse of him. A part of you had been grateful for it, but the other part was also itching to see him. Ever since your conversation with Changbin, you’d become more and more ashamed about the way you’d acted with Minho in the convenience store. He’d rubbed you the wrong way, sure, but you were certain that your reaction had only made the situation worse. This was your chance to fix it, to dodge the arrow before he could finish drawing back his string.

“It’s completely different,” you heard him insist as you and Chan approached the group. He was engaged in what appeared to be a very serious debate with a very confused Jisung. “It’s like iced coffee versus hot coffee that’s been out for too long; they’re both cold, but one’s supposed to be, the other isn’t.”

Jisung blinked, lips parting and closing several times over the next few seconds. You’d never quite witnessed someone’s thought process unfolding in real time like that before. Even if you’d caught the full discussion between the two, the look on his face told you that you still wouldn’t have the slightest clue as to what was going on.

“I’ll be honest, man, you lost me three analogies ago.”

Minho clicked his tongue, looking ready to drop another equally convoluted explanation. Instead, he fell silent when he spotted you, the delighted smirk of someone who knew he was being difficult transforming into something much harsher, much less natural. It nearly made you wince. You’d never been particularly close with the guy, but you’d thought you were at least reaching a point where he’d grown comfortable enough to approach you with the same casualness he did with the rest of his friends. It bothered you more than you wanted to admit, that the first sign of friendship sprouting between you had been trampled on for reasons that you didn’t even know, nor comprehend.

His stare flickered between you and Chan, and you prayed desperately that the dim lighting of the hall would be enough for the fresh mark you’d left on Chan’s neck to escape Minho’s scrutiny. He narrowed his eyes, and your heartbeat picked up. So far, not off to a great start.

Still, you swallowed—your misgivings, and your pride—and flashed him a quick smile.

“Hi, Minho.”

No response, just a nod. Something told you that you were lucky to get even that out of him. He turned his head, planning to continue his debate with Jisung without addressing you any further, but the other boy had already been sucked into a high-energy conversation with Chan and Changbin about ways they could improve future performances.

“Can we talk?” you tried to keep your volume low, just enough for him to hear without catching the attention of the others.

He studied you with an impressive lack of interest, and for a moment, you thought he might really go the rest of the night without uttering a word around you.

“Why?”

“I just want to clear the air. I feel like we kinda had a misunderstanding the other day.”

“Maybe on your end,” he said curtly. “I understand what’s going on just fine.”

You took a breath, forcing yourself to remain open-minded. “Maybe,” you agreed. “So, could you tell me what I’m missing about all this?”

Wordlessly, he brought his cup to his lips, fixing you with unblinking eyes the entire time he drank, like you might lash out and attack him if he let his guard down for even a second. You managed to hold his gaze, but that same chill from before began to creep up your spine. It was so intense—and for what? Anyone who saw the way he was looking at you might think the two of you were involved in some kind of centuries-long blood feud between your families.

Even after he’d swallowed, he said nothing, and you felt your patience slip just a bit.

“If I’ve done something wrong, or if I’ve upset you somehow, please let me know,” you added.

“Upset me?” he hummed. “Yeah, actually, you did.”

You tensed.

“When you said I wasn’t funny, it really hurt my feelings,” he announced. “Apologize with flowers and tears, and maybe I’ll forgive you.”

It almost sounded like his usual manner of joking around, but your glimmer of hope was put out by that same, cold expression. You tried not to lose sight of your goal, clinging to what Changbin had told you in the cafe. He’s easy to misunderstand.

“Minho,” you began lightly. “I’m being serious here.”

His eyes glinted under the flashing lights. “So am I.”

You allowed your face to drop at last, realizing right then and there that he had no intention of even telling you what you’d done wrong—let alone giving you the chance to make amends with him.

“What, you don’t like that idea?” he feigned hurt. “Maybe you’d rather get on your hands and knees and ask for forgiveness?”

You bristled. “That’s enough.”

Minho raised an eyebrow. A look almost akin to gratification crossed his features, like a crack in your demeanor was exactly what he’d been hoping for.

“Hm. Guess you’re not really sorry, after all.”

“Don’t talk to me like that, okay? Even as a joke.”

“I’d be glad not to talk to you at all,” he shot back. “But it seems you have nothing better to do than pick fights with me.”

Unbelievable. You had to stop yourself from clenching your fists, solely because of the fact your hand was still loosely clasped with Chan’s.

“Pick fights?” you repeated. “I’m trying to fix things between us!”

“There’s nothing between us to fix.”

The way he said it was strange, pointed. You were positive there was a deeper meaning to it, almost like he was implying that there was something for you to fix, just not with him. It planted an unpleasant thought in your mind—or, rather, watered the seed of an idea that was already rooted deep within it.

You’d managed to keep your voice hushed thus far to avoid causing a scene, but the building tension finally seemed to reach a tipping point, enough to catch Chan’s attention. He put his chatter with Jisung and Changbin on hold to give you a curious glance, and, as irritated as you were with Minho’s provocation, you smiled back at him.

“You alright?” he gave your hand a squeeze.

“Yeah,” you exhaled, eyes darting momentarily in Minho’s direction. He’d turned away from you as soon as the opportunity had presented itself, going right back to talking with Jisung as if your conversation had never even happened. At least one part of what he’d said had been straightforward—he clearly wanted nothing to do with you.

“You’re friends with some pretty weird people, y’know that?”

Chan grinned. “Birds of a feather.”

Your spirits lifted a bit, taking comfort in the fact that he at least seemed oblivious to the altercation that had just taken place. Still, it was a shallow relief. You knew now, with complete certainty, that Minho wasn’t going to make things easy for you.

Of course he wouldn’t. Nothing was ever that easy.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

One month into the fall semester of your senior year, the academic distractions that you’d been longing for all summer were now upon you. Perhaps, even, a bit more intensely than you’d have liked.

Your classes were manageable enough—a significant improvement over the hellscape that was Thermodynamics and Statistical Mechanics—but the amount of time and effort your research lab demanded more than made up for what might’ve been an easy final term. When you weren’t attending your lectures or completing assignments, you were practically living in the astrophysics lab; analyzing spectroscopic measurements, reconstructing images from interferometric data, observing optical maps of the interstellar medium, and, on top of all that, sitting through countless meetings with your team.

It was as fulfilling as it was exhausting, and though you were more than happy to finally get some hands-on experience in your field of study, you couldn’t help but feel a bit wistful about this new routine as well. Your Experimental Physics II section with Changbin only took place once a week as opposed to the biweekly Thermodynamics lectures, and that, coupled with the lack of study sessions and your limited free time meant you were seeing him much less often than before. It was even worse in the cases of Chan and Iseul, both of which you rarely saw on campus to begin with. Even with Iseul more or less still treating your apartment as her second home, and Chan being his usual, relentlessly considerate self—never going too long without checking in on you—they were both busy with their respective capstone projects as well, leaving your interactions fewer and further between in comparison to the spring.

You knew it wasn’t rational, but it almost frightened you how such minor shifts in your daily life could feel so jarring, especially when graduation, the greatest shift of all, was looming on the horizon. The sands of time were trickling along without a care in the world, changing things little by little until they were unrecognizable. Some for the better, some for worse.

You’d thought you were handling the gaps in your time spent with Chan fairly well; that was, until it dawned on you halfway through September just how often your mind would drift to him while working on your research. Every new set of spectral line data or roAp star photometric variations had you visualizing what his reactions might be—his gleaming eyes that captivated you more than any of the stars you were observing, his voice growing shaky with excitement as he tried to discuss your observations without pausing every few seconds just to gush about how cool it all was.

You weren’t pleased with the number of instances your lab partners had caught you grinning to yourself in the middle of running tests and collecting data, giddy over the mere thought of his presence. As it turned out, Changbin hadn’t been too far off when he’d labeled you as lovesick.

Summoned by your thoughts, your phone vibrated against your desk to signal a text from none other than Changbin. You placed down your pencil in defeat, accepting the fact that you weren’t going to be getting any work done at this rate—daydreaming about how often you were daydreaming about Chan should’ve been indication enough.

bin 😑 (2:03 p.m.) number 5???

You blinked at your screen, dumbfounded.

bin 😑 (2:04 p.m.) number 5 pls pretty pls

you (2:04 p.m.) i sent you number 5 yesterday?

bin 😑 (2:06 p.m.) oh ;;; number 6 pls~~~

you (2:06 p.m.) i think i deserve an honorable mention on ur diploma

bin 😑 (2:07 p.m.) get me thru this hmwk and i’ll make it happen one for you and one for chan ><

The thought of it nearly made you laugh out loud: Changbin, trying to charm his way through the dean’s office to make a proposal as ridiculous as that. You didn’t doubt that he might try it, or that he might actually succeed in doing so.

Shuffling through your papers, you snapped a picture of your assignment, barely managing to fit the entirety of the required work in one shot.

bin 😑 (2:10 p.m.) thank uuu oh speaking of chan lol u know he’s sick?

you (2:10 p.m.) what???

bin 😑 (2:10 p.m.) i knew it he didn’t tell you -_-

You felt a pang of worry, countless questions filling your head at once. It’d been a day or two since you’d contacted Chan, even longer since you’d seen him in person—definitely over a week by now. The last time you’d talked hadn’t been over a phone call like usual; you’d texted him just to see how he was doing, and after a short chat he’d promised to meet up with you sometime the next week. It had been unusual, but not unusual enough for you to overthink it, especially considering how swamped the both of you were.

you (2:12 p.m.) how long has he been sick for?

bin 😑 (2:13 p.m.) couple days? actually more like a week now

Worry twisted into a sense of dread. Why hadn’t he told you?

You didn’t have to question it for long. You knew why—anyone who knew Chan well enough could piece it together with ease.

bin 😑 (2:14 p.m.) he hasn’t gone to class for a few days �� you should visit him if you can

you (2:14 p.m.) yeah, i definitely will thanks for letting me know binnie

If your homework had been an afterthought before, it was long forgotten now. You didn’t bother to clean up your workspace before rising from your chair, leaving the scattered notes and eraser shavings for you to deal with later.

You weren’t sure what you were experiencing as you made your way over to your kitchen, digging around for ginger and garlic and praying that you’d have enough. It was an overreaction, probably, but you berated yourself regardless; for not noticing that something was wrong, for not pressing harder when asking how he’d been, for not questioning the longer periods of time you’d gone without talking. You’d wanted to give him his space, but for it to go as far as him thinking he shouldn’t tell you that he was sick—sick to the point where he couldn’t attend class, stirred something awful in you.

The pot nearly slipped from your hands in all your haste to prepare your materials, and you took a breath, forcing yourself to relax before you set fire to your apartment. Still, the concern, the guilt, didn’t die down. You were so accustomed to being in-tune with every aspect of your relationships, be it friends, family, or romantic partners, making note of every little detail, every subtle shift; sometimes before they themselves could even realize it. But for what was neither the first nor the last time, you had to remind yourself that this was Chan you were dealing with. Of course he wouldn’t tell you—he wouldn’t tell you anything that he believed might cause you even the slightest inconvenience. He would do whatever it took, go to any lengths imaginable, just to avoid committing the unforgivable sin of letting you care about him. It was the complete opposite of everything you'd come to understand about the world, the people around you, and it put you in a position that you weren’t sure you wanted to be in.

You weren’t going to stand idly by, watching him board his openings shut before anyone could catch a glimpse of what was inside, watching him burden himself with the fear of burdening others. Whatever had happened in the past for him to reach that point, you wanted to suck it out like poison until there wasn’t a single drop left in his system. You were going to be there for him, whether he liked it or not.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

His face was the last thing you’d expected to see when the door to unit 8-325 swung open.

Realistically, it shouldn’t have been. He did live there, after all. Like the annoying troll under the bridge that wouldn’t let you pass unless you answered his riddles three. It took everything in you not to make a face as you were met with Minho standing in the doorframe. He, of course, didn’t extend that same courtesy to you, eyes narrowing into an unmistakable grimace when he laid them on you.

“What do you want?”

“Hi to you, too,” you muttered.

His expression didn’t change, and, much to your disdain, you once again found yourself mesmerized by that gaze of his. You hated how effective it was; unreadable, yet communicating a thousand things all at once. Even if he really was as harmless as Changbin claimed, even if his cold glares and cutting comments were the extent of what he could do to you, your skin crawled all the same.

When you saw that he wasn’t planning on dignifying you with a response, you inched forward, expecting to be let inside. That would simply be too easy, though. Minho shifted so that his body blocked your path, pulling the door closer to him for good measure.

“Chan’s sick,” he deadpanned.

You paused, blown away for a moment by his audacity. “I know he’s sick,” you gritted your teeth. “I’m here to check on him.”

You might’ve sworn you saw the corner of his lips start to twitch, but you tore your eyes away too quickly to be certain. The last thing this man needed was whatever kind of ego boost he’d get from you paying a little too much attention to his features.

“Not much you can do,” he dismissed, voice light and airy as ever. “Unless you think gracing him with your presence is gonna make him all better.”

It was your turn to shoot Minho a glare, foot darting out just in time to prevent him from shutting the door in your face. Wordlessly, you lifted the container of galbitang into his view.

He raised an eyebrow, the closest thing to a genuine reaction you could get from him. “Changed your major to the medical route?”

“I don’t see you doing anything to help him,” you snapped.

Your patience was already minimal when it came to this guy, but ever since you’d confronted him at the event in August, it seemed like he’d made it his personal mission to run it as thin as possible every time you interacted with him. It was kind of impressive, really, the way he knew exactly how to push every last one of your buttons with ease.

Fresh out of half-assed excuses, Minho shrugged, as if he’d never even cared in the first place. He let go of the door handle, and you took that as a sign to push past him and slip inside.

You removed your shoes as quickly as you could, not wanting to spend another second around him if you could help it. Knowing that Changbin wasn’t home, you stalked past the kitchen and through the living room, the soothing scent of freshly-brewed yuja tea flooding your nostrils as you did. It almost made you feel bad about what you’d said to Minho, but you knew better than to apologize for it now—if you’d come to learn anything, it was that your peace offerings would be met with even more hostility than your provocation. Instead, you padded down the hallway, heading straight for Chan’s room.

Careful not to lose your grip on the container in your hands, you managed to give his door a light knock. A few seconds passed before you heard a faint “come in”, muffled by the sound of what was sure to be a pile of blankets. You braced yourself, recovering from your Minho-induced rise in blood pressure, then slipped inside, shutting the door quietly behind you.

Chan blinked his eyes open just in time to see you approaching his bed. They were foggy, even more exhausted than usual, and they widened slightly when he registered who was standing before him.

“Hi, Channie,” you whispered. “Were you sleeping?”

“N-no, I—” his voice came strained and hoarse, so different from his pleasant, melodic lilt that you had trouble believing it was really him speaking for a second. “I was already awake.”

You rolled his desk chair over to the side of the bed, placing your container of galbitang on his nightstand next to the half-finished cup of tea and army of empty water bottles. He watched, stunned, as you sat down next to him, still trying to process what was going on.

“Um…how did you—?”

“Seo Changbin,” you hummed.

A weak smile formed on his face. “Bin…”

“How are you feeling?”

“Alright,” he croaked, not sounding alright at all. “Guess when you told me to look sick I took it a little too seriously, yeah?”

You let out a light giggle, and he tried to join you, only to spiral right into a violent coughing fit instead. It made your heart twist with sympathy, and you reached out to brush back his messy curls, resting your palm on his forehead. His skin was burning, and not in its normal way—if you could even call the amount of body heat he carried with him normal. It was heavy and sticky and pulsing, like you could physically feel the ache plaguing his head.

“Ah, wait,” he warned. “You shouldn’t touch me, you’ll catch it.”

I don’t care. You almost wanted to say it without restraint, but you settled for something more tactful, something less pointlessly dramatic. “You wouldn’t get me sick, would you?”

He flashed you another feeble smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “Sorry you have to see me like this,” he rasped, shrinking into the covers so that his face was only half visible.

“Please don’t apologize, Channie,” you ran your fingers gently through his hair. “I just wish you’d told me. How long have you been sick?”

The feeling seemed to relax him, weary eyes drooping just a bit as your nails grazed his scalp. “It’s only been like this for a few days,” he hesitated. “But I first started feeling it last week. Minho thinks it’s the flu.”

You stopped combing through his hair, letting your hand simply rest atop his head. He seemed to sense your disapproval, eyes peeking up at you from beneath the comforter to meet your frowning face.

“It’s not that bad, though,” he tried to assure you. “Just a cough and some headaches.”

“Bin said you haven’t been able to go to class.”

Chan sucked in through his teeth; caught. You sent out a silent apology to Changbin, realizing a split second too late that you’d probably set him up for a scolding as soon as Chan could speak without sounding like he had gravel in his throat.

“I just didn’t want you to worry,” he explained sheepishly. “Especially when you’ve been so busy.”

“I’m always thinking of you, anyway,” you countered, only half-joking. “So, please don’t hide stuff like this from me, okay? That’ll only make me worry more.”

For a moment, he stayed silent, and you got the feeling that your words hadn’t quite gotten through to him. Regardless, he eventually gave you a tiny nod.

“Promise?” you pressed.

“Promise.”

He didn’t hold out his pinky this time to seal the deal, but you chose not to dwell on it considering the fact that his hands were buried under layers upon layers of blankets. Instead, you gave his head one last pat and reached for the thermos on the nightstand.

“Can you eat?”

His face lit up at the sight of the galbitang. “Yeah,” he breathed. “I haven’t eaten yet today, actually.”

You frowned, biting back an exasperated comment. Even if his horribly skewed priorities frustrated you more than anything else—touching a part of you buried so deep within that you yourself couldn’t fully grasp it—you’d visited Chan with the intent of helping him, not lecturing him. There was no changing the outcome now, anyway. All you could do was try and make things a little easier for him, to balance out his determination to create new obstacles for himself as quickly as you could break them down.

“It should still be warm, but I can go heat it up if you’d like?” you were reluctant to ask, not keen on the possibility of seeing Minho again.

“No, no, s’alright,” he shuffled around in the sheets, trying to sit himself upright against the pillows. “I’ll eat it like this.”

As soon as his protective pile of covers slipped down his torso, he was shuddering. Even with the hoodie he was wearing, chills passed through his entire body, so strong that you could visibly see how his shoulders shook.

“Oh my God, Channie,” your voice softened to a tone that he’d only ever heard you use with him, one that soothed his pounding head. “You’re really sick, aren’t you?”

He attempted to say something in response—to deny it despite every cell in his body screaming otherwise—but between his sniffles and chattering teeth, it was hard to make out. You reached out with your free hand and pulled the covers back up his chest, draping them over his shoulders so that just his head and neck were exposed. Chan blinked at you, the confusion on his face morphing into subtle panic when he understood what you were planning.

“Ah…you don’t,” he coughed. “You don’t have to.”

“I don’t mind.” You unscrewed the lid and unlatched the spoon from its side. “I want to, actually. If it’s okay with you.”

It shouldn’t have surprised you—the flush that crept up on his cheeks, even more visible than usual with how little color there was to his sickly complexion.

“Okay,” he averted his eyes. “Yeah, thank you.”

You scooped up a portion of the soup, making sure to gather a good mix of ingredients for him, then brought it up to his lips. He blew out puffs of air a few times before taking the spoon into his mouth, still refusing to meet your gaze.

Despite his awkwardness, a cute hum followed. “This is really good.”

“That’s how I know you’re sick.”

He giggled gently, careful not to set off another coughing fit. “No, I mean it,” he licked his lips. “I can taste the flavor, even though my nose is all stuffy.”

“I’m glad you like it,” you smiled, dipping the spoon back into the container. “I kinda made it in a rush, so I hoped it’d at least be edible.”

Chan finally looked up, fixing you with a guilt-ridden gaze. “I’m really sorry,” he mumbled, just as you brought another portion up to his lips.

“The only person you should be apologizing to is yourself,” you said firmly.

A comfortable silence filled the room, with nothing but the sound of Chan’s slurping and wheezy breaths breaking it. Though the bashfulness was still there—it always was—he gradually came to relax the more you fed him, slumping his shoulders and letting out those content, satisfied noises that you’d come to love so much after each hot spoonful. The sight of him, disheveled as he was, made your heart feel strangely full, the ripples of worry fading out until it was calm and clear. He was being cared for, looked after; even if for just a moment. You decided right then and there that it was the only thing you’d ever ask of him—to dare to let you treat him with an ounce of the kindness he showed everyone but himself.

The steam, garlic, and ginger seemed to do their job in clearing up his sinuses a bit, as his sniffling grew more and more frequent until it was obvious he was having a hard time containing it. He had to refrain from ducking his head, a fresh wave of embarrassment washing over him as you plucked a tissue from the nightstand and wiped his nose clean. Still, he thanked you quietly, sinking further into the pillows.

“Is there anything else I can do?” you sealed the now-empty container shut. “I can pick up any missing work for you tomorrow, if that helps.”

Chan’s eyes were half-lidded now, his weariness finally starting to catch up to him. “Nah, don’t trouble yourself. Most of my stuff is on my laptop, anyway.”

For the first time, you noticed the device amidst the blankets and sheets, teetering on the edge of his mattress in a way that made your adrenaline spike considering it was the precious amalgamation of all his blood, sweat, and tears since he’d entered university.

“Have you been working, even now?”

“I wanted to,” he admitted. “But I think staring at a screen just made my head feel worse. Gonna try again later.”

Before you could say anything else, he changed the subject, like he knew you’d advise against it the instant the words left his mouth.

“But how’s your work? Is the lab going okay?”

Despite yourself, a smile tugged at your lips. You might not have let him get away with it if he hadn’t asked about the exact thing you’d been dying to share with him since the last time you’d met up. Maybe that was what he needed, anyway—something to cheer him up and take his mind off the perpetual ache consuming his body.

“I’m observing a pair of binary stars right now.”

He perked up against the pillows, lifting his head so quickly that it actually earned a light hiss of pain. Still, his face broke out into a smile, exactly the way you’d dreamed of when you’d first analyzed the spectral lines.

“What kind?”

“Spectroscopic.”

His dimples appeared for the first time that day. “The closest pair!” he chirped. “That’s amazing, I wish I could see it.”

“I can show you their Doppler shifts as the next best thing,” you offered. “They’re so close even the telescopes can’t separate them. Isn’t that romantic?”

“Super romantic,” he beamed, eyes twinkling through the glaze of illness. That familiar warmth spread through your skin—just by looking at him, you could tell he was thinking the same thing as you. “Orbiting so close and so fast…you think they’ll change each other’s evolution?”

“Yeah,” you murmured. “I do.”

Like in the case of most binary pairs, one star burned brighter than the other—just the slightest bit. Even if the difference in them was miniscule, you had no doubt in your mind which of the two was Chan.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

Space talk could only mitigate the effects of the flu for so long. Chan’s half-lidded eyes eventually drooped all the way shut, his raspy but enthusiastic chatter dying down into barely-responsive mumbles, then, finally, soft, steady snores. It took everything in you not to lean down and press a kiss to his forehead, already accumulating beads of sweat as his fever began to break. Even after all your recklessness in getting so close to him while he was sick, you figured that would be pushing your luck a bit too far. Instead, you ensured he had enough water for when he’d inevitably wake up parched, adjusted his pillows so that his head was properly elevated, and tidied up the mess on his nightstand as best you could.

Carefully, you tiptoed out of his room, taking one last look at his sleeping face before shutting the door.

As you entered the living room from the hall, you found Minho seated on the couch; presumably hard at work, judging by the way he was hunched over his laptop, typing up a storm with computer glasses perched on the tip of his nose. He didn’t even spare you a glance when you passed him to toss the empty bottles in the recycling bin. You’d long learned to keep quiet around him to avoid setting off yet another tirade of petty insults and icy scowls, and you would’ve gladly gone without a word if the memory of your earlier accusation wasn’t nagging away at you. That, and, maybe the affection that had bubbled up inside you upon seeing Chan had let down your guard a bit.

Against your better judgment, you mustered up the will to say it. “Thanks for looking after him.”

Minho’s eyes stayed glued to his screen. “I didn’t do it for you.”

“Obviously,” you replied evenly. “I just mean I’m glad he has you.”

You were prepared to leave it at that, both to let him resume his work, and avoid the claws that were sure to come out if you kept pressing the matter. To your surprise, however, he piped up again just as you began making your way over to the door.

“If you’re expecting me to say the same about you, don’t hold your breath.”

You told yourself to ignore it, but with just a few words, he’d effectively frosted over all the warmth that Chan had kindled in your chest. Something snapped in you, making you spin on your heels before you could stop yourself.

“What the hell is your problem?”

Minho’s eyes flickered up at last, widening for only a split second before they narrowed again.

“That’s no way to talk to someone in their home,” he clicked his tongue. “If I wasn’t such a gentleman, I’d kick you out.”

You held your ground, refusing to feel embarrassed about your outburst no matter how much he provoked you.

“Answer me.”

Minho rose from the couch with a sigh, making it no secret what an inconvenience he found you to be, what an utter waste of his time it was to even address you.

“What makes you think I have a problem?”

You let out a bitter laugh. The absolute gall of this man.

“Don’t play dumb with me, okay? Changbin told me this is just what you’re like, but I haven't seen you treat anyone else the way you treat me.”

Minho was closer now, still a few feet away, but near enough to put you on high alert. He looked so unrecognizable these days, you’d forgotten what it’d ever felt like to be comfortable around him, to be in the same room without that unease spreading through your skin.

“You think you’re special?” he sneered. “Do your ego a favor and listen to Changbin.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but he carried on, still managing to sound so carefree despite the venom in his words.

“Unless, of course, you’re the only one allowed to give orders here.”

You froze.

“What?”

“Hit a nerve?”

“What are you talking about?” You had to contain yourself, solely for the meager hope that maybe, just maybe, you might get a clear answer from him for once.

“I’ve seen your type before, too many times,” he spat. “Chan just can’t seem to break that ugly habit—falling for people who only know how to take advantage of him.”

You bristled, so enraged that you couldn’t even think to answer. All that filled your head was red, hot anger, defiance, and, buried beneath all that, fear.

Anger that he had the audacity to speak to you that way. That he’d passed such a cruel and absurd judgment without so much as bothering to get to know you first. Defiance that he thought he had you all figured out when he didn’t even know the half of it—of what Chan meant to you, of what you’d been through, of the people who had chewed you up and spit you out just like he was implying you liked to do.

Fear that he was right. Fear that someone else was capable of having those thoughts about you, that they weren’t just your own baseless inhibitions. The lingering effects of what he had planted in your mind, never quite uprooted.

“My type,” you tried to keep your voice steady. “Is just as capable of being taken advantage of.”

Minho crossed his arms, stare unbreaking as if inviting you to continue—to prove yourself to him. The thought alone made your stomach churn.

“You’re not as smart as you think,” you hissed. “You don’t know the first thing about me, and whatever happens between Chan and I is none of your business.”

He sniffed, unimpressed. “When you hurt him, it will be.”

He said it with so much certainty, so much confidence, you nearly believed it yourself. You clenched your fists, mustering all your strength to control the irrational amounts of rage bubbling up inside you. You thought of Chan, asleep in the other room amidst his nest of sweaty blankets and tissues, fighting off the flu on top of everything else he had resting on his shoulders. You thought of his exhausted face, paler than usual, and his cracked voice, still trying to reassure you even when he was in such a miserable state.

You took a deep breath, and you softened.

“I’m not going to hurt him.”

Minho said nothing. Maybe he thought it was too easy to counter, maybe he thought it wasn’t even worth acknowledging. Either way, you were done trying to make sense of him—done trying to defend yourself in front of someone who had long decided you were guilty.

So, he hated you. You could probably live with that. You didn’t exactly have a glowing opinion of him either.

You turned around, making a beeline for the door and slipping your shoes back on as calmly as you could. But, of course, it wasn’t over quite yet. Ending things on your terms, where you got the last say, wasn’t an option when it came to Minho.

“Running away from the fight you started again?” he called lazily. “This is getting boring.”

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

Iseul’s sigh rang out through your apartment, so loud and so exaggerated this time that you couldn’t in good conscience brush it off. Half-amused by her transparency, you paused the show on your television, turning to give her a questioning look.

“Something wrong?”

“Look at that!” She gestured aggressively at the screen, where the male lead, soaked and forlorn with a bouquet of flowers in hand, was waiting in the pouring rain outside of his love interest’s home. “Where do I find someone like that, huh?”

You giggled, only to realize with a start that she was being dead serious. She pouted at you, and you cleared your throat, rushing to correct yourself.

“Are you still having problems wi—?”

“Yes,” she interjected, as if exasperated that it’d taken you this long to notice. “We had an argument earlier today. He called me needy, can you fucking believe that?”

You let out a hum of disapproval; you’d never really gotten a good vibe from this guy from the start, especially as Iseul’s boyfriend. He was far too emotionally unavailable for someone as expressive and sensitive as her.

“Why would he say that?”

“He’s just a dick. All I did was ask him to help me practice my marketing presentation—y’know, since you didn’t have the time to,” she added. You guessed it was probably just her frustration speaking, but something about the way she said it seemed off, like you were partially at fault for not being there to help her in the first place. “Then, after like two tries, he gets all annoyed with me saying I’m being way too nitpicky and wasting his time.”

You knew better than anyone how high-strung Iseul could be when it came to academics; it was the trait in her that had initially sparked your friendship, after all. She could be demanding, sure, but it was only because she cared so much about performing well. Being there for her any chance you got wasn’t even a matter of debate for you—it was the bare minimum, whether for a friend, or a significant other.

“Anyway, I’m still waiting on him to apologize,” she huffed. “I’m not the crazy one here, right? Like, do you think he has a point?”

“You’re not crazy.” You pressed your lips together, trying to approach the matter with caution. “I think you just have high expectations for people.”

“But that’s not a bad thing!”

“Of course not,” you agreed. “As long as you treat them with the same consideration.”

“Exactly!” she exclaimed. “I could literally be the best girlfriend ever if he’d just let me. He literally never appreciates the things I do for him.”

“Maybe you just have different ways of showing your care for each other?” you suggested. “You can try bringing it up next time you talk.”

Iseul groaned, dragging her hands down her face, as if the thought of urging him to have a mature, emotionally open conversation with her caused physical pain. “I guess. If he ever even bothers to text me again.”

“How long has it been?”

She looked away, uncharacteristically meek. “A few hours.”

“He usually takes that long anyway, right?” you reasoned. “He’ll definitely come around, try not to stress too much about it.”

“Whatever,” she mumbled. “I’m sick of thinking about it. How are things with Chan?”

It was the only detail of your life she ever really asked you about lately. You didn’t mind most of the time—you were more than happy to talk about him over other, significantly less pleasant things, but in this case, you felt a twinge of discomfort. You hated that the first thing that came to mind wasn’t Chan’s crinkled eye smile, but rather, Minho’s relentless death glare. The thought was unnerving enough for you to consider bringing it up with Iseul, just as a way to get an outside opinion from someone who wasn’t Changbin or Chan. Unlike them, Iseul didn’t know Minho at all, and you liked to think she was blunt enough to tell you objectively if you were in the wrong.  

“Pretty good,” you hesitated. “Well, there is something—”

“I’m sure they’re more than just good,” she interrupted again. “All you ever do is hang out with him these days.”

You flashed her a grin. “Isn’t that what you wanted? Someone to entertain myself with once you’ve settled down?”

You were met with another huff. She crossed her arms, eyebrows furrowing in a way that immediately told you she wasn’t in the mood to joke.

“Doesn’t mean you have to ditch me now that you’ve got yourself a boytoy.”

“C’mon, Iseul,” you tried to keep your tone light. “You practically live here.”

She picked at her fingernails in silence, and you felt yourself start to panic a bit, suddenly taking the implication that you’d been neglecting your friendship much more seriously. You hadn’t noticed a difference, save for how much busier your schedules were this semester—but that was inevitable given how hectic senior year was for everyone. As much as Chan consumed your thoughts (something Iseul was better off not knowing) you barely saw him more often than her; in fact, given everything he was constantly juggling at once, you probably saw him less.

“What are you always so busy with, then?” she questioned at last, the slightest bit accusatory.

“The same as you. Classes and my senior research.”

You couldn’t decipher why she looked so unconvinced by the explanation, like the idea of you being preoccupied with your own personal matters was somehow incomprehensible to her. She shifted around in her spot, clearly set on the idea that there had to be more to it than that.

“Fine,” she turned her head back to the television, still frozen on that same, pitiful frame from the drama. “I still need someone to help me practice though, and I’m definitely not asking him again. So, it’s gotta be you.”

“Sure,” you replied. “I can definitely find time.”

You wanted to believe that she was just in a foul mood because of the fight with her boyfriend—and maybe that really was the whole of it. Surely, she wouldn’t dismiss the past two years you’d spent helping and supporting her the very instant you had to focus on yourself for a bit.

Even as you told yourself that, you couldn’t help but wonder for the first time if the scale between you and her was more out of balance than you thought.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

October had arrived at last, bringing with it a pleasant chill in the air, early tints of orange on the trees, and a fresh wave of midterm exams. Most importantly, it brought Chan’s birthday. He’d recovered from the flu a mere few days before the third of the month, and you’d never been more grateful for the sight of his radiant smile and rosy cheeks, full of so much life that he energized not just himself, but everyone around him as well.

His birthday fell on a Tuesday, not exactly the most ideal time for a celebration between Experimental Physics II and The Life and Death of Stars, but you’d been determined to make it work. You would’ve made anything work if it meant getting to spend even an hour with him on the day where he was, for once, the center of the universe. A small get-together had been planned later in the evening at his apartment—actually a small get-together this time, as promised so seriously by Changbin—but you’d come up with an excuse to skip out on it. No matter how hard you wished it didn’t bother you, the idea of being under the same roof as Minho again had been all the reason you needed to keep away. You had no doubt in your mind that he’d do everything in his power to make you feel unwelcome, and you didn’t trust yourself to remain collected around the guy after he’d proven time and time again how talented he was when it came to riling you up.

The last thing you’d wanted was to cause a scene on Chan’s birthday; it wasn’t even worth risking. If you put a damper on his happiness simply because you couldn’t stop yourself from fighting with his best friend like two feral street cats each time you crossed paths, you’d never forgive yourself. Instead, you’d met up with him for lunch and pastries earlier in the day, with the perfect excuse to cover all the expenses for it—much to your delight, and much to his dismay. Even if you were a bit wistful about missing out on the real celebration later, Chan’s beaming face when he’d opened your gift, the best external hard drive you could afford, had more than made up for it.

It’d been a week since then, another week where you and Chan barely found the chance to lift your heads from the sea of work to check in on each other. You knew that he was especially overwhelmed. His sickness couldn’t have come at a worse time, leaving him playing catch up with all his missed assignments and lectures on top of the stress of midterms.

Your thumbs hovered over your phone screen, tapping against each other as you debated whether or not to send him a message. As if on cue, it lit up with a notification that made your breath catch.

channie 🐺 (1:03 a.m.) you awake?

you (1:03 a.m.) yeah hi channie

There was a delay before he texted again, three little dots appearing and disappearing below your chat bubble more than once, like he was repeatedly typing and deleting what he wanted to say.

channie 🐺 (1:07 a.m.) can i call you?

The question felt strange, unlike him. You’d grown accustomed to expecting his calls the very instant he’d find out you were available—more often than not, without any warning at all.

you (1:07 a.m.) do you even have to ask?

channie 🐺 (1:09 a.m.) i should probably start haha sorry

You frowned. Something was definitely off.

you (1:09 a.m.) nooo that’s not what i meant  ur calls are the best surprise

Another minute passed without a response, and you began to worry that you’d actually upset him. Then, your screen lit up again, this time to signal his incoming call.

He didn’t greet you immediately after you picked up like he typically did. You registered the subtle sound of whirring on the other end of the line, like a breeze was billowing through his phone speaker.

“Chan?”

“Hi,” he sounded out of breath. “What’s up?”

“I was about to check on you, actually,” you confessed. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Just wanted to hear your voice.”

Your heart fluttered, but it didn’t fully ebb the worry piling up inside you. “I missed you,” you murmured. “Starting to think dropping out isn’t such a bad idea.”

He chuckled—light, barely there. It was gone as soon as it came, as if not to overstay its welcome. The distant sound of a car engine met your ears, distracting you from what you’d planned to say next.

“Are you on your balcony?”

“Taking a walk,” he replied.

You blinked. “At this hour?”

“Yeah, couldn’t really sleep.”

For some reason, you felt a pang in your chest. You’d never heard him sound like this before. Blunt, sullen, defeated. A part of you, the hypervigilant part, wondered if he simply wasn’t in the mood to talk—but then, why would he have even asked to call you?

“Oh no,” you made a soft noise of sympathy. There was a pause as you mulled over how to approach it; whether to nag him not to get his adrenaline rushing so late, to offer words of comfort for whatever seemed to be bothering him, or to pretend like everything was okay, just to take his mind off of it. You didn’t want to keep pressing after you’d already asked once, but something was very clearly wrong; so wrong that Chan himself was making little effort to hide it.

“Do you want to look at the moon?”

A deep inhale. “Yeah.”

Wedging your phone between your ear and shoulder, you pulled up the blinds of your bedroom window and pushed it open, allowing the cool, October air to waft through your senses and drift over your skin. The moon was in its Waning Crescent phase, a thin, delicate slice of light illuminating the clear sky. You tried to picture Chan on the other end, the wonder in his tired eyes, the slope of his nose tilted upwards as he admired it like it was the first time it’d ever graced the night.

“Are you looking?”

“Mhm,” you hummed. “It’ll be a new moon soon.”

“Yeah,” he said again.

A silence stretched across the call, not quite uncomfortable, but not quite serene, either. Even from afar, you could feel the thoughts buzzing in his head like they were your own, disturbing any peace the view might usually wash over him. His breathing, at least, steadied, and you guessed he’d stopped walking to get a proper look at the sky.

The two of you stayed that way for some time, long enough for you to start filling the gaps with his absentminded humming and sweet vocalizations. There was none of that today; just silence.

Then, you heard it. Faint, muffled, like he’d turned away from his phone to avoid letting you catch it: a sniffle.

“Channie,” you whispered. “Are you really okay?”

“Just my leftover cold, don’t worry.”

You kept quiet. You both knew he’d fully recovered well over a week ago.

“Sorry,” he said weakly. “Can I come over?”

“Right now?” You glanced at the time. It was already nearing 2:00 a.m., you didn’t want him to make such a long walk this late, especially not in his current condition. “Why don’t I come meet you?”

“No, no, ‘s alright.”

“Well, of course you can come. I’ll be here.”

“Thank you.”

The call ended. It left you feeling heavy with unease, an emotion you’d never once associated with Chan. As foreign as it was, it made you all the more determined to be there for him, to take on some of the weight he carried everywhere he went before his knees completely buckled underneath him. In your eyes, he was just like the moon he loved so much—always shining down on you with the brightest side of him, and never allowing you to see the other. You wanted to break the tidal lock and see the dark side of the moon. To uncover all the hidden craters and basins and accept them as a part of him.

Not even ten minutes had passed before you heard a knock at your door, far too soon for him to have arrived by foot. It made you realize, with another tug at your heart, that he must’ve already been on his way to your apartment when he’d first called.

When you swung open the door, there was a short lapse before his smile came, strained, but relieved. His hair was tousled from the wind, eyes outlined with dark circles, and black jacket unzipped. It hung loosely off his shoulder, and when you pulled him into a hug, you could feel the chill from the outside air lingering on his skin. Even so, his persistent warmth still seeped through; it always did.

Neither of you said anything as you took his hand in yours, guiding him to the other room. You settled down next to him on the edge of your bed, facing the window where the moon was still watching over you. Chan kept his eyes firmly locked on it, but his fingers brushed tentatively against yours, tracing the lines of your fingerprints and palms as if to commit them to memory.

“Sorry for bothering you so late.”

“You could never bother me,” you said simply.

It was so immediate, so natural, it had him taken aback for a moment. He sucked in through his teeth, well aware of your gaze studying his side profile with growing concern.

“At the showcase,” he mumbled. “Did you really mean what you said?”

The question could’ve been in reference to anything, but somehow, that was all he needed to ask for you to know exactly what he was talking about.

“Of course.”

Memories of him up on that stage flooded your mind. His charisma, his passion, his belief in Changbin and Jisung and, for a fleeting moment, himself. Just thinking about it was enough to make goosebumps rise on your skin.

“When I saw you performing, all I could think about was how much you belonged up there.”

Chan’s breath hitched. At last, he turned his head to face you, that same look from the night of the party—the one that troubled you for reasons you couldn’t explain—crossing his features again. Hopeful eyes searched for any hint of insincerity, any shadow of a doubt, only to find nothing but raw affection.

He leaned in suddenly, brushing his nose against yours in a wordless plea, and you closed the space between you. His lips were the slightest bit chapped from the crisp autumn air, but their plushness was never lost, consuming your senses with that soft, irresistible quality you could never get enough of. He melded seamlessly into you, filling every gap and crevice, pulling you further in like waves lapping at a shore.

Chan turned slightly on the bed, angling his body to bring himself closer to you and pressing his thigh against yours. For such a simple touch, it made him sigh sweetly into you, lips parting to add a new degree of heat to it all. His fingers flexed in your hand, and you used the other to cup his face, holding him steady as he moved his mouth with increasing urgency. Cute, tiny sounds built up in his throat each time your tongue slid against his, growing louder and louder until he was all but whimpering into your mouth.

His desire, normally thinly-veiled by a layer of timidity, was on full display tonight—not quite pushy, rather, begging with every pucker of his lips and graze of his teeth for you to take things a step further, to let him fall completely into you. It was a lack of restraint you often had to build into, to guide him there yourself. You kept telling yourself to get a grip, to break the kiss and check on the boy who, just minutes ago, appeared to be on the verge of falling apart; but it was fruitless to even think about ridding yourself of a sensation so addictive. His free hand reached for your waist, hesitant as ever to grab on as tight as he needed to. Instead, he took your shirt between his fingers, playing with the fabric in a way that, strangely enough, was even more exhilarating.

The sounds spilling out of Chan became muddled together, and it took you a few seconds to realize that he was trying to say something to you.

“Please,” he whined. “Please, please.”

You ran your thumb along his cheek, unlocking your lips from his at last. “What is it, baby?”

“Need you,” his breath was shaky, lungs aching from the intensity of the kiss. “Can I make you feel good? Please, let me this time.”

You paused, pulling away to get a proper look at him. “Are you sure?” you frowned. “You don’t look well, Channie. Why don’t we talk?”

“N-no, ‘m okay. Just really need you right now.”

His gaze flickered down to the spot between your thighs, and he swallowed. It affected you more than you wanted to admit—the pure want in his eyes for something so selfless.

“I’ll be good,” he promised. “However you want it, I’ll do it. Please.”

You scanned his face a few moments longer, trying to put aside the arousal spreading through you at an alarming rate, just long enough to get a read on him. Your concerns were still very much there, but the look on his face told you that he wanted—needed this even more than you did.

Gently, you squeezed his hand one last time before unlacing your fingers. “Alright...if that’s what you want.”

Chan watched, mesmerized, as you repositioned yourself on the bed, resting your back against your pillows and slipping your fingers beneath the waistband of your shorts to tug them off.

“Th-thank you,” he breathed. “I’ll do well. Promise.”

It nearly made you coo out loud. All this just to please you, just to satisfy desires that, unbeknownst to him, were already fulfilled just by being with him. Still, you knew Chan well enough to understand that it wouldn’t sit right in his mind until he gave you everything he had to offer. He’d give you his all if only you would let him.

Even as you slipped off your underwear, he stayed put, unmoving until you gestured for him to come over. He licked his lips, eyes shining in the low light when you spread your legs at last. Your heartbeat picked up as he settled between them, suddenly so close that you could feel each shaky breath of his tickling your sensitive skin. Tentatively, he placed his hands on your thighs, glancing up at you to ensure that it was really okay. You gave him an encouraging nod, not quite trusting yourself to speak when the only thing you could focus on was how dangerously close his mouth—his perfect mouth—was to your most intimate spot.

With your permission granted, he began pressing kisses to your inner thigh. They started off with that same shyness you knew, careful and reserved, but quickly became less and less controlled the more his mouth roamed. His lips were smoother now, wet and glossy, and they sent tiny jolts through your senses each time they came in contact with your skin. If you hadn’t known any better, you might’ve thought he was purposely trying to tease you, giving hints of what he could make you feel without diving in fully just yet. But the way he kneaded your flesh with the pads of his fingers, a low, desperate noise bubbling up inside him, said otherwise. He was appreciating every bit of you, basking in the moment, as if he may never get the chance to have his head between your legs again.

His sloppy kisses drew closer and closer to your heat, and when his lips came to hover over it at last, you had to stop yourself from pushing against his face right then and there. Delicately, his tongue slid out to glide from your entrance right up to your clit, ending it with a gentle flick that sent a shiver down your spine. He repeated the action almost immediately, a sweet hum escaping him as your arousal flooded his tastebuds.

Your hand fell down to his head, gripping his curls in a way that made his own pleasure spike, if the sudden whine he let out was any indication. He continued licking away, each intoxicating lap of his tongue growing more confident and making you ask yourself just why on earth you’d ever deprived yourself of such a feeling. It satiated a need that you hadn’t even known was there to begin with, twisted the muscles in your core with both tension and relief. If it’d been a while since he’d used his mouth like this, it certainly didn’t show.

“Am I…” he slurred. “Am I doing okay?”

“You’re doing so well, Channie,” you assured him. “My sweet boy, using that pretty mouth for me. Making me feel so good.”

Your praises earned a moan from him, so loud you’d think he was the one experiencing the hot, delicious rhythm of his tongue. The sound vibrated against your folds, making your toes curl and your nails dig further into his scalp.

“You really like this, don’t you?” you giggled breathlessly.

“Mm. Just wanna—mmph—please you,” he managed between licks. “Wanna be a good boy for you.”

Before you could respond, heart-shaped lips wrapped unexpectedly around your clit, engulfing it with his plush, wet warmth and sending shockwaves all throughout your body. Despite your best efforts, you gasped, barely able to stop yourself from squeezing your thighs around his head. He sucked eagerly, adding just the right amount of pressure that, if kept up, was sure to draw you to a climax faster than you’d ever experienced before.

“Just like that.” You let your eyes flutter shut. “Good boy. You were made for this.”

Chan dragged his upper lip along the sensitive bud, the tip of his nose brushing against it in a way that threatened to snap the tightening coil in your abdomen all at once.

“Made f-for you,” he stuttered out. “Please, tell me I’m good for you. Tell me ‘m okay.”

You weren’t sure if it was his own arousal becoming too much for him to bear, but his voice had become near-frantic, as did the strokes of his tongue. His movements grew sloppier and sloppier, drool mixing with your essence and nose dragging along your folds almost obsessively.

You ran your fingers through his curls, hoping to keep him grounded. “More than okay. You’re perfect for me, baby boy.” 

A broken whimper met your ears, driving you closer to the edge. “Yeah? ‘M doing well? Please, tell me I’m good,” he begged. “P-please, wanna be good enough.”

Amidst all his pleading and babbling, the words caught you off guard, pulling you out of your blissful haze all at once. Something wet dripped against your skin, warmer and thinner than any of the other fluids pooling at your core, and it made your eyes snap open in alarm.

“Channie?”

“I’ll do it right.” He didn’t look up, still working his mouth despite the choked noises building up in his throat. His hands pawed at your thighs, gripping and squeezing with so much urgency that you’d think he was terrified you might disappear. Another hot droplet ran down your skin, and as you blinked to refocus your vision, you finally noticed it—the trembling of his shoulders. “Just please, l-let me show you ‘m worth something.”

“Chan.” Panic gripped you, and you used your clutch on his hair to catch his attention. “Chan, stop for me, baby.”

Every one of your nerve-endings screamed out in protest as he obediently unlatched himself from you, releasing the mind-numbing suction of his lips. But your worry quickly overtook any of the remaining lust in your body. Chan sucked in a sharp breath, refusing to lift his head, and you slid your hand down to his dripping chin, tilting it up into view.

He was crying; tears trickling down his cheeks with fresh ones brimming in his clouded eyes. He squeezed them shut, unable to meet your stare, and your heart may as well have snapped in two.

“Oh, Channie,” you whispered. “Why are you crying?”

“I…” his voice failed him, anything he’d been planning to say fading out into a sob. “S-sorry, ‘m sorry.”

A lump rose in your throat, guilt flooding your chest. You’d known he was off from the beginning—you should’ve done something, you shouldn't have let things get to this point. This was Chan, after all. Of course he’d pretend that he was fine for you, of course he’d try to make himself useful to you instead. You should’ve known better.

Still, you kept calm, even if it was surface-level, you steadied your volume and relaxed your expression; something to ground him amidst it all. “Don’t be sorry. Come see.”

He blinked the tears out of his eyes, only for them to immediately glaze over again. The skin around them had turned red and puffy, and coupled with the exhaustion written all over his face, he looked positively broken. “Sorry, ‘m okay, really,” he tried to insist. “I just…”

One look at your outstretched arms was all it took for him to lose his last shred of composure. He surged forward with a hiccup, falling into you and burying his face in your neck. You wrapped your arms securely around him, the tear in your heart growing as you felt him shake against you with each gasp and sob that racked his body. His flow of tears didn’t stop, in fact, it only seemed to come stronger in your hold, warm droplets streaming freely and seeping through the fabric of your shirt. You stayed quiet for a bit, just allowing him to release as you ran your hand up and down his back in an attempt to soothe him.

“Why are you crying, baby?” you murmured again. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I c-can’t fail,” he managed at last, barely coherent through the slur of his speech. “N-not again. I can’t.”

“Fail? Why would you fail?”

He didn’t answer right away—or, rather, he couldn’t, another feeble gasp effectively cutting off any response he’d mustered up. Despite the slew of questions his words unleashed in you, you remained patient, cradling his head with your free hand while the other continued to rub his back. For all its strength and broadness, it was more fragile than ever shuddering under your palm.

“It’s my last chance. C-can’t mess it up.”

“You’re not going to mess anything up,” you said firmly. Even without any idea as to what he was talking about, you knew that much was true. “What makes you think that?”

Another minute or so passed of him trying to gain control over his hiccups, just long enough to get a proper sentence out. “My mentor,” he took a deep breath. “My mentor rejected my project. S-said it needs a complete rework.”

Your stomach flipped. “What? Why?”

You winced at how loud it’d come out, but the utter disbelief in your tone at least seemed to encourage Chan to keep going. He sniffled, still refusing to lift his head from the comfort of your shoulder.

“Just wasn’t good enough.”

“Don’t say that.” The possibility wasn’t even worth considering to you. There had to be more to it; you refused to accept otherwise, not when you’d witnessed firsthand how earnestly Chan poured his heart and soul into every piece of music he’d ever created. “I know that can’t be it.”

A thought flickered to life in your head, one so obvious that you scolded yourself for not realizing it sooner. “Did you have enough time to work on it?”

“I…” he began weakly. “I t-tried.”

“You were sick for over two weeks, Channie. Does your mentor know that?”

His breath caught in his throat, telling you all that you needed to know. “Don’t...wanna make excuses.”

“But it’s not an excuse, is it? It’s just the truth,” you reasoned. “You couldn’t even get out of bed. There’s no way you could do your best under those conditions.”

“I...I sh-should’ve—”

“You should’ve been getting enough rest. You should’ve told him what was going on.”

Your words seemed to reach him at last, cutting carefully through the thick fog of self-deprecation and sabotage consuming his mind just enough for him to really mull it over. He inhaled again, slower and deeper this time, but still not free of that painful tremor.

“M-maybe,” he rasped. “Maybe I did need more time.”

“There we go.” You combed through his hair. “Your best is more than good enough, Channie. Your mentor wouldn’t have done this study with you otherwise.”

You wanted, more than anything, to see his face as you spoke, to look directly into his red, watery eyes and let him know exactly how much you meant it. But you knew how vulnerable he must be feeling for you to even see him like this, so you let him be, hoping the message would get through to him nonetheless. “I’m sure if you explain it to him, he’ll understand. He knows what you’re capable of, and so do I. So please, don’t be so hard on yourself, okay?”

Chan’s shoulders relaxed just barely in your arms. He nuzzled further into you, and little by little, the trembling under your palms came to a stop. Given how hard he’d been crying—even now, with new ripples of tears still trickling onto your clothes—you were certain there was something else brewing deep within him. This was only the tip of the iceberg, the breaking point. Even so, you didn’t press the matter just yet, instead choosing to nurture the hint of calm that had begun to creep up on him.

“Do you really think I can do this?”

Your hand slid down to the nape of his neck, playing gently with the wisps of curls that swooped out. “I know you can,” you murmured. “And even if I didn’t, you’d do it anyway. You were made for this.”

A sweet sound, something between a sigh and whine, spilled out of him. Under any other circumstances, you knew he wouldn’t accept it without a protest or two, but in that moment, he absorbed it wholly—clung to it, even. His head finally lifted from the mess of tears and sweat that had formed in the crook of your neck, only to fall right into your chest instead, not quite ready to face you.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

You pressed a kiss to the top of his head, and he scooted impossibly closer to you, his thigh brushing between your legs in a way that you willed yourself to ignore. “Why don’t we go wash up?”

He tightened his grip on you, another soft noise gracing your ears. “Can we stay like this, please? Just a little longer.”

You softened. “Of course. Anything you want.”

He slumped fully against you as you rested your hand on the small of his back, the last of his reservations effectively washing away. You played loosely with the hem of his hoodie, listening to the sound of his breathing and taking comfort in the fact that it was finally beginning to even out.

The two of you stayed peacefully like that for several minutes, that was, until something warm and damp spread through your shirt, immediately catching your attention. Not tears this time, rather, the feeling of Chan’s mouth pressing against your chest.

Your heart skipped a beat. His lips puckered faintly, forming a moist ring over the material, right around your nipple. Just as you were about to pass it off as an accident, it happened again.

“Is there something you need, Channie?”

“You,” it came muffled. He parted his lips, wider this time, nibbling delicately on the fabric. “Can I? Please?”

It didn’t take much thought for you to understand what he was implying. An uncharacteristically self-indulgent request, one that filled you with affection and pooled heat in your stomach all over again.

“You’re so cute.” You couldn’t help yourself, his transparency made you melt like nothing else—you only wished that it would extend to other aspects of his life, ones that you were equally as hungry for.

Careful not to disturb him too much, you slipped your hands under your shirt and wiggled out of it. Chan lifted his head, albeit briefly, to make it easier for you to unclasp your bra. The instant your skin was bared to him, he nestled right back into your chest, wrapping his lips around your nipple and sending a spark of electricity through your body. He sucked gently at the bud, taking in your scent through his nose and exhaling contently. His hand, covered by the sleeve of his jacket, reached up for your other breast, pawing at it with timid fingertips before squeezing the soft flesh at last.

“My sweet boy,” you cooed. “My baby boy who works so hard he forgets to care for himself.”

He whimpered, puckering and unpuckering his plump lips in a way that would’ve made you rub your thighs together had he not been settled between them. You cupped the back of his head, and his eyes fluttered shut, a look of pure bliss crossing his face. The red, hot flush from all his crying was replaced with something softer now, a rosy shade dusting his puffed cheeks.

“You’re doing so well, Channie,” you continued. “I hope you’ll see it one day. I’m so proud of you.”

Chan’s eyebrows furrowed, an especially high-pitched whine escaping him. For a moment, you worried that he may begin to cry again, then, you felt it—his bulge brushing against your leg. His hips rocked forward so subtly, you weren’t even sure if he himself was aware of it, but once you’d noticed, it became hard to ignore the spike in your adrenaline.

Driven on by the feeling of his tongue swirling hungrily around your nipple, you let your hand drift down to the waistband of his pants. His mouth fell open as you traced over his bulge, all but jolting against you. “A-ah, yes. Touch me,” he pleaded.

“My baby’s so needy today,” you teased, dipping your fingers into his underwear and wrapping them around his half-hard length. He tightened his hold on your chest, his low, drawn-out moan sending a delicious vibration through your skin. “But good boys like you get whatever they want.”

Chan unlatched his lips from your nipple, only for any attempt at a reply to be cut off as you began pumping your hand along his dick. The cool night air drifting through your window was no match for the heat building between your bodies; that same, inexplicable heat that always drew you back to him. His fingers flexed around the softness of your breast, and you realized with a soft giggle that he was subconsciously mirroring the pace of your strokes.

You stopped to roll your palm over the head of his cock, smearing the droplets of precum around to add a layer of slickness to your movements. The cry it earned was nothing short of heavenly, ringing out shamelessly through your bedroom and making your core clench. Chan’s hip shot up into your grasp, so overtaken by the pleasure that he forgot to keep sucking for a moment, instead letting his mouth hang as drool began to dribble from its corner.

“Does that feel good?” you asked sweetly.

“Mmph, yes,” he slurred. “Please, don’t stop.”

“You deserve it,” you guided his head closer to your chest, allowing him to take your nipple between his swollen lips again. “You deserve to feel so good, angel.”

A wet, sticky sound, mixing with Chan’s pleas, began building as you glided your hand up and down his cock more steadily. Despite everything, it flustered him the moment he registered it, legs squeezing together with a broken whine.

“You hear that? Even the sounds your body makes are cute,” you hummed. His eyes, already shut tight, scrunched up even further to form an adorable look of embarrassment. “My pretty boy. You don’t even know how perfect you are for me.”

“Please,” he mewled, almost unintelligible through the skin and drool occupying his mouth. “Please, ‘m getting close.”

“Yeah? Gonna cum for me, baby?”

He could only whimper in response, cock twitching in your hand as you added a delicious pressure to your strokes. He kneaded your chest with more vigor, leaning in to suck on your other nipple and sending a fresh wave of heat through your body. His mouth was like wet, warm velvet encasing the sensitive bud; you found it hard to believe that those same lips had been between your legs earlier, drawing you to a climax with a purpose that you could only describe as raw devotion.

“Gonna—!” Chan’s hips bucked up, his whole body tensing. “A-ah, please, can I?”

You swiped your thumb playfully over his slit, and he practically keened. It was cruel, probably, but his unrelenting need to please you, even amidst all the desperation clouding his judgment, only made you want to toy with him more. Still, you knew that given the state he was in, teasing was out of the question. He needed comfort, pleasure, relief—and all of it rested in the palm of your hands.

“Let me see you cum like a good boy.” You gave one final jerk of your wrist, sending him over the edge at last. His thighs clenched, voice catching in his throat for a moment before breaking out into a gasp. Even so, he kept sucking to the best of his ability, babbles of your name dying down into soft mewls as the last few spurts of his seed coated your palm. You held still to avoid overstimulating him, curling his hair absentmindedly around your index finger until his cock finished throbbing in your grasp. Chan blinked his eyes open, still hazy and puffy, just in time to see you remove your hand from his pants and spread your fingers, connected by thick strings of his release.

“Look at all that,” you marveled. “You really needed this, huh?”

A low whine built in his throat. He pressed his cheek into your chest, shying away from the messy view.

“Are you embarrassed?”

“Mhm,” he managed a chuckle—quiet, still missing the jovial, melodic quality of his laughter, but even a trace of it was all it took to lift your spirits. Other than that, he said nothing, and you guessed he wasn’t entirely grounded just yet. You reached for a tissue from your nightstand, making a light grunt of effort with Chan’s full weight resting against you, and wiped down your hand to the best of your ability. As you leaned back against the pillows, your stare flickered down to the boy in your arms. He was an absolute wreck now; a sweaty, flushed, beautiful wreck of dried tears and drool gazing back up at you like he would do anything you so much as suggested in that moment.

“You did so well for me, Channie,” you praised. “Such a good boy.”

Pressing a quick kiss to his ruffled curls, you shifted beneath him, wordlessly urging him to let you wiggle off the bed. His reaction was immediate, sweater paws gripping your waist with an unexpected intensity.

“W-wait,” it was tinged with panic. “Don’t go, please.”

“I’m not going anywhere, baby,” you assured him, tapping the tip of his nose. “But we need to get you cleaned up, don’t we?”

He blinked a few times before the words seemed to get through to him. Then, with a slow nod, he hoisted himself off of you. It came as a surprise—though it shouldn’t have—how your body instantly longed for his warmth again. You took both of his hands into yours, almost tempted to push his sleeves back to properly lace your fingers together. But he seemed content with his palms covered like that, safe and secure in a way you didn’t dare to disrupt. With care, you tugged him up by his arms, letting him lean against you as you guided him to the bathroom. He didn’t let go of either of your hands the entire time, and, as awkward as the intimate gesture made it to walk, your heart fluttered.

You set the water to a warm temperature, watching Chan sway back and forth on his feet as you filled up the tub. His eyes were a bit more alert now, breaking the glaze that had encased them all throughout the night, like the reality of what had taken place was beginning to set in his mind.

“Wanna get undressed for me, Channie?”

There was a delay before he responded, long enough for you to give his hand a squeeze.

“Oh…yeah.”

Reluctantly, he released his hold on you, clumsy fingers fiddling with his hoodie in an attempt to shrug it off. With a fond smile, you reached out to help slide it down his shoulder. His arms fell limply to his sides, and you took it as a sign to keep going, slipping your fingers under the hem of his shirt and tugging it off, his pants and underwear following soon after. Even now, he ducked his head, unable to look you in the eye as you shut off the stream of water and ushered him into the tub.

As he sank into the warm pool, a sigh escaped him, so soft and relieved that you could practically feel the bliss rippling through his body. You sat yourself down on the edge of the tub, taking a moment to soak your washcloth before drizzling it with body wash—vanilla and cherry blossom, a blend of scents you’d quickly come to learn was Chan’s favorite. He loosened up the instant you came in contact with his skin, leaning into your touch. Gently, you began to scrub, lathering his broad back and shoulders with the sweet, flowery smell and admiring every curve and muscle in the process.

The rhythmic drag of the loofah and the gentle lap of the water had him reduced to putty in your hands in no time. He didn’t bother to resist the way his eyes drooped shut, each tranquil rock earning a small hum from him.

“Does that feel nice?”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Thank you.”

“Of course, Channie. Your muscles are so tense,” you added. “I hope this helps a bit.”

He hummed again, tilting his head to the side as you moved up to the junction of his shoulder and neck, the comforting scent of your soap fully flooding his nostrils. Knowing how sensitive his neck was, you were careful not to press too hard around the area. It was horribly timed, but your skin tingled as you passed over the spot where you’d previously marked him—long faded by now, but you remembered the visual clear as day.

“I’m sorry,” he began. “About all of this.”

“Don’t apologize,” you ran the cloth along the slope of his shoulder. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I don’t want you to hide stuff like this from me—isn’t that what we promised?”

He hesitated. “I…yeah.”

“Even big, strong shoulders like yours can’t carry everything by themselves,” you scolded lightly. It earned a puff of laughter, and even with his eyes still closed tight, he lowered his head sheepishly.

The question that had been lingering in the back of your mind all night—the question that had been eating away at you since you’d first met him, really, made its presence known once again. The missing piece of the puzzle, the hidden crater yet to be illuminated. You knew by now that Chan wouldn’t reveal it without a strong enough nudge, no matter how badly he wanted to. Even if it was threatening to burst out of his chest, just aching for a pin to come along, he’d use all his strength to keep in until you punctured it yourself.

“Chan,” you pressed your lips together. “When you said ‘not again’…can I ask what you meant by that?”

He stiffened under your palms, features darkening to form that same expression as all those months ago, when you’d first asked why he’d changed majors. You repressed the urge to take it back this time—you needed to hear it as much as he needed to say it.

“Spring semester of my senior year,” he mumbled. “I failed most of my classes.”

Something awful gripped you, so intensely that you stopped scrubbing for a moment. Failed. It felt so wrong coming out of his mouth, a word you couldn’t comprehend ever applying to him.

“I…I decided to change from astrophysics and try music. It was something I always kinda wanted to do, anyway.” He sounded so nervous—terrified, even—shrinking into himself as he spoke as if each sentence made him more and more vulnerable to some hidden assailant waiting to attack. You continued your ministrations with the hopes of easing his fears a bit, wringing out the washcloth before adding more soap and running it along his chest. Even through the rough material, you could feel how fast his heart was beating.

“My parents, they…I've never really disappointed them like that before,” his voice cracked on the word “disappointed”, like it physically pained him to say. “I still don’t think they’ve really accepted it. They still look at me like…like I'm…”

He trailed off. He didn’t have to say it for your gut to wrench.

“Maybe once I graduate, they’ll think I'm worth something again.”

“Please, don’t talk like that,” you couldn’t hide your own distress. “You’re worth something as you are. It’s your future, Chan, not theirs.”

“But what if I can’t do it?” he whispered. “What if I just fail again? I’m so…so scared that I’m making the wrong decision.”

“It must be scary,” you agreed, gliding the washcloth along the tense curves of his arms. “Really hard, too. But that’s because you’re carving out your own path. No one else has walked it before you to clear out the way.”

He went quiet, and you took it as a sign to continue, a chance to keep swinging at the seemingly indestructible wall of self-doubt he’d so carefully crafted for years.

“You’re not alone, either,” you encouraged. “Think of Bin and Jisung and all that faith you have in them. Think of how much faith they must have in you to follow you down that path without question.”

If only he knew—if only he saw the admiration for him written all over their faces, oozing from every word they spoke. If only he knew the admiration you’d felt for him as early as when Changbin had first told you about him choosing music composition. Daring to take a route that, in many ways, was more challenging than even the most horrific of astrophysics courses. Not only that, but daring to flourish, leaving room for flowers to grow along the way wherever he roamed.

When Chan replied, you could've sworn you heard the faintest glimmer of hope in it. “I guess I never really thought of it that way.”

“Well, start thinking of it that way,” you chided softly. “I know you can do it. Just because others want you to do something, doesn’t mean it’s right. What’s right is what makes you happy.”

He loosened up further, welcoming your cleansing touch and your words of compassion more and more openly. You washed him in silence for another few minutes, debating in your head whether or not to keep pursuing the matter, to peel back another layer of him and get to his core.

“Were you…unhappy doing astrophysics?”

“Not exactly.” You got the feeling he could tell what you were really attempting to ask him. “I meant it when I said I liked it. That’s…not why I failed.”

You made a noise of understanding that masked the countless other things you wanted to say. He jolted just barely as you ventured down to clean his stomach, approaching his most sensitive area with a touch as gentle as it was deliberate. Care with a purpose.

“The…the person I was with, at the time,” he paused—whether to gather his thoughts, or to gauge your reaction, you weren’t entirely sure. Your eyes widened just a bit, but you kept your hand stubbornly occupied, scrubbing over his sore thighs. Like clockwork, they nearly closed in on each other. “She had a lot going on. Her mother was really sick; in and out of the hospital a lot.”

Even as dread stirred within you, like you knew exactly where this story was going, you left him space to continue.

“She just needed some help with everything she was dealing with in her life, y’know? I wanted to help.”

“I know you did,” you murmured. It was a given, one of the few certainties in life. Chan would always help, for no reason other than the fact that he could.

“I t-tried to be there for her. Took her wherever she needed to go, helped with her classes, visited her mother, looked after her little sister when she couldn’t,” he swallowed. “Then, around May, things got really bad. Her mom needed treatment for a few weeks, so I spent most of my time at the hospital or taking care of her sister.”

Something about the way he phrased it made you feel compelled to ask, “Where was she during that time?”

“Dunno,” he chuckled, humorless. “But I can probably guess.”

You stole a glance at his face. His eyes were open now, locked on the bubbly water and refusing to meet yours, like he might break all over again if he did. “In the end, I guess I didn't prepare well enough for my finals. Didn’t pass most of them. So I figured, if I was gonna be taking more semesters, anyway…i-if it wasn’t going to be perfect, I might as well start from scratch, y’know? Do it right this time.”

“Oh, Channie,” you rested your hand on his head. “That’s too much. That’s way too much.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t h—”

“No, no,” you didn’t even want to give him the chance to second-guess himself. “Please, don’t hold back. I’m listening.”

He was sugarcoating it, you knew he was. Even now, two years into the aftermath and still suffering the effects of it, he was trying to dismiss it all as something casual.

“What about her? What happened?”

Chan shrugged, reaching up for his ear. You didn’t push him as he fiddled with the silver hoop, instead taking the opportunity to grab your bottle of shampoo and squeeze some of the substance into your palm while he found the will to answer.

“When she found out I wasn’t graduating, she ended it,” he said at last. “Think it was already over, anyway. She was with someone else a few weeks later.”

“Oh my God.”

Through the haze that had been filling his head the entire night, your emotions still reached him with ease. “I brought it on myself, though,” he added quickly, as if the excuse—had it been even remotely correct—would’ve made it any better. “It was all just my own stupid choices. I can’t really say it’s her fault.”

Yes, you can. It took every ounce of self-control to stop yourself from pressing your nails into his head, just to avoid hurting him. You weren’t sure what drove the urge most: sympathy, protectiveness, fury. You couldn’t even begin to fathom it—you didn’t want to fathom it. To be presented with a heart as pure and honest as Chan’s, a love so selfless and sincere, only to trample all over it like it was worthless.

Despite the whirlwind that had spiraled to life inside you, you settled for something softer, a tenderness that, clearly, had been missing from his life thus far. You rubbed the shampoo delicately into his hair, swirling the dark curls around in a way that sent pleasurable ripples down his spine.

“It’s not your fault,” your tone left no room for debate. “Someone took advantage of your kindness. But showing that kindness? How could that possibly be your fault, Channie?”

He sucked in a sharp breath. You wondered if it was the first time he’d been told anything like that—whether by himself, or anyone else.

“I never do things for people to gain anything from it,” Chan began, and you knew, more than anything, that he meant it. “But…”

He hesitated, giving a quick shake of his head, as if to compose himself.

“But it hurts to be used.”

“Yeah. I understand.” You understood more than he could know, more than you could say in that moment. Tears had begun to well up in his eyes again, and for his own sake, you scooped up a portion of water in your hands and began to cleanse his head of the shampoo, letting the streams mask any fresh droplets that may trickle out.

“She never really did anything like this,” he said softly. “Most of the time, she’d just leave.”

Everything clicked into place. All the missing pieces of the puzzle, all at once, with each realization serving as another pang in your chest.

“Chan. I need you to know, right now, that this is what you deserve. All of this, and more.”

Faint sniffles and dripping water echoed throughout the bathroom. In this case, you welcomed it over his usual protests.

“I see everything you do, for me, and everyone else. You never give up on people, even with more than enough reason to,” you ran your hand through his hair, watching the wet ringlets slip through your fingers. “I admire that so much about you, but you still need to think of yourself once in a while. It’s not worth it—it’s never worth it to give your all to someone who will only see the empty husk left behind.”

Vaguely, you saw it, the slow nod of his head. It filled you with hope, the possibility that he might start to see himself the way you saw him, even if just a glimpse. Just a glimpse of him was bright enough to pierce through any darkness.

“One day, all that kindness you put out into the world is gonna find you again. I promise.”

He turned his head to look up at you for the first time, eyes gleaming with something other than tears.

“I think it already has.”

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

Neither of you said much as you continued bathing him, a quiet spell—comfortable, once more—passing between you and allowing everything that had been said to settle in your minds. You took your time conditioning Chan’s hair, giving each lush, beautiful curl the proper attention it deserved until you were fully satisfied. By the time you had finished rinsing him off, your legs were aching from sitting in the same, uncomfortable position for so long, and you were certain his were too. You helped him rise from the tub to the best of your ability, taking a moment to admire the streams of water traveling down his body before you passed him a towel.

As you re-entered your bedroom together, you immediately went to shut your window, not keen on creating even the slightest opportunity for Chan to catch another sickness. He was rocking on his heels again, looking seconds away from collapsing into your bed; he likely already would have if it weren’t for the fact that he was clad with nothing but a damp towel.

You dug around for a bit before locating a fresh pair of sweatpants he’d previously left at your place. When you presented them to him, he grinned for the first time that night.

“Been looking for these,” he commented. “They’re my favorite.”

“Well, they’re mine, now,” you teased. “But I can let you borrow them, I guess.”

To your surprise, he brought the garment up to his nose, and it took you a moment to register that he was breathing in the scent of your laundry detergent. It was almost ridiculous, how such a small action made you feel like your heart was going to erupt out of your chest.

The two of you settled into bed once he’d changed, and the exhaustion that had been gradually seeping down into Chan’s bones throughout the entire course of the night—even before that, probably—took over at last. You pulled the covers over your bodies, and he nestled into you before your head had even hit the pillow, his misgivings from your first night together nowhere to be found.

You prayed that he’d be able to sleep soundly tonight. His warmth washed over you, lulling you into dreams of your own. As you opened your mouth to wish him goodnight before your consciousness escaped you, you heard it. A mumble, just audible enough for you not to pass off as your own imagination.

“Think I love you.”

He was so drowsy that he may not have even noticed if you chose not to respond—you weren’t even sure if he noticed that he’d said it in the first place.

You rested your hand on the back of his head, pulling him closer.

“I love you, too.”

Something twisted deep within you as you returned his words. Not because you didn’t mean them, but because you did.

#bang chan x reader #skz fanfic #bang chan fanfic #bang chan smut #skz smut #sub!skz #sub!bang chan #sub!chan #dom!reader #skz x reader #skz angst #skz imagines #bang chan imagines

[qc-wiggles]

they say write what you know and what i know is academic stress and yearbook pain. so anyways it's a yearbook club au!!!!

YEARBOOK CLUB MEMBERS:

supervising teachers: gertrude and leitner. they become uncontactable like a week into the project (do they die? do they resign? tim has a running theory that they eloped.)

elias: head of yearbook club. dips unexpectedly in the middle of the entire thing (something about an optical surgery) and forces jon to take over. his dad paid for the adobe subscription they’re using 

rosie: treasurer, she’s very efficient, they’ve probably exchanged like 3 emails in total and she’s gotten everything funded. knows well enough to stay out of the dumpster fire that is yearbook production otherwise

jon: de facto head of yearbook club. thinks it should have gone to sasha instead. hes a bit incompetent but plans like it’s doomsday the next week so they are always in a wealth of excel sheets. writer, editor

tim: joined partly because he wanted an excuse to get out of football fixtures. also because he is 1 out of jons 3 friends including his ex and jon asked him. he has a tiktok. marketing, editor

sasha: joined partly to impress gertrude (she’s looking for her to write her letter of recommendation as head girl in sixth form). also because she is 1 out of jons 3 friends including his ex and jon asked her. she still uses livejournal. designer, writer

gerry: sixth form, occasionally helps out with networking at gertrude’s behest. tim is a bit starstruck over him. he saves their asses many, many times

melanie and georgie: got unofficially roped in as photographers. why you ask? manuela dominguez may have the cutting edge cameras but she is simply too scary to approach. melanie has a youtube channel that all the girls and tim are apparently subscribed to. 

martin: there is not one single picture of him. apparently he didn’t turn up for photo day, neither was he involved in any school events. even the people who have shared half-remembered facts about him seem to forget about him when questioned a second time. where did he go?

PLOT:

it’s the month before the yearbook is due to be sent in for production, and the team have discovered numerous issues with the draft: pictures of random people keep getting swapped over like they’ve been photoshopped, some pages are illegible and distorted unless they are physically written out in hand and scanned, one paragraph is a leitner. and nobody can find martin blackwood so they can get his picture in the yearbook. what will they do.

SIDE CHARACTERS:

annabelle cane: current head girl

mikaele salesa: somehow knows literally everyone, involved in the funding of yearbook production

mike crew: uneasy alliance with gerry in their pursuit of jurgen leitner 

oliver banks: had a mental breakdown sometime during his gcses but hes fine now

david from research: nobody says it to his face but he has genuinely the most atrocious clothing choice in the entire school apart from michael shelley, and even then michael shelley makes work

grifter’s bone: the band of the school, except no one actually knows anyone who’s part of it. their shows are legendarily terrible. manuela says ambulances were phoned. 

daisy and basira: prefects, currently invested in making sure yearbook club remains LEGAL and not STALKING ANY STAFF OR STUDENTS, JON

jmag: principal. boo. what a creep

julia montauk: apparently her dad went to jail. but who is she living with now? i don’t know, manuela told me. how does manuela know? julia told her in a sleepover during year 6. and she’s telling other people? wow. that’s messed up. is that old guy her grandpa? why does he carry a rifle around

jared hopworth: prejudiced gymbro, but importantly, NOT a homophobe.

the admiral: what else needs to be said

FAMOUS ALUMNI:

agnes montague (campus celebrity from literally decades ago) (her relationship with jack barnabas is mythicised)

jude perry (allegedly caused some fire-related, agnes-related events)

edwin burroughs (allegedly commited atrocities during one year’s christmas dinner)

jane prentiss (left for uni a year ago, allegedly brought many live organisms onto campus) (keeps talking about this guy called jordan)

eric delano (he did WHAT to his eyes)

MISCELLANEOUS POINTS:

daedalus crew is astronomy club

breekon and hope are the manufacturers for much of the schools equipment and stationery

jon keeps finding notes from gertrude stashed in random places about yearbook difficulties its like a fun cool treasure hunt

they cant figure out where a computer they were initially using for yearbook club is from. it says ‘ushanka’ on the bottom of the display and the keys are slightly crusty

what the hell are the drama students actually up to 

#changing this later probably #talks #school au

[echofromtheabyss]

So, if you want to understand the history of ND stuff in any useful kind of way you have to know that we talked about these things differently. Gen Xrs have a different generational experience and Boomers' is different still.

Prior to the 80s, NDs were really not a thing. The optic was almost entirely in terms of learning disability and intellectual impairment in the 70s.

ADHD - not autism - is really the first we see of anything resembling the modern ND consciousness, as "autistic" was a label reserved for children presenting with severe disability or at minimum, delay.

Autism in the 70s and 80s and before was not culturally adjacent to ADHD or giftedness, it was adjacent to conditions of severe intellectual impairment.

It's possible to be an 80s ADHD labeled autistic who gets good interventions *because lots of how ADHD was understood at the time, got absorbed by autism later.*

This is basically my story as a matter of fact, a lot of helpful support I got early was via the ADHD pipeline, and so ADHD *is* my "recognized early enough to get meaningful self understanding and meaningful support* narrative, which is a big reason I was ABLE to shrug off autism as a label for about 15 years, until the changing autism stereotypes caught up with me.

ADHD and early issues with visible LD etc are WHY I didn't end up in the "normal until hospitalized" optic that some autistics I knew ended up in, if they had *only* been seen as gifted. I was very aware of my stuff very early even if it was called something else and even if it will be called something else in the future, and it shaped my social choices, my career choices, etc.

Also there was the optic to Boomers and older that you really could just be a "normal" person or even a high performing "genius" who was just "a little slow as a kid." (There are many historical figures this actually applies to. "A little slow as a kid" may just be within a *normal* range of child development.) This is actually part of where many Boomers are coming from when they think a certain degree of autism is just normal.

Early labels in adults (whom we would now understand as high masking ASD-1) were more personal history than identity.

To Boomers and older, you were "mentally well" until you presented "mentally ill." There really wasn't anything like being ND as we presently understand. Also, the *very same optics* that got boys seen as gifted, invested lots of time and support into, etc, got girls into the clinical pipeline early. The real dx discrepancy between girls and boys in my generation and older is the degree to which cis het white rich boys were just allowed to not be anything at all while girls were immediately tagged as mentally ill or developmentally disabled with the very same presentation, even within the same family. My grandmother who was a victim of this, and heavily and deeply abused from early childhood, is the sister of my physicist uncle who was on the Manhattan Project and was odd but successful, had a wife and family, never labeled anything at all.

Lots of people we now see as autistic were just considered normal gifted people who then had a "nervous breakdown" after high school/entering the adult world.

It was possible to be totally ego-syntonic as an odd person until diagnosis, if you were in the 80s gifted pipeline, because if you were in a social set that was actually ALLOWED to be intelligent let alone gifted in the first place (i.e., an upper middle class person, with more weirdness optic allowed for boys) you likely weren't going to be diagnosed with ANYTHING unless you were Weird with a Capital W.

That I had any kind of optic besides just being Gifted is *because* despite high IQ, I was a poor academic performer, and *couldn't* mask well inside a school setting.

These are people without even that optic.

They literally were just seen as gifted, and it was assumed that - of course - highly gifted people were a little weird. Gifted optic in school meant access to a whole different social and academic pipeline consisting hugely of other people we would now understand as ND, so it's actually possible to come out of that being totally ego-syntonic, and never ever even seek diagnosis until something breaks.

If you're like my ex husband who ended up just going away to sea for years, and then becoming a programmer in a basement at a university, you might never get diagnosed with anything, especially if you never see yourself as the problem in any of your interpersonal interactions, and that was a FAR more common optic with gifted white Gen X and Jones ASD-1 boys than early dx was.

The thing for my generation isnt the degree to which boys were diagnosed over girls... quite the opposite, it's the degree to which smart white rich boys were just *allowed* to be odd and given tons of concessions *without* being labeled ANYTHING, because of the degree to which the culture saw that boy was probably a future curer of cancer or a future astronaut.

A chunk of the "NT [more likely, high masking autist] woman miserably married to ASD man" narrative on those websites like FAAAS is actually referring to men who don't have any diagnostic label whatsoever and don't understand themselves as the problem, if you actually read the stories.

Those guys don't get diagnosed until something actually breaks - like, their wife hauls them into couples counseling, or they have finally exhausted their supply of good will (many social compensations of gifted children stop working past one's 20s and that's actually when my dx happened too).

Interpersonal problems weren't enough for dx unless they actually bothered a person enough to seek help. Something has to break. You don't end up with a diagnosis because you're happy and adjusted, no matter how odd you are.

Please ask Boomers about nervous breakdowns because half the time this is referring to what we now understand as autistic burnout.

#i have a lot of thermonuclear takes tbh and don't feel autism is going to be a meaningful term in 20 years #the map is not the terrain

[vivmaek]

THE PLUTO IN SAGITTARIUS GENERATION Born at the start of Globalization, November 10, 1995 - January 25, 2008

I’ve been talking a lot of shit on here about the Pluto in Sagittarius generation. And while I still think my irritations are justified (lol,) I gotta make it up by doing a complete breakdown. Afterall, this is the generation I belong to. 

1995: NASA's Galileo spacecraft arrives at Jupiter

With Pluto in Sagittarius, this is a generation full of creatives, visionaries, academics, philosophers and rebels. We’re all about big ideas and moral philosophy. We’ve had the internet within our fingertips our entire lives, an unlimited database of knowledge and social interconnectivity. I remember a teacher once told me that we were the most educated group of humans humanity has ever seen. And this is true, by middle school many of us were walking around with cellphones in our pockets more powerful than computers built in the 80’s. Through technology, we were able to discover the world at an incredibly young age. 

We have a lot in common with the Pluto in Leo generation (Baby Boomers,) being that both generations are ruled by fire signs. However what differentiates us is that the Pluto in Leo generation is focused on the self (Sun,) and the Pluto in Sagittarius generation is focused on the collective (Jupiter.) We project a sense of optimism despite having such large ambitions. This will serve as an inspiration for future generations. 

Most of us have parents belonging to the Pluto in the Libra Generation. They raised us with values centered on equality and justice. 

We grew up amongst explosive world events: First Internet Meme (1996), Google (1998), Columbine (1998), The Second Congo War (1998), Kosovo Genocide (1999), Launch of International Space Station (2000), 9/11 (2001), Invasion of Iraq (2003), Darfur (2003), Boxing Day Tsunami (2004), Facebook (2004), London Bombings (2005), iPhone (2007), America's first black President (2008), Global Economic Downturn (2008).

Pluto in Capricorn frames our coming of age story. Our teenage years were harsh and depressing. It was an isolating experience that did not involve much fun. For many people born with a Sagittarius Pluto, their adolescence is defined by a Global Pandemic in which all movement was restricted. These years also put into focus old frameworks that must be destroyed and cast aside. We feel punished, and now we are angry. 

The Pluto In Scorpio Generation is coming through and uprooting all these frameworks before passing the torch onto us. We will be the ones to come up with blueprints for new ideologies and ways of thinking. We’re aiming forward and casting an arrow for future generations to follow. 

Past events that occurred while Pluto was in Sagittarius: The Burning of the Library of Alexandria (272), first novel published in Japan (1010), Sorbonne founded (1257), first use of eyeglasses (1268), Columbus sets sail (1502), the birth of Nostradamus (1503), invention of sign language (1749), the first encyclopedia (1751).  

Past figures born while Pluto was in Sagittarius: Constantine I (272), Dante Aligheri (1265), Goethe (1749), James Madison (1751), Alexander Hamilton (1755), Marie Antoinette (1755), Mozart (1756,) William Blake (1757), Robespierre (1758).

#pluto in sagittarius #sagittarius pluto #astrology #astrology placements #astro community #astro observations #birth chart #astro notes #astrology observations #astrology tumblr #natal chart #natal astrology #Sagittarius #astrology signs #astrological observations #astrology notes #astro placements #astrology facts #birth chart placements #birth chart readings #birth chart analysis #natal chart analysis #natal chart reading #pluto #pluto astrology #pluto placement #pluto placements #generation z #gen z

[missjomarch]

Thoughts about sitting between lukeys legs against his chest while you write an essay you’ve been stressing over

A/N: loved LOVED writing this request. Came to me in the middle of finals week so perfect comforting thoughts. Thank you for your patience anon, I got busy (again, finals 🥲). Enjoy 🫶

You had always taken school very seriously, and you were good at most subjects. However, as a STEM major, writing essays was the bane of your existence. It wasn’t that you weren’t good at it, having earned a high grade on all previous essays for this class. But being the perfectionist you are, you had a terrible habit of nit-picking everything you wrote. You’d finally get a thought down, only to delete and reword it a million times until it felt perfect. It made any simple essay into an extremely daunting task. Luke knew you struggled, and while he wasn’t much help in the academic department, he was your biggest cheerleader.

Currently, you were working on an research analysis paper you’d been putting off for two weeks. Now it was due in two days. After your minor mental breakdown the night before, Luke promised to help you get it done today. He had gotten you set up on the couch of your apartment before he left for morning skate at 8. However, he hadn’t expected to find you in the exact same spot when he returned four hours later.

Your eyes meet his as he walks through the door, and it feels like the first time you’ve looked away from the screen in hours. His hair is still wet from his shower, and he holds a Chipotle bag in his hands.

“Hey babe,” Luke calls into your apartment, setting the food on the kitchen counter before making his way towards the couch. He wears a small smile as he leans down to place a kiss to the back of your head. You attempt to flash a smile over your shoulder, but Luke has already noticed the tension in your face.

“How’s the essay going?” Luke hums, leaning down to see your computer screen as his hands begin rubbing at the tightness in your shoulders. You let the singular paragraph on your screen do the talking, opting for a slight shake of the head instead of a verbal response. You let out a heavy sigh, and attempt to rub the burning sensation from your eyes.

“How long have you been working on it?” Luke mumbled, hands still working at your shoulders.

“Since you left this morning,” you uttered, leaning your head slightly to rest on his forearm. “I swear I’m trying but my brain is just not wording today.”

Luke leaned to press a soft kiss to your temple, “let’s take a break, yeah? I brought you food.”

You let out another soft sigh before agreeing and closing your laptop. You stand up from the couch, Luke’s hands falling from your shoulders, and make your way to the kitchen. You get each of you a water from the fridge as Luke takes the food from the bag. You take a moment to drink in all six feet and 2 inches of your boyfriend as he grabs forks from the drawer. The sight of him in a backwards hat and fitted long sleeve is much more pleasing than the glaring computer screen.

“You’re staring, love.” Luke calls from the other side of the kitchen, breaking you from your trance. You roll your eyes at the smirk playing on his lips, and sit down and the island. Luke hands you your food and stands across from you to eat his. You can’t help the smile that forms as you realize he never texted to ask for your order. You know he has most of them in a note on his phone, but it always surprises you. You chat while you eat, Luke doing most of the talking as he gives you the details about morning practice and his upcoming games. You avoid the topic of the essay until you’re finished eating. It doesn’t take near as long as you’d like, and 30 minutes later you’re cleaning up your food and mentally preparing to start again. Luke doesn’t miss the dread in your eyes, and comes to rest his hands on your waist.

“How can I help you, baby?” Luke mutters, eyebrows furrowed in concern. One hand massages your hip lightly as the other comes to brush a fallen piece of hair from your face. You pout lightly, knowing he won’t let you procrastinate any longer.

“I don’t know…” you sigh, thinking for a moment. “Can you just sit with me?”

Luke is nodding his head immediately, “anything you need, babe.”

He grips your hand and carefully drags you towards the couch. He sets up on the chaise and settles you between his legs.

You lean into his hold, back against his chest, before moving your computer to your lap. His familiar scent engulfs you immediately, and it soothes your stress slightly. One of his arms snakes around your waist, and he keeps the other to scroll through his phone as you work. You set your focus back on the screen, determined to finish this damned essay.

The two of you remain like this for two hours as you type away. Occasionally you have Luke read a section to ensure it sounds decent. He always happy to insist that it’s perfect, awarding you with a small kiss. After managing to reach just past the halfway point, you take a small break and relocate to your bedroom for a change of scenery. You remain in the same position, only this time on your bed with Luke propped against the headboard behind you. He has a few wordage suggestions here and there, but is mostly silent as you write.

It’s 4:30 pm when you finally shut your laptop, letting out a long breath you had been holding. Your head falls back against Luke’s chest as he looks down at you.

“Finished?” You nod, eyes closing briefly as you mumble out a ‘finally’ in response. He laughs, setting his phone to the side to wrap you in his arms more firmly.

“Good job, babe. Knew you could do it.” Luke says, lips pressed to your hairline. You send him a small glare, still slightly annoyed at him for forcing you to work but thankful nonetheless. You break from his hold to turn and face him.

“Thank you for helping me, I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He smirks back at you.

“Probably flunk out of college,” He teases.

“Andddd lovey dovey moment over,” you sigh, rolling your eyes at his typical antics. You flipped back around to lay against his chest once more.

“Nap?” Luke proposes. He knows you’ll say yes and is already scooting down to lay down. You just nod, humming an ‘mhm’. You let him spoon you as you lay, sleep already overtaking you both. Your legs become entangled as Luke moves his head to rest in the crook over your neck. His warm breath is comforting, and you relax further into his arms. You feel Luke press a soft kiss to your neck, and your eyelids finally shut against the stress of the day.

#luke hughes #nj devils #umich hockey

[ccuniculusmolestus]

Bunny Corcoran ;The Death Of Innocence

(I wouldve added images beside the first one from the book with highlights to provide evidence for a statement but like damn, tumblr wont let me for some reason. i'll try from a different device later)

I think Bunny was also supposed to be the picture of innocence.

I know what you're thinking: how can a loudmouth bigoted ass character 😒 be innocent? I'm with you. Surprisingly, Donna wrote extremely 3 dimensional characters. Sometimes, to really understand a certain character, you have to look at all their aspects, zoom out of the negatives (which Richard would have preferred to remain zoomed in on to justify his compliance in the murder of someone who considered him a friend) and look at them as a WHOLE.

Let's define the word innocence in this context with the help of my sturdy old friend, Google.

1. The obvious, Bunny committed no crime. He was innocent in the legal sense.

2. Without experience

We can say he was less experienced in the basics of life (was 24, didn't have a bank account, couldn't even drive i think? We never see Bunny drive. Didn't even have finances or know how to manage them-clearly. He might not even have understood the gravity of his over-spending nature)

3. Lacking

Clearly, when compared to his peers, he was lacking;

Financial help from his family (except when it came to comparing him to Richard). You could argue the twins were as poor as him- its mentioned in the book. But the case here is different. Bunny's parents were rich, yet he was not. The twins came from a middle class family, and they had their grandmother sending them money. Someone was taking care of them. Bunny had been thrown into boarding schools his whole life and learned to "fend" for himself by becoming a thief and a mooch. Two very different lifestyles.

He could also be considered to lack in academics. He struggled with dyslexia (and I think also ADHD), which is implied to have affected his studies/studious motivation

Bunny was also lacking in pretentiousness; and I'd wager that, though he probably was insecure, he wasn't insecure in a way that made him chase an aesthetic to such a fatal degree. Yes he was a man of illusions, yes he kept these illusions up to maintain a certain image of himself (in that regard, he was very similar to Richard, whose narration of Bunny is usually judgmental). But Bunny was not pretentious like Henry, Julian etc were. He wasn't walling himself in to be an elitist in a scholarly way, I think this fact is reflected in the fact that he had friends and connections outside of the class.

4. Not responsible for a crime but suffering it's consequences

Bunny isn't involved in the bacchanal, yet he suffers its consequence. He finds out about it, has multiple breakdowns to the point of getting drunk and writing an absolutely insane letter to a teacher with his feelings and suspicions bared, and he also opens up to Richard in his drunken carelessness. A mistake which cost him his life. He wasn't just killed because he was annoying, or that he knew too much-- Bunny had to die because he couldn't deal with the weight of knowing what had been done. Or perhaps, he couldn't deal with what the reality of his closest friend was.

5. Not corrupted

Easily, Bunny isn't corrupted with what I call " visions of grandeur" like everyone else in the class is. They all thought they were something. Henry and Julian especially. They were obsessed with ideals that, in a practical sense, ran the risk of polarizing their own selves. We could also speak on the fact he technically wasn't free from moral wrong. He was homophobic, rude, kind of hateful. But in a more fundamental way, he wasn't corrupted in the sense that he did anything that was major AND physically wrong.

I know verbal offences are valid too, and I'm not excusing his hatred/hate speech, I'm just saying.

Even him stealing that goddamn cake from the fridge or something, which Richard tried to conveniently paint as "he doesnt care for people (forget that he can't read)". YES, stealing other people's food is bad, but is it (done for survival?) as bad as:

incest (also pre-unhinged Charles, I dont know if what the twins did was consensual or if Charles used to force himself on Camilla or use an abusive dynamic to make her submit. I think that only came on after Bunny died, but idk)

poisoning someone's dogs

killing a baby chick or whatever weird shit richard did as a kid. and then as an adult the many questionable things he did

francis lowkey seemed like a sexual predator and i understand this might make people upset but i feel like he preyed on Charles' weakened mental / alcoholic state to sleep with him when charles (despite being bi) was not comfortable with the fact that he was attracted to men and wouldnt sleep with francis when he was sober.

Julian is just all wrong

6. Simple ; naive

So, without repeating anything- I genuinely feel like Bunny was so simple sometimes he was genuinely a dumbass. His death itself....how did he see the man he KNEW wanted to kill him (and I know this because in the letter to Julian, Bunny explicitly mentions "He" (Henry, not "THEY" the class) is going to kill him)

He sees them all there and still lets his guard down. He was so naive, that despite his very real paranoia of being stalked/killed, he still engaged with them like they were just a bunch of friends.

Another thing, child-like attributes are often related to naivety. (Him bouncing on everyone's beds that one morning, he was hyper, couldn't regulate his emotions, even his anger and aggression was very childish/immature in nature)

7. Not intended to cause harm

This is the only one I disagree with, because this was the only sense in which Bunny was NOT innocent. He very much had antagonistic qualities and intended to cause emotional harm to those he didn't like.

CONCLUSION

But yeah, overall, he practically fits the innocent role, which is why i think, after his death, things take such dark turns-- the reader loses their innocence too, in a sense, with the things that are revealed about the twins, about Charles, about Francis/Charles, about that one awful moment where Richard thinks the vilest shit about Camilla. The group starts falling apart and becomes disillusioned with each other- Richard starts seeing everyone for who they are, as well. His irritation towards Henry and the rest becomes palpable, and he also realizes his true friends could have been Judy etc (the normal students).

To lose one's innocence, we first have to encounter a scenario or go through something that gives us a greater awareness of the pain or the evil we are surrounded by. Here, losing Bunny was the catalyst in making Richard (and by extension, us) realize the characters and situations for what they really were.

#the secret history #tsh #bunny corcoran #henry winter #francis abernathy #charles macaulay #richard papen #camilla macaulay

[k4katsujin]

random hobie brown headcanons!

all will be sfw the nsfw/spicy ones will be in pink

trying real hard not to delete this acc and kms bc of a sudden trigger

also this won't be proofread because im in the middle of a mental breakdown

he always looks for you when he performs

he's not the jealous "i show everyone who is my lover" type, more like the subtle "let's go" kind in crowded places to yk do unholy things

also small public demonstrations of affection <3 <3

like holding hands, putting his hand on your waist when you walk, small kisses both on your cheek and on your lips, small notes when he wakes up earlier than you since he's yk a spider man

he gave you one of his very own spike bracelets which i feel would be really dear to him

prob made you one esp for you

no matter how your styles differ he will still find a way to have something that reminds him of you on him whether it's a badge, a hair clip or even rings

taking you to the piercer as a first date!!

despite him being an anarchist he's actually very caring

you're sick? fuck capitalism he will make you his own medicine with some of his teas

unrelated but i feel like he's Jamaican or smth wait lemme check

ok i didn't find anything but ill js hc him as jamaican

so like yea when you're sick he makes you jamaican medicine

"take this shortcake! i know it doesn't seem yummy but i promise you'll feel better in a snap after!

you did feel better in a snap

(for fem aligned readers) when you're on your period he turns into the sweetest man ever

sometimes the two of you meet after his concerts - even though that's smth really important for him he makes sure you know you're his actual priority- you go on a rooftop and he tells you about his parents

feeling dysphoric because you're transmasc and on your period ? he makes sure you're the most handsome person he ever knew

when the two of you are doing it, he always makes sure he has your consent before trying anything new - or even before trying anything at all

he's not afraid to admit he's in love with you and he treats you like ROYALTY

you like this specific song? he'll post you to this song and even write love songs for you. remember that specific cat café you mentioned three months ago? he'll bring you there for your birthday.

going nonverbal and being overstimulated? that's no problem for him he'll sit with you in the dark in silence until you feel better.

THIS MAN IS A MAN OF AFTERCARE "you did so well for me darling <3 now what about we get some sweets and cuddle under the stars?"

he's a top most of the but yk he secretly lives when you're in control

HICKEYS HICKEYS HICKEYS ALL OVER YOUR BODY esp on your neck and in between your thighs

speaking of thighs whenever you feel insecure he turns into your girl best friend

having big thighs ? it's more comfy for when he has his head on his lap. big boobs?more comfy for cuddling. no/small boobs? it's ok clothes fit more easily. the list goes on but he always cheers you up.

UNLABELLED THEY/HE HOBIE‼️‼️‼️‼️

p sure he love when you ride him

like you're on top of him in some way but he somehow keeps control

probably likes to asset his dominance by putting a hand around your neck (wdym i don't have a choke kink i do)

BUT HE ALWAYS MAKES SURE YOURE OK THAT MAKES HIM LITTEALLY SM HOTTER OMG

he's always down for ditching class but he somehow has the best grades

which upsets you bc you're the one who always want to ditch class but your grades ain't following

omg it's giving academical rivals au

so like he sometimes comes at your place to help you w the subjects you have trouble with

eventually you end up pinned down on your desk passionately kissing

+ seeing you in a school uniform makes him go feral

fucking you in your school skirt? boy he sure is turned on

quickies in the school's bathroom ? man he loves danger so he's obviously down

+ he loves the way kissing you makes his piercing feel (idk but if i had healed piercings on my lips id love the way it'd feel)

SLOW BURN MAKE OUT SESSION IN THE RAIN

can you tell i love rain? bc i do

he makes sure you feel loved and says it to everyone he knows

"hey that's (reader's name) did you know they're my partner i love them sm"

he notices small habits and picks them up when he misses you (idk how to explain bit for example i sometimes twitch my nose because of my allergies- in that case if you did he would too)

HIGH PATTERN RECOGNITION even though he won't force you to tell him why you feel bad he instantly notices the changes in your behavior

"can you repeat, darling? i didn't hear what you said"

he makes sure you use your words despite you being overstimulated

+ his hands. they make you go crazy.

he's actually a lonely guy, give this poor man a big hug :(

no but fr tho he went through sm his backstory made me cry

OK bit of a vent now🕺🏻 but first tysm for reading ily ! <3 /p

i suddenly lost all motivation to post full fics bc i keep comparing me to others, most well known posters and it really triggers me so i guess i'll make the lonely series go on a hiatus. also working on requests! but it's getting harder to not kms bc of the pressure im putting on myself 🫠

anyhoo, kaheri there,back to dreamland! see you in the next dream! (new outro who dis?)

#x reader #atsv hobie #hobie brown #hobie brown smut #hobie brown x reader #kaheri's chronicles #headcanons #hobie x reader #hobie spiderverse #hobie x you #gender neutral reader #queer writers #writers on tumblr #writers and poets

[stuffnonsenseandotherthings]

Crackpot Predictions - Only Friends Episode 1

Welcome to a new thing I do where I try to predict (*cough* wildly guess *cough*) what's going to happen in a show based solely on my read of the first episode. I'll try to cover all of what I think are the main story beats, record them here for posterity (and so I can either say "ha I told you so" or you can all point and laugh at me later), and hopefully by the end of the series we'll all be able to see if I'm a clairvoyant with a magic orb or, alternatively, a numpty with a glass paperweight. Some of these predictions are completely serious, others are complete crack, and some are just random thoughts that had the misfortune of wandering into my head.

With that, let's get started shall we?

The Hostel

Setting up a hostel for your graduation project? How cute!And with your best friends too? How adorable!

Too bad that hostel is absolutely Not Going To Happen. And not only is the hostel Not Going To Happen, its also going to be the site of some of the worst moments of your entire lives!

Prediction: is this is where it's all going to go down, this is where they're going to have the final argument, this is where the climax is going to happen, this is where shit hits the fan and then explodes. I mean why else would you introduce a building site if not to have all your characters have mental breakdowns symbolically in the middle of it? Scaffolding and painter's tarp is for screaming matches and for saying things you never meant to say.

Mew

Oh Mew. Soft, virginal, innocent Mew. Mew who lives in a completely different world to his friends where he wears cute pastels, gets a teen movie montage when he wakes up in the morning, gets a public confession like something out of a romance movie... Surrounded by people with impure thoughts and even worse intentions. What on earth is going to become of our sweet pastel boy?

Who am I kidding, he's going to be fine.

In fact he's probably going to be one of the few people who is fine by the end of this series, and will probably be at least partially responsible for quite a lot of other people being very fucked up (especially Top, sorry my man but you are doomed by the narrative). He's definitely doing to be hurt and he's definitely going to lose his honour student title and he's definitely going to have less friends by the end of this but he'll be fine, he's literally the only one in the friend group other than Chueam with the emotional maturity to cope with and process what's about to happen.

Prediction: He's going to lose friends (but not Chueam, she'll stick with him), his academic record is going to be messed up (but not irreparably so, he'll just have to put in extra work to repair it), and he won't have a boyfriend by the end of the series but he'll be okay, he'll be able to walk it off when it's all said and done. He may even start to get his man back (if he wants him, that is).

Ray

Poor Ray, he's a rich brat who clearly has some self-esteem issues and is whipped for his best friend. He's in for a rough ride I fear, especially seeing as he currently deals with his emotions by getting very drunk and/or lashing out.

Sand will probably be good for him (perhaps a little too good for him) in both bringing him down a peg and hopefully giving him the kind of ego boost he actually needs (no Ray you are not a burden but please stop ruining your liver) and I'm really looking forward to the development of their enemies to fwb relationship and all entails.

Unfortunately for Ray he looks like he might be a bit of a bleeding heart romantic on the inside so he's probably going to get his heart broken twice in a very short space of time; once by Mew and his new relationship and then once again by Sand and his refusal to play second fiddle and Ray is only going to realise this when it's a bit too late. Needless to say Ray will probably not be having a fun time for most of this series and of all the character he is tied as most likely to end up in hospital at some point.

Prediction: He's going to lose friends, he's going to fail his degree, he's going to get his heart broken twice and he's probably not going to be okay about it (but hopefully he'll be on the mend by the end of it all). Ray is going to start shit he can't finish and he, more than anyone else, is going to be a victim of his own actions but hopefully he's also going to be the character with the most growth. Sand might be around to scrape him off the floor at the end, but Ray is going to have to work himself out first.

Boston

Boston, what to say about Boston other than currently he seems to be trying to break the record of most men slept with in a single episode (his competition is Brian Kinney from Queer As Folk btw).

There's definitely a lot more than meets the eye when it comes to him and I look forward to unpacking all of his messy laundry when the time comes. He seems to be both incredibly confident with his life choices (good for him) and incredibly insecure about them at the same time which is fascinating and I definitely get the feeling that he has issues with Mew (to the point where I wouldn't really say they're actually friends) because of that insecurity. I genuinely wouldn't be surprised is at some point we get a lot of pent resentment spilling out from Boston about Mew because no one casually mocks someone they're genuinely okay with that many times behind their back.

Prediction: Boston wants but he doesn't quite know what. He is definitely blowing up every single friendship he has in the process of working it out and he's probably going to find himself on his own for a while too, which might actually be what he needs. That being said, if anyone decides to put forward a laurel at the end of the show though, I also think it's going to be him. I also predict no romance, but I also don't think that's what he wants or needs.

Top

Top the Top Tier player who's never not got his object of interest before. He likes casual sex, comes off as a bit of a sleaze (but at least a sleaze who respects boundaries), and is apparently looking for a new challenge now sleeping around has got boring (but not boring enough to not sleep with Boston again).

The problem for Top is that he thinks he's approaching Mew in his world and on his terms where in reality he's already dancing to the tune of Mew's fiddle and it's only going get worse. Mew's world has rules and regulations and things you just don't do (like sleeping with your boyfriend's best friend) and Top is going to find himself caught up in them. What's worse is he's probably going to find out (much too late) that he wants to be caught up in them. Top might be the big man now but he is well and truly fucked.

Prediction: Top isn't going to take his relationship with Mew 100% seriously until he realises he's already completely invested in it and at that point it's going to be too late. He's definitely going to break Mew's heart but Mew is going to break his ten times over and he's not going to recover easily from that. He might have a chance at redemption, but only once he's completely wrecked himself first.

Sand

Sand was just trying to live his life and then he threatened to pee on someone's head and it all went down hill from there.

At the moment he seems like the audience stand in: watching all the chaos and wondering what on earth is wrong with all these privileged brats (semi-affectionate). Like Mew he definitely seems to have himself together in a way that makes me think he'll come away from this pretty okay emotionally (it'll hurt but he's not allergic to emotions, he'll heal). Unlike Mew he definitely doesn't seem to completely together life-wise (i.e monetarily) though, which does make me wonder if our 3 friends (I'm not including Chueam in this, she's not a guilty party) are going to mess that up for him instead.

Prediction: Emotionally he's going to be okay (although he probably has heartbreak in the cards), in every other aspect I think he'll sustain the most damage (and therefore will be entitled to compensation). He feels the most like an innocent bystander and, as such, is definitely going to regret the day he lay eyes on the back of Ray's head. Out of all the characters, he's probably going to be the one due the most apologies all while having done very little to anyone else.

Nick

Wow well Twison changed when he went to uni, wasn't expecting that trajectory at all 😋

In all honesty I feel like I have the least to go on for Nick in terms of predictions (not that I have much to go on for anything else I've been saying). He seems to be completely gone for Boston already (oh Babe he is not a good target to fall head over tits for) and I like the idea that's floating around that Nick is already familiar with Boston somehow based off his reaction to their first meeting.

That being said, I am getting a little bit of a creep vibe from him (maybe it was the invasion of his client's privacy and subsequent masturbation scene that pinged the alarm idk) but I can't help but feel like everything Mew said he'd do if he slept with Top? Yeah Nick would actually do all those things and more. So yeah, while Boston is going to mess him up with their ambiguous relationship, it's only because Nick was pretty messed up in the first place and he'll end up messing Boston up right back with his clingy/obsessive tendencies.

Prediction: Looks like a marshmallow, is actually on fire. Things are going to go wrong for him but only because things were not right in the first place. Possibly the most likely to actually need therapy. I also wouldn't be at all surprised if he's the one to swing the bat that brings it all crashing down, in fact in this crack-pot prediction, I'm expecting him to.

The Friendship Group

Is going to be in tatters by the end of this series, I'm so sorry Chueam. (I mean is this even a prediction or am I just stating the obvious?)

Prediction: Mew and Chueam are probably still going to be friends (they seems like the closest to each other) but no one else is going to be talking. Ray might have Sand (and Chueam if he doesn't fuck up too much) but Boston going to be on his lonesome and so is Top unless they want to throw a pity party together. At the end of the show there will be a tentative reconciliation, but with the knowledge they're never going to be the same, never going to be as close as before.

TLDR + Extra Predictions

Mew: About to have the worst time of his life but he'll make it through, his pain is going to end up being other people's problem.

Ray: Poor, unfortunate soul checking in at heart-break hotel twice in the space of a few months. Most likely to get his man though.

Boston: Needs to figure out what he wants. Probably going to end up completely cut off from everyone but also most likely to extend the peace offering at the end.

Top: Fucked. (Might get a chance at redemption at the end if he's lucky)

Sand: Emotionally fine, financially screwed. Out of everyone he has to most to complain about and he doesn't even go here.

Nick: Most likely to need actual therapy.

Climax: A big argument at the hotel surrounded by the ruins of their hard work

Likely scene: All of them at Yo's bar they used to go to as friends but this time ignoring each others existence.

Likely scene 2: Boston unleashing a load of suppressed resentment towards Mew, possibly to do with their different lifestyles/world views.

Best chance at romance: Chueam

Best chance at staying friends: Chueam and Mew

Key theme: The importance of friendship

Me: happy to be proven right or wrong with these predictions and here for the wild ride regardless.

And that's it! As I said, these predictions are completely pulled from the air around a single watch of episode 1 so they're not at all serious. If I'm right yay, if I'm wrong also yay, I'm just happy to be watching, I just thought it would be fun to test how well I can predict a narrative based on very little information indeed. If anyone wants to share their own crackpot predictions I am more than happy to hear them, let's clown together.

#only friends the series #only friends #ofts #crackpot predictions #if I'm going to make predictions it will be with absolutely no information #because how else are you going to make them? #with actual information?

[lieutenantwilliamrusso]

The Ivy Crown

A/N: I'm baaaaaack with my first ever Aleksander fic!!! I've been reading a lot of dark academia and finishing up my degree in literature, and this is my outlet for all of that pretentious, wonderful stuff I'm immersed in these days. The poems mentioned are wonderful and full of gorgeous language, so I'm giving you homework straight from the desk of professor Morozova-- read one and tell me if you liked it!

Dedicated to the sweet and wonderful @idaofinfinity for her patience every time I disappear. I appreciate you so much.

This will be a few parts, but not big like IWCB. Little bites, people, little bites.

Summary: It's your final year at the University of Ravka, and the end is in sight. Under your literature professor, Aleksander, you've risen to be a star pupil. Then one night, you're forced to make a decision that will change everything. Will Aleskander be on your side?

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Fem! Reader

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, murder, sex, drinking, (will add as we go)

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"Come then, and let us pass a leisure hour in storytelling, and our story shall be the education of our heroes."

-Plato

Republic, Book II

Book I

Your first semester at the University of Ravka began the way most do. The young, impossibly curious first-years huddling up to the glistening spires and towering porticoes of the main hall. The hall, called Lantsov Hall after Ravka's longest line of rulers, filled you with excitement. The need for knowledge and exploration filled you, expanding until it bumped against your insides, prodding and shuddering until it was released.

You were 18, full of life, full of wanton desire to grow, to peel back the curtains and see the answers of the world.

You didn't grow up poor, no, you were from a solidly middle-class family of merchants. But the opulence, the ostentatious identity of the Ravkan elite became clear almost immediately. Your first week, your peers would ask where you summered, what sports you preferred in the winter season, what breed of horse you deemed adequate for Caryeva, none of which you had answers for.

So you adapted, sharpened your edges and preparing to compete with the toughest competition the country could offer, until you arrived, three years later, a top of your class literature student in professor Aleksander Morozova's classroom.

The man was imperious, gilt from hard stone or sheets of silver it seemed. The light of whatever room he was in seemed to avoid Aleksander, circling like a dog trying to find a place to sleep, willing to leave him alone.

Among other things he was also gorgeous, ethereal and lithe, towering over his students, passionately gesticulating over works by T.S Eliot and William Carlos Williams. You were enraptured there, front row in his early afternoon modern poetry course, watching his eyes flicker with the kind of life only an academic could have when biting into something juicy, some brilliant amalgamation of language that won't let them go despite a decade of repeating the same lines to young faces.

"Tell me." He begins, eyes flickering to each face in the room. "What did Eliot mean when he opened The Wasteland with, 'April is the cruelest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and Desire…'"

On the last word he looks to you, black eyes pinning you under their gaze like a butterfly on a display.

You clear your throat.

"Miss Y/L/N?"

You're ready for him.

"Well, in invoking the first line of The Canterbury Tales, Eliot reveals the beginning of a journey. And when we think of spring, we think of rebirth. This poem is the lack of that, it's the breakdown of… everything. So here, spring is a mixture of things, it is the beginning and the end and we are left with only memory and desire. What we know and what we want to be true." You finish, watching him closely.

Aleksander grins, a slow, incandescent spread of his lips until his face is alight.

"There she is. Excellent, Y/N. That's how it's done, everyone."

You duck your head to hide your blush, and the lesson goes on.

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Each day after your classes you wind across the green, crunching leaves under your feet as they fall from the oaks and yews lining the tract of land. Today, your destination is the cafe you meet your friends at on Wednesdays, when the lemon curd scones are freshest. You're the last to arrive, hair swept around your face by the wind.

Nikolai, Zoya, and Genya are seated around the old wooden table in the far corner, mugs of steaming teas and coffees strewn about around a plate of your favorite citrus pastries.

"Look who's arrived!" Nikolai exclaims. "Did your sweet Byronic hero keep you?"

You roll your eyes, ignoring the comment. Sure, Aleksander was pensive and gorgeous, but he wasn't doomed. At least you hoped not.

You sit, nodding at the other two women and picking up a scone to bite into. The flaky crust gave way to the plush, spongy inside, causing you to sigh in contentment.

"What are you brats talking about?" You tease, taking a sip of Nikolai's tea.

"We were just discussing the fête." Zoya answers.

"What about it?" You ask, preoccupied with getting the waitress' attention for your own tea.

"We're all going, yes?" Genya cuts in.

"I hadn't really given it much thought." You ponder. Would Aleksander be there? In a suit of all things? The thought made you blush, and you ducked your head to hide from the eyes around you.

"Well…I think we should go. One last hurrah before we're done here." Nikolai reasons.

You nod in agreement.

"I suppose I ought to find a dress."

Zoys hums, sharing a look with Genya, a glint that made you nervous in her eye.

"You could…let us take care of that." She offered with a smirk.

"Absolutely not, I'd be naked save for a scrap of lace." You bite back.

"Saints, it was worth a try."

It was Friday and you were back in Aleksander's class, excited by his words but more than a little eager to begin your weekend. You and your group of friends had plans to head to Sturmhond that night, a bar off of the university's campus. It was dark and grungy, with mahogany furniture and paintings in gilded frames on the walls. It made you feel like you were in the belly of a ship, ready to take on a new land.

And the drinks were especially strong.

"Who wants to tell me why Carl Sandberg's "Subway" is so effective in its brevity?" Came Aleksander's voice from the front of the room.

For once, you weren't quick to answer, your mind on other things today. When you did finally look up, the silence of the rest of the class beating down on you, Aleksander's eyes were already on you. His brow ticked up, lips quirking.

"No thoughts for us today, Y/N?"

You sigh, frowning and sitting up straighter.

"The poem represents the working class, the ones who are building this great feat of transportation. They are tired and hungry but it doesn't matter. They know the importance of their work and they enjoy it. All that in 6 lines." You rattle off, remembering your notes from the night before.

"Thank you." Is his reply, quiet and pensive as he watches your face.

You nod, going back to your slouched position, eyes downcast.

When the class ends you attempt to exit into the crisp twilight like the rest of your peers, but Aleksander stops you.

"Everything all right today? You seemed off." He asks, leaning back against the large desk in the front of the room.

Your eyes widen a little, surprised he had been watching you so closely.

"Thought I'd give everyone else a chance to catch up today." You joke.

Aleksansder chuckles, then he tilts his head a little and you feel as if he's dissecting you, pulling apart your base components to see what he wants to keep or throw away.

"Is that all?" He murmurs.

"I'm just ready to end the week. It's been long." You say honestly.

"Hm. I can't fault you for that. Any plans for your time off?" He inquires.

"A few." You tease, unwilling to tell him your plan to get trashed later.

"She keeps her secrets." He answers, smiling warmly. "Well, let me know if you need anything. I wouldn't want my best student falling behind." He runs a hand ever so softly across your shoulder, hidden by your thick sweater, and then he's pulling away and gathering his own things.

"Thanks, professor Morozova." You reply in a daze, turning to go.

"You know it's Aleksander to you." He reminds you with a teasing lilt in his tone.

You nod, smiling a little, and stride to the door as fast as possible.

->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->

You arrived at the bar with Zoya in tow, approaching Nikolai and Genya who were already inside. You had on a tight pair of black jeans and your favorite lacy black bralette as a shirt. You looked good and you knew it, eyes roving the bar for anyone you might be interested in talking to.

You sit with other two and order a round of shots, ready to go hard and fast into the night. On your third shot of kvas and your second Old Fashioned you look up from your friends once again and spot him.

Impossibly dark hair and eyes belonging to your favorite professor. He was in a deep emerald sweater, sitting across from another man, listening intently to his words, a deep gold liquid in his glass. You were openly staring, taking him in as you realized just how drunk you were becoming.

Nikolai is the first to notice, his eyes following yours across the bar.

"Well Saints, if it isn't your boyfriend."

This gets the attention of the other two, their eyes searching for subject of Nikolai's words.

You and Zoya exchange a glance, and you catch that dangerous spark in her eyes again.

"You should send him a drink." She suggests coyly.

"You send drinks to people you want to fuck, Zoya." You reply exasperated.

"Yes, I am aware." She shoots back.

Your friends burst into laughter, catching Aleksander's attention briefly. His eyes flit over, widening just a touch when they realize who he's looking at. You throw him a smile, suddenly nervous, but he returns it, tilting his head in acknowledgement, and you decide resolutely to continue your night.

It's only later that you're made aware of the situation.

"Your dark prince has been eyeing you since he saw you." Nikolai murmurs in your ear.

"Oh, please."

"We've all seen it. He's quite interested in the area right below your neck." Nikolai chuckles, raising his eyes to yours.

You tilt your head just a little, just enough to scan the bar from the corner of your eye and there he is, head tilted towards you just enough to do the same.

"Saints." You gasp out quietly.

"Told you."

"Well…it's irrelevant now because I have never had to pee so badly in my life." You declare, standing on wobbly legs.

Your friends laugh, and Zoya's hands point you in the direction of the bathroom.

The cool porcelain of the sink under your hands grounds you a little, and you look into the mirror. Was Aleksander checking you out? The thought makes you giggle quietly to yourself. There was no way he was into you. He wasn't married, but he must have a girlfriend or something, right?

You've decided to brush the whole thing off when you exit the restroom and knock right into a wall of a man.

"Oh! 'M sorry!" You slur a little, still quite far gone.

"No need to apologize, Y/N." Aleksander's voice rings out from above your head.

"Aleks- I didn't even see you there!" You giggle, hand coming up to trap the sound in your mouth.

He chuckles, laying his hands on your upper arms to steady you.

"You okay there, milaya?

"I'm okay. I'm just, uh…"

"Sloshed." He finishes for you.

"Yeah…"

"The mysterious weekend plans." He teases.

Suddenly a thought brews in your mind and you can only blurt out, "Green is a good color on you!"

Aleksander grins, rubbing your arms and causing you to shiver, his touch electrifying your skin in small sparks.

"You think so?" He drawls.

You nod, eyes locked onto his gorgeous face. Maybe he was a dark prince, something fabled and powerful.

"Well I think lace is a lovely fabric choice for you." He complements, and it takes you a moment to grasp his meaning before your face is heating up, blush spreading.

"I-I-" You stutter as he watches you with gentle amusement.

"Shall I take you back to your friends, Y/N?"

"Please." You reply, realizing the walk might be harder than you realized.

He guides you back, your hand now in the crook of his arm like some kind of Victorian gentleman, before he deposits you in your seat with gentle hands.

Your friends gape at him, and you fail to notice Aleksander's amusement.

"Have a good night." He wishes, and then he's gone, disappeared into the growing crowd.

#aleksander morozova x reader #aleksander morozova #my fics #the darkling x reader #the darkling

[drabbles-of-writing]

Have you made any new aus you want to talk about?

I'm never immune to actor aus for some reason I cannot explain for the life of me. But this is where I am, and I am in a death grip. The Owl House but it's live action acting and the actors have the weirdest connections to other people. Because this is MY silly little au and I make the rules here

Luz has mostly done theater and a small handful of musicals, but she has two film roles where she was a background/minor character. Bit of a jump to go from that to main character, but, hey, the original budget is pretty cheap. Most of the funding went into the magic. She's just happy to be here. May or may not have gotten a genuine crush on the girl she was already pre-scrpited to date.

Eda is where the rest of the funding went. Expensive ass actress quite well-known in the industry, has been acting since she was a little younger than Luz, most known for her roles of chaotic characters. She liked this role, but was mostly just here for the paycheck. Luz didn't have to act very hard to look excited with Eda during shooting, she was thrilled. Eda wound up enjoying her role a lot more than expected.

King is Eda's actual adopted kid, though he's roughly about ten, not eight or nine, and Eda found him at about ate 2-3 just. Roaming around some dumpsters. Technically speaking he doesn't legally exist, but that ain't about to stop her. He wasn't supposed to be on set, but while discussing people to voice act the puppet blended with animation that King is on the show, Eda jokingly asked her kid if he was interested, and turns out he was. He gets along well with Luz and the other younger kid actors.

Belos is acted by a guy just named Philip, who is also very well-known, and is the kind of actor all of your parents/grandparents seem to know, but you've barely heard of, or don't think twice about. He's usually been cast as one of those snooty, uptight academic characters, going from The Handsome Teacher(tm) to The Grouchy Guy(tm) from his earlier years to his current ones. He's used to dealing with teenage actors, but he likes to pretend he isn't. The kind of guy who can almost never get through the first take of pretty much any scene with Hunter without breaking character like "I can't--I'm sorry, we can do that again--are you okay? Are you sure--"

Hunter himself is the adopted older brother of Luz, and has been acting for far less time, since about 13. He's gotten a few school theater plays beforehand, plus a minor one in a short film, but that was about it until then. He skyrocketed VERY quickly because of his ability to act emotional scenes alarmingly well. All of his breakdowns on the show were difficult to get through because there was almost always a moment where someone on set was genuinely concerned something went wrong in the middle of the scene. This is partly why Philip breaks character more often than normal

#the owl house #toh #actor au #asks #luz noceda #eda clawthorne #king clawthorne #king toh #emperor belos #belos #philip wittebane #hunter toh #hunter noceda #acting #everyone jokes about the 'clawthorne-nocedas' nepotism #because theyre like the only ones who have legal family on set #the rest are just friends or other connections #luz vehemently denies it and says they just all fit the role really well (they did) #eda is asked the question in an interview and just grabs the mic up to her face as she stares into the camera like #'and what about it? you think my family is anything but the best youve ever seen?' (they are)

[kidron]

☆After school ─Ryusei, Chifuyu & Baji

─Ryusei, Chifuyu & Baji (platonic)

─Summary: After Chifu worked almost as hard as Baji to help him pass his exams he fell asleep from exhausting on the desk. not taking advantage of it to mess around ? He would never

─Warnings: Nope. Maybe bad english

───────────────────────

Baji was sruggling to study to to pass his exams, because ain't no way he's going to loose all the summer fun in school, he have to pass ! And Chifuyu was there for him, of course.

For Chifuyu's surprise Ryusei was abit calmer than usual, he missed less with him, only a little bit. That bastard would still sometimes walk to the class, one hand in his pocket and the other waving to them asking if they would like to hang out with him and the others and then say "my bad you can't ! Guess i will have fun by myself" which recived him by multpy death threats by Baji, He swore that if he didn't pass his exams the one who would get punched in the face will be Ryusei...

For Ryusei's good luck there's no need for him to run away because the first division leader actually passed !

"God, i would mentally breakdown if i had to spend the summer with that stupid teacher..." Baji said throwing his body on the chair staring the celling from the relife he felt untying his hair keeping to tie between his fingers while his glasse took a place in the middle of the desk, not resking it to fall.

it's like all the pressure surrounding him got released, he can go home and finally sleep with no academic stress. he took a sigh before moving his eyes to his friend who didn't responde, he fell asleep, of course. After all he refused to sleep saying that "i can't rest while Baji-san is working hard".

Baji took another sigh stroking his hair knowing that he have to carry him all the way home now, even though every damn muscle of his is feeling like a plant from the lack of sleep, he can't just leave him here for hours untill he wakes up, Chifuyu worked hard to help him and deserves to rest. Baji stood up lazily, very slow like a sloth "i shall also buy Biang Yaksuba to share together".

"together without me ? Aww you could never make it without my help yet you're not including me to celebrate ?" Baji didn't need to turn his head back to find out who that voice belonged to, however he did, but only to glare at the owner with annoyance. Maybe he's still going to punch him anyway even that he passed.

"You know i was preventing myself from punching people for long time enough, Ryusei" Said Baji as Ryusei walked towards them with hand in his pockets, isn't he taking his words seriously ? "now that you're all free wanna go hang out for real this time ?" he can't do anything while they're in school anyway.

"No. But if you want to be usefull for once carry Chifuyu home." Ryusei stared at the blonde for seconds, he was in deep sleep, deep enough that he wouldn't wake up easly, interesting.

Ryusei moved his hand in his pocket reaching for something, a black marker, does he usually walk around with markers in his pockets ? although Baji knew what's coming next he was to tired to deal with it so he sighed, again.

"What's up with you sighing every minute, Keisuki-kun ?" Ryusei said removing the pen cap reaching to put the first line on Chifuyu's face "I want to punch somone so bad yet i'm too exhausted to move a muscle" Baji responded, "i'm glad to see you this way ! Aha... i mean the 'i want to punch someome' and not the exhausted way" Ryusei commented making fun of him, he was testing how far Baji can take before beating him up for sure.

It's a wrestling fight between Baji's desire to beat Ryusei up VS. His lack of energy.

"Couldn't say the same thing about you, you're worried about Yotsuya kaiden alot" Ryusei didn't respond to Baji's words, nor stopped working. even if he was busy studying bacause of his lack of academic intelligence, he need no time to be able to spot every single detail and analyse it, and Ryusei is smart enough too to be aware he won't ever be able to hide things from Baji Keisuke.

At the silent respond he kept going "Worry as much as you like, i don't give a damn, Toman and the division will-" Baji didn't finish his words as Ryusei rushed to him grabbing his wrist, as a "Huh ?!" Escaped his mouth he didn't have time to ask, Ryusei took the rubber hair tie hanging on his fingers "don't mind me ! It just would be extra funny and stupid on him !!" He said trying not giggle so that the sleepy Chifuyu won't woke up before finishing his art project.

Baji didn't response; there was no point; Ryusei was always the type to cover his feelings no matter what, avoiding involving others with his problems, even if it wss a simple thing such as the Toman uniform button because of his fights, it always made Baji in a need to look after him to make sure he's doing alright. His thoughts were cut when Chifuyu started moving, slowly waking up just after Ryuesi hid the marker in the perfect timing.

"Mhmh... sorry Baji-san i fell asleep... thank you for waiting for me" said rubbing his eyes and then turned to the side looking at the figure standing infront of him with an innocent smile, way too innocent for someone like Sato Ryusei.

"what are you doing standing here ?" Chifuyu asked strictly; not only because of the feeling that Ryusei was up to something, but also because he's mad at him for being a jerk "Oh did i wake you up ? My bad, Chifuyu~ i just thought of carrying you home since Keisuke-kun seemed tired" Ryusei explained again with this suspecious innocent smile while patting Chifuyu's head "Thank you for your hard work"

Usually Chifuyu would slap his hand away; he only does this when making fun of him, but this time he was confused because Ryu didn't make fun of him.

It's one of two options, he's being polite because he's afraid of Baji-san' death threats, or he's actually being nice for once, this one sounds like a joke.

Or maybe...

it caught Chifuyu's attention that he couldn't feel his bangs on his forhead after reaching his hand to touch it he yelled "YOU BASTARD MISSED WITH MY HAIR AGAIN !!" Ryusei hand was still in air at how fast Chifuyu ran towards the mirror in the hallway to see his "art work".

"Gah ! My face !! Ryusei i swear once i lay my hands on you you're dead !!" Ryusei was holding his stomach running away from Chifuyu in the class and hallways, all this laughs are slowing him down and taking his breaths Chifuyu may actually reach him.

"You look better with this pineapple hairstyle though !" Indeed it was better for his sigh and more comfortable, he may pull it up like this way when taking baths or reading manga.

Baji was done with screaming and running around that even the few students and teachers left in school went out to check if there's another fight so Baji immediately hit both of them on the head the moment they ran infront of him.

"You two don't yell at school !" Baji yelled even louder himself while both held their heads in pain "let's go to my house or pick up fights with some idiots in our way" he said walking away expecting them to follow, which Chifuyu did immediately even if the hit was still painfull "yes Baji-san !!" Chearfully with a bright smile not bothered at all of being hit, just to be followed by Ryusei who stroked the hit area abit "fine fine".

──────────────────────

"Oh and Ryusei, since you need to be reminded of that over and over again, the first division of Tokyo Manji is always by your side"

He belives that it's true, that's what worries him.

#platonic fanfiction #letter from keisuke baji #baji keisuke #sato ryusei #satou ryusei #chifuyu matsuno #platonic relationships #platonic #bajifuyu #ryufuyu #fanfic #tokyo revengers #oneshot #I really want to write something that includes Kazutora and Kojiro with but they didn't intract #And i don't like writing an AU #Please let Kojiro be happy Wakui #headcanon #hcs #baji headcanons

[klaustheclock]

Ok I'm sorry to like the 1 person reading this at the moment but-

Why do people think being the favorite and golden child is a good thing?

Because I'm sorry but its the worst thing ever.

Ok I'm sorry I not trying to sound rude or inconsiderate or selfish but it's really bad and I just need to rant my heart out.

Also my situation is a little different because I got really old parents(I'm talking in their 50s).

Ok so let's start with being the "favorite child". Also I'm sorry to all the people who had to deal with worst favoritism and being the unloved child. Ok so I know being the favorite sounds amazing on surface value but it's not. I'm the youngest and you probably expect me to be a spoiled brat who gets everything and narcissistic because I'm the "favorite". But that's far from the truth. I don't get everything I want, I have extremely low self esteem and I'm not a spoiled brat. I honestly used to this that all the stereo types about favored and gifted children were true but now I realize that for me and some others it's not. I used to beat myself up for these things and tbh I still do even though I've come to terms with the fact that there not true.

This is probably due to my siblings. I have two older sisters, both of which are in high school. Because my parents favor me more I have a strained relationship with them(if you can even call it that). There both incredibly bitchy to me and shit. There rude and they criticize my every more. They beat me down whenever they get a chance, even if I'm already at rock bottom. This is probably because they think they have to make me suffer because of our parents. Which isn't fair at all. I can’t even talk to them about my feelings because they'll use it against me or they just call me sensitive and won't give two fucks. They talk to eachother about there feelings and experiences all the time and just disclude me. They also talk about me behind my back and even to our parents. At first when I was younger I thought it was just them joking around with me but I realized when I got older that it wasn't. However my parents "favor" isn't even really big. Our parents still buy then what they want despite saying they wouldn’t. So they beg and get a lot of things but the moment I ask for a book or something there mad at me and calling me a spoiled brat. Which leads me to my next point.

Being the golden/gifted child

If I had a dollar for everytime I had a mental breakdown because of my grades I'd be a million air.

So I have something called academic validation. Meaning that my self worth is solely dependent on my grades. I was always a nerd but this is just to much. My oldest sister used to be in the same role but the pressure was lighter. So when she got into high school she said fuck school and started skipping classes and shit. This was bad but it didn't help that my brother who is 21 now did the same thing but worse. It started with my brother so our parents started to put pressure on my oldest sister and me, the youngest. They said the the middle child grades were fine even though they were lower the both of ours. We were always straight A students but then my sister decided she didn't care anymore that left all the pressure on me. I was only in 5th grade at the time so it was a lot on me. When I talked to my sister about it all she said was "don't care, deal with it". And so I did.

All my middle school years was just academics. I went to a Ib league school so the work was harder than your average American school. I sill managed to keep all A's but I wasn't happy at all. I never got anything for my academics anyway. My parents just brushed it off and said, "Your smart you should get these grades anyway. We shouldn't have to be expected to give you something." All I asked for was a good job or something like that. That night I broke down completely. Then I finally realized that no matter what I do ill never be good enough for anybody. I had no good traits about me. I hear no talent, I wasn't pretty, and I wasn't really a fun person to be around. I over thought everything I did so whenever we played games I couldn't deal with the pressure. Once one of my friends told me "your the only person who I know can make the game hangman unfun." It was supposed to be a joke and we laughed it off but that made me want to cry. That day i realized from another friend that we kinda grew up to fast. Looking at it now I didn’t really have a child hood. I was always fored to play catch up with my older siblings. I always had to be on par with them to even be looked at as a human being.

I was always the one people looked for help to with was good(I love helping people) but it kinda became overwhelming. I kinda just hide it with jokes about myself. I'm the therapist friend but yet I can't tell people my feelings. I can’t talk to my parents, my sisters, my friends, and I don't have a lover. They'll either just brush it off or not care at all. It hurts a lot. This leads me to often be confined and left alone with my emotions.

Which leads to me today. The me currently writing this long ass Ted talk. I have terrible anxiety and zero self worth and I feel the need to be validated with my grades and by the people around me. But even with all this I still feel empty. Like it's just hard. I turn to books and history to try and distract me but that can only take you so far. Also I find myself comparing myself to my friends because my parents always compared me to my siblings. I feel the emine pressure to fit into the mold my teachers, friends, and parents think I am and want. I work as hard as I can but it feels like I always come short.

I apologize sincerely if this comes off as selfish or narcissistic.

I wanna try and over come this and gain confidence in myself but it seems impossible. I'm still only in the 8th grade so maybe it'll finally dawn on me. It's just wherever I try to reach out for help I feel so selfish and entitled. It's like a voice in the back of your mind telling you "People deal with so much worse than this and you have the audacity to cry at these things? You shouldn't feel this way just suck it up. Your just weak, nothings wrong with you."

Thank you for listening to my rant, I apologize for wasting your time.

#i made this instead of sleeping #small rant #long reads #unpopular take #im so tired #im sorry #academic validation #i probably need therapy #gifted kid problems #gifted kid burnout

[graylinesspam]

It's hard to be a kid that asks for help.

When I was in elementary school I was struggling with ADHD and isolation from my peers. It was nearly impossible for me to stay on task. I spent most of my day talking to myself out loud. Of course, my teacher found this disruptive and sent many warnings home to my parents that I was completely unable to stop interrupting class and that I needed to be disciplined. My mother tried many punishments to curb my behavior. I was grounded, screamed at, held in lunch detention, sat out at recess. I spent a year getting spanked every single day when I came home. At her wits end my mother threatened to come into school with me every day until I learned to act right. She had a whole speech about doing her hair up in curlers and dressing in a robe and slippers in order to humiliate me in front of my peers, who she knew I was already ostracized from. She said i would have to sit at a desk with her alone and away from my classmates as if that were a threat. When she asked me if I would like that I agreed immediately. i knew with my mom there she'd be able to help me with the work I struggled with, she'd be able to keep me focused and my teacher would never yell at me in front of the class again if my mom were there.

She did not in fact come to school with me. When I started talking about how excited I was about the idea she only became quiet and didn't speak for the rest of the car ride. Over the next several weeks as I continued to struggle I asked her several times to come to school and help me, she only told me that she didn't have time.

Eventually, I figured out that if I behaved badly enough I would be sent to ISS in the library, where I had access to all the textbooks I needed and I could work at my own pace with fewer distractions. This worked for a year until eventually they figured out that i was getting in trouble on purpose and banned me from ISS.

When I was in the fifth grade I had an A in every class except math, which I was constantly struggling to pass. I had several meetings with the leaders of the gifted and talented program who were trying to figure out why I had such a low grade in only 1 class. They tried all sorts of incentives to get me to bring my grade up, they offered to let me join the program if i could get all As. They offered me access to the higher reading level books in the library. They offered to let me participate in some Academic competitions and the rewards I'd get if we won. They even let me come to a handful of the fun "smart kid" English classes with floor discussions and poetry readings. They did not offer me any tutoring. When my grade did not go up they gradually lost interest in me. I was so disappointed that my parent came up to the school to find out what happened and they were informed that since my grades did not qualify me they would pay tuition instead. I was never admitted to the program.

Because of that incident and the introduction of Division into my math coursework, I had a series of breakdowns that led to me being put in a troubled kid therapy program. part of the program was supposed to be that I could leave class anytime I felt I was on the verge of having a meltdown and go to the counselor's office instead. I was diligent in following the guidelines, I took my work with me down to the office and sat alone to do my work, occasionally asking the counselor for help with the work. I had no more breakdowns after I was given a medium to regulate myself with. And because of that the "privilege" was taken away from me for abusing it. when I "clearly didn't need it."

I spent all of middle school in and out of similar programs all offering to help me deal with my feelings but none of them benefiting me academically. On two separate occasions, I asked to join the tutoring programs or the programs for kids that struggled academically. I was either outright declined or they administered a written test to see if i qualified and I didn't score low enough.

Despite advocating for myself constantly every single person I spoke to was convinced that it was an emotional problem and not an academic problem. Counselors always liked to ask me what they could do to help me help myself and I was adamant about receiving one on one tutoring for math. The ones that didn't immediately shut me down and kick me out spent the whole meeting discussing me taking AP classes in the subjects I was excelling in instead of addressing my problems with math; as if that would make up my grade average. Every meeting was structured as a punishment and when i tried to receive actual support i was iced out.

When I did my own research and realized that I likely had Dyscalculia I was told that i needed to get diagnosed in order to receive any accommodations. supposedly there was a woman who worked at the school that could get me signed up for and administer the test. She had a corner office upstairs, I know it well because i visited so many times. I went everyday for the first month. Then sporadically through out the rest of the year. I received conflicting information about her schedule but no matter when i showed up the office was always locked. I left my information with every councilor, with the teachers in the neighboring rooms, and taped to the office door. To this day i do not believe that woman actually existed.

My last year of highschool I was facing the possibility of not graduating despite the fact that I had Exceptional grades other than math and that I only really needed to take math classes for my last year since i had all other relevant credits. I was finally admitted into the credit recovery course and thankfully met the only math teacher in my life that ever gave a fuck about me. I scored high enough in my classes that year to graduate but i still failed the math portion of the SATs as i did every years. The madness did not stop once i got to college because i was barred from taking any math courses until i could retake and pass the SATs.

I searched high and low for a tutor that would take an adult clients looking for help with SAT prep. because of the area i live in i have found obsoletely no one. all available programs within two hours of where I live are for children. I've been told I should have asked for help sooner.

So if you're a kid that thinks that no one is trying to help you they just want you to stop being a problem...you're probably right.

And anyone who is demoralized now because you think you should have advocated for yourself more instead of wallowing in your own missery through your teenhood. I promise you us overachieving loud annoying know it all kids aren't doing any better. No one was rooting for us either.

#ADHD #autism #neurodivergent #teenhood #dyscalculia #dyslexia #anxiety #social anxiety #mental illness #learning disorder