#I know bad grades doesn’t equal a bad person the mere thought of it is ridiculously stupid

[oasisofgalaxies]

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[lizbotw]

it’s only sharing a disgustingly sweet milkshake at the local college town diner after both of your evening classes that suna graciously provides the answers to the math homework.

the spongy pencil eraser is easy for you to sink your teeth into as you puzzle over his handwriting. “you know,” you mumble around the nib, trying to figure out if that’s a 5 or a 6, “i never know why you do this to me every week.” this time the drink with two plastic straws floating in an unhealthy heaping of whip cream is a syrupy strawberry flavor.

rintarou tips forward to sip at one of them and in your peripheral, chunky pink-coated fruit pieces travel up the clear tube and disappear between his lips. he releases the straw with an annoying ah that makes you frown, even if you weren’t concentrating in the first place. “aw, don’t tell me you don’t like hanging out with me.” he feigns hurt.

a well placed sip of your own allows you to avoid having to answer that—you have a personal rule of never being sappy in the presence of calculus. if you didn’t like him, suna knows you wouldn’t be hanging out with him—there are just some things you can’t do, even if it’s for the sake of your grade. none of this has to be said out loud of course, but he decides to be annoying and ask anyway.

actually—well... maybe hanging out is... not exactly how this appears to bystanders.

sharing a drink like this, you two probably look more like a couple on a (terribly cheap) afternoon date, rather than two broke college students that split meals to save money and believe that sharing answers for homework isn’t cheating, it’s collaboration.

ha, as if it would ever be different—things like the former never come true. maybe in movies, but that’s about where the line is drawn.

as if he knows what you’re thinking, suna raises an eyebrow at you over the glass, a smile playing on his lips—the same stupid look he always gives you. it feels particularly worse this evening.

it’s hard to avoid eye contact with him mere inches away, but you manage when a car painted a very interesting shade of red rumbles past the fingerprint covered window. you’re grateful for the distraction.

the subject changes when you realize suna has terrible taste when it comes to ordering milkshakes. “what flavor is this?” you spit out the word as though the very concept of calling this a real flavor is more disgusting than the drink itself, smacking your lips and screwing up your face at the excessively saccharine, artificial strawberry aftertaste.

this is no ordinary strawberry milkshake. no, this is a so-bad-only-suna-rintarou-would-order-something-this-horrible-(and-not-necessarily-on-purpose-either) strawberry milkshake.

“valentine’s valor,” he states matter-of-factly like those words mean anything to you. you stare at him until he elaborates. “their valentine’s special,” he clarifies and is gifted with a sarcastic thumbs-up from you in thanks—it is pointedly ignored and suna slings an arm over back of his seat. “dunno the exact flavor though. forgot.”

it tastes like the embodiment of pink, you decide. valentine’s valor. what a stupid name. there are a million and one better words that start with v... you can name at least five with a little thinking. you should ask them to hire you as part of their marketing team, you decide.

maybe it’s fitting title though. you certainly need valor to even think about taking another sip of that... concoction—which you do because you are obsessed with getting your money’s worth.

“valentine’s day was half a week ago?” your mental calendar helpfully supplies.

the clatter of pans in the back kitchen somehow mingles charmingly with the way rintarou throws his head back to laugh—a scene straight out of a movie really. you decide you hate him in the moment. “right you are. want a prize?” ugh. you stick your tongue out at his tone.

great. as if to add insult to injury, of course you’re sharing an out-of-date love holiday special with suna of all people. valentine’s was four days ago and this is where you are on a thursday night. the sticky upholstery of the booth seat, ripped and fraying at the corners, squeaks and groans and attaches itself to the fabric of your jeans as you shift around, suddenly hot. what a strange situation to be in, you think. this has to be a metaphor for life—then again, you’d been thinking this whole... thing has been a metaphor anyway.

yup, ever since suna sat next to you in a calculus II lecture all those fated months ago and took pity on how much you fucking sucked at math, up until the present where he takes slightly less pity on you but does enjoy emptying your dorm mini-fridge and making you pay for his milkshakes—all of it. this entire thing with him. one big stupid metaphor.

the specifics of how you came to have a routine like this are certainly murky, but two things are for certain—one, your calculus grade is certainly a lot better than it would have been otherwise, and two, you have one friend more than you did at the start of the school year. (that last one is kind of a big deal, you think. the college social scene is brutal. the word friend has started to become more disappointing than exhilarating lately though.)

rin reaches to your left to pick at the fries you’d ordered as a side—you’ve learned not to try and stop him. “also,” he adds, mouth full, “you’re totally getting me a new pencil after this.” yes, true, the pencil you’re currently leaving frustrated teeth marks all over isn’t yours. very easy to forget in the moment. you’ve probably destroyed 15 of his pencils by now for the 15 weeks of the last semester—only 7 so far for the current one. you do the mental math.

instead of drawing in the sharp lines of the differential equation that should be going in the question box, you lightly trace in the curves of a 2 and then another one next to it in the corner of the worksheet, graphite underlining them both in one swoop. the horribly thin paper of the school library’s printer is scratchy as you write but soon you flip the pencil over and under your fingers to tap the eraser (that has seen better days) just below what you wrote. “this is pencil number 22.”

suna leans over to look at the number as if you hadn’t just told him what it said. what an idiot. “glad you’re keeping count.” he settles back into his seat. “when can i expect my reimbursement?”

“you’re funny,” you say, without a hint of humor in your voice. the pretty 22 you had written now has flower petals growing off of the sides as you get distracted doodling along the edges of your work. it’s quiet for a moment as he watches you, or maybe as he takes the chance while you’re distracted to shove more french fries down his throat—either option is plausible and you don’t lift your eyes to check.

something occurs to you.

“rin.” you take an extended pause in between the words as you continue drawing, just to annoy him. you don’t continue speaking until he grumbles in acknowledgment (you try to hide your smile). “do you ever doodle in your notebooks?” now that you thought about it, suna was surprisingly pretty straight-laced when it came to class—you couldn’t ever recall him ever slacking off to the degree that meant his pages were filled with hearts and stars and flowers and suns and atomically inaccurate animals and tiny people in different colored ink. your work was always certainly the more vibrant out of the two (perhaps that could explain your grades and how you understand like... nothing in your lectures, but you decide correlation does not equal causation).

“waste of time,” he says around another mouthful of fries, another one already halfway there to his mouth.

suna is also surprisingly negative at times—but the blue book flipped open to his homework says maybe he’s just a liar though. you squint at it.

“it’s still pretty early but we probably should get out of here soon,” suna says, pulling his phone out from his pocket to check the time and leaning his elbows on the table. “i’ll walk you back. your roomie doesn’t leave the gym until 9—before you ask, yes i’ve been keeping track. it’s not stalking if it’s for my own sake.”—rin is, of course, referring to the long standing rivalry between him and your (very nice, might you add) roommate you don’t really understand but which has cumulated in him deciding he would avoid them as much as humanly possible purely out of spite. (“the only person i like in dorm 302 is you,” he’d told you one time and the throwaway sentence maybe made your heart flutter more than it probably should’ve.)

the bell above the front door jingles behind you as another patron enters. rin glances up at the sound and then returns to his phone with a bored bat of his eyes, probably scrolling through twitter or replying to texts, and picking at his teeth with a toothpick (where did he even get that?).

you try to get back to work (copying) but something in your gut tells you there’s more to his notebook than the messy handwriting and crossed out words that meet the eye.

with suna distracted, you take the chance to carefully slide the book towards you and then, in a single quick swipe, pull it into your lap under the table, already leafing to the back pages—everyone knows that’s where the real secrets are—not sure what to expect. a flash of color makes you pause and you flip back to a page that has the corner folded into a tiny, crisp triangle.

whatever you were thinking suna had stashed in the back of his calculus notebook certainly does not match up with what’s staring you in the face currently. sparkly, gel-inked hearts in neon colors glitter under the fluorescent overheads. in each of them, written in capital letters neater than you thought possible for suna, is your initials, a small plus sign in the middle, and then S.R. (for none other than suna rinatoru) next to it. it instantly makes sense to you. “rin, what the fuck.” one side of the book dangles from your hand, pages fluttering, and you hold it up for him to see, other hand flying to cover your mouth because you don’t know whether to laugh or pretend to be mortified or what.

it’s very amusing to watch how suna goes from a disinterested stare, to widened eyes, to reaching over the heaps of school supplies to attempt to grab the book from you, frantic. you hold it just out of reach. “what are you—” an old lady at a table shushes him when he half-screams. “—give that back,” suna whisper-yells instead in the greatest verbal equivalent of tiny caps you’ve ever heard.

“not a chance.”

he looks like he wants to lunge across the table and pry his prized possession from your meddling hands, but also has half the mind not to make a scene. getting kicked out and then subsequently banned from his favorite diner all on a noise complaint and disorderly conduct accusation was not ideal.

you hum, flip back to your place, and observe the drawings covering the lined pages. you shoot him a venomous smirk over the edge of the cover, one that’s more theatrics than anything, and say with all the satisfaction of someone who knows they have all the power, “oh, this is gold.” he deflates and you feel grateful he doesn’t see right through your facade because oh man are you sweating inside right now. what the fuck? no way suna rintarou is drawing little hearts with both of your initials in it like a lovesick middle schooler. no fucking way. you almost want to tell him that you did the same thing once when the thoughts about him had gotten especially bad (you felt guilty afterwards though, thinking you never had a chance with him, but... now... if he’s doing the same—well, that kind of changes everything).

suna is utterly defeated you think—doesn’t even try to defend himself, just slumps in his seat with a groan. you at least expected a “i can explain!” from him, a last attempt at dignity, not the resigned “i’m never going to live this down, am i?” he mumbles after a few seconds. well, either works for you.

“nope,” you quip, maybe a little too cheerfully because the response you receive is a distressed wail and him banging his head against the table. the old lady shushes him again. you chuckle at that (it feels a little wobbly though because once again, freaking out here) and flip the page. you stop.

this one has similar perfect little hearts drawn all over it, but there are other things. cute, standard shaky drawings of misshapen dogs and volleyballs and other things you never thought suna would take it upon himself to create but all of which make sense are there. but there’s something else. little scribbles in the corners with your last name swapped with his and even him trying out his name with your last one—all of them are scratched out but not so much you can’t read them. a list on the right in a very tiny font that makes you think he was embarrassed even penning the words is titled “date ideas?” (the question mark is in red and the dot is a heart) and has several popular spots around town written down in the local lingo of unofficial names for them.

“listen... please let’s forget about this.” rin’s voice is muffled and he’s still faceplanted. “it’s fine if you don’t... you know... yeah.” if you don’t feel that way, he means. true, the doodles were a pretty good indication of his feelings.

what to do...

well... you take pity on him, let your lips upturn and your eyes soften to reflect the sentiment, and shut the book with a quiet thud. you slide it back across the table from where it came and back to him silently. you give it a resounding pat when suna peeks up at you, expression saying it all—he was so going to get you back for this. you stick your tongue out—acceptance of the challenge. and just like that, you’re friends again—maybe that’s what’s so great about suna.

as you get ready to leave and slowly begin the trek back to the dorm buildings with him, street lamps glimmering a pasty yellow, there’s no awkward tension, no need to ask questions, no verbal wonderings about what ifs between you two. it’s just joking and shoving each other around and challenges to see who can run to the next tree the fastest in the middle of the chilly february night. you know, maybe for now you’ll keep your own thoughts a secret.

[rax-writes]

Romeo & Juliet

Fandom:  Stranger Things Pairing:  Steve Harrington x Reader Warnings:  None Notes:  Shoutout to my dear friend @mxgyver​ for the inspiration ♥

You had been best friends with Steve Harrington since you’d arrived at Hawkins Elementary in the fifth grade. A kid named Kevin had been bullying him on the playground, and although Steve had been doing his best to ignore the asshole, you found yourself incapable of doing the same. Kevin had intentionally screwed up the science project you’d been working that morning, purely because he thought it’d be funny to torment the new kid, and in the moment, you were so upset that you said nothing. The anger set in after he’d already walked off, laughing to his buddies about what he’d done. So, seeing him bully another innocent person made your blood boil, and before you knew it, you were chucking the basketball in your hands as hard as you could at the back of Kevin’s head.

Kevin flew forward from the unexpected impact, landing flat on his chest on the cement, which knocked the wind out of him. Steve’s jaw dropped as he looked from Kevin to you, meanwhile the ball rolled back over to you, and you picked it up to tuck it under your arm. When Kevin sat up and spun around to locate the culprit, the agitation on his face turned to fear as he locked eyes with you. Apparently the sheer rage in your 11 year old eyes did the trick to let him know you meant business.

“Look, Kevin, I don’t know you, and you don’t know me. But I do know that you’re just some jerk who thinks it’s fun to be mean to people for no reason. You’re a bully. And one thing you’ll learn about me is that I don’t like bullies. So, you really ought to be nicer to your classmates, or you’ll have me to deal with.”

The boy hesitated a moment, before he realized his friends were watching him, obviously expecting him to retaliate. He stood, then crossed his arms as he sneered at you, “Oh yeah? And what are you going to do about it?”

Whack!

The basketball hit Kevin square in the nose as he stumbled backwards, hands covering his face as he cried out in pain.

“That. That’s what I’m going to do about it.”

“You’re crazy!” Kevin yelled over his shoulder, as he ran off, his friends close behind.

“Yeah, and don’t you dare tattle on me, or a bloody nose of yours will be the least of your concerns!” you hollered, watching them retreat to the other side of the playground.

“Thanks for that,” Steve piped up then, and his tone seemed to be a mix of gratitude and bewilderment.

Shrugging, you explained, “Honestly, I mostly did it because he ruined my science project this morning. But also because I do really hate bullies.”

“Whatever the reason, I appreciate it,” Steve said with a chuckle. “Well, you’re obviously pretty good with a basketball. Wanna play HORSE?”

----------

That was 7 years ago, and Steve had been your best friend ever since. All through the remainder of elementary, middle school, and high school, the two of you had been inseparable. The two of you had shared a ton of fun and crazy adventures, as well as some hard times, and you were there for each other through it all. He had shown up on your doorstep 20 minutes after you called and told him about your boyfriend cheating on you, with a tub of ice cream in one hand and a Disney movie VHS in the other. Similarly, you had been there for him about three months ago, when Nancy Wheeler broke his heart.

You’d have never admitted it, but as you got older, you slowly began to realize that you liked him as more than a friend.

For years, you had pushed those feelings to the back of your mind. It didn’t matter how much you liked him; keeping Steve as your best friend was your top priority. You wouldn’t risk losing that. But, on one fateful evening, you found that you could no longer ignore how in love with him you’d fallen.

Your teacher was making your class do a miniature version of Romeo and Juliet as a senior project. Everyone had voted you and Steve as the leads, because you had such good chemistry – despite the fact that you’d spent ages telling people that you were just friends. And of course, the teacher wanted to include the scene where Romeo and Juliet kiss. You and Steve had both tried to talk her out of it, but she wouldn’t budge. So, that’s what led to your current situation: sitting in Steve’s living room on a Wednesday night, a short distance separating you on the couch, practicing your lines.

“O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do. They pray; grant thou, lest faith turn to despair,” Steve recited, then ran a hand over his face. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

“Hell if I know,” you muttered, sounding equally as confused as him, before continuing. “Saints do not move, though grant for prayers’ sake.”

“Then move not, while my prayer’s effect I take,” Steve said, then paused and cleared his throat. “And, uh… this is the part where they kiss.”

You could feel his eyes on you, but you kept your eyes glued to the script in your lap, not wanting to meet his gaze.

“Yep… so it is.”

“Do you… should we...?” Steve trailed off, then exhaled slowly, as if calming himself. “We could practice that part too… if you wanted?”

You looked up at him with wide eyes, and he backpedaled immediately.

“Actually, that’s a bad idea. That would be so weird. I honestly don’t even know why I said that. Forget this ever happened,” he rambled, waving a hand in the air exasperatedly.

“I mean…” you began softly, still looking at him despite the fact that he was now staring at the floor. “Ms. Myer made it clear that she wants us to stay true to the script. So we might as well get it over with now, rather than in front of the whole class.”

Steve glanced at you, and the two of you shared a few moments of eye contact before he exhaled again.

“No, yeah, you’re right. We should totally get it over with now. After all, it’s just for the play, right?” Steve said, with feigned nonchalance, and you nodded.

“Exactly! So we should just kiss now, rather than kiss for the first time in front of the entire class. But it’s totally not weird at all, since it’s just for the play. Obviously doesn’t change the fact that we’re friends.”

“Best friends!” Steve agreed earnestly, then ran a hand through his hair as he took a deep breath. “Alright, so, take two…. Then move not, while my prayer’s effect I take.”

Your eyes had been on your script when you felt his gentle fingers tilt your chin up to look at him. The two of you stared into one another’s eyes for a few moments, before Steve leaned in and pressed his lips against yours.

It was beyond everything you’d ever dreamed of – and you had definitely dreamed about it on more than one occasion. His lips were soft and sweet, and you instinctively leaned into him. But, far too soon for your liking, Steve pulled away, although only slightly. His face remained mere inches from yours, as he stared at you with an expression you couldn’t read.

“Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged,” he whispered, after a quick glance at the paper in his hands.

“Then have my lips the sin that they have took,” you responded breathlessly.

“Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged,” Steve responded, his voice still soft, before looking down at your lips. “Give me my sin again.”

You met his lips without hesitation as he bent down to kiss you once more, and his hand moved from your chin to cradle the back of your head, fingers burying themselves in your hair. Steve dropped the script to the floor, and moved his newly-freed hand to rest on your waist, as your own hands clutched the front of his shirt. The whole thing felt like a daydream, and in the moment, a white-knuckle grip on his shirt served as a way to ground yourself, a reminder that this was actually happening.

The kiss lasted far longer this time, his lips moving slowly and methodically against yours. After what felt like an eternity, you both broke the kiss to catch your breaths, and you realized then that your back was now against the couch and he was leaned over you, enveloping you in his embrace.

Steve rested his forehead against yours, breathing heavily – both from how long the kiss had lasted, and from the adrenaline of the fact that he’d just made out with his best friend.

“God, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Steve whispered, then leaned back to get a better look at you. You smiled warmly at him.

“Ditto.”

“Why didn’t you then?!” Steve asked, surprised as a grin formed on his lips.

“I could ask you the same thing!” you retorted, laughing.

“Fair enough,” he conceded, matching your laugh. As your laughter faded, he grew more serious, although he still wore a small smile. “Truth is, I’ve been in love with you since the day I met you. At the time, I didn’t really have any close friends, so I just really wanted to be friends with you. Plus, I thought you were super cool, so I felt like you were out of my league,  ya know, romantically.”

“You thought I was cool?” you asked with a chuckle.

“Of course I did! You were the first person to ever stand up to Kevin Matthews, and you did it on your fourth day at our school!”

The two of you shared more laughter, before he added, “Obviously, now I know you’re actually a giant nerd, so the coolness has worn off.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Anytime,” Steve replied, then scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “So, I guess you kind of feel the same way then, huh?”

“I suppose,” you teased, and he smiled. “I didn’t fall for you when I first met you, though. I don’t know exactly when I did…. I think it was freshman year. I remember watching your first baseball game of the season, and thinking you looked really hot in the uniform, especially when you ran over to me in the bleachers, all excited after you’d hit a home run. You were a little sweaty and your hair was messy and god, you looked so good. Then, a week or two later, I watched you flirt with some girl, and I remember getting really mad about it but couldn’t understand why. It took me like three days to realize it was jealousy, and that I’d caught feelings for you. The feelings only got stronger over time, and eventually, I realized I was in love with you. But I was too scared of losing you as a friend to do anything about it.”

“The toughest girl I know, scared of losing me?” Steve quipped, placing his hand on his chest and giving you an exaggeratedly shocked look. You rolled your eyes.

“Only because I love you, smartass.”

Steve grinned brightly, then resumed his previous position, looming over you on the couch as his arm wrapped around your shoulders and the other rested on your waist once again. His lips hovered over yours before he said, “I love you, too,” and kissed you.

The two of you spent the rest of the night just like that: making out on the couch, making up for lost time, the play now long forgotten.

[starkie-md]

@were-all-high here’s a little response I wanted to add:

Let’s break down capitalism and why it doesn’t work, in a classroom setting. Say there are 5 people, these 5 people all take the same first test. One scores a 95 and the others score a 90, 80, 30 and 70.

On the next test, the person who got the highest grade no longer has to study or do any work, instead they “own” the second test.

Now the other students take their second test and score the same they got on the first test only this time, they each get 10%. Every point they made over 10% goes to their classmate who did nothing, giving that classmate a 230%.

With such a large margin, that classmate owns the next test, and every test after that. Capitalism doesn’t work.

Okay, so now let’s apply this to the real world.

The test is the means of productions. It’s what’s being used by workers to create value. In real life this could be anything from a chefs pan or to a gold mine used by miners.

Just as those minors find gold to produce value, the students take the test to produce a score.

At first, all the students are on equal ground relating to the test. Someone who is lucky or studies harder ends up scoring higher than others.

However, when the classmate scores the 95 and takes control of the test, suddenly that student is now part of the bourgeois class. Also known as the class that owns the means of production.

With this new ownership, this student no longer has to work to produce value. Instead, they simply own the means of production and take the value produced my their fellow classmates.

The bourgeois class only returns a fraction of this value as a wage for the workers, pocketing the rest of the stolen value as profit for themselves.

We've seen how classroom capitalism will play out, but what about socialist schooling?

Socialism is a political and economic theory of social organization which advocates that the community should own the means of production. In basic terms, socialism is merely democracy in the workplace and economy. So what would this look like in school?

Let's say 5 people take a test, one gets a 100, the others get a 90 an 80 a 70 a 60. Unlike in the capitalist system, there's no owner to steal the value of their labor, instead they decide where it goes as a collective.

The student with the 60 tells the class that they studied hard and just had a bad day. The group deliberates and decides to redistribute 10 points.

Same student continues struggling. the class recognizes they will all be better off if that student can catch up and decide to start a study group.

Instead of competing for the best grade, the students cooperate to lift everyone's grades and overtime the class average rises, benefiting everyone.

Socialism incentivizes cooperation instead of competition and as such our success is linked to those around us. And remember that the choice to help others is democratic so if people would decide to purposely not learn because they know their score would be raised anyways, the classmates could vote to not help them. That’s the benefit of community control, help when it’s deserved. No one should suffer because someone else didn’t work as hard which is why it’s democratic and the students vote. The community holds each other accountable. And if someone decides they don’t want to share, they can leave. The group can always vote to stop providing support if they notice that a person isn’t trying. That’s the benefit of community control of the economy.

And if you still want to say that all socialist countries fail, are you counting socialist states that have been destabilized by coups or other interferences by foreign countries with capitalist interests as failures due to to socialism or capitalism?

Let’s say you say socialism:

How do you feel about the Nordic model? Socialism has provided better health care and far happier citizens, and you might say “wait, no it’s not, it’s capitalist with strong social programs.” So if those social programs clearly work and are far better, they should be adopted.

Also, every time socialism “failed” in Africa, you can find a leader who was killed by the CIA. So if socialism fails every time, then why does the CIA have to kill socialist leaders? Why can’t they just let the country fail? And did socialism fail in Burkina Faso under Sankara?

When there were massive tree planting programs, school building programs and nation wide literacy campaigns? And making huge gains in gender equality? Or what about this? I thought socialism always leads to corruption yet Sankara cut the salaries of government officials, including his own. He banned flying first class, sold all the government Mercedes and he didn’t even use air conditioning. Sankara’s socialism wasn’t flawless, he was bearing dictatorship near the end, but before he became corrupt things were working well. So obviously under Sankara socialism wasn’t failing - which means the CIA and the French had to murder him. They collaborated with his second in command and killed and cut him up into pieces so they could scatter his parts when they were burying him.

Socialism fails every time it’s tried when the CIA murders your leader and cuts him up into little pieces and sometimes socialism in itself just fails sometimes but capitalism has failed far more times.

And if you want to argue about the CIA doing things like this, remember that they’ve admitted it and even declassified files relating to it.

You may want to bring up Venezuela so let me just say this: they put all their eggs in one basket with the oil exportation and more importantly, 155 economic sanctions, not to mention the whole imperialism thing and a dictator was running the country, not a socialist.

And I know transitioning from capitalism to socialism is a huge difference, so instead of completely dropping capitalism and going into socialism at 100%, it could be transitioned into social democracy.

And it’s kinda funny how people always say “we’ve tried communism and socialism and it was bad” but never say “the first few hundred years of capitalism involved literal slavery, so it’s bad”.

I’m not saying that socialism is without its flaws, of course it’s not. But capitalism has been tried, people have starved, died because they couldn’t afford health care, many intelligent people who could change the world will never get a chance because they can’t afford proper education and so much more. Capitalism doesn’t work, and it’s time to try something else until something that does work is found. There isn’t going to be a perfect political state, that’s impossible. Everything will have flaws, but it’s time to find something that doesn’t have as many flaws and isn’t as corrupted.

Do you get why I asked you if you agreed that socialism and communism were bad because a small group of people have majority of the wealth and power on the world? You agreed that that was wrong. I’m so glad you agree because it’s not socialism or communism that a small group of people hold majority of the wealth and power, that’s capitalism. I described capitalism and you agreed with me.

[jimlingss]

Sugar and Coffee [4]

Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 4.5 OR Chapter 5

➜ Words: 4k

➜ Genres: 99.5% Fluff, 0.5% Angst, Pâtisserie school!AU

➜ Summary: It isn't hard to be a pâtisserie chef, but it's not a piece of cake either. It seems like for you in particular, life keeps throwing in one wrench after another. It always finds ways to make your sweets bitter. The cherry on top is Jeon Jungkook — a rival with a sensitive sweet tooth who always finds ways to complain about you.

cr.

You miss Seokjin.   You know that you shouldn’t, but in the middle of the night while you’re unable to sleep, you pick up your phone again. And you send him a text.   2:03 am. Y/N: hey   The bright screen stares back at you, illuminating your face and blinding your vision in the darkness of your quiet dorm room. Your messages are lined up in a row, the same exact text left unanswered. Ones you sent from a week ago to two days ago.   The radio silence makes the realization sink in — he broke it off. Jin really has no plans of communicating with you again, of giving you an explanation other than telling you that it’s run its course and that you’re not the one at fault.   It doesn’t sit well with you, so your thumb moves, quicker than you can list the consequences for. You call his number. It dials. But instead of hearing the tone ring, you hear an automated message.   Seokjin changed his number.   //   It’s morning while on the way to class with you hiding beneath the hood of Jin’s sweater that you end up catching sight of someone familiar walking towards your direction. It’s your only strand of hope, but you step forward before the opportunity is lost. “Hani?”   “Y/N?” Hani stops and greets you with a smile. She’s a friend — well, Seokjin’s friend. But she still regards you with the same warmth as she gave to you for the past two years, albeit the atmosphere is awkward.    The both of you know what happened, know it’s looming over your heads. But no one speaks about it, no one dares to broach the subject. “Hey, how are you?” And her question is asked at a higher pitch, cautious as if you were a wounded animal that she was afraid of scaring.   “I’m...fine, how are you?”   “I’m okay.” Hani nods and gathers the courage to approach the issue that you’re skirting around. “I...heard about what happened. It’s a real shame. I hope you’re holding up well.”   “Trying.” You muster a smile, shrugging your shoulders.   Yet in spite of her friendliness, you can still feel it — the distance.    Like you thought, they sided with him. They’ve chosen him with no plans of getting between you two and involving themselves in the conflict. “Well, I should go. I might be late. I’ll see you around, Y/N.”   You nod and she brushes past you. But then you twist on your heel. “Hani?”   “Yeah?” She spins around.   “Did,” you hesitate, “Jin say anything about me?”   “No, he didn’t,” she says, quietly and sadly.   You bob your head again, meeting her eye. “How is he?”   “He’s okay.”   You wonder what that means — if he never really cared, if he’s already over this. But you’re also glad that he’s okay. You’ll never have any ill wishes against Jin. You still love him.

Jungkook and his friends have a system, if one could call it that — a shitty system of crashing each other’s dorms. Sometimes they’re crowding around Taehyung’s gaming consoles, other times it’s Jimin’s computer. Or Jungkook’s flat screen that he spent his entire summer job’s savings for. Or even going to Hoseok and Yoongi’s apartment to raid the fridge and be as loud as they want without getting noise complaints.   Hoseok and Yoongi didn’t like the dorm life, so they were willing to raise their living expenses and pool their money together for an apartment off campus. And that’s where Jungkook finds himself this evening.   They’re watching a soccer game, but the only person invested is Taehyung who actually knows the teams and who is who. Hoseok is preoccupied pigging out on the snacks, Yoongi sipping his drink, and Jimin is playing a game on his phone.   “Can I ask you something?” Jungkook asks out of the blue, smacking his lips after taking a swig of the beer. He can’t wait till Taehyung gets curious and drinks some — he’d probably gag from the taste.   Yoongi looks up. “What?”   “It’s not about me, but I have a friend of a friend and this friend of theirs was...dumped pretty badly and now they’re depressed and not talking...at all….and they don’t really have friends anymore because all their friends were my friend’s friends, so it really sucks for them.”   “Uh-huh.”   “So what would you hypothetically say to my friend’s friend to make them feel better or like what would you do?”   “Well, for one, I’d take Y/N out,” Hoseok pipes up while chuckling.   Jimin lifts his head and Taehyung looks over. The two of them exchange expressions and burst out laughing. Jungkook sighs in irritation. “Who said this was about Y/N?!”   “We’re not total idiots, dude.” Jimin grins. “Sometimes.”   In the meanwhile, Taehyung leans down to give a punch to Jungkook’s arm and winks. “Trying to slide into her DMs now that she’s single, huh? I see you, Kook. Still got game. Can’t say I’m not impressed. Go get that puss—”   “As if.” Jungkook scoffs. “I just feel bad, alright? Forget I asked. Whatever.”   But Yoongi isn’t ready to drop the subject quite yet. His cat-like eyes narrow in on him as he sips on his drink. He puts the bottle down on the coffee table with a clank. “Since when did you start caring about her?”   “I don’t—”   “You don’t have to get defensive,” Yoongi deadpans boredly. He isn’t that interested, merely stating a fact. “I’m just surprised.”   “She’s going to be my internship partner whether I like it or not in a few months.” The youngest sighs. “I don’t want to make it awkward. And I thought it would be better in the long run if we become friends now. It would be nice to have each other’s backs. Or at least be civil enough where she’s not trying to rip my head off every other second.”   Yoongi appears mildly understanding and nods. “So it’s a diplomatic thing.”   “Yeah.”   “Invite her to our game night,” Hoseok says from the kitchen.   “Don’t do that.” Yoongi scoffs, expression wrinkled like he bit into a lemon. “It’s our thing.”   “Are we ten? Boys only?” Hoseok argues, “We already have our thing every single night anyway. Plus, it might be a nice change since Jungkook always wins.”   “Fine.” He rolls his eyes. “Do whatever you want.”   “That actually sounds kind of fun!” Taehyung grins, tearing his eyes away from the soccer game. Jungkook’s amazed that he had half a mind to pay attention to the conversation. “But I wonder if Y/N is any good at board games or if she even plays.”   “Is everyone cool with me asking?” Jungkook looks around — Hoseok and Taehyung are enthusiastic about the prospect while Yoongi is passive aggressive at worst and apathetic at best.   It’s Jimin who looks uncertain.   “She’s….intimidating,” he mutters. “But….I think you’re right. Y/N looks like she’s having a tough time and if we can help, then we should. At least then we know we tried.”   He nods. There’s only one issue left. “I don’t even know if she’ll even accept…”   Knowing you, you might just laugh in his face and then spit at him for even making such a suggestion. Then again, with how you’ve been acting lately, you might just start crying from gratefulness and freak him out. Both scenarios are equally horrible.

The pair of you bake alongside each other as the teacher watches for technique and the order of the procedures done. Jungkook works on the dough while you focus on the custard filling. It’s surprisingly perfect teamwork — you’re in sync with one another and assemble the final cake together.   And when the teacher returns to eat it, he’s astounded that it’s been exactly replicated. From the taste to the presentation.   You leave the room with a ninety percent grade, having absolutely aced the midterm.   “That was pretty good, huh?!” Jungkook grins, putting his hand out. You muster a small smile, and high-five him back.   “Yeah.”   “Man, all our hard work paid off! Did you see the look on Mr. Chu’s face?”   He was over the moon, especially considering that napoleon cake isn’t all that easy to make under strict time constraints. But when Jungkook glances at you, you don’t seem very happy over it. Your eyes are on the floor with your downcast head.   “Hey.” The doe-eyed boy pokes your shoulder until you look up at him. “Do you wanna…”   “Pardon?” Your brows furrow. His voice became so quiet, you couldn’t hear him.   Jungkook clears his throat noisily. “I asked how you were holding up?”   You shrug. “Fine. I don’t know. Do you really want to hear about it?”    You doubt he would trouble himself with your problem, but what catches you off guard is that he stops in the middle of the hallway and nods. You stop with him too. “Sure. Shoot.”   “Really?”   “Yeah, I don’t see why not. It’s not like I have anything better to do.”   You inhale a deep breath. It catches in your throat. Your fist tightens, nails digging into your skin. You swear you wouldn’t cry again. “I texted Jin, even though I know it wasn’t a good idea and yeah, it wasn’t. He changed his number.”   “Oh….shit.”   “And I talked to one of his friends yesterday and she said he’s doing fine. He hasn’t really talked about me. And I don’t really know what any of that means. I haven’t seen him around either. I think he’s avoiding me and I can’t help thinking about what I did that was so wrong for me to be treated this way. I don’t….I don’t think I deserve this.” You exhale a shallow breath, eyes stinging painfully.   Jungkook suddenly plops his hand on the top of your head. You frown at him and he realizes what he’s doing and withdraws his hand awkwardly. “That really...sucks.”   “Yeah, thanks, I know.”   “Sorry, I don’t really know what to say.”   “You don’t have to say anything,” you tell. “Thanks for not laughing, I guess.”   “Why would I laugh?” Jungkook asks, genuinely confused. You shrug.    You always thought Jungkook would be the first to applaud your misery — he’d goad you and cheer you when you’d cry. You guess you severely misjudged him. “Are you free tonight?”   “Why?”   “My friends and I are doing this thing.” Jungkook scratches the back of his neck and diverts his vision elsewhere. “We meet up to play games sometimes. It’s really Taehyung’s thing cause he’s the one who likes games, but if you’re free, then you should come along. We’re in need of new players actually, cause it gets boring when it’s the same people over and over again….”   “Would they mind?”   He swallows hard, taking in the way your head is quirked to the side, your eyes big and glimmering with hope. It seems like you’re taking him up on the offer or at least considering it and he’s pleasantly surprised. “No, no, they wouldn’t.”   “I don’t want to make it weird or anything…”   “No, you wouldn’t. Trust me. They’re just a bunch of lame dorks, and you kind of already know Taehyung and Jimin. They’re nice guys. So if you wanna come, you should. No pressure whatsoever though.”   “Sure.” The corners of your mouth lifts.   “Really?”   “Yeah. That’s….okay, right?”   “Totally. Yep. I’ll text you where and what time.”   You never knew one day you’d be going off campus to some random apartment for a night of game boards, much less with Jeon Jungkook. Part of you is skeptical about his offer, envisioning that he’s catfishing you somehow, that there isn’t actually anything happening and he’ll text you ‘sike’ after making you wait hours.    But then you remind yourself that he hasn’t been exactly an asshole lately and that you’re not in the cruel world of High School anymore. Jungkook would have to be sick to prank you in this state.   You can already hear the boisterous noise on the other side of the door before you even knock. But after some hesitation, the sounds taper off when you do.    The door swings open and Jungkook greets you with his doe eyes and messy dark hair flopping in different directions. He’s in a black shirt and loose, gray sweatpants, casual unlike how he usually dresses for class and the kitchen.   “Hey!” He reaches in to give you a quick hug. You stiffen and he lets go. “Come in!”   “Finally, she’s here!” Hoseok stands from the couch with his beer and moves to the table Taehyung’s setting up.   “Sorry, am I late?”   “Right on time actually,” Jimin says with a gentle smile.   “Beer or cooler or wine?” Yoongi suddenly asks, twisting around from the fridge.   “A-Any.” It’s fast paced, but they’re welcoming. There’s not a moment for awkwardness to settle in. Yoongi comes over with a beer can, tosses it, and you catch it with both hands. “Thanks.”   “We usually start with a game of good ol’ Janga.” Taehyung grins from his spot at the table. “Usually the person who goes before the loser gets to pick the next game, but since you’re our guest of honour, you can pick. There’s a whole shelf of them over there.”   He gestures towards the living room and you head over to look at the boxes that are accumulating. There’s a ton of boxes stack on each other on the shelf — The Game of Life, Risk, Twister, Battleship, Monopoly, Connect Four, Snakes and Ladders, and even CandyLand.   “What’s this?” you ask, pointing at the bottom shelf with a huge bin. There seems to be small bags inside, place mats, and books too.   “It’s stuff for D&D,” Jungkook clarifies with a sigh, popping a can of beer open to drink. “Dungeons and Dragons.”   “Taehyung’s been wanting to get us to play,” Jimin tells with a smile.   “I’m a great DM,” Taehyung chirps, “It would be so much fun, but we don’t really have time for a whole campaign. Otherwise I’d pull together official content and stuff from Unearthed Arcana and run a module from Wizards of the Coast—”   “Alright, nerd.” Yoongi sighs after a swig. “I’m not trying to re-virgin myself and remain abstinent for the rest of my life, alright? You can do that by yourself.”   “Don’t hate on my game, bitch,” Taehyung spits as Jimin and Jungkook laugh. A smile comes to your face and it isn’t one you have to muster for once. “Wait till the day you come to me and ask me advice on what kind of spells a halfling bard should have at level six.”   “Over my dead body.”   “Okay, can we not argue for once? We have a guest.” Hoseok intercepts with his hands out, literally standing between them. “Let’s try to not scare her off?”   You go back to looking, but you can’t seem to decide what game to play. “There’s a lot.”   “It’s not ours,” Yoongi pipes up again, wearing a friendly smile that is more like a smirk. “This is Hoseok and I’s place. Taehyung just always finds a way to put his shit here too.”   “Hey! That’s cause no one else has a big table like this at their dorm, plus my place is too messy to store my precious games there. They’re expensive, you know.”   “All I know is that somehow I always come home to furniture and clothes on my bed that I swear I didn’t purchase….”   “Alright, alright.” Hoseok intervenes for the second time, having enough of this nonsense. “Is the game done being set up or what? Y/N come sit, you can choose the game later.”   You gather around the table with Jungkook beside you. He leans in while the others are figuring out who gets to start and what direction to go in. “Sorry about that.”   “No, it’s okay,” you say and mean it too. “Your friends are a lot of fun.”   Yet the moment the game begins, there’s a shift in the atmosphere. It goes quieter, less fooling around as it intensely dials down. There are half-lidded stares across the table, snarky remarks exchanged. They’re a competitive group and you feel a lot of pressure to perform well.   Jimin seems to go for the easy blocks. Hoseok tries to make it more difficult for the next person. Yoongi is the designated asshole, going for the second top layer while Taehyung argues that it isn’t even allowed. On the other hand, Jungkook somehow flicks the Jenga block with his middle finger and thumb. He’s cocky about his technique, leaning back as his arm drapes over the back of your chair. He runs his tongue on the inside of his cheek with his brow lifted.    You remember why you fucking hated him now. He’s so unbearable sometimes.   “What?” He looks at you when he finds you staring.   You frown at him. And for a second Jungkook gets a glimpse of the bitch he remembers — the one he misses. “Why do you have to be so extra about it? Who are you trying to impress?”   “Right?!” Taehyung stands up and the entire stack of blocks nearly topples over. “I keep trying to tell him that! It’s so goddamn annoying! You won’t even believe it!”   “Watch it,” Hoseok shouts, “You’re going to make it tip over.”   That’s when you become fired up. You’ve never felt this kind of motivation surging between your veins before. But it’s not a thirst to win — it’s a ravenous hunger to beat Jeon Jungkook.   And you do.   After playing to Hoseok’s tactic and being an asshole, you risk it all to remove an important block and it collapses on Jungkook right as he tries to remove another.   Then there are screams — hoots, hollers, like your country won the damn world cup. You stand up and everyone cheers. Hoseok chest bumps you. Taehyung lifts you up and spins you in a circle. Jimin starts to record the moment on his phone and even Yoongi pats you on the back.   “God, why are you guys making such a big deal,” Jungkook moans, still seated at the table, embarrassed from all the teasing.   “Maybe because you’ve never lost anything in your life!” Taehyung laughs in his face, rubbing his loss where it hurts.   “Say something for the camera.” Jimin sticks his phone right between Jungkook’s eyes, and dodges with giggles when Jungkook tries to slap it away.   “Hey, send me that.” Yoongi points. “I’m going to post it on facebook for my grandma to see.”   “Has Jungkook really not lost any game we’ve played before?” Hoseok questions, the realization finally hitting him and the gravity of the situation sinking down onto his shoulders.   “I don’t think so,” Jimin says after sincerely contemplating for a long moment.   “Oh shit. You’re our lucky charm!” Hoseok slings his arm over your shoulder, giving you finger guns and winking.   It’s ridiculous but you’re beginning to believe it too — especially when the game you pick is Uno and it ends up with a similar outcome.   Somehow, someway, Jimin, Taehyung, Hoseok and Yoongi finish their cards and the only people who are left are you and Jungkook. The tensions are high and you see the sweat accumulating at his hairline. It’s apparent that he’s never even been second last in a game before.   You���re so close to victory, you can taste it. You’re down to a single card while he has three more.   Jungkook slowly places down a wild card. “What colour do you want, Y/N?”   “Hmmmm.” You rest your chin in your palm, arm propped up on the table. You glance at your card before looking straight at him, locking your gaze together. “Would you even choose the colour I pick?”   “I just want to hear what you want.”   “Fine. I want yellow. Please?” You bat your lashes. “Pretty please, JK?”   The ass smirks. “Red.”   “I knew you’d say that,” you sigh. Your fingers reach down to the pile to grab another card, but then your other hand slaps down — slamming a red four onto the pile. Your arms shoot in the air. Again, it triggers cheers. “I win!”   Jungkook throws back his head and groans. He tosses his one red and one blue card left onto the table. What’s worse is the way you gather with all his friends — the five of you huddled together with arms around one another, like you’re preparing for a football game. But instead, you’re all hopping and cheering while belting out the national anthem.   You’ve stolen his own friends from right under his nose.   But despite how the loss is rubbed in his face, Jungkook’s happy that it seems like for a moment, you’ve returned to yourself again.   Eventually, the games go so much into the night that you have to bid your goodbyes. You didn’t know Jungkook’s group of friends were so easy to get along and get comfortable with. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but the time passed so quickly and you’re sad to leave.   Hoseok and Taehyung hug you until Yoongi has to help you pry them off.   “I’ll miss you so much,” Taehyung fake cries. “You and the way you absolutely demolish Jungkook.”   “Oh please.” Jungkook rolls his eyes.   “I’ll come back...if you’ll have me again.”   “Are you kidding? Of course!”   “You have to come back,” Jimin insists with a sheepish smile like it should be obvious. “You’re good at Monopoly, right?”   You shrug. “I’ve been told I’m decent.”   “You better be.” Yoongi grins. “I’ll expect you to win against Kook.”   “I’ll try my best.”   “Let me walk you back,” Jungkook says as you grab your coat. You look at him and he elaborates, “It’s a long way back to the dorm and I’m tired too. Gonna call it an early night.”   “Oh, okay.”   The two of you get ready to leave, and at the doorway, you turn around one last time. “Thanks for having me.”   “No problem.” Hoseok smiles. “Come back soon.”   You think this is the longest time you’ve been without crying for the past month. It went by too quickly — you wish you could do it all over again. But you consider how lucky Jungkook is. He has great friends and surrounds himself with great people. You’re jealous.   The night is silent except for the sound of your shoes against the cement of the sidewalk. You’re illuminated by the lamp posts above you and you watch your shadows alongside Jungkook’s.   The air is cold enough that you can see your breath as you exhale. Jungkook’s own hands are dug into his pockets, but the chill makes you feel alive.   “Sorry about them. I know they can get a bit much.”   “It’s okay. They’re really nice actually.”   “Yeah, they are.”   “I had a lot of fun.” You steal a glance at him.   Jungkook’s doe eyes widen, the corners of his mouth quirking. “Really? I’m glad.”   “It was a lot of fun destroying you.”   “Wow.” He laughs. “Okay.”   It makes you giggle too.    You know what he’s been doing. From him listening to everything you have to say and doing more than necessary during the midterms. From that time he called you over in the dining hall to sit with him to tonight, bringing you over to play games with his friends….   “Thanks, Jungkook.”   “Hm?”   “Thanks,” you repeat, looking at him, and he meets your eye. “For helping me. I don’t think I’ve said it yet. But I really appreciate it.”   “Yeah, it’s not a big deal, really.”   “It’s a big deal to me.” Your gaze softens. At the moment you had no one, he was there. You didn’t know you would find such an unlikely friendship during such a hard time, but you don’t mind at all.   Jeon Jungkook is your friend.

[dontlikedarkness]

Wonderland

Growing up together meant a lot of things. At first, it meant nothing more than following each other around daycare and annoying the living hell out of each other. Courtney would put on a front for their parents so that she’d be seen as the victim - but she played the part too well, and soon, she was spending half her time at Duncan’s house. Her parents worked a lot, so they jumped at the chance to have somebody pick her up after closing time. They thought extra time with her friend was an added bonus, although her mom didn’t quite approve; she’d learned through the grapevine that Duncan was a troublemaker at school, but was desperate enough to risk it. Besides, she was confident (and rightfully so, for the most part) that Courtney had inherited enough of her own stubbornness and need for structure to resist Duncan’s antics.

Once they’d moved on to kindergarten and eventually grade school, leaving Courtney with the Bivona household for after school care became a matter of convenience. Duncan’s eldest brother was soon old enough to watch them himself, once his mom had gone back to work after maternity leave, and Courtney’s younger sister, Kate, was easy enough to look after. They both appreciated the company of another kid their age - though they’d never admit it.

It became natural for the two to be together. Her dad would drive them to school in the morning, and his mom would pick them up after, so it made sense that they’d hang out in the times in between. Not that they ever meant to, but they were comfortable around each other, as it tends to happen when you’ve known someone since they were in diapers. They’d gravitate towards the other’s familiar face on the first day of school, and be paired up together every day afterwards. Teachers thought they were a good balance, though they never quite understood it. Courtney was useful when Duncan’s attitude and issues with authority needed reigning in, and Duncan always knew how to bring her out of her shell. As odd as it was, it worked.

The roof had been his idea, of course. Who else would see a house and wonder how much of the neighborhood they could see? Purely for devious reasons, he’d said, though she knew better than that. It took months upon months to convince her to go up with him, and it was her roof - had it been any other roof, chances are she wouldn’t have agreed. The only reason she’d said yes in the first place had been pride, because he claimed she was too chicken to go up there, and she’d needed to prove him wrong.

She’d fallen in love with the spot fairly quickly. It was easier to see the stars up there, and she could get out of her house without ever having to leave. It wasn’t breaking the rules - it was skirting them. Which was good enough for her.

Soon enough, it had become an unofficial meeting ground. A safe place, of sorts. He always knew where to find her when she was stressed and overwhelmed, and she knew where to find him when he was pissed about something. They would go up there just to talk, and sometimes they’d stay for hours before Courtney inevitably realized it was past midnight and they had school in the morning.

Even before they’d started dating, it had been there. It started with innocent cuddling in the fifth grade, because Courtney got cold easily and neither of them ever remembered to bring blankets. They’d bring a laptop up and watch movies until the battery died, or until they found themselves talking, too distracted to focus on the screen. Slowly that had progressed into cautious hand-holding, a gentle swipe of his thumb over the back of her hand. She would lay on his chest, eyes on the stars, pointing out every constellation she knew, and speculating on the ones she didn’t. Eventually he knew them by heart, and he’d hold her hand as she gestured at them, naming them off before she could so much as open her mouth. As much as she pretended it annoyed her, she found it oddly endearing. It meant he cared enough to listen, and he didn’t care about anything.

“Princess” had been his nickname for her ever since they could remember. She’d been playing dress-up one day while he idled about, making off-handed comments about how dumb she looked, when she’d decided on the princess outfit. “It makes me feel powerful,” she’d told him, tiny hands on tinier hips. “Whatever you say, princess,” he’d shot back, and it had stuck. When the name began to send a torrent of butterflies through her stomach, she’d known she was in trouble. That was when the hand-holding had transitioned into kisses; soft at first, and completely innocent. He’d kiss her hand and say “your highness” with a mock bow, she’d kiss his cheek and then ruffle his hair in response to the rare but steadily more common compliment. His forehead, when she was proud. Her nose, because she’d complained about her freckles. Neither of them could admit that they wanted more. It was too scary an admission - she thought they were too different; he thought she deserved better. And so the no-longer-quite-so-innocent kissing and cuddling and whatever else continued for a while.

It was sophomore year when she’d decided enough was enough. He helped her push her boundaries in every way - so why not this? His pining had become painfully obvious, and everyone was urging her to do something about it, because while he acted like a lovesick puppy, he respected her too much to make a move without some sort of sign from her. Of course, there had been many signs, but he was incredibly oblivious to them, blinded by thoughts of ‘she would never want me’ and ‘I’d only drag her down’. It was up to her to take matters into her own hands.

So she invited him to the roof, under the pretext of having a movie night. She was up for re-election as student body president, and he needed an escape from his overbearing father; it wasn’t entirely out of left field that either of them would want a night to relax. She spent an hour up there making everything perfect: she had blankets and pillows and all their favorite snacks, and a slew of romantic comedies neither of them would particularly enjoy lined up to watch. He was quick to figure out something was up, fixing her with an expectant stare the moment he’d finished scaling the trellis. “Somebody die, princess?” He’d asked, and she turned beet red. She’d gone overboard, because that was what she did, and she’d set up a date for an entirely different set of people. All they ever really needed was some cheesy thriller and a bucket of popcorn, not some elaborate set up, but she’d let her nerves get the best of her and had immediately gone into overdrive to take her mind off of it.

He could sense her building panic, and he silenced it all with the gentle brush of a hand over her cheek. She squeaked out a meek protest, though both of them knew she didn’t mean it. Her hand snaked up to twist through his hair, pulling him closer, and before he knew it her lips were on his. Gentle, but demanding, leaving him gasping for air. Nothing had ever felt so right, to either of them.

The transition from best friends to more was nowhere near as complicated as she’d expected. They were slightly more public with their affection, he’d sneak into her room for sleepovers and late-night cuddling, and they kissed a hell of a lot more, but beyond that, very little changed. They still bickered to no end and argued over the simplest things, but it was never enough to split them up. It hadn’t before, and it still wouldn’t. They had a bond no one could explain - nor hope to break.

The roof had weathered it all, a constant throughout their relationship, even as it grew and changed. It was a symbol of everything they’d overcome and everything they had yet to endure, and it gave Courtney the strength to believe in them. The strength to speak up.

“Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, princess,” he teased, feathering a kiss on her nose before pressing his forehead to hers, content in their closeness as they lay beneath the stars. She frowned, shifting herself up slightly so that their eyes were level. “You can’t tell me you don’t see the way she looks at you, Duncan. Like she’d worship you if she could. Like you’re some sort of god and she’s a mere mortal, awed to be in your presence.”

His thumb brushed across her chin before settling there, with her head cradled in his hand. It was difficult to find words when she was there, looking so unbelievably beautiful, ebony eyes wide and almost wounded. He could drown in those eyes. Probably would, if he let himself.

“I hadn’t noticed, no.”

A scowl replaced her frown and she rolled her eyes, though she didn’t stop herself from leaning into his touch. His warmth was addicting. “She’s practically drooling after you.” He pulled her closer, letting her shift against his chest until she was comfortable, his shoulder acting as her pillow. “What can I say? I’ve been distracted.”

“You have?”

“It’s hard not to be, when you look at me like I’m the stars in your sky. You don’t idolize me like she does - you see every part of me, the good and the bad, and you still think of me as your equal. Your better half. Tell me, Court, how could she ever hold a candle to you?” His tone was heartbreakingly gentle, and the soft brush of his hand down her spine had her at peace. “Duncan?” She asked, propping herself up again so that she could see him.

“Yes, princess?”

She sighed then, her hair falling across his face as she leaned forward the tiniest amount. “Thank you. For putting up with me. I know I can be… a lot, at times, and I’m not the easiest person to be around. The fact that you stay… It means a lot. More than you could possibly know.”

A sharp intake of breath was the only indicator that he’d heard, and they both remained silent for a few moments before he spoke, his voice slightly unsteady. “God, Courtney… You make it sound like such a chore.”

“What?”

“Just… being around you. I don’t put up with you, because I don’t have to. Every second I get to be near you is a gift. You are so fucking special, princess, and it hurts that you don’t see everything I see. You are gorgeous, and talented, and smart, and brilliant and funny and all sorts of amazing. You are my everything. You keep me steady, you give me a shake back to reality when I’ve gone too far, and you talk me down when I need it. Nobody understands me the way you do, without even trying, and shit… You complete me, Court, you really do. And it’s terrifying and awful and scary but you are beyond worth it. Princess, I…” He choked up suddenly, and gazed up to her, hoping she’d understand everything he couldn’t find the words to say.

“Duncan?”

He broke, then, a single tear sliding down the side of his face. She brushed it away, leaving her hand there, so small a gesture, and yet so incredibly tender and powerful. He held it there, rubbing gently circles into the back of her hand, relishing the intimacy of it all.

“Fuck, Courtney, I love you. So much. And you don’t have to say it back, but… I needed to say it. I think you needed to hear it, too.”

He expected her to tense up, to push him away; anything to signal that she wasn’t ready, that he’d moved too fast, and screwed everything up as per usual. When she didn’t, he thought that might be worse.

“Duncan.”

“Hm?” He responded, a quiet hum of a response, because words were failing him now.

And then her hand slid free, tangling itself in his unkempt hair, her nails pressing softly against his scalp. “Kiss me, damn it. I love you too. More than anything in the world.”

They melted together, then. Two souls perfectly in harmony, against all odds. Beautiful, and perhaps doomed. But none of it mattered. Not in that moment; not ever, because they didn’t care. They would fight for each other, always. A constant in each other’s lives, just as the roof had been in theirs. Forever entwined.

this can also be found on ao3 here

[cartoonfangirl1218]

Give them what they want ch. 7

After that disastrous choice of drowning her sorrows in alchohol, Jordan decided to take the time off in general to sleep off her hangover and avoid people.

That left with nothing to do but schoolwork. Frankly compared to all the social pressures, it was a perfect solution. At least there was a right and a wrong and no big failure if she said the incorrect answer.

After the breeze of paperwork, she went to the more creative side of art class.

The assignment was to do a drawing filled with symbolism and an essay explaining the choices. She called up and transported Calix for her model.

He had a cream white cape draped over his right shoulder in the style of old Roman emperors, clutching a book to his chest and holding out a candle and laurel in the other.

"And I have to be nude while holding this because...?" Calix questioned, fidgeting after an hour of standing still.

"Nudity is the transparency of the soul. Duh." Jordan snapped "Stop moving your head, I'm trying to draw your hair."

"Can I sit at least?" Calix complained, shaking a leg.

"Yes you can sit." She rolled her eyes.

Calix sighed as he plopped down to sit cross legged.

Jordan was happy that any feelings she had for Calix had disappeared. Foolish, ridiculous romantic feeling from the stupid needy part of her that agreed with the Aurodonian statement that she need love to be happy. No, what she needed was to not be alone.

Calix was still one of her closest friends, annoying, fun and loyal, nothing more. Hot too...but he was with Morrían Le freakin Fey.

Even her name sounded enchanting and slightly exotic, it was disgusting.

"Hmm Calix do you think I should just use my middle name instead? Jordan is so boring." She murmured as she traced the outline of a strand of hair that stuck to his forehead.

"Desiree? I guess if you wanted to. Say do most genies have a name that sounds like they're strippers? I mean Genie, Eden, I hear Karma is popular..."

And there was the man that so loved to irritate her. Usually on Tuesdays.

"Is that your perverted way of saying that I shouldn't?" Jordan flung an eraser at him.

"Watch where you throw that." Calix deftly caught it before it hit his thigh. "A name is a name. I think you're fine, you're entertaining enough to make up for it."

Jordan smiled, when the door opened.

"So I was thinking you could pose, OH MY WOW!" Mal cried with Ben by her side.

Calix made no move to hide himself, almost preening at their reactions.

"Sorry" Ben squeaked ducking his head, looking frantically at another direction while Mal opened her mouth, closed it, and babbled.

"I guess...I just,.. so sorry, we thought. I hope we aren't interrupting? This is for art right?"

If the situation hadn't been so awkward considering that the king of Auradon was witnessing it and that Mal thought they were about to do unspeakable things, Jordan would have laughed at how shocked the bad fairy looked.

One doesn't usually see naked boys in Auradon Prep after all.

"Well it's not like it's for math and she has to measure my.." Calix almost finished his sentence. Jordan flung a couple of paintbrushes at him.

"What is with the abuse!" He cried

She turned to the blushing couple, "It's for art, we'll be done soon."

"We'll find another place it's fine." Ben said. Then the two ran off, slamming the door behind.

Jordan turned to Calix who was failing at keeping his laughter in.

"Measure! Measuring you!"

"I was joking. I mean who would be so insecure to have to measure their body parts?"

"Only you would be so immodest enough to suggest that." Jordan cried.

"I'm as modest as you are a lady. And we both know you ain't no lady." Calix joked.

"I'll make you mute." Jordan half-heartedly threatened.

"I'll make you fall in love with an ass." Calix shot back.

"Ooo an ass, how Shakespearean." Jordan blew a kiss at him.

She paused, "Speaking of love, have you've told Morrían?"

Calix rolled his eyes at her and made a "Do you even know me?" face.

Love was not a word used lightly in Auradon. Once you said it, you sealed your fate to be committed forever until your wedding day. If you made it through that. You are set for your future children, grandchildren, respective kingdoms, family reunions, anniversaries on and on...

Calix, the quarter-siren/sorcerer seducer of many who've fallen for his song, would never use that word to describe a relationship. Too risky. He only reserved that word for his parents, and for Metsovone platters.

"We are at the stage of mutual like where we have enjoyable afternoons, nights and morning afters together where we do a variety of activities depending on our moods and wants. Ending with satisfaction for both parties. Is that you want to hear?"

"Mm hmm,” Jordan murmured, casually turning her attention back to her drawing.

She wasn't jealous that he was in happy mutual relationship. She wasn't annoyed that it wasn't with her. She was merely irked that she had everything Morrían and yet, she didn't have any of the perks.

She had looked up Morrían herself just to see if she was as special and as hot as Aziz and Calix claimed.

Fine, Morrían was pretty. Wavy, waist-length black hair, violet eyes, gleaming white skin that reminded Jordan of polished crystal. Most posts showed her A+ grades, her at parties, some intellectual magic debate.

She was witty, she was smart, she knew of some of the world based on her many vacation photos in various parts of Auradon.

So?

If Morrían, who could be close enough to be her equal in beauty, personality, and magic contests, was so sought after as a girlfriend. why wasn't she! Sought after in a genuine romantic relationship with actual feelings.

She drew a line that went off course across Calix's face, and realized she should probably stop obsesssing over what Morrían had that she didn't.

"I'm done. I'll do the finishing touches later." She announced, erasing the offending line.

"Sweet Aphrodite, finally!" Calix cried, hurriedly shoving his jeans up his legs.

Jordan smiled at how awkwardly he dressed, balancing uneasily from one foot to the other.

"Wanna go to Nonstop to hang out?" Calix asked as he put on his shirt.

"Sure, I'll meet you there." Jordan packed up her sketch pad and left.

"Jord? Did you hear? Zahrat and Samir found out it's going to be a girl." Aziz called excitedly, hurrying to her side in the hallway.

"She called me this morning. They're already arguing over baby names. She wants Hajar, he wants "the most ridiculous girl name in the world." She quoted

"What is it?" Aziz asked, almost dropping his French book.

"She didn't tell me, just that it was "the most ridiculous, horrible girl name in the world."

"Well with an argument like that, she must be right." Aziz joked, "Where are you going?"

"Nonstop." Jordan replied, and before he could ask, "You can come too."

"Great, their hamburgers are delicious." Aziz moaned

Nonstop was located in the backstreets of Auradon City, near the recess of the infamous woods where Beast fought the wolves to save Belle. No mortal dared to go.

Nonstop, it was own by Circe (as most fae clubs were) and had a special, illegal invisibility spell protecting the exterior from curious eyes.

It was fae-only. A haven for magical creatures to show their true forms, use their powers and have fun and relax and not pretend to be mortals and do menial labor. There was at least one in every state in Auradon. The more popular ones were in Agrabah, near the shores of Atlantica, Neverland, by the tavern of Snuggly Duckling. But Nonstop was where most of the fae student population in Auradon Prep resided to relax.

Aziz was an expection since Jordan basically threatened everyone who came near them, that he was allowed to be in without harm.

Calix led them through the backway so they could eat in Circe's office. It was lavish, Roman-inspired room with lounges, and drapes and Greek statues. A small platform raised the mahogany desk facing the door.

"So we could eat here, and you can study." Calix suggested looking at the schoolbooks the two had brought, "Orrrr.."

"Hey, Alexandria is here!" Aziz poked his head out of the office door to look at the club.

"Orrr we could hang out with the peoples." Calix smirked as Aziz went off to flirt with Attina's daughter.

Jordan rolled her eyes, and took a fresh breath of air as she entered the pulsating club room. Club room #3 to be precise. Nonstop had five different rooms. The main one was about the size of Beast's ballroom and looked like Moulin Rogue and Great Gatsby had exploded together into one mega party. Two others were simpler dance floors with a bar, booths, and couches arranged in the front of the room and by fireplaces.

Another was a more sophiscated, simple parlor room for taking and poetry readings. The fifth one was the outside area with rock gardens, and an outside cafe. Each place had pools in the center just for the mermaid/merman patrons.

"So Alexandria, how is it down there?" Aziz asked with a wink.

"Horrible as usual." Alexandria signed, letting a light brown lock fall on her eye, "The tourists make a mess everywhere! It may be a museum for Aunt Ariel's story and home, but people live there."

Jordan went to talk to Jonathan Thatch, Milo and Kida's son. He had a lot of his mother's appearance with dark skin and white streaks in his tan, blonde hair but he was most defiantly his dad's son. He could talk about anthropology for days.

"Kuzco's empire was amazing!" He enthused, "The had invented astrology and mathematics without the help of modern sciences and how they did it is just fascinating. You see, they based it on the solar and lunar calendars.."

Jordan amiably smiled as Jonathan babbled on until Calix caught his attention, "Calix, what would you say is the one architectural wonder Dad and I should check out while we visit Greece?"

With his attention diverted, Jordan got caught up in a family reunion story Philocetes II, Madora and Herksper were telling.

"And then Uncle Hermes and Uncle Loki decided to team up against Aunt Freya and Aunt Aphrodite!" Phil cried "They replaced all their makeup and clothes with hydra skins and Minator drool. Damn, you should never prank a beauty goddess, never!"

After the story was finished, she and Madora went up to the stage and danced and sang to Madora's mother's famous song, "Won't say I'm in love."

"I wish I could move my hips like that." Madora sighed as she flopped onto one of the couches by the fireplace.

"You were a fine belly dancer for a demigod." Jordan shrugged, "I have more of an advantage after all since I can make my body do whatever I want." She took off her hand, and three extra arms sprouted from her sides in a demonstration. "Belly dancing is hardly a problem."

"Don't you show it. Do it again." Herksper, (Or Herkie as most Auradon Prep students called him since they found his name so hard to do.) suggested with a shining, white smile.

"Oh why not?" Jordan smiled and went to center stage. The bright lights hit her, warming her body all over in a way the her attempted alcohol binge never did. She moved her hips in time to the haunting wail of the snake charmer's Pipe.

She closed her eyes, letting herself go with the motion, but when she opened them, she was struck with a new feeling.

The audience was staring at her every move, they looked entranced and under her power. Gazing at her lovingly. She winked at one, and he stepped backwards in shock.

A surge of confidence went through her. She was in control of the audience's reaction. It was wonderful. They were watching her, only her. They weren't thinking of themselves, just focused on what she was going to do.

She licked her lips, and thought of a song she had heard long ago. Her mom had this huge idea to make an album, back when bands were a thing. But she had gotten bored after three days and abandoned the project. Typical. Nothing was too exciting for long for a genie.

No one had heard the song, but now they would.

She didn't usually sing in public. No big fear, she just felt her talent laid elsewhere. But now, she had them in her hand, and they were going to pay attention to her every word.

"Tell me all your wishes, I'm here to make them true. No need to rub a lamp because I'll take care of you."

She smiled as seductively as she could while dancing across the stage. Each move slow and deliberated, leaving the audience waiting for the next step.

She never felt so exhilarated before. She had total control of how they saw her. They saw her as sexy, beautiful, unattainable, and she was going to milk that feeling for as long as it was worth.

"My new resolution is to trust you. My business to love you until you've had it. I'm not going to miss out on the good stuff. The grass would be so much greener with us on it."

She poofed off the stage to the round of couches where Jonathan, Calix, Madora, Alexandria, Herksper, Phil, and Aziz stared at her in amazement.

"You deserve this." Madora handed her a bottle of sparkling cider.

"Aww I deserve a lot of things, finally someone had the bright idea of actually giving it to me." Jordan smiled.

Calix lightly smacked her on the temple, "Seriously though. That was one great act. Usually you need my help.."

"Shut up." Jordan rolled her eyes at him, "I'll get the next round of drinks, what do you want, guys?" She asked.

"Water" Jonathan, Aziz and Alexandria called.

"Gin on the rocks" Calix requested.

"Wine." Hercules' children asked for.

Jordan strutted to the bar happily, basking in the glances men and women were throwing her way.

"I am pretty. I'm so pretty." Jordan hummed "And witty, and giddy and gay. And I pity anyone who isn't me today."

While she waited for the bartender to get to her orders, a pixie girl and Bacchae sat on her right side.

"So genie girl?" The Bacchae leaned to rest his head on her shoulder, "Wanna get on the grass?"

"Get off me." Jordan shoved him.

"But-but you said you would take care of us." The Bacchae whined with a leer.

"It was a song." Jordan replied, grabbing Calix's order.

"You're still a genie. It's what you do." The pixie girl said, grabbing her shoulder with sharp nails."I know how it works. So where is your lamp?"

"You're right, I am a genie. Not an idiot. I'm not telling you." Jordan poured the glass of gin over the pixie's head.

"Your business is to love us till we had it." The pixie girl mocked, shaking her head like a wet dog.

"Yet I don't trust you." Jordan huffed, taking the rest of the drinks and leaving.

The Bacchae cackled as she stalked off. "Fae these days, don't know what their job is."

Jordan closed her eyes, and tried to push away the thoughts of being tied down away. Once she reached the others, slammed the tray of drinks at the table.

"You'll have to get your gin, Calix. While you're at it, kick out the Bacchae and pixie I poured it on." She pointed at the duo.

Calix got up from his seat, "I can't kick out every person that hits on you, that you don't like." He turned to look at her direction, "I mean it's just- why is he staring at his crotch?"

"Why is the pixie playing with- EWW THIS IS A PUBLIC PLACE!" Alexandria cried

Herksper covered his eyes, "I think I just saw inside of him."

"Alright, I'm kicking them out! They will be banned." Calix lowered his eyes.

"Don't let them touch you." Jonathan grimaced.

"I don't WANT them to touch me, so your warning is a bit unecessary." Calix said before going to talk to the two.

"So that happened." Madora shuddered.

"They can't be our age." Aziz stuck out his tongue in disgust.

"They could be. Shape shifters and fae with disguise spells." Vidia's son, Kyro flew over, eavesdropping on the conversation.

"Like her in mortal clubs." Aziz cocked his head toward Jordan.

"What?' Kyro grinned mischievously, sitting next to her. Most fairies change to their natural fairy size in the club, but some chose to stay mortal size for the sake of not getting squashed.

"I'll explain" Jordan threw a annoyed glare at her adoptive brother, "Biological I'm 17. I act 17, look 17. But if people counted by human years, I'm 21. So when I go to mortal club, and they ask my age I NATURALLY assume they want my mortal age."

They all looked at her dubiously.

"Okay, I know what I'm doing. But you go along with it." Jordan added with a side eyed to Aziz.

"Adult clubs are fun. They have good finger food." Aziz shrugged

"They think you're 21?" Kyro snickered

Jordan shifted her body. Taller, bustier, angular features, she intoned deeply "Believe me now?"

"I can see it." Kyro nodded his head in approval. With that confirmation she changed back to her normal form.

"What are adult clubs like anyway?" Phil asked intrigued

"Basically a bunch of them sit around having tea and crumpets while discussing politics, philosophy and books." Aziz answered.

"And recite poems in their original languages or do opera." Jordan put in.

"Pretentious asses." Kyro snorted

"How's your twin?" Alexandria changed the subject.

"Avari is going out with Azul." He answered, flicking his long black bangs off his eyes.

"Rani's son?" Calix returned to the conversation.

"It's weird, I know." Kyro said

The conversation drifted away from that to new topics until it was 3 in the afternoon.

"We better go." Alexandria muttered, frowning at her watch.

Calix let her and Aziz go out through Circe's office and headed back to party.

Thankfully Aziz's dorm room was empty so she could take one bed while Aziz jumped onto his, and covered his eyes with his textbook.

"I feel super productive." He murmured sarcastically

"How much work?" She asked

"Too much." Aziz threw the book to the floor. "I'll do it after dinner."

Jordan rolled over to her side, "I want to sleep already."

"Do it. No one has seen you at all because you've been studying all weekend."

"I can't." She complained

"The Bacchae and the pixie?" Aziz asked softly

"I think too much. It's nothing." Jordan sighed, "Go do your work. Wake me up when your roommate comes."

Aziz sighed much too overdramatically in her opinion as he got up to sit on the bed she was on, and pushed her onto her stomach.

He started to do back tracings on her. Dammit, he knew she loved tickle massages. She found it so soothing and always made her fall asleep. She would willingly stay still forever if there was someone giving her one.

"Aziz, please, I'm fine. You don't have to help me go to sleep." Jordan murmured

"Let me. Think of it as you're helping me procrastinate in doing a half-hearted job on my French homework." Aziz told her

"When you put it that way..." Jordan closed her eyes.

Author's Note: Another chapter done, I hope you enjoyed. It's a nice breather chapter, isn't it? Go thank screamingeternally for that. She was the one who reminded me that not every chapter has to be full of angst.

Anyway the song, is "Good Stuff" by Shakira.

The little hummed tune was "I feel pretty" from West Side Story.

I'm sure, everyone can guess what musical inspired my club name choice ;)

I put a lot of Descendants characters of Disney people I like. Attina, Milo, Rani, etc. That was fun.

And if anyone is wondering or if a name nerd like me, Avari was inspired by Avarice. As Vidia had been inspired by Invidia.

Kyro inspired by Kyto, the dragon Vidia fell in love with in the books.

[broadwayandnetflix]

Just Hold Me - Richie Tozier x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Language (it’s IT)

Theme: Angst with increasing fluff towards the end.

Summary: After a distressing nightmare you keep thinking about one person in particular, Richie Tozier. What you don’t know yet is that he has been thinking about you as well.

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: just a little note if you ever want to know something about me, inspiration for stories almost seem to come to me at the weirdest times. this one for example came at 2am and I poured this draft out into my phone hunched over a bowl of cereal. It had many grammatical errors, but nonetheless it was something. so there you have it, I saw IT 2 and thus came this.

You jolted awake with a gasp, panting heavily while you sat upright on your mattress. Quickly adjusting to the now pitch-black room, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed.

Eyes darting wildly about, thoughts racing, and palms sweaty. IT still haunted your dreams; there was no question about it. Usually, you could shut bad dreams out, as a justified figment of your imagination.

Except, when you see the potential love of your life, dead, and gutted out in front of you. What are you supposed to do? You know it’s just a dream, a silly dream, but no, it’s traumatic, even if he’s just down the hall.

You didn’t plan to come back to Derry; in fact, after twenty-seven years, you had come to forget the place. Forgetting its people, it’s buildings, aesthetics, and nooks and crannies that only you could pinpoint.

You knew you shouldn’t, but you felt in a strange sense, guilty. Mike poured everything into digging the lot of you out of a massive haystack, into fighting back something that was equally as big, and terrifying.

So even though the mere thought of catching up with old friends made you giddy, the harsh, crushing reality was that all of you were here for one reason, and one reason only.

To kill a demonic, possessed, and fucked up clown.

One in particular that craved for your fear, salivated about it even. So when it manifested into your dreams, you weren’t surprised, even if you were scared shitless.

It only just made you fret about the day ahead of you, knowing that there was work to do and that this was just the beginning.

Especially after last night’s scare in the restaurant, the lot of you dined at. It freaked you out even to consider remembering it, but one thing stuck out to you in particular.

Richie.

Something about seeing him again after all these years, just set you off, straight off. You almost didn’t even notice the fluttered increase within your heart or the way that you couldn’t seem to keep still when he made eye contact with you.

It brought back the waterfall of emotions that you had buried in grade school. The harbored crush that you kept for the trash mouth of a dork that he was. Despite Beverly’s attempts to assure you that he so desperately felt the same back then, you could never believe it. Not even now.

Except at this current moment, all you wanted was him, which was oh so pathetic. Just like the way you laughed like a literal hyena at his offhand quips and comments. Yes, while everyone rolled their eyes in annoyance, you giggled like a goddamn fool.

He made you feel dizzy like you had just finished a roller coaster only for it to jerk forward again.

If only you could just reassure yourself that he was alive, and well. It would help you sleep at night because these recurring nightmares of him dying weren’t helping.

You were so far down deep into your thoughts and criticism that you almost didn’t hear the slight knock at your door. The rustling of your sheets as you peered at your clock brushing you back into reality.

Who was knocking on your door at 3:45am?

Pushing yourself up, you trudge your way over, opening the door with a sour expression.

“How can I-“ you murmured only to stop once you were face to face with Richie himself.

Your jaw-dropping slightly, eyes wide, and now increasingly more alert than before, you swallowed.

He looked exhausted, his hair messy and bedridden, and his eyes focused on anything else but you.

“I, um,” he stammered, “I had an um, why is this so hard?” he whispered to himself. You looked back him blinking slowly wondering if you were still dreaming.

One pinch later, you weren’t.

“Listen, I had a bad dream about you, and I just really needed to check in on you,” he suddenly rushed out, his speech groggy, and jumbled.

Gaping, you stared back at him in surprise, definitely not expecting this outcome. Even more so, he was going through the same exact situation as you.

Well, not entirely, you presumed.

“Come on,” you gestured towards your bed while he trailed behind you.

Plopping yourself down onto it, you stared up at the ceiling, heaving a big sigh. Smiling shyly as Richie did the same, laying next to you.

“Me too,” you admitted after what felt like ages of silence, with only the slight hum of the ceiling fan to fill it.

“I’m sorry what?” he asked.

“I had a bad dream about you too,” you felt his gaze projected onto you now. The room now becoming too warm to your liking with the nerves that now tickled your skin.

“It’s weird, thirteen years old me would be having a stroke right now. You know, being on the same bed as Y/N Y/L/N,” he admitted randomly, causing you to turn over to face him.

He paused before continuing after a slight nudge of acknowledgment came from you.

“You wanna know something Y/N?” you nodded, “I had the biggest crush on you when we were kids. Isn’t that crazy?” he admitted softly.

You were at a profound loss for words like the air had been physically sucked out of you. This had to be some sort of joke, how could Richie like you. Not only that, you probably looked like an idiot, just laying there and not replying to him because you were so caught off-guard.

“God, I shouldn’t have, I’m sorry, I-“ he cringed, rubbing his hands over his face.

“No!” you yelped.

“No?”

“I just need a second,” you cried, he blinked sitting upright to face you. “I know it’s been a second, but I need more.” The smirk now resting upon his lips was not helping you as he watched you process it.

“I really like you, Richie, and I think I always have.” you breathed out. “I can’t believe I forgot you, I can’t believe I forgot this.” you fretted looking into his eyes, feeling more jittery than anything.

“Oh, thank god,” he huffed before flipping onto his stomach to face you more appropriately.

He paused as if something else had caught his attention, leaving him deep in thought. You couldn’t help but study the man in front of you, seeing the shell of his younger self still resting within him.

Of course, you had a chance to the night before and during the day, but it didn’t quite do him justice. He still had his fluffy mop of hair, his piercing blue eyes, and those awful, yet awkwardly cute glasses. Even in the dark, you still could see him, all of him.

He looked tired, but the way his eyes crinkled, or how his smile grew whenever he looked at you made you practically float.

And then you remembered why he was here, and your little cheeky grin disappeared instantly.

“What?” he wondered aloud.

“I just don’t want to do this, I don’t want to do tomorrow, I just want to close my eyes and sleep for however long this will take,” He looked at you ever so sympathetically, your vision now seeming to grow hazier by the minute.

“I don’t want IT to control my dreams, I don’t want to see you die, Richie. I just want to be able to sleep and not wake up in a cold sweat every night. I just wa-,” you were interrupted by his hands now intertwining with yours.

You exhaled shakingly, daring to meet his warming gaze, trying to distract yourself from the fact that your sweaty ass palms were encased in his.

“I wish I could say that things are going to be better. I mean, hopefully, they are, because if not, we’re fucked,” Richie began only to stop by the large snicker that erupted from you.

“What? I’m trying to be reassuring?” he smirked as he noted the little grin upon your expression.

“You don’t think a killer clown doesn’t constitute this situation as fucked up, to begin with?” you giggled.

“That’s beside the point Y/N, okay before I was rudely interrupted by you,” he squeezed your hands with more reassurance, “I was going to say you are one of the bravest and smartest people that I know. I mean even back then you were such a little shit, we, I loved you for it. If anyone can put Pennywise into his place, it’s you, we all know it.” he spoke his speech quick and jumbled, but it worked.

You practically melted under his gaze, fighting the urge to cower and make some lame counter-argument.

You just wanted to savor this moment, this exact moment where the only issue at hand is just a few bad nightmares.

Sighing, you reach out to reach his glasses, his breath going still while he watched. Peeling them off, you rolled over to put them onto your bedside table. Looking back at him, you gesture towards the side opposite of you on the bed.

“You wanna stay?” you whispered hesitantly.

Nodding, he makes his way over to the side opposite of you as you slide into the covers. His eyes never leaving yours while he mirrors your actions.

“Good because I don’t know if I would’ve been able to sleep peacefully without you here,” you admitted softly.

“Oh come here,” he soothes while pulling you closer to him, now enveloping you with him. “I’ll protect you, honey.” his words full of promise and safety.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For just being you.” you murmur already feeling sleep beginning to overtake you.

Just like that, for the first time in months, you didn’t have any IT controlled nightmares.

[littlepurinsesu]

V Watches MagiReco - Season 1 Review

*Spoilers for Magia Record Anime*

If you’ve been been following my weekly reviews on the Magia Record anime, you’ll know that my “reviews” are really more like general impressions, thoughts, and fangirling as I mentally recap the episode after my initial viewing.

For this final review of the season as a whole, however, I’m actually going to try and make it more like an actual “review" and discuss each aspect of the anime separately. I’ll be splitting my points of discussion into individual sections and giving each a score out of 10, before rounding it all off with an overall score/grade.

Oh, not sure if this needs to be emphasised, but these are just my opinions! You may agree and you may disagree, and either way is cool!  (・ω・)b

Before I begin, I just want to make it clear that one very, very important thing to keep in mind when watching and reviewing MagiReco is the fact that it isn’t a direct continuation of PMMM. So many people find themselves unable to enjoy the series because it’s “not the same” or “not the PMMM they know” etc. But it isn’t and was never intended to be. It’s a spin-off, not a sequel. To expect a spin-off to have the exact same impact and level of quality as the original is unrealistic to begin with, not to mention that although comparisons will be inevitable, the original PMMM anime has reached a legendary status where it isn’t really fair to compare anything with it xD

(And for the PMMM fans who are unhappy with MagiReco simply because it isn’t “dark enough” and there isn’t enough “suffering”, all I can say is that if a lack of darkness and suffering automatically means the show is bad, then this one just isn’t for you. Dark doesn’t equal good, and suffering isn’t essential. MagiReco is not intended to have the same tone as PMMM, and those elements do not entail everything that defined PMMM to begin with anyway.)

For these reasons, I’m going to try my best to review the MagiReco anime as a standalone piece and try not to make too many comparisons with PMMM, unless explicitly necessary. Also, as a game player, the inevitable curse of “expectations” was a major issue I needed to overcome when watching the anime. I will therefore also try my best to look past these expectations and try to see the anime as a story of its own. However, there will be discussions on the changes that the anime made and how I feel the anime did in adapting the game story for a television series.

Anyway, sorry for all the additional rambling. Let’s jump into the review before I lose everyone’s attention ^^;; 

Plot: 8/10

One thing I love about the MagiReco plot is that they take the original world and concepts of PMMM and actually come up with a whole new story. It’s familiar yet different, and a perfect way to please the nostalgic fans while also offering something fresh. The PMMM world always had a lot of potential to explore other girls’ stories, considering how many Magical Girls there are, and it’s nice to meet a whole new cast of characters with their own story that’s still set in the same world and uses the same concepts we’re familiar with.

I think my favourite thing about the MagiReco plot, which is the same both in the game and in the anime, is the idea of the Wings of Magius. Any story that involves Magical Girls somehow trying to undermine or overthrow the Incubators’ system always has a lot of potential, in my opinion, and it’s a creative way to delve even deeper into PMMM’s unique take on the magical girl genre without being repetitive. But the key to what makes the Wings of Magius so compelling and intriguing as antagonists is the moral issues it raises. The grey morality going on with the Wings of Magius is not too different from the issues presented by Kyubey, and these kinds of moral debates get the audience really thinking about what’s right and what’s wrong, what’s good and what’s evil. The Magius are presented as being very similar to the Incubators in many senses--sometimes even worse--and I always love a compelling villain or villain group that actually gets the audience pondering whether the bad guys really are that “wrong" after all. Plus the whole idea of salvation and liberation and the whole cult impression we get from the Wings of Magius really adds another layer of that dark and creepy atmosphere that PMMM does so well.

However, I do strongly feel that many of the important scenes and major plot points were presented much better in the game. As mentioned earlier, having played the game meant I was going in with expectations for how I wanted/hoped/expected certain things to be done, and this is a common issue that adaptations have when there’s an audience familiar with the source material. I’m okay with completely changing parts of the game’s story to create something new, but there were instances where the anime intended to replicate the scene as it was in the game but somehow fell short in its presentation. These cases of inadequate storytelling thus hinder the unfolding of the plot, ultimately creating problems with coherency and pacing. (I mean, if you think about it, the “main plot” doesn’t really even truly begin until all five main characters have been introduced.) I have dedicated a whole section to this pacing issue, so I’ll go into detail when we get there xD

Characterisation: 7/10

The anime’s presentation of the characters ranges from fantastic to extremely lacking. Iroha has moments where she’s extremely passive, but also times where she’s shown to be quite proactive and brave as well. I’m honestly not too sure what to make of Iroha’s characterisation so far due to this big range, but I’m hoping that she’ll show more growth and that her changes will be written in a way that actually makes sense, rather than abrupt shifts that make you question how and when she had it in her. Either way, she’s a lovely sweet girl and a very likable character, and I do like that even if she isn’t necessarily always doing anything or contributing to a fight, the sole reason she’s in Kamihama in the first place (to look for her sister) is a good sign that she knows what she’s doing and has taken the necessary measures to go about her quest.

Yachiyo didn’t seem to display much uniqueness until her past was unveiled, and that wasn’t until we were well into the second half of the first season. In my opinion, this took way too long. I find this to be a slight problem because of how central to the plot Yachiyo is, and while I understand that backstories being revealed later on can have a bigger impact (like Homura’s in Episode 10 of PMMM), the way they portray Yachiyo throughout the majority of the season doesn’t have that constant loose thread hanging. She almost seems too “normal” at times, blending into the cast, and only when certain things happen or when someone says something in particular do you actually remember that we still don’t know what her deal is yet. I guess what I mean is that a more looming sense of “mysteriousness” could have justified the late reveal a lot better. The reveal of her past and her wish were slightly underwhelming, too, seeing as we hardly got to know Kanae and Meru before they were killed off, making it difficult to connect with those characters and thus relate to Yachiyo’s grief at losing them. And as for the revelation of her wish, I’ve ranted enough about it in my review for Episode 13, so you can check that one out if you haven’t already xD

Tsuruno has it even worse than Yachiyo because they literally haven’t revealed or even teased anything about her. All we know is that she works at a Chinese restaurant, was already friends with Yachiyo in the past (this “mystery” was later explained in Yachiyo’s flashbacks), and is super cheerful and energetic. Her backstory is the only one that hasn’t been shown yet, and they never really even hinted at there being something deeper about her character. While I completely understand that they’re intending to leave all that for the Rumour Tsuruno arc (which will most likely be done next season), I feel that they really needed to give us at least something for now. Even in the game, we got a better sense of who Tsuruno was as a person before the Rumour Tsuruno arc revealed her hidden sadness. I guess I can’t really fault the anime for this, since they’re just going in chronological order, but a little more insight into Tsuruno’s character would have been a better decision so that we don’t get another round of “info-dumping” when we do get to Rumour Tsuruno, and the reveal about her inner emotional turmoil would actually be a slight twist that adds even more depth to her character, rather than random information that never seemed important because there were never any signs of it.

But while Yachiyo’s and Tsuruno’s characterisation could have been better, Felicia’s and Sana’s were handled superbly. The anime actually made me adore Felicia as a character when I merely “liked her enough” in the game. She’s so much more than just the spoiled and rowdy child who goes berserk when seeing a Witch, and her introductory episodes (namely Episode 7) actually managed to move me to tears. Her bond with Iroha is also portrayed even more nicely in the anime, and I have a newfound love for the friendship between these two, which is quite underrepresented in the game. Felicia manages to retain all the lovable traits she displayed in the game with just the right amount of brattiness so as to not seem too annoying, and the anime hasn’t even really touched upon the cruel reality behind her wish. Whether or not they venture into that territory at some point, I just hope they continue doing as amazingly as they’ve done with Felicia so far, because she really is super cute and a lot more likable in the anime version <3

As for Sana, she’s more or less the same as her game counterpart, but something about the way the anime unveils her past makes it even more tragic. We’ve always known of her terrible “family” and the unfortunate circumstances of her home life prior to joining Mikazuki Villa. But the episodes that detail her story did a stellar job at bringing out and actually showing the sheer horror of having a family like Sana’s, and just how deep and suffocating her sense of loneliness was. Her story is absolutely miserable, but the anime manages to present it in a way that doesn’t make it seem like they were “trying too hard” just to make it as sad as possible. The things happen for a reason, and the consequences it has on Sana as a character are all realistic and believable, and even a wish as extreme as hers made perfect sense after seeing everything she had to go through.

Other characters don’t seem to have as much of a presence to warrant a paragraph of their own, but I will give honourable mentions to Rena and Tsukuyo. Rena’s Magical Girl Story made me a sobbing mess when I first read it, and while the anime obviously couldn’t sidetrack and include all the details, I think they did a pretty good job considering the limited amount of time they could spend on a supporting character. The anime also did a really nice job at giving Tsukuyo that humanising moment during her conversation with Iroha at the cafe, emphasising the good inside of her despite being an antagonist, and also taking the chance to give her a sense of individuality so that she and her sister are not always seen as an identical and inseparable pair with no personal lives or traits, so props to them for that :) Mitama has hardly made many appearances and doesn’t even seem very story-relevant at this point, so I’m wondering how they’re going to build up her importance in the next season so that she doesn’t seem like the “token shopkeeper character” who’s there for no real purpose outside of gaming mechanics (because we all know that Mitama is so much more than that). And as for characters like Kaede, she’s been changed so much that I’ll reserve my judgment for now because I simply don’t know where they’re intending to take her character. Same goes for Kuroe and her still-unclear purpose in the plot lmao

I think it’s important to remember that a lot of characterisation we get in the game is from Magical Girl Stories and Event Stories, both of which are obviously not viable to delve into too much in the anime. As a result, I guess it’s “to be expected” that the anime will have to give up quite a bit of the details that make all these characters so real, likable, or relatable. I’m not an anime writer, nor do I know anything about adapting games into anime, but I do feel that it would have been so much better if they had come up with some other way of compensating for the lost characterisation moments that are only shown in the game’s side stories. Not sure how else they should have done it, but simply removing some of these vital bits of information does harm the portrayal of these characters, especially when they’re part of the main cast.

But yeah, mixed feelings because while some characters really needed more work in the characterisation department, others were handled amazingly well xD

Pacing: 4/10

Okay, let’s be real. The pacing was almost definitely the anime’s weakest point, and possibly one of the main reasons why someone would find the show hard to enjoy or even understand. I’ve seen people complain that the story is too fast, and I’ve also seen people complain that it moves way too slowly. In my opinion, it really is a combination of both, and I’m honestly quite fascinated at how the anime somehow manages to pull off being both too fast and too slow at the same time xD

The story is almost excruciatingly slow in that it takes a whole ten episodes before the main cast is fully assembled. I thought a bit about this and, to be fair, some classic magical girl shows also take many, many episodes before all the main characters are introduced, such as Sailor Moon taking a whopping 33 episodes before all five Inner Senshi have gathered. So I guess this slow episode-by-episode “collection” of team members really isn’t something new. But MagiReco isn’t really a long-running anime that has filler episodes back-to-back to justify the slow pace of the plot. The plot is moving every week, yet it still feels like it takes forever to get the main cast together, which is slow enough to make the viewer question what they had been sitting through all this time when it’s been ten episodes and the story is really only “actually beginning” now.

And at the same time the plot somehow manages to feel too fast at the same time. How is this even possible? My answer to this is simply the fact that they introduce conflicts and mysteries, only to quickly resolve them and then immediately jump to the next one before the audience has even had a chance to really process or understand what they just watched. We’re not given the time to really absorb the development of the story or the subtle changes the characters are undergoing before we’re immediately thrown into a new mini “arc” the next week. In some ways, it almost seems like the “Monster of the Week” formula that many magical girl series adopt, only instead of being aware that we’re seeing trivial conflicts that are intended to last for one episode with characters we are likely not going to see again, MagiReco is throwing out new ideas, new terms, and new plot-relevant characters almost every episode, vomiting out information in a way that viewers who haven’t played the game will find very difficult to keep up with.

And that brings me to one of the biggest problems I had with the anime: important terms and concepts are often thrown in as a “by the way”. (This is most apparent with anything to do with the Wings of Magius before Episode 10, most notably Alina’s introduction.) Game players will obviously know what they’re talking about, but anime-only viewers are left confused and lost as to what exactly is happening half the time. I’ve seen more than a few instances where a viewer who wasn’t familiar with the game needed extra clarification and explanation before they understood certain things, and honestly that isn’t a good sign. All the important stuff should be made crystal clear so that even anime-only viewers will be able to grasp all the concepts without game players to spell things out for them. The anime should be a standalone piece on its own, not a “supplement" to the game. And the consequence is that anime viewers are constantly raising their eyebrows and wondering what the heck just happened or when the heck something was ever established, because crucial information is thrown around with no emphasis and the fast pace doesn’t allow viewers to digest anything properly. This unclear storytelling wastes the opportunity to present mysteries that are intended to keep the audience invested; rather than continuing the series because you just have to find out what something means or why something is the way it is, you’re left with question marks popping up all around your head because you’re confused af and wondering if you forgot or missed some crucial information at some point.

Another issue I had with the anime was what I’ve decided to dub the “one-shot curse”. Witches and Rumours alike are one-shot-ed so quickly and fights resolved so suddenly that I was often left wondering what the point of that fight was. Not to mention that a lot of the battles lacked real “action”. Witches appear, get one-shot-ed, and the characters return to whatever it was they were doing before as though nothing had happened. So... what was the point? I guess they really wanted to emphasise just how many Witches there are in Kamihama and just how easy it is to come across one everyday? Or maybe it was just for the sake of including an obligatory battle in each episode so there’s at least some action each week? Either way, if you’re going to include Witch battles, you may as well do them properly. For crying out loud, InuCurry, the guy who designs the Witches, is the director of the MagiReco anime! You’d expect a bit more emphasis and flourish to highlight what he’s so good at! But to be fair, there were some good Witch battles, such as the ones in the first episode, the ones in Yachiyo’s flashbacks when Kanae and Meru died, and of course, the epic battle between Holy Mami and Sayaka in the final episode. So they’re not all that bad, but I just feel like there was a lot of wasted potential.

I find that the main problem is a lack of balance between the battles, the exposition, the plot, and the fluffy slice-of-life stuff. All these are crucial to a good anime, and a lot of these moments were done quite nicely as standalone scenes. But the way the MagiReco anime has packaged them together and tied a very unattractive Bad Pacing ribbon on top just doesn’t work. It’s like a giftbox that has some lovely things inside if you look carefully at them one by one, but the way the gift is presented just isn’t very appealing and ruins the goodness of the content inside.

I get that the anime probably has issues with pacing because it’s essentially adapting a mobile game. I’m not sure if the pacing would be better if this weren’t the case and the MagiReco story was scripted for an anime to begin with, but I really, really hope they fix these pacing issues next season.

Visuals and Animation: 8/10

To me, the visuals were nearly always top-notch, and definitely a huge improvement from the original series. They managed to retain the art style of PMMM while also updating it so that it looks a lot more sleek and polished. The characters looked great, the scenery is gorgeous, the labyrinths all unique and intricately designed, and there was a lot of clever visual symbolism going on in the still shots and subtle scene transitions. I’m not an expert on animation or visual arts, but I definitely think this series deserves a very high score for this section.

There were a few instances where we saw some wonky “meguca" shots, but those were rare and nowhere near bad enough to detract from my overall enjoyment of the series. I don’t really have much else to say because, like I said, this really isn’t my forte, but I genuinely loved most of the visuals we got.

Music and Soundtrack: 9/10

I know a lot of us were disappointed when we learned that Yuki Kajiura would not be returning to do the music for MagiReco. And we all knew that whoever they hired would have very, very, very large shoes to fill. And I can definitely say that I was not disappointed at all.

Guys, the music for this series is AMAZING. Takumi Ozawa managed to capture the style that Kajiura used for PMMM in a way that retains the original tone of the franchise without seeming like a mere carbon copy of her work. I don’t think there was a single musical piece in there that didn’t make me feel like, “Ah, this is no doubt a PMMM anime!” And none of them gave me the impression that he was “trying too hard" to “rehash” Kajiura’s style. No, there’s familiarity and there’s originality, and it’s all packed together in a way that allows MagiReco to retain the charm of its predecessor while also standing strong as a work of art by itself.

I only docked one point because there were so many amazing tracks from the game and I don’t really understand why they didn’t use them when there were moments that seemed perfect for those tunes. It would be a nice sense of familiarity for game players, and it’s still considered “new stuff” for anime-only viewers too, so I really don’t get why xD Maybe they really wanted to separate the anime from the game? Which is also fair enough :)

I wasn’t so sure about “Gomakashi” as the OP when I first heard it in the trailer, but it’s definitely grown on me! While I still think “Kakawari” is superior and has a more catchy and iconic sound to it, “Gomakashi” is sweet and girly, very much like the kind of song you’d hear in a magical girl series. I don’t think this is an OP that will be legendary enough that everyone knows the tune (like the theme song for Sailor Moon, for example), but it’s a lovely song and I do like it a lot ^^

“Alicia” was beautiful from the very first time I heard it, and I’ve only grown more and more fond of it with each listen. Definitely one of my favourite EDs of all time, and perhaps my favourite OP/ED song out of the entire PMMM franchise.

And that ED song for the final episode? Gorgeous, too. Almost has a “Magia” kind of sound, and definitely sets a darker tone for the upcoming season where (I assume) sh*t starts getting real.

Overall: 7/10, B+ or A-

Despite my criticism and picking the anime apart in this review, overall I still genuinely enjoyed it a lot :D It’s far from perfect, but I was nowhere near as disappointed as I’ve been in the past with other anime adaptations, and while some parts could definitely have been handled a lot better, it was mostly still decent in my opinion. Get rid of the pacing issues and I’d probably give it a solid 9 (for context, I rate the original PMMM anime a 10/10, perhaps even higher if possible).

Again, I think my experience and knowledge as a game player definitely influenced my view on the anime as an adaptaion. For example, I already love the characters and know enough about them, and so I probably didn’t really feel the consequences caused by the anime’s sometimes lackluster characterisation. I also often have ideas of how I want or hope a part gets adapted, and then get disappointed when it’s done in a different and underwhelming way compared to what I imagined. I’m sure my impressions, comments, and scores would be very different if I were an anime-only viewer and had no idea how things went in the game. But alas, you can’t have both experiences to compare, so it is what it is xD

Anyway, no matter how much I nitpicked, I still love MagiReco a lot, both the game and the anime, and am really looking forward to Season 2! With the obvious changes they made in that last episode, I get the feeling that it’ll only diverge even further as the story unfolds. I’m okay with these new surprises and new takes on characters, but I do hope that they aren’t changing it all completely, because there’s a lot of good stuff in the later chapters that I really hope gets animated, e.g. Kanagi’s entrance, Rumour Tsuruno, Yachiyo vs. Holy Mami, basically everything that happens at Fenthope in Chapter 9, and of course, the big reveal about Ui, Touka, and Nemu’s wishes in the final chapter. Just imagining these things animated already gets me super excited, so hopefully we’ll at least still keep the core of the game’s story despite the changes (and hopefully these changes are all improvements!) ｡^‿^｡ 

~~~

And since the anime is taking a break, my reviews will also be going on a break ╥﹏╥ I’ll probably still pop up in the MagiReco tag every now and then if I can think of something to talk about, though? Depends on what I can come up with xD But yeah, I don’t really post updates about my gameplay here (unless it’s something major like pulling my favourite character lol), so if you’re interested in seeing any of that stuff, you can follow me on Twitter instead, since I’m much more active there nowadays. I’m always happy to discuss things and scream with fellow fans, so whether it’s here or on Twitter, please feel free to approach me anytime if you want someone to fangirl with (๑ゝڡ◕๑)

I’ll be ending this post here! Thank you so much for reading, and please continue to love and support MagiReco while we wait for the second season ღゝ◡╹)ノ♡

[the-gay-cryptid]

I Love My Mom, But-

I was thinking about intrusive thoughts lately. How they interact with me. For the most part I don’t really struggle with them, which is fortunate. They prefer to take the more typical form of “what if you just slammed on the gas and went top speed” or “what if you murdered your family? How would you do it?” and while the thoughts are certainly startling in the moment, I learned a long time ago that they don’t define me. It’s a hard lesson to learn, but it helped that I had an obsession with psychology and a brother who shared that fascination and never feared to share his thoughts and reflect on them as they were: mere thoughts.

 But in recent years, they’ve learned. They still tell me I should sneak out. Or steal that makeup palette. But every once in a while, they choose to be subtle.

 Just some soft passing notes on how I’ve barely put effort into searching for scholarships. Or a little observation that I haven’t learned a lot of basic skills necessary for adulthood. And more and more, these subtle intrusive thoughts sound like my mother.

 I think horrible things about myself, and more and more it has ceased to be my own voice, and instead become hers. But who does that say more about?

 My counselor, a lovely woman named Mae, tells me that what people say about me is more of a reflection of them than me. My mom telling me I’m being lazy isn’t actually indicative of my effort, but of my mom’s own fear and anxiety about my future. My anxiety, and intrusive thoughts by extension, are nothing more than the internalized concerns of other people about themselves. So what does it say when the voice that tells me I look fat, that I’m over reaching my abilities, that I can’t make it, is my mom?

 She’s not a bad person. No more than the average person is anyway. 

 I forget her name, but in the aftermath of the holocaust, there was a woman who proposed that there is no such thing as someone who is “good” or “bad”, but that all humans are born with equal ability to commit atrocities and kindness. It was a scary thought at the time, because it meant anyone could become like the Nazis, and it was much more comfortable to simply dehumanize them and pretend that they were born evil. 

 My mom is a good person in terms of generics. She is not racist. She strives to employ and work with people of color. She’s far from sexist. She instilled in me a strong belief in equality of the sexes and she is deliberate in and out of work to uplift women. She is not homophobic or trans phobic. She struggles to understand sometimes, but she tries. She is not dismissive of mental health. She is the one I go to when I have anxiety attacks, and she’s the one who suggested I go to counseling for it, and she tries to accommodate me when my mental health gets to be too much.

 But she’s not perfect. No one is, but sometimes her flaws are so glaring it’s hard to see much else.

 My freshmen year was the first time I had an anxiety attack. I remember it had to do with my algebra grade. I remember standing in my parents room as my mother stared my down, her mouth pressing into and ever thinning line as she waited for any kind of excuse. By then I’d learned it was best to apologize. So I said “I’m sorry.” she demanded to know what for. I didn’t know. So I said “I’m sorry I’m failing.” She grounded me. I was grounded most of freshmen year.

 I went to my room with my eyes burning and my hands shaking. I sank onto the floor with my back against my bed. The metal frame dug into my spine and hurt, but it kept me grounded so i pressed harder and harder. I curled up, knees at my chest and nails pressing through my sleeves as i tried to catch my breath. I couldn’t cry. I wasn’t supposed to cry. It would make her angrier. I wasn’t allowed to feel bad for something that was my fault. I couldn’t be upset with her because I’m the one who fucked up. It’s my fault she was mad and I didn’t deserve to be upset.

 She I sat shaking and whimpering and biting my lip and fighting the rising scream in my chest until it began its decline and I could breathe. My breaths were still violent and much too fast and I was dizzy and my chest hurt and vague descriptions of heart attacks stumbled around my head. Logic and reason were fast and frantic and broke like waves against the concrete fact that I was a bad student. A bad daughter. A bad person.

 My parents found me curled like that, unable to move. My dad handed me a rolled up towel, I don't know why, but I clutched it to my chest and bit down on it and strained screams through my teeth while they watched. When I finished, when I finally could move, I was still shaking. Everything buzzed and felt weak, like the time I’d run a mile in gym class with too much enthusiasm.

 Dad held my shoulders, rubbing my arms a little too hard. But that helped. The certainty of him being there. Mom sat on the bed and waited. 

 “I think you just had a panic attack” Dad said gently. I nodded. That fit. Those words were a good descriptor.

 “I couldn’t breathe.” the words come out shaky and slurred. Some of them had to be forced. “I couldn’t move.”

 “Now that you’re calmed down,” Mom said, “we need to figure out what to do about your grades.” I was not calm. I felt scraped out and sick, but I wasn’t allowed to.

 I looked up what an honors class was, because despite telling me what a good thing it was, no one ever actually bothered to tell me what it was. Then I suggested that maybe I shouldn’t take an honors math class, considering that I wasn’t suited to math to begin with. Mom wouldn’t let me.

 I had a lot of anxiety attacks after that. Always school related. Always after conversations with my mom. I dreaded Monday mornings when my mom would receive and email with my updated grades. I hid in the bathroom until it was time to go and would try to avoid telling her bye, because then I’d have to face her. 

 One morning I didn’t have a choice. I met her in the kitchen, and she went off. She didn’t yell. Mom never yells. She is just..stern. Just an even tone telling me I was being lazy and irresponsible and she was spending a lot of money to send me to this school and i was wasting it. I said sorry. I didn’t know what else to do. She said sorry wasn’t good enough. I promised to do better, I promised I’d study more, I promised to talk to my teachers, do extra credit, ask for help. She said she didn’t believe me.

 Then she threatened to pull me out. She said maybe I wasn’t ready for such an advanced school. And that if I was just going to waste her money, she was going to pull me out because she was not spending thousands of dollars just so I could fail. I remember sinking down to my knees, begging her not to make me leave. I loved my school. I loved my friends. I loved my teachers. 

 She told me to get the hell up. She glared down at me and told me to stop crying. She watched as I nearly made myself sick crying, and then said she didn’t want to look at me right now and left for work. 

 I got up and went to the bathroom. I drank several glasses of water, cleaned my face, and did my makeup to hide how red my face was. I don’t think I talked that day. It hurt too much.

 It would take several more groundings, lectures, and anxiety attacks for us to finally realize that I didn’t know how to fucking study. Then it was all about getting mad that I never asked for help. Then it was more apologies and thinking to myself about how if I admitted I was in a bad enough place to need help, she might have thought I was a failure.

 The anxiety continued. My teachers were good people though, and let me retake tests. My dad taught me how to study. My mom grounded me when I slipped. 

 When I started being too scared to order my own food, or talk at the doctor, or meet new people, they got worried. When I was scared to speak, they worried. When I had to hide in the bathroom and wait for the shaking to pass at least once a week, they really worried.

 Mom was the one who took me to Mae. she still took the lead and told Mae what was wrong with me. But she also suggested I might do better in one on one sessions instead of sitting there with my parents.

 One day, driving back from one of these sessions, she asked me if she was a cause of my anxiety. I’d always blamed school related stress and meeting new people for it. But I looked at her. And I thought about how many times she’d told me to stop crying. All the grounding. The threats to take my door. The guilt trips. The dismissals. The way she cried when my older brother told her how her disciplining methods hurt him. How my brother became the ungrateful one. The one who lacked any compassion for his own mother. 

 “No.” I lied. “You’re not.”

 Things got better, I think. She recognized my anxiety. She still causes most of my anxiety attacks, even indirectly.

 And now I’m in a place to examine our relationship. I love my mom, and she loves me. But she loves me the way she knows how. And she’s never hit me. She’s never intentionally caused me grief. She’s only hurt me because she thought I needed the push to succeed. She puts weight on school and scholarships to encourage me. She knows that encourages her. She doesn’t know that what encourages her hurts me. She’s not to blame.

 Even if I have told her it hurts. Even if I’ve grown in confidence enough to tell her when she’s hurting me. Even if I’ve asked my dad to explain that her throwing her stress on me only helps her. Even if I’ve begun to realize all the ways she accidentally manipulates me. She’s not to blame.

 Mom works hard. Mom’s just trying to help. Don’t tell Mom she’s the reason your hands shake. Don’t hurt Mom’s feelings by telling her that she’s made your brain fucked up. Don’t hurt Mom like she hurt you. Mom gets to throw her stress on yours, and if you tell her that what she’s doing is wrong she’ll feel bad, and God forbid she feel guilt. Don’t let Mom know she’s imperfect. 

 So my Mom is the voice of my intrusive thoughts. And she’s the primary origin of my anxiety. And she’s the reason I hate my body. And she’s the reason I’m scared of school. And she’s the reason my villains are mothers. And she’s the reason I’m in counseling. And she’s the reason I think it’s bad to cry. And she’s the reason I’d rather crash and burn in secret than admit I need help. And she’s the reason I doubt every choice. And she’s the reason I think I’m secretly a bad person. Only bad people hate their mom sometimes.

So who’s fault is it that I always say “I love my mom, but..”?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’ve been saying for a while that I wanted to talk about my relationship with my mom. so here it is. I’ve thought before that maybe it counts as abusive, but I really have no fucking clue because I can’t trust my judgement about her. I don’t know how much is over exaggerated anxiety or accurate perception or idolizing her because she’s my mom.

I think the best way to sum up our relationship is just confusing and probably unhealthy. not that I’d ever tell her that. not that I could. my brother did once and then I had to deal with the after math of my mom crying so much and my brother being forced to apologize.

so yeah. it’s ~complicated~

Now I feel like a piece of shit and would greatly appreciate anyone sending me nice messages. I’m gonna go take a bath to calm down.

[hiyo-silver]

Untouchable - Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang

Summary:  The school holds a vigil for Eddie Kaspbrak despite most people having hardly knowing him. Patrick and Henry arrive only with ulterior motives, Bill Denbrough. Richie doesn't take kindly to the assault, it's their turn to go.

Chapters 1 2 3 4 + AO3

Taglist: @fuckboykaspbrak @thesquidliesthuman @rachi0964 @beepbeep-losers @bigbilliamdenbro @jalenrose1122 @sleepygaybrough @itandstrangerthingsfanfic @boopboopbichie @peachywyatt @aizeninlefox @sockwantstodie @ahoybyeler @abbeyglover @w-billiam

By the time that Bill makes it to math class, his last hour in school before he gets to escape to the comfort of his own home. No more time to sit here sweating and trying to hide his guilt. He sneaks a look at his phone from inside his sweatshirt pocket. The first thing that catches his eye is that Stan sent him a text relatively ten minutes ago. “Hang out tonight?” he’d asks. Bill chews his lip, he doesn’t know if he could stomach that. Hanging out for a night with someone who genuinely liked Eddie, at least it seemed so. They were close, and Bill would be lying if he said he hadn’t seen them get cozy, and even kiss on occasion. They were a couple, Bill doesn’t know if he can keep his mouth long enough with Stan.

He sighs and looks at his calculus worksheet, chewing his lip for a moment before looking back at the lit screen, pressing the home button with his thumb to unlock it. His thumbs dance anxiously over his keyboard on the conversation. He finally lets out another sigh and types out simply. “Sure, I’ll meet you at my locker after the final bell.” he presses send and swallows thickly before picking up his blue pen once again to finish the problem he was working on before. He finishes before everyone else, there’s a reason he’d almost skipped a grade. Maybe he should have. He could have narrowly missed the year of the undoing of Derry high school that is soon to come, it’s already starting to unravel like a ball of twine. Red twine. Like the kind they use on tv in detective shows to show evidence- fuck, Bill tells himself yet again. He doesn’t know how to stop the thoughts, he didn’t even do anything, only witnessed.

Time seems to move like molasses, more though Bill feels as if moving through life is like swimming through molasses. He has to push and push to keep going, he feels like he’s been holding his breath. He just wants to finally let go but he fears the entire story will come tumbling out with as simple as a sigh. The bell rings, cutting through his hazy mind and signalling his reaction by reflex to put away his things and sling his backpack of his shoulder. He has to provide himself with his next mission. Meet Stan at his locker, make it through an evening with Stan. Then, he can spill everything to his diary that he’s held in since the weekend. It feels as though it’s been weeks, he doesn’t know how killers do this, he doesn't understand how Richie can do this.

Richie. He’d almost forgotten. Richie is so tender with him, treating him lovingly as if he’s made of glass, that he must be protected. He wracks his brain for any answer to how Richie could do this at all. He said he’s never been caught, which means he’s done this before. The confusion leaves Bill near tears as he navigates the hallway. He knows well enough how much it hurts to lose someone to murder, Georgie. The young boy comes to mind, he’s surprised he hasn’t already. He can’t believe he’s been involved in this, causing this kind of mess to someone. He hates himself. He can almost hear Richie’s voice in his head though, “C’mon, Billy, you wouldn’t want to get caught, would you?” the voice whispers as he finds himself right up to Stan’s locker. He sucks in a fresh breath of air and smiles weakly for Stan.

“Hey, how are you holding up?” Bill asks quietly, reaching his hand to rub Stan’s arm comfortingly. New mission, ignore his own feelings to help Stan, the other boy had obviously reached out to him for a reason. Of course he’s hurting, Bill is only being selfish. Bill Denbrough has a habit of ignoring his own problems, he probably will never admit out loud that he’s truly been traumatized. He didn’t instigate the murder, he never told Richie to do it, he didn’t want to be involved even after it happened. Everything he’d done there had been completely for the sake of covering their tracks.

Stan stays quiet, his eyes trained on the floor, his face pale but calm. He seems to still be in shock, he’s not feeling it completely yet, it’s truly a blessing to not be any further through the stages of grief. Soon he’ll be crying and falling apart and blaming others and then blaming himself. Bill can’t imagine how hard it will be for Stan. From what he knows, not only were Stan and Eddie secretly together, but Stan has never lost someone this way. He’s never been to a funeral of someone he’d actually known, only random second cousins and distant relatives several times removed. It may have been easier if Eddie hadn’t always been so tender with him. The way Richie is so tender with Bill. Richie is no saint, it’s coming to view finally now that Bill lets it sink it, Eddie wasn’t either. At least Eddie hadn’t been a killer.

“I’m- alright,” Stan says softly, holding his books closer to his chest, adjusting them so he can keep them up in his arms as they’d been slipping. “It’s just so sudden. I didn’t know he’d been so sad, I wish he would have let me help,” Stan says, still keeping his eyes aimed at the tile of the hallway, licking his lips compulsively. He’d obviously been crying the night before, his lips were more chapped than Bill has ever seen them, Stan is a religious moisturizer and keeps himself hydrated. The normal Stan wouldn’t dare stand to be in this state, especially in public.

“You wanna go to your house? Or mine? Or anywhere, I really don’t mind,” Bill offers, his voice soft and soothing as usual when he talks to people he wants to comfort. He’s always been really good at that. It’s one of the reasons he and Ben had gotten along so well. Ben, oh how Bill longs to go back to him, back to normal. He wants to rewind the world he’s living in back to September first of 2018 and sit down at the lunch table and joke about the new romantic comedies on Netflix despite the fact that they would watch these later that night and cry and laugh openly.

“There’s actually going to be a candlelight vigil tonight at the park, for Eds y’know,” Stan says in his normal mumbling tone, seeming even more bittersweet. It’s even more a wake up call that Eddie is really gone for him. “I was thinking you would go with me, I’m not sure if Bev is going, and us two are friends, y’know?” Stan goes on, not finding the courage for his hazel eyes to meet Bill’s concerned blue ones yet.

“Yeah, of course we can go, I’ll drive.” Eddie always drove. Eddie had a hotter car than Bill had, it was safer and cleaner and flashier, one of Eddie’s prized possessions. It feels almost wrong of Bill to offer to, but he knows that Stan doesn’t drive and doesn’t have a car of his own. Stan simply nods, “We can hang out at my house until the sun goes down when it’s time to go, I won’t let us be late,” Bill promises, reaching to link his arm with Stan’s.

“Thank you, Bill,” Stan says with a sure nod, finally letting his eyes meet Bill’s. He finally seems to be calming, his shoulders relaxing and his face staying soothed. They walk outside to Bill’s car, dropping their bags in the back seat and sitting up in the front, chuckling slightly as the car groans and wheezes to a slow start. It’s always a gamble of it the car will work again this time, but they get lucky enough to pull out of the parking spot and out onto the road on the way to the Denbrough residence.

The two plop themselves on the couch in the living room, watching various cartoons on the television. It was a measured plan on Bill’s part, watching tv meant he wouldn’t have to talk, knowing how little Stan talks unprompted, and Bill knows he wouldn’t know what to talk about, the death still plaguing his mind in a thick black fog that leaves him unable to do anything else. He wants nothing but to forget completely.

Finally, the time comes when the sun has gone down and it’s time to go back to the car and drive down to the park for the vigil. Bill eyes the clock and looks back at Stan before picking up the remote and shutting the tv off, “Hey, we should probably get going,” he says in a hushed voice to Stan. “Eddie always liked being on time,” he says with a weak smile, wanting to help lighten the situation.

“Yeah, he’d kill us if we were late to this,” Stan says with a small grin of his own, sitting up before pushing himself all the way to his feet. Bill mirrors the same, the two of them linking their arms together again, locking the front door behind them. The drive to the park is uncomfortably quiet. Stan has known Eddie as long as he can remember, Bill has only come into their lives this year.

As they step out of the car, the air is as cold and unforgiving as the cup of poisoned gatorade Eddie had downed merely days ago. Eddie may not have been the best person, but it almost seems that the weather dropped nearer to winter temperatures since he’s been gone. Bill and Stan huddle deeper into their coats, pulling their arms over their chests to hold their warmth in. They join the small group in the grass, being offered the most pitiful expressions they have to date. At least Stan, Bill knows those looks. The same from the funeral of one Georgie Denbrough.

They’re handed small tea candles, having them lit by a match. They’re surprised to find that this has all been organized by Mike Hanlon. Mike never knew Eddie well, but at least Eddie’s taunts for him never included his skin color. Eddie believed in equality, he’s treat almost everyone as bad as everyone else, simply a complex of feeling more important. His mindset stemmed from traumatic experiences, not much different than Richie’s mindset, but Richie is far too gone. Eddie would never get worse, or better. His potential for improvement was robbed from him. Mike put this together because he knew nobody else would. Not many people were fond enough of Eddie, and the few who are were too close to him to be in the right mind to do this for him.

“Thank you,” Bill says as Mike lights the candle cupped in between his hands. He holds it gently and looks at the flickering flame. He’s never noticed before that the fire can be a metaphor for life. It can flicker and die out with a simple breeze, or it can roar with a violent passion, destroying everything that comes in it’s past. Eddie’s flame had been blown out, and Richie’s was thriving under the exact circumstances.

Stan looks down at his own candle, maybe thinking the same, of course without the metaphor to Richie, or even knowing that Eddie’s death was any more than a suicide. Bill can’t get over the fact, Eddie Kaspbrak has been murdered, and the sole part he had in the murder was making everyone believe it wasn’t a murder. It’s nothing less than an offense on the life Eddie had lived.

A few people step up and speak sweet words, Bill can debunk every one of them. None of these people really liked Eddie personally or otherwise. It’s all bullshit, they’re making grieving trendy, something they all need to do to continue to fit in to any status quo and not be seen as a monster simply for resenting someone who treated them badly. Everyone is so insincere. He doesn’t hear a testimony true to how someone actually saw the popular boy. That was when Stanley Uris pulled out enough courage to stand in front of the crowd and speak in a shaking voice.

“I’m Stan, as you guys know, Eddie and I were close,” he says before taking a gasping breath between statements. “He and I were together, I never knew he wasn’t happy, I didn’t know how much he was hurting. And I do blame myself for that,” he continues with a sniffle. “When I heard the news I cried because the description of the scene sounded like one from a horror movie, like how you feel when you see something like that on the news but someone telling you in real life. I was numb after that, it doesn’t feel real. Until I was here now,” he says with a near silent sob, “With all these people listening, it just felt like he was staying home from school. I know he wasn’t always kind to you guys and-” he takes another breath, “I want to apologize on his behalf, he didn’t mean it, truly, I promise that,” Stan finishes, deciding he can’t go on any more with how much his voice quivers with the tears he’s holding back.

Stan finally stands down from the spot, dispersing back to his spot with Bill among the others. He hopes he made the right choice, he doesn’t want backlash, and he doesn’t want to hear anything more negative about his late boyfriend, it’s disrespect for the dead which is just as bad as the fact they speak badly of the one he loved. He knows Eddie was no saint, but the boy wasn’t evil either, and he didn’t deserve the fate that came to him. Nobody deserve to be so trapped in their own mind that they take their own life, nobody deserves to scream so fucking loudly that nobody can hear them. He’d probably been screaming so long that he lost his voice, couldn’t keep it up.

Bill feels someone bump their arm against his and stay there, trying to lace their fingers with his. He half expects to turn around and see Richie Tozier also at the vigil for the boy they killed, but it ends up being someone who makes Bill do a double take, pulling away quickly. Patrick Hocksetter, probably one of his least favorite people. The kid has bullied him since kindergarten and only tolerates him now because of who he hangs out with, it’s gross.

“Got an issue, William? Your little boyfriend isn’t here, pretty boy,” the other man teases, trying to grab for Bill’s hand like the sleazy asshole he is. Bill yanks his hand back again, more force this time now that Richie is brought up. Richie may not be the best or the best influence, but Bill Denbrough has no interest in being unfaithful to him.

“I’m not a cheater,” Bill says assuredly to the bully, his eyebrows set in a position of dominance, as if he’s taller and more powerful than the kid he hears walks around with a makeshift flamethrower, a lighter and hairspray. Bill will have to remember that. He doesn’t know how to keep himself civil, murder on his mind and pulling his strings until he’s on edge enough to snap.

“C’mon, buddy, he doesn’t need to know, a good guy is only a bad guy who hasn’t been caught,” Patrick purrs, pushing them out of the circle and closer to the forest. Bill doesn’t know how everyone else doesn’t notice, he feels vulnerable. The scene he sees over Patrick’s shoulder just looks like fire, not candles, not people, only golden flames that leave an awful burning smell with the floating embers.

That all is, until a groan escapes his harasser, a shove had come to him at the hands of none other than Richie, the “boyfriend who wouldn’t have to know.” “Tell me why your grubby hands were on my boyfriend’s waist?” Richie asks in a tone that just begs Patrick to test him.

“What about it, psycho?” Patrick hisses, stepping back swiftly to escape any other attacks from the infatuated man. Infatuated, that’s the word to describe it. Richie can’t take his eyes off of Bill half the time, he can’t bear to be apart from him. He needs him, he’ll simply die without him right there next to him.

“Keep your hands off of him if you know what’s good for you, Cocksetter,” Richie says, his tone one that nobody in their right mind would want to reckon with. Bill, however, isn’t in his right mind, though he wants only to do positive things with this man, wanting to just go back to Richie’s and make him his again.

Patrick finally backs away, going back to the crowd only to escape Richie, obviously not in his right mind himself, but he knows well enough to stay away.

-

After the vigil, Bill and Richie end up in Bill’s car, Stan had gotten a ride with someone else, realizing how shaken Bill is from what happened with Patrick, and Stan knows well enough how it feels, the Bowers gang has always been pretty awful to him, but Henry and Patrick are the worst.

Richie sits in the passenger side, his cigarette smoke floating off the tip out the window in curling ribbons as the nicotine calms him. Bill can’t resist the look on Richie’s face, he can’t resist Richie’s face, period. He climbs over the space between their seats, settling in Richie’s lap, straddling his legs over his thighs, dipping his body down to meet his lips to Richie’s. He can taste the smoke in lips and lingering on his tongue.

Richie catches Bill’s lips in his own hungrily, his hands gripping tightly at Bill’s sides, he’s always in the mood for a good makeout session. Suddenly his eyes pop open, his lips cease to keep moving, Bill pulling away sensually with a doe look in his eyes, wanting to go right back to what he was doing.

“I have an idea, lovely,” Richie purrs, running his hands up and down Bill’s sides in a way that makes the boy shiver with pleasure, “For us to get back at Patrick and Henry,” Richie adds, seeing Bill’s expression shift to one of interest, listening closely. “We can prank them, expose them for how they really are,” Richie smirks, pulling the idea together in his head, compiling how he will have to describe it to Bill, he’s unsure if Bill will trust him anymore.

-

The night comes and goes, the boys had returned to their acts in the car. Bill can says he’s really broken in his car now, and he’d say it with a smirk and then an awkward laugh. “They’re called que no es de fiar aparentar bullets, got them at a prank store,” Richie says, hiding his lie smoothly behind a buttery false Spanish accent.

“So they’re fake?” Bill asks, a confused expression on his face, his big blue puppy dog eyes bringing Richie in further to him until they are touching again.

“Completely false, gonna knock the boys unconscious, we’ll just leave them naked for the police to find before they come to, they’ll be the laugh of the school now,” Richie smiles. “They deserve it,” he reminds him softly, brushing his thumb against Bill’s cheek.

Bill nods back hesitantly. He’s always been one for revenge, but he doesn’t know about this. Patrick and Henry have always terrorized him, he’s still scared of them. He almost feels like this will make him feel like he has too much power. He knows what power does to people, it’s almost never a good result. He takes the loaded gun from Richie’s hand, letting his finger run over the trigger, a shiver running down his spine. He doesn’t know if this feels extremely right or extremely wrong, but it feels like something that threatens to take him over. “They should be here soon, I called them a bit ago,” he says solemnly.

Richie nods back, taking his own identical weapon in his hands, holding it like he has before, the adrenaline is always the same. He almost craves it, but he’s learned to control it more when he’s on his own, but around Bill, oh he feels powerful. It’s his duty now, he has to protect this man. Even if that means bloodshed, the world is too full of corrupt people anyways, he justifies to himself as he starts to walk away. Orange leaves crunch beneath his shoes as he walks through the woods, fidgeting from all his restless energy.

He watches as the two boys approach Bill with their usual confident gait. It only makes him smirk to himself, they wouldn’t be so confident for so long. He watches Bill in his acting, flirting with them and then having them strip down, standing apart, then he watches Bill’s gaze flicker to his direction and he knows it’s go time.

He aims the weapon, he pulls the trigger. It hits Henry as he expected it to, he watches the bullet leave Bill’s gun and narrowly miss Patrick. Shit. he takes it upon himself immediately to take over that job too, getting Patrick just as he tries to get away. He feels the same adrenaline as he had with Eddie before but softens when he hears a scream come from no other than Bill.

“Richie- are they supposed to bleed this much? Are they- are they dead?” Bill asks, looking and sounding on the verge of tears as his voice wavers, wrapping his arms around Richie as soon as he approaches him, hiding his face in Richie’s chest.

“Calm down, baby, just another evil defeated,” Richie purrs, running his hands through Bill’s hair tenderly, “We should get going, don’t wanna get caught, do we?” he says, pulling away and grabbing Bill’s cold hand in his own.

It’s only now that Bill realizes exactly how crazy Richie might be, tears streaming down his own face, he can’t do this any longer. He can’t keep being so violent. He can’t mess up himself and his future so badly. He’s only hardly grown up, freshly eighteen and with so much ahead of him. He needs to put an end to this.

[pass-the-bechdel]

Homicide: Life on the Street seasons 1-2 full review

How many episodes pass the Bechdel test?

7.69% (one of thirteen).

What is the average percentage per episode of female characters with names and lines?

20.58%

How many episodes have a cast that is at least 40% female?

Zero.

How many episodes have a cast that is less than 20% female? 

Five (season one episode three ‘Night of the Dead Living (16.66%), episode six ‘Three Men and Adena’ (11.11%), episode eight ‘And the Rocket’s Red Glare’ (15%), and episode nine ‘Smoke Gets in Your Eyes’ (11.11%), plus season two episode one ‘See No Evil’ (12.5%)).

How many female characters (with names and lines) are there?

Thirty. Five who appeared in more than one episode, one who appeared in at least half the episodes, and one who appeared in every episode.

How many male characters (with names and lines) are there?

Sixty-eight. Eighteen who appeared in more than one episode, nine who appeared in at least half the episodes, and five who appeared in every episode.

Positive Content Status:

Surprisingly good, even progressive for a show from the early nineties. There are some very self-aware considerations of race, gender, and sexuality, and clear distinctions between what is considered ‘depraved’ and what is merely ‘alternative’ (distinctions which modern-day conservatives twenty-five years later seem to still be struggling with). The place where the hammer of judgment falls hardest is on any cop who allows personal prejudice to interfere with their work (average rating of 3.15).

General Season Quality:

Magnificent. To some fans, the first season is undoubtedly the best of the series, and it is certainly true that the show in that initial raw form achieved a beating heart of idiosyncratic realism that future seasons rarely - if ever - matched. That, really, is the highest praise one might levy; at its best, the show feels like reality. There have been many pale imitations of H:LOTS since its heyday, but no equals.

MORE INFO (and potential spoilers) under the cut:

I know, I didn’t do any individual episode posts. I didn’t accidentally publish this review without posting the other ones first: I decided not to write individual episode posts for this show. To be honest, I don’t love the decision, and if I ever do summary-posts-only for a show again, it’ll be under very special circumstances, because it’s really not ideal and there’s a good reason I chose the individual-episode-posts format for this blog in the first place. The only reason I’m pushing against my better judgment and doing summary-posts-only for this show is because, frankly, I think there are only maybe three people on tumblr who ever watched H:LOTS. This is possibly my favourite show in the world (top three, for sure), but it has been largely lost to the memory of history, and it’s also not generally in the habit of giving me a lot to talk about in the context of this blog, episode by episode. It has some good fodder - some fantastic fodder, even - but if I broke it down one episode at a time I fear I’d end up with a Hell of a lot of posts without a lot of content, and with even less of an interested audience. So, I’m gonna cut to the chase, and just do season summaries, touching on the good (and the bad) content in collective instead of stretched over 122 episode posts. My apologies to the three people who wish I would draw this out. 

Also worth noting as we segue into actually discussing the show: I’ve combo’d seasons one and two here because they’re only nine and four episodes long, respectively, and they are frequently packaged together (my DVDs put them all in one box). Sometimes the two seasons are actually labelled and sold as ‘season one’, and season three is consequently labelled ‘season two’, and so on, but I have avoided that unnecessary act of confusing streamlining to refer to them as they were intended and presented when they aired. There are immediate differences to be noted between the first nine episodes and the four that comprise season two: the beige colour-grading of the first season (sometimes so desaturated it almost looks like it’s in black and white) has been lifted to a more vibrant look, and the cases are a little more sensational/unusual than season one’s primarily drab and simple murders. That drab simplicity was what made the first season arguably the best, the key to its realism: murder is rarely an art, rarely complicated, rarely cleverly committed or cleverly covered up. Most of the cases in the first season are lifted directly from real-life cases depicted in journalist David Simon’s non-fiction novel Homicide: A Year on the Killing Streets, the exploration of the Baltimore Homicide Department upon which the show is based. Sensationalism or strangeness are not often part of the first season because they are not often part of reality, and the show is about the job, not the cases. It’s about the life, the people who have to dig into the ugliness of murder, and the way they deal with that, the world that their work shapes around them. I’m not normally a fan of cop shows for the way they wallow in gratuitously sick ideas, always searching for a ‘hook’ to make the crime they depict interesting by being more awful, more grisly, more voyeuristic than anything you’ve seen before. In a word, more sensational. I’ve also made no secret on this blog of my sincere disdain for so-called ‘gritty realism’, because it is commonly wildly unrealistic, and just an excuse to tell stories about horrible people being horrible to each other while the show tries to insist that that’s just how people are. Homicide’s avoidance of sensationalist narratives and its reliance on realism-for-realism’s-sake allow it to avoid the common pitfalls of both cop shows and try-hard ‘gritty realism’. It was a shake-up of the standard tv formula that almost had the show axed after one season, and which led to that ridiculously tiny second season as the network grappled with a critically-acclaimed, Emmy-winning series that was just never designed to be a big ratings winner. What made Homicide great was also what the network slowly squeezed out of it over time as they tried to shape a more traditional cop show, and it’s why no matter which season a fan chooses as their favourite, you can pretty much guarantee they won’t choose the last one. But, we’ll get to that. For now: seasons one and two.

The obvious thing we have to talk about (it is why we’re here, after all) is the ladies. Or, the lady, singular. This is not a female-heavy show, but there is at least one solid reason for that: the presence of only one female homicide detective is not a piece of token inclusion for the show, it’s an accurate reflection of the dynamics of the real-life Baltimore Homicide Department at the time. It’s an important reality here, because it’s something which significantly impacts that single female detective’s life: Kay Howard, as a character, is forced to interact with the conspicuousness of her womanhood on a regular basis. To its credit, the writing does not define Howard by her gender and she is able to have a personality and be a detective first and foremost instead of being ‘the woman, who does woman things, handles woman cases, and talks about being a woman all the time while the male characters feel compelled also to mention her femaleness whenever they notice what a woman she is, which is always’. That said, her gender is something that Howard cannot escape from in her context, something which inevitably sets her apart. This is brought up in particularly notable ways in ‘A Dog and Pony Show’, the only episode that passes the Bechdel (and does so more than once), in which Howard comes down hard on young female officer Schanne. Howard’s partner Felton calls her on it, suggesting that she hates other women, and Howard insists that the reason she is tougher on women than on men is because she expects more from them. As the only female homicide detective in town, Howard feels a strong pressure to represent her gender with conduct beyond reproach, and she takes it as a personal slight when she encounters other women whom she perceives as letting the team down, or of being appointed to their positions to satisfy quotas rather than earning them through merit. Later in the same episode, Howard and Felton have an awkward moment when Felton says he’s not even remotely attracted to her, and Howard pushes him to be honest - not because she wants him to be interested, but because she’s offended by the thought that he has stripped her of her gender in his own mind in order to perceive her as ‘just one of the guys’. Howard’s relationship with her womanhood is rife with contradictions; she is both proud of it, and dogged by internalised misogyny. She wants to be recognised as a woman with merits, but she also doesn’t want her gender to hold sway over her career or be treated as notable. She wants to represent a strong example for other women, but she also hates the expectation. And despite herself, she still wants to believe she’s attractive to men and retaining a traditional feminine appeal, at the same time as dressing in masculine attire and forgoing most of the trappings of traditional femininity. She is caught in the web of imposed societal expectations vs her identity as an individual who cannot be so plainly defined, and she doesn’t want to conform, but she does want to belong. In similar or different forms, it’s an impossible situation that is awfully familiar.

Though she only ekes some Bechdel action out of the one episode, Howard does interact with other women variously, though they all either have no name, or they talk about men the whole time - there were a lot of almost-passes, and some of them very strong gender-relevant  interactions, too: Howard and the therapist Kerry Weston discuss Howard’s relationships with men in terms of dealing daily with crimes largely perpetrated by men and against men, and what that means for her in also trying to form romantic attachments to men (obviously, the conversation fails the Bechdel, but it is insightful observation of the position Howard is in as a heterosexual woman in a male-dominated field), and in ‘Night of the Dead Living’ (an all-around great episode for every character), Howard has a conversation with the (unfortunately nameless) cleaning lady about the lack of funding for medical research into women’s health issues and the relationship between that and the lack of women in congress (she also has multiple conversations with her sister Carrie over the phone in that episode, but those don’t pass the Bechdel either since we only hear Kay’s side). Being the only major female character around doesn’t completely define Howard’s character, nor does the show position her in complete isolation from other women in order to tell the story of her conspicuous womanhood; there’s a good balanced recognition of gender within the narrative, and though it doesn’t score well in the raw statistics, it does do nice things for the content rating and for the messages being communicated to the audience. The complexity of Howard’s relationship with her female identity has a sad, truthful ring about it, and it’s a reflection on society and its habit of treating women like they have to sink or swim on behalf of their entire gender. It’s good stuff.

As for the non-female portion of the show, i.e. the bulk of it: I’m still pretty impressed. I would be remiss in my duties if I didn’t acknowledge the show’s honest and thorough representation of Baltimore as a predominantly black city, and the navigation of racial issues, tensions, and prejudices - both within and without the police force - factor significantly in the tapestry of the series (season two’s ‘See No Evil’ and ‘Black and Blue’ are prime examples). Another episode that I was particularly impressed with for its sensitive handling of content was ‘A Many Splendored Thing’, in which Bayliss and Pembleton investigate the erotic asphyxiation death of Angela Frandina, whose sexual habits are an affront to straight-laced Bayliss. Bayliss’ reactions to the particulars of Angela’s life - including working as a phone-sex operator, and frequenting a local BDSM club - range from hilarious oh-golly innocence to the decidedly un-funny taint of bigotry, as he implies that people who enjoy consensual but ‘dehumanising’ acts are sick in the head, and that Angela can’t have been a good person if she was a part of that lifestyle. Pembleton gives Bayliss a thorough wake-up call in a magnificent speech about virtues and vices, advising Bayliss to get his head out of his ass and stop pretending to live on some pure moral high-ground from which he cannot conceive of the natural variance in human behaviour. The only character who is really judged by the narrative is Bayliss, and his closed-mindedness is exposed as a dangerous precedent and declared unequivocally wrong. It’s a refreshing stance, especially for something which, in the early nineties, was even more of a poorly-represented fringe element than it is now. This episode and a few others also include measures of queer representation in an off-hand, judgment-free fashion, extremely notable in context since the AIDS epidemic was still in full-swing at the time. It’s pretty significant, for a show which is almost as old as I am. 

Other good things: the episode ‘Three Men and Adena’ in season one, aka the episode that single-handedly saved the series from the chopping block by being an Emmy-winning triumph of every possible element of film-making, and, oh, maybe objectively one of the single best episodes of television ever made. No big. Likewise, ‘Bop Gun’ in season two, which utilised the late Robin Williams in a gut-wrenching dramatic performance and consequently saved the series from the chopping block a second time, allowing it to finally start running full-length seasons as of season three. Respect, for the somewhat bizarre decision to use Ned Beatty’s Bolander - this guy:

- as the romantic contender for the series, warts and all as he variously self-sabotages and talks himself out of testing the waters of the dating pool for the first time since 1970; any thoughts of including romantic subplots for titillation are banished when you’ve got ‘The Big Man’ Bolander raging around, and thus those forays into awkward relationships are strictly character pieces, and all the better for it. And points, also, for healthy acts of support between men, toxic masculinity be gone; most notably, Crosetti with his recently-injured and bedridden friend Thormann, who is struggling to adjust to the changed world of his disabilities. Thormann is angry and despairing, declaring himself ‘not a man anymore’ after he loses control of his bowels in his bed; “It’s a natural thing that’s happening here,” Crosetti reassures, soothing Thormann’s embarrassment as he steps in to help his friend clean up, holding his hand and rubbing his back with the gentle patience of a parent. Crosetti was my first favourite character on this show, outstripped by others in the end, but beloved in his time. This review is going live on the 2nd of September for me, but it’s still September 1st in the USA, and therefore, the second anniversary of the death of Jon Polito, our dear Crosetti. This one’s for you, Jon.

Of course, there are a few little quibbles I can raise with the show, and it would be pointless for me to bother with any of this if I didn’t go ahead and raise them. Howard having a prior romantic entanglement with Tyron feels like a needless cliche, and perhaps one of those season two concessions meant to make things seem ‘sexier’; the show is better than that. Kerry Weston uses the example of female seagulls observed to form lesbian bonding pairs as an analogy for why ‘birds of a feather shouldn’t always flock together’, and it doesn’t feel like it’s intentionally homophobic, but it sure does come across that way anyway. Munch is a primarily comic-relief character, and good at it, but his volatile relationship with his girlfriend Felicia (who never appears onscreen) has disturbing shades about it that are never quite clear enough to be soundly condemned, and the general comedic attitude surrounding Munch and his delivery of any and all information regarding Felicia rubs me the wrong way. All things considered, these are pretty small-fry complaints (and almost completely contained within season two, jus’ sayin’), and in that sense they’re pretty reaffirming of the quality of the show as a whole. The characters are realistically flawed - sometimes very deeply flawed - but not horrible people, just struggling, just trying their best, sometimes ignorant of their ignorance, sometimes pushing back or lashing out in the wrong directions. They are forgivably flawed because they are realistic, and it makes them easy to engage with even when you disagree with them; the core humanity is eminently recognisable. It doesn’t seem like it should be hard to achieve that realism, and yet, here we are. Watching Homicide: Life on the Street, a show without equal, even decades after it began.

[jimlingss]

The Colour of Our Voices [7]

Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8

➜ Words: 3.8k

➜ Genres: 98% Fluff, 2% Angst, Slice of Life, Broadway!AU

➜ Summary: He wasn’t supposed to hear. He wasn't supposed to know. But the instant Jimin came into your life and pulled the curtains back, you couldn't hide backstage anymore. You were no longer merely a phantom of the opera.

cr.

The notes come deep from your stomach, drawing out between your lips. Tonight, tears prick at the corner of your eyes as you sing.    “Masquerade, paper faces on parade. Masquerade, hide your face, so the world will never find you….”   You don’t know why you feel so emotional. Why the Phantom’s heartbreak and misery feels like your own. But you put your heart and soul into each lyric, and the director isn’t furious at the different take of the song, of how your voice even warbles past the thick lump forming in your throat. After all, the performance tonight is one of the most important ones that’s happening in a long time.   “Did the critic say anything yet?!”   “I don’t know, but she’s talking with the director right now.”   “Oh my god. This could change everything,” she squeals, the two of them equally excited and peeking out of the curtains. Everyone is gathered together, supporting roles and backstage members watching the audience slowly trickling out. “Do you know what this means?!”   “Of course, I know what it means,” she snaps.    “Well, I’m just saying.” The other girl pouts. “If the critic gives a good review, we could be back in business. More people coming, more money, better production, more pay! This place will become less like a dump. I won’t have to be embarrassed when I say I’m part of the female ensemble for Phantom anymore.”   “Let’s just hope the director won’t screw it up.”   “He won’t….right?”   “Shut up, they’re coming!” Everyone quickly resumes their previous activities to appear nonchalant.    “—And this is just our backstage crew. It’s a very modest set, but we do our best and everyone is very hardworking. Every person here does their part—” Director Kang is with a black bob-haircut lady who’s four foot eleven with kitten heels. She reminds you of your fourth grade science teacher who would make the rowdy kids cry.   Her cat-like eyes are narrowed in, and she grips her bag strap slung over one shoulder as she views the place with an impassive expression. The director drones on and on and the critic sighs before someone catches her attention.   She approaches the godly man. “You must be Kim Seokjin.”   “Yes, I am. It’s nice to meet you…”   “Min Yoonji.” She shakes his hand, and you muse that she must be one of the rare people in the world that doesn’t seem affected by Jin’s handsomeness. Almost everyone is starstruck by him. “I must say, your performance is very spectacular. Especially your singing. The tone quality of your vocals is very outstanding for Broadway theater.”   All at once, your breath hitches. Your heart stutters. Tears form in your eyes again.   You’re standing in the shadow of the curtains, in the corner where others are walking past, but to hear praise from someone who makes a living scrutinizing...it’s a beacon of hope.   “Of course! You shouldn’t expect any less of me.” Seokjin laughs and almost brushes off the compliment in spite of how touched and grateful you feel.   Yoonji isn’t amused and deadpans, “Frankly, I didn’t expect anything.”   “Seokjin’s the star of our show!” The director puts his hand on the younger man’s shoulder, trying to uplift the mood. The critic was awfully difficult to read. “Without him, we wouldn’t be able to go on! Speaking of which, you should meet our other star. Where’s Taeyeo—”   “Can I look around for a second? You’re really invading my personal space here,” the woman states bluntly and the men are alarmed at once, stepping back.   “O-Of course. My apologies. How about I get you some water?”   “Sure.”   The director struts off with Seokjin — the both of them furiously murmuring to each other in panic and before he can bark at you to go get the best glass of chilled water, the girl gossiping from earlier shuffles to them. She’s more than enthusiastic about running this sort of errand — perhaps hoping that she’ll be noticed by the critic or something of the sort.   You commemorate her for taking every opportunity.    “Hey, you.”   Your thoughts are shattered at once and you tear your eyes away from them to the short female in front of you. Your pupils widen. “Can you scratch my back for me?”   “Pardon?”   “Here.” She turns slightly, never repeating herself twice. Your hand automatically lifts out to scratch and her neck lolls. “Higher. Lower. Right there. God. Feels good.” Once satisfied, the posh woman steps away. “It’s been driving me crazy for the past hour and I haven’t been able to reach it.”   “Uh...you’re welcome…”   “Min Yoonji,” she says lifelessly. “But you probably already know that. Seems like everyone’s excited to meet me here. Don’t even get this treatment when I go home.”   Yoonji sighs and steps away, but you stop her. “I’m Y/N.” The female turns around. “L/N Y/N.”   She nods and stares at you blankly as if wondering why she should care what your name is. But since you scratched her back, she entertains you. “What do you do here, Y/N?”   “Sweeping, mainly.”   “Sweeping?” The corner of her red-stained mouth curls and she scans the premise. “What’s there to sweep?”   “Beats me,” you laugh.   A small, modest smile comes across her features. It’s the most genuine conversation she’s had here so far. “So all you do is sweep?”   “Well, I’m actually the voice of Pha—”   “Y/N!”   You’re interrupted by an abrupt yell from the director, the sound bellowing deep from his stomach. He approaches with a stiff grin that nearly breaks his face, Taeyeon in tow. “What are you doing here? Slacking, are we?” He comes next to you and practically bumps you aside. “This is our shy intern. She’s part of the backstage crew. Get on now!”   He shoos you away like you’re a stray dog, and you open your mouth. But the director moves on to introduce the female star of the show and Yoonji shifts her attention away from you without qualms. “This is Taeyeon. She plays Christine.”   “Yes.” The lights behind her eyes dim like earlier. “I saw. I was in the audience.”   They shake hands, continuing to speak. You’re forgotten in the dark as they move away from you, walking towards the dressing room.   One of the girls walking past shoots you a dirty look and scoffs, “Did you really think you could tell her that you’re a ghost singer? You really want to sabotage us?”   That wasn’t your intention.    But it wouldn’t be a lie if you told her that you stand in place of Seokjin, that you deserved that praise she handed to him.   It’s not a lie.   Once the meeting is over and everyone escorts the critic out, the director passes by and discreetly mutters into your ear, “In my office.”   You drag your feet there, feeling the crew members stares, the looks from those with supporting roles. This time, no one smirks, murmurs, or makes snide comments. It’s serious enough that they don’t dare to do anything unnecessary for fear of being reprimanded by the director too.   Getting called into his office is never a good thing.   You walk in and two minutes later, he enters, sees you and sighs. The man rounds to his messy desk and sits himself down.   “I’m very disappointed in you, Y/N,” he starts off.    “I’m sorry.”   He hums, hands clasping together. “When you went behind my back to audition, I didn’t say anything. I get it. You want to try out, I won’t stop you. But to think you have the audacity to betray me right in front of my face is a kind of disrespect I won’t allow.”   “That—! That wasn’t what I was trying to do,” you weakly defend, hands crumpling into a tight fist. He obviously doesn’t believe you.    “Then what was your intention?” He shakes his head. It’s a question you can’t answer. It was reckless for you to let it slip, especially to someone who’s a critic. It’s supposed to be a secret, one you’ll have to die with. “I understand you’re not a loyal employee, but it hurts me. What have I ever done for you to go behind my back and be this sneaky?”   Another rhetorical question.   With a downcast head, you stare at the way your worn shoes are pulling apart at the seams. You swallow hard, past the thick lump in your throat. Your eyes begin to sting. You’re humiliated.    “I gave you this job because you were pitiful. You think we need an intern around here?” His mocking laugh rings. “No! But I, out of the goodness of my own heart, decided to help you! I even let you sing when you begged for it! Have I not bent over backwards for you?!”   You shut your eyes for a second. “Y-You did, sir.”   “How many years have you been stuck in New York?” It’s a sudden question, one where he expects an answer for.   Your teeth grit and you murmur, “One year, sir.”   “How many casting calls have you been to, Y/N?” At your silence, he asks you again. “Be honest with me. How many since you got here?”   “T-Ten.”   “How many roles have you gotten?”   “None,” you whisper quietly and your jaw clenches.   He asks again just so you can hear yourself, for you to repeat it. “None?”   “None.”   “None!” he exclaims loudly, enough for you to wince, and he sighs. “See?”   The man feigns sympathy. “There’s a point where it becomes more than just singing. It’s about if you have something special. You just don’t have it, Y/N. Yes, you can hold a steady note, but you can’t be on stage. No one would ever want to watch you!”   It’s grating to your ears. A muscle in your cheek twitches. You can’t hold it in — you start sniffling.   And the director sighs once more, spinning around slowly in his swivel chair while you’re still standing there, hugging your own frame. “Don’t make me into the bad guy, Y/N. I don’t want to be so blunt, but you give me no choice. Facts are facts. Why do you have to be tricky with me and ruin this production? Are you that upset with me? Angry with me?”   “N-No.”   “Then why can’t you just be happy with what you have? Is this job not more than enough for you? Why must you keep trying?”   You rub your eyes. He continues tantalizing you for another minute and then looks at your patheticness and dismisses you out of guilt. He tells you to think about what he said.   You leave sobbing. Not out of anguish from him belittling you but out of rage.    Not even your own mother talks down to you like that.   This job a privilege?! You can’t believe you hypnotized yourself into believing that. This job is the worst thing that’s ever happened to you. It’s sabotaged you. People like him are the reasons you’re afraid of going on stage.   Once you exit the studio in tears, you find the black bob-haircut woman texting on her phone across the street, standing on the sidewalk. You look both ways and cross the road with stern determination.   Spite — contempt — resentment makes you into an ugly monster without remorse or consideration of future consequences. You inhale a staggering breath. And the truth is spat out.   “I’m the ghost singer for Phantom.”    Your voice breaks. You exhale. “I’m the one who you heard.”   Min Yoonji is alert. Her eyes are wide, looking back into yours.   You brush past her after a second, walking away and down the street.   //   You don’t know where you’re going. Your feet merely stumble forward, down busy Times Square till it becomes quieter and the streets are only known by locals. Your strides slow at a cozy coffee shop in search of a place that’s warmer, but as you look through the front windows, you find a blonde standing in line.   Your brows furrow and you sniffle one last time before opening the door.    “Taehyung?”   The tall, lean man turns around and a boxy smile spreads into his face. “Y/N?”   He must notice your glossy eyes and how you’re sniveling not just from the cold weather because he buys you a hot chocolate and asks if you’re alright. You nod, not wanting to talk about your issues, and he understands enough to switch the conversation to himself.   Taehyung’s presence makes you warmer.    “I just didn’t understand. He said yes and agreed he would go to the animal shelter and walk the dogs every week, but then changed his mind and then threw the job to me.” He sighs with a smile, tugging on the sleeve of his blue dress shirt. “I don’t mind, I actually love dogs, but that’s not the point. I swear my director’s so nice he can’t say no to anything. And then I’m the one who suffers when he decides he doesn’t want to do it.”   “Is that how you wound up doing improv?”   “Yes.” He grins and sips his drink.   You hum, fingertips warm against the paper cup. “So you have to walk dogs every week at the animal shelter?”   “Yes, and I’m also volunteering at the homeless shelter every other day during lunch. I don’t mind, but again, it was because the director couldn’t say no to other people. God,” Taehyung laughs, “He’s such a pushover. But I’m the real pushover for saying yes to him too.”   “Your director sounds like a really nice person.” You smile to yourself, wishing you had met someone like that.   “Nice or stupidly kind, I don’t know.” He shrugs. “But he’s an alright guy. Though half the time I feel like I’m just a servant to his whims.”   A deep exhale draws out of your lungs. “I know how that feels.”   Taehyung’s gaze is perceptive and he puts down his drink. “It’s tough to make it in this industry. But it’s like that for everything, I think. There’s nothing really easy out there. Even sleeping gets hard. So….don’t be so tough on yourself.”   “Thanks, Taehyung…”   He might not know what your job entails, but he has a good enough idea — and his intuition isn’t wrong.   The pair of you chat a while more. Taehyung unknowingly comforts you the entire time. And an hour later, he bids farewell and you reluctantly part with him.   He was the only good part of your day.   //   You’re sure your situation has happened before. There’s almost seven and a half billion people in this world now. The chances aren’t unlikely that someone out there knows how you feel — maybe it’s someone who wants to desperately go to medical school and they helped tutor another student after they begged, and that person ended up becoming the doctor instead.   Jealousy and anger isn’t seldom in life. But you’ve thrown so many pity parties for yourself.   You’re tired of it when you’re the host and the only guest.    There’s bad music at these pity parties, and it’s not like you know how to dance either.    But you don’t know how to help your shitty situation. You thought you’ve long lost all your pride after being stepped on so many times. It’s only now that you’ve been shoved again that you realize you still have dignity left — that maybe it’s time to pack your bags and go home….   The doorbell rings not even five minutes after you get back to your apartment. You’re exhausted, emotionally and physically, but you drag your feet to open the door.   The person you want to see the least in the world shows up in front of you once again.   “Jimin…”   “Hey!” He gives a bright smile, so happy and radiant that it’s blinding. He’s excited and you’re not sure why. “Can I come in?”   “Um…” You hesitate, only parting the door enough for him to see both your eyes. “I...It’s kind of messy here.”   “Promise, it’ll be quick,” he insists while running a hand through his brunette hair, moving the strands back. He’s dressed in his black hoodie, pants ripped at the knees, dark bag slung over his shoulder. It’s new. Expensive. “It’s important.”   You reluctantly widen the door and Jimin enters with a grin, completely unaware of your inner turmoil. Completely disregarding your expression of distaste. Ignorant to your unwilling body language.   It’s always about him.   “It’s pretty late.” But one thing Jimin does notice is that you’re not in your usual pajamas. “Did you end up working overtime?”   “No. I met with Taehyung.”   Jimin stops and turns around, his eyes rounded. “You...met with Taehyung?”   You frown in annoyance. Who does he think he is coming into your home and asking so many questions?    “I ran into him.”   “Oh. Did you end up going anywhere?”   “A coffee shop.”   Jimin nods. “What did you guys talk about?”   Your eyes narrow into slits. “Why does it matter?”   He shrugs with a small pout, trying to play off his concerns casually. “He just doesn’t seem like...that great of a guy.”   “He’s really nice to me.”   “I’m nice to you,” Jimin mutters out of the corner of his mouth.    And you immediately scoff. Openly. Loudly.   You don’t even hold back from rolling your eyes.    “Why are you asking so many questions? It makes you sound like you’re jealous, Jimin,” you tell him, distraught, unable to comprehend why you were being interrogated. You hold your ground, strengthening yourself not to back down.    You won’t let yourself be strung along and stepped on. Not anymore.   “Well….” The boy in front of you inhales a deep breath and looks right at you. “Maybe I am jealous.”   “What? Why?”    You don’t understand — you’re the jealous one.    But his response and following silence only continues your bafflement and puzzlement.    The two of you are standing at the entrance way of your apartment, uncomfortable like strangers. That’s right...you are strangers.   You inhale a staggering breath, breaking the suffocating tension before he can answer your confused question. “Can’t you—…..” Your voice is timid and hesitant, but then you pause and speak louder to make sure he can hear you. “Can’t you stop bothering me, Jimin?”   “W-What?”   “Please, just leave me alone.” Your head drops. You can’t bear looking at him anymore. You don’t know why you have to beg to be left alone, why he’s invaded even the comfort of your own home. Why wasn’t there an escape from Park Jimin? “We’re not in a relationship. We’re not dating. I don’t even consider you a friend. You’re…..overbearing and every time I see you, it….pisses me off.”   He steps forward, undoubtedly bewildered at where this was coming from.   Jimin reaches out in distraught, but you move away from his possible grasps. As if his touch would sear your skin. He immediately curls his fingers into his palm, retracing his arm.   “I’m sorry. I never wanted to upset you. Just...W-what did I do, Y/N?”   “You never. once. had any consideration for me. You don’t think about me for a second, Jimin.”    It’s an out-of-body experience. You can see yourself having a meltdown but you can’t stop it. You can’t stop the truth from over boiling where you’ve kept it confined. You’re tired of trying so hard not to hurt people when you’ve been so hurt yourself.    “Do you want to know why I sing backstage? Do you want to know why I’m someone’s ghost singer? It’s because I have massive stage fright. It’s really, really bad.”   “Y/N….”   Jimin’s shocked.    He opens his mouth before closing it, rendered speechless. His brows are furrowed deep enough to look like it hurts, a permanent wrinkle creasing where the knot on his features are.    “I always feel like I’m getting a heart attack half the time and I can’t breathe and it started when I was in high school when my voice broke during a performance and everyone laughed at me. It’s horrible and I still think about it a lot — and I didn’t want to go to that improv class.”   You’re hyperventilating, chest constricting painfully. It aches. “I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to perform in front of other people, but you made me do it. You pushed me.”   “I’m s-sorry…” Jimin murmurs, swallowing hard, not knowing what to do. “I didn’t know…”   “I didn’t want to help you either. And I shouldn’t have,” you mutter past the thick lump in your throat, pained, ignoring how your voice cracks under the pressure, “I shouldn’t have taught you how to sing in the first place, even when you begged me. I….didn’t want to.”   You sharply inhale, but it’s never enough to stop feeling that you’re drowning.    “And now that you succeeded, it pisses me off. I’m the one who’s been here longer. But I’m the one who’s left behind. Who’s still working that shit ass job! Every time you open your mouth to talk about how great it’s going, it’s really hard for me. But you keep doing it. And it’s not like I want to feel this. I don’t want to be jealous. I don’t want this feeling. I don’t want you here!”   There’s an extended silence.   You gasp for air while Jimin searches your expression, equally hurt. You tear your eyes away from him — diverting your vision — unable to bear looking at him. “Just leave, please.”   You walk forward and he stumbles back as you yank the door open.    “W-Wait!” Jimin holds the edge of the door before you can shut it. “Y/N, wait!”   “What?” You half-hiss, half-sob at him, at wits end. You want him gone. Gone so you can crawl underneath your covers. Gone so you won’t be able to compare yourself to anyone. Gone so you can forget how pathetic you feel. “What could you possibly want to say to me, Jimin?”   “I...I just came here because I wanted to tell you that I managed to buy you this ticket.” Jimin pulls the slip of paper from out of his pocket. It’s crinkled at the edges as if he’s been holding onto it tightly. He hands you the slip and you take it without thinking. “I-It was hard to get. I-I...I’m sorry.”   You look at it. It’s his show, Les Mis, a middle row seat.   This is why he wanted to talk to you today. This was what was so important.    It’s a gift.   You swallow hard and Jimin lowers his head in shame, murmuring, “You don’t have to go. I-I’m sorry.” He apologizes again. “I didn’t know that’s how you felt about me. I’ll go now. I won’t bother you anymore.”   He leaves before you can say anything, before he can say anything more.   Jimin’s door shuts and then yours follows suit.   Guilt eats you alive as you stand in the middle of your deafeningly silent apartment with the Broadway ticket in your hand.

[joo-heo-n]

One Time Thing

Genre: Angst/Fluff/(Suggestive)

Member: Shownu

Word Count: 7,368

a/n: Have a good weekend!!!

Summary: “You then glanced over at the guy on the opposite side of the auditorium and squinted. Attempting to take a good look and memorize his face in case you needed help, you nearly gasped when it dawned on you that no mental photograph was needed because you already knew this person, and you wanted to so badly slam your head hard against the small desk before you. Son Hyunwoo was not only the guy who relieved you from stress for a night, but he’d also be the cause of your stress for the following months to come.”

When you had mentioned to your friends the idea of going to a club for the last time before school started, you had initially thought of getting buzzed and dancing until the late hours of the night. You wanted to enjoy the freedom of a weekend and stress-free environment before school and work took up the following months. You never thought, however, that you’d find the perfect distraction in the form of a tall, incredibly hot guy, and not at a club, but a house party. You weren’t one to sleep around every time you went out on weekends, but this time around, you’d be rather ungrateful if you didn’t take the opportunity with a man such as the one you found yourself making out with at the moment.

The two of you hadn’t even made it inside his apartment before you were on his lap, one of his hands at your waist as the other held the back of your neck. You had surprisingly hit it off quickly with him. It took a mere glance as you bumped into him while turning to go find more drinks for his eyes to lock with yours and practically play tug of war with each other until one of you gave in. You wanted to think it was a win-win, where you unanimously decided to give into each other but a little voice in the back of your head told you you were just a sore loser and he had you wrapped around his finger from the start.

Nonetheless, things didn’t move too fast when you were at the party, in fact, you had wondered why it had taken him so long to take it further. Once he did, you couldn’t help it, your hands were all over him and you were not one bit ashamed, which made him chuckle but he never stopped you. You ran your hands down his chest and brought them back to his neck, letting one go to his hair as his lips crashed with yours once, twice, three times more. After a few minutes, the heat in the car was too much and the two of you had to break away, making you pant against him as he smiled, lips reddened and cheeks flushed.

“Are we going inside?” you asked, trying to catch your breath as he nodded, unlocking his door and opening it as you ungracefully made your way off of him and got off, earning a few chuckles from you in embarrassment, but he couldn’t have minded any less. You could tell by the way he held your hand, fingers interlocked with your own as he took you to his apartment and hastily unlocked the door. As soon as the two of you were inside, he had you backed against the door, his hand on your cheek as the other still held your hand while he leaned forward slowly, taking you by surprise. His gentleness made your stomach flip uncontrollably as he pecked your lips slowly and then much more deeply, soon lifting you up and making you wrap your legs around his waist as he took you to the bedroom.

You knew the next morning that it was by far the best way to end the summer vacations, and sadly enough, he had officially raised your one-night stand standards too high for anyone who dared prove himself.

Until the new semester started, you had not heard the end of your one-night stand with your friends. Two weeks flew by and they still teased you about it, which frankly made you upset not because they teased, but because you weren’t sure you’d ever see him again, and never before had you met a guy that haunting when you were your loneliest.

You hadn’t really been able to get him out of your head, and it was unnecessarily draining.

You registered for your classes and came to the conclusion that you’d definitely hate your only lecture class, with it being so early in the day and on top of that your least favorite subject, there was absolutely no question about how much of a hard time you’d have in it. There was no way it could get worse.

Of course you would be totally wrong about that too.

“I’m actually kind of excited for this semester, I mean it’s already the second half of our second year, things only go up from here” your friend commented as the two of you walked  across campus for a coffee from your favorite place. “I don’t even know what kind of major you’re doing because that is so not my case” you said and your friend grinned. “You just have bad luck and a bad attitude about school” she retorted and you rolled your eyes at her and chuckled. “You’re too happy, I don’t think that’s right either” you stated and the two of you laughed.

“How are you even going to do it with the morning class you have?” she then asked, and you shrugged in distaste, grimacing as the two of you reached the coffee shop. “I think I’m just going to invest in this coffee place” you joked as you opened the door of the small shop and went inside. You were joking in that moment, but little did you know the following semester would consist of that coffee shop at least twice a week.

Your alarm rang loudly in your ears, the silence in your bedroom was now disturbed and it made you whine as you reached for your cell phone and turned it off. You saw the time and brought the bed sheets up to your nose, letting out a whimper as you closed your eyes tightly. You had no idea what the hell had taken over you as you registered for this class. It was going to be the worst mistake of your college life, no doubt about it.

You stood up lazily, sleep weighing heavily on your eyelids as you washed up and changed into clean clothes. By the time you were done getting ready, you checked the time and nearly cried out as you realized you wouldn’t have time for breakfast, and there would be no way you would wake up any earlier to get some. You concluded breakfast would just simply not be part of the days in which you had to wake up this insanely early.

You hadn’t even gotten the chance to look remotely decent choosing to wear a pair of jeans and plain shirt because you were not going to doll up at the crack of dawn. You were exaggerating, but you seriously felt like there could be nothing worse.

You drove in a daze, arriving with enough time to walk at your own pace to the lecture hall. When you stepped inside, you noticed how everyone in the room looked equally as regretful as you were feeling. Some wore their pajamas, and others actually looked as if they were about to go down a runway, which made you scoff as you found somewhere to sit at the very back.

You picked the dimmest part of the row to sit at and set your things down as everyone waited in silence for the professor to make his appearance. In a few minutes, he was behind the small desk and taking a microphone to speak into. He introduced himself and explained the syllabus, a routine you had grown accustomed to, so the entire time you felt your eyes threatening to shut close.

“I’m pretty bad with emails, and because I’m sure you will have questions, I assigned office hours to two TA’s  in here- could you please stand so everyone can see you?” his voice resonated through the room, and two students rose from their seats. You spotted the girl in the front row on the left side of the auditorium and took down her information on the screen at the front. You then glanced over at the guy on the opposite side of the auditorium and squinted. Attempting to take a good look and memorize his face in case you needed help, you nearly gasped when it dawned on you that no mental photograph was needed because you already knew this person, and you wanted to so badly slam your head hard against the small desk before you.

You quickly took down his information and watched as he sat back down, his body and face completely familiar to you.

Son Hyunwoo was not only the guy who relieved you from stress for a night, but he’d also be the cause of your stress for the following months to come.

“Please make sure to hand in your assignments to them since they will be the ones grading” the professor added, and you slouched down in your seat and frowned, bringing your hands to cover your face in disbelief.

The first two weeks were a breeze, you had turned in your assignments to the other TA and avoided Hyunwoo as much as physically possible, but every time you walked into that lecture hall, your eyes drifted towards where he usually sat at. So far, the subject wasn’t too difficult, and you had managed to get your things to the female TA without trouble, but you had told your friends about him and the one-night stand teasing came back.

“Maybe you should sleep with him again and get extra credit or your grades curved whenever you need it” one of your friends had half joked, and you were quick glare at her but lowered your head in shame. You didn’t regret it one bit, but having him for a class was not exactly fun, how long would you even be able to avoid him before he found you?

“Why don’t you just talk to him? You said he was nice the day you hooked up with him, so maybe he won’t be weirded out and you guys can be friends or something” another one of your friends commented as you walked to her dorm room. You shrugged and gave the idea some thought. “Okay, but what if you’re wrong?” you countered and she chuckled. “It’s an auditorium class anyway, I’m sure it won’t be that hard to avoid him” she said and another nodded. “Or just be cool about it if he doesn’t want to talk” she suggested and you pouted. You played the different scenarios in your head that night, running through any possibility of success and failure that you could encounter in trying to talk to him.

It all intimidated you no matter how plausible a positive outcome was. Making up your mind that you’d have to actually get up earlier than usual to look presentable if you were  to approach him, you couldn’t shake the feeling of insecurity at the thought of trying to look nice in front of him.

The next morning you grudgingly woke up an hour earlier than usual and started getting ready. There was not one drop of nervousness in you because it was still too early and you weren’t awake enough to actually give much thought to what you’d be doing later on, and the rest of the morning slipped by with ease despite feeling like your body was weighed down with exhaustion. Sitting in class, your fingers toyed mercilessly with your pen and your leg bounced a little as your eyes occasionally glanced over at Hyunwoo, making a tinge of excitement run through your body every time he shifted in his seat. Flashbacks of the night you spent with him randomly distracted you throughout the lecture and you had to shake your head a little and change the way you sat to reel your mind back into whatever it was your professor was saying. As soon as it was over, you decided to turn in your most recent assignment to Hyunwoo instead of the other TA. You took a deep breath and held your assignment in one of your hands as you made your way down to his row where a few people were already turning in papers to him.

You waited till you were the last person to hand your paper in and as soon as you were standing before him, a small voice in the back of your head told you to just call it quits, hand in your paper and sprint out of there. However, a much more determined part of you smiled and handed your paper to him. “Hi, Hyunwoo right?” you managed to utter, and only then did he give you a double take as he took your paper. “Yeah” he replied simply, averting his gaze from you to the stack of papers he fixed in his hands. “I don’t think you remember me, but we met at a party three weeks ago?” you persisted, and for a second you thought you recognized something like realization in his expression, but that quickly disappeared as he bent down to reach for his backpack and threw it over his shoulder, then finally met your gaze. He let out an exhale and parted his lips to speak. “Uh, I don’t- sorry, I have a class to get to, excuse me” he said, not one bit apologetic but you simply smiled and nodded, stepping out of his way and letting him walk past you. You let out a long breath and walked out of the lecture room, your feet feeling extremely heavy as you moved. You scoffed a little and chuckled in disbelief, why did you think that was a good idea? You had actually come to terms with this outcome the most, so you weren’t all that disappointed, really, it was actually one of the least worst case scenarios, so you thanked the universe for saving you the humiliation.

After that, you gave up trying to talk to him, in fact, you resigned from even looking at him. You continued to turn in your papers to the other TA and went on with your school life as if Hyunwoo had only been part of a dream you could now only recall if you tried hard enough. “Just like that? I thought you said he was super hot?” one of your friends said as the two of you munched on lunch. You offered her a half hearted shrug, “He is, but he was also a one-time hookup, no strings attached, and he obviously want to keep it that way” you commented to which your  friend quirked an eyebrow at. “So you have enough self-control to not look at him during class?” she teased and you snorted. “Never said I did, I daydream okay? But it’s not like I’m trying to make it happen. That class is starting to give me a hard time anyway so I can’t fall behind” you said and your friend grinned. “Yeah I guess that makes sense, but if it were me, he’d have me begging for him to tutor me” she joked and you guffawed, making a few heads turn in your direction as you covered your mouth to stifle your laugh. “I’m sure that’s not the only thing you’d be begging for” you added and she gasped, laughing right after. “Do you talk of experience?” she added and you winked sarcastically, the two of you falling into a fit of laughter.

You wanted to kick the seats in front you and throw your things into the front rows in rage. You gripped the paper tightly in your hand and stared at the several red marking and words. “What the fuck?” you said under your breath, gritting your teeth and trying to focus on one single marking at a time.

Ten minutes before class was over, you had been handed back several graded papers, and most of yours seemed to be fine with the exception of a few errors. However your last, most important paper had been an entire failure and you had the endless corrections in red to make it known to you. You furrowed your eyebrows as you analyzed the corrections and your eyes immediately drifted to the comments at the bottom.

You gaped in disbelief at the their harshness and felt yourself boil up in anger, your face becoming a little hot as you stomped out of the class and made it to the nearest bench to sit at. You stared at the differences between the other corrected papers and the bleeding red one. “What the fuck?” you repeated through a whisper and analyzed the handwritings.

They were definitely not from the same person.

Immense perplexion flooded your mind, it was obvious if your prefered TA hadn’t graded your paper, then only Hyunwoo could've. What you didn’t understand was why he had been so hard in grading your essay when really you hadn’t done much different from your previous ones. You also knew for a fact you were a decent essay writer, so there had to be some unnecessary markings.

There was no way you would let this slide and not because it was Hyunwoo, which really was just the cherry on top, but because you were barely passing the class and couldn’t afford another low grade.

You quickly retrieved his information from where you had written it down and sent an email, your fingers furiously typing and itching to include a few curses.

After you had stared at the paper for what felt like half an hour, you checked your email once again and read the reply. He blankly replied with the time and place the two of you could meet, making you scoff and head towards his location.

You reached the table for two at which he sat typing away at his laptop, brows furrowed in concentration. You tightened your jaw and didn’t realize how much your footsteps had slowed since you had spotted him. He looked up and found you only a few steps away, making you come back to your senses and set your assignment on the small table.

“Hi” he said, forcing a small smile that you imitated, sitting across from him and trying to hear him out instead of lashing out. “Hi, you graded my paper, and I just wanted to know if you could explain to me why I had so many mistakes?” you tried, being as polite as you could manage, this was to pass a class after all and your grade was in his hands.

Hyunwoo took your paper and gave it a brief glance, his eyes scanning the paper in what you assumed was disinterest. It sent a spike of irritation through your chest, but you suppressed it and swallowed hard. He set it down and let out a small exhale. “Well you tried using a lot of big words, it makes what you’re trying to say confusing��� he started, meeting your gaze but you didn’t budge so he went on. “You’re trying too hard to sound smart, so you don’t really answer the prompt- it’s a bunch of jumbled thoughts” he concluded, taking one more glance at the paper before leaning back in his chair and shrugging.

You bit the inside of your cheek, your eyes narrowed at him as your stare shot daggers at him. His expression didn’t say much, it didn’t give away any sincerity or distaste, but more so indifference, but his body language said it all. He was being spiteful, and to his explanation you called bullshit.

“Okay… But the comments at the bottom were really harsh” you tried anyway, still leaving your grade in his hands and playing the docile role. He nodded and offered you a raise of the brows in acknowledgement, “Sorry, I didn’t think you’d take it that way, but they’re for future reference” he commented and you knitted your eyebrows in disdain.

He noticed how this ticked you off, letting out a sigh and a small nod, “Anything else I can help you with?” he asked, his demeanor changing to something more polite. You saw red in seconds. You had been holding back, hoping he’d sincerely explain your mistakes and maybe, who knows? Give you something else, anything else.

You were stunned as well, this was so not the guy you had met a few weeks ago, and you questioned whether that was the reason behind his attitude. “Is there anything I can do to fix this grade? I really need to bring it up and this paper makes that impossible” you nearly spat at him, but he didn’t even flinch. “It was one of the main grade inputs for the semester, the professor said it was final” he said simply and you felt your heart pick up its pace.

“I get that, but I think you graded this unfairly and I obviously have an issue with that” you added and he raised his eyebrows at you once more, “I don’t see how that’s the case” he defended and you scoffed. He was pushing it, and you didn’t think you’d hold it in much longer. “What’s your problem? I’m not asking for a redo, extra credit is fine, or I don’t know maybe bribing you or something at least if you’re not going to be responsible for unnecessary nitpicking” you said, raising your voice slightly.

Finally, he furrowed his eyebrows, clearly bothered by your reaction. When he said nothing, you stood up with a scoff and snatched the paper from the table. “If this is about what happened at the party, it’s totally immature and you shouldn’t be an asshole about it, get over yourself” you blurted, turning on your heel and stomping away.

The last thing you saw was how shocked he had looked at your outburst, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be level headed when you felt your face hot with rage.

It wasn’t fair, it was stupid, especially if it was about the party. You buried your face into the pillows of your bed and groaned, knowing that because of your little scene there was absolutely no way he’d curve the grade. It had been a week since your meeting and after that, you’d only avoid him and make sure your papers were handed to the other TA.

As if embarrassing yourself wasn’t enough of a punishment, your grade continued to waver between falling to a D and staying at a low C. If Hyunwoo was an ass about extra credit, the other TA was worse. You scrolled through your emails and refreshed your inbox, making a new email appear and you frowned as you recognized the sender's name at the top of the list.

Hyunwoo had emailed you to meet again, and you just thought you might as well drop the class.

You sat at the small table where the two of you had met a week ago and as soon as you saw him from afar, you felt yourself cringe, remembering your last meeting. He made his way to you while adjusting his cap and bringing his hands to the pockets of his sweatpants, he looked rushed. “Hey” he said nonchalantly, as if the two of you were just the bestest of friends.

You smiled faintly and prayed to god to help you not further dig your grave. “I don’t have a lot of time but the other TA and I talked and decided to give everyone who got a bad score extra credit” he said, reaching you and offering you a kinder smile than the one he gave you the first time.

Your heart jumped inside your chest and you couldn't contain your smile, “Are you serious?” you asked incredulously and he nodded with a shrug. “I’ll be working with those interested so just let me know” he then added with another nod,.“Thank you… Um… A-About last time…” you started and suddenly he was waving a hand before him in dismissal. “Don’t worry about it” he stated simply.

You held his gaze in question but all he did was exhale and nod, “I gotta go, I’ll see you around” he said and you nodded, wanting to jump out of your seat in relief and hug him. He offered you a small wave and took off, leaving you to scream internally from happiness.

You made sure to email him your extra credit assignments but that was as far as you ever went, still too embarrassed about confronting him regarding the night you shared two months ago. You made it into class and sat at your usual seat, no longer in the dark back rows, but instead somewhere in between. You fixed your things and prepared yourself for the lecture, catching sight of several students still making their way into the rows. Suddenly, you heard shuffling beside you, making you turn and surprising you as Hyunwoo smiled at you, two coffees in his hands.

You mouthed a hi and smiled as he handed you one of the cups and fixed the seat next to you for him to sit in. Your heart fluttered at his actions, feeling your nerves kick in a little, he was going to sit next to you- crap he really was going to sit next to you. As soon as he was settled, you glanced at him in question and held the cup of coffee in your hand in his direction. He chuckled and leaned into his seat, “It’s for you” he said softly. Just then the professor made his way to the front and greeted everyone, making Hyunwoo divert his attention away from you.

You set it on the small desk and took a hold of your pen, trying your best to pay attention to the lecture.

You couldn’t bring yourself to glance at him, halfway through you had forgotten he was even there, until you would sip from the cup would you be reminded. When it was over, as the two of you began putting your things away, several students came his way, handing over papers. “Bye, thank you” you managed curtly, as he gave you a small nod and brought his attention back to the other students.

When you checked your emails that evening, you found one from the almighty Hyunwoo, beckoning you to meet with him once again. He didn’t have to ask you twice, and it wasn’t because you were more than willing to see him again, but his email specified that he needed to talk to you about a couple of ungraded assignments that could still boost your grade, which enough of a motivator for you to agree. You gathered your things and made your way across campus to a location that wasn’t your usual meeting place but instead was outside a nearby campus cafe.

When you got there, you spotted him once again typing away at his laptop and turning his gaze between the screen and a few papers at its side. You took in a small breath and made your way to him, waving a little as you stood before him and he gave you a small smirk in acknowledgement. You sat across from him and he took a sip of his coffee, watching as you got settled and met his gaze. “You needed me?” you asked and he cleared his throat with a nod, “Do you still have the paper I first graded?” he asked and you squinted in thought with a hum, turning to look through your backpack and finding it. You were about to hand it to him but he spoke, “No it’s gonna be for you to look at” he said and you stared at him quizzically.

He took the papers next to his laptop and a pen, holding them up to read, his eyebrows raising a little and then knitting, “So, you keep making this one mistake in everything you turn in, and you did it in that paper too” he said, pointing with his pen at the bleeding red essay in your hand. Several minutes went by where he explained his corrections on your new assignments and discussed with you how to fix your mistakes. At some point you even forgot how angry you had been at him and how aggressively you had called him out the first time you met.

It was weird to you that this situation was even happening. After a rough start, if anyone looked in the direction of the two of you now, they’d think you were friends.

“See what I mean?” he asked and you nodded slowly, finally realizing he hadn’t graded in fact too harshly but earnestly and rather bluntly, but never with bad intentions. You let out a sigh and let your shoulders drop. “That makes… terrible sense” you said and he nodded, fiddling with the pen in his hand. You stared at each other for a few seconds before you had to look away in fear that your face was beginning to burn red. You bowed your head and scoffed, “I’m such an idiot…” you said through an exhale, making Hyunwoo hum at you in question. You lifted your head and smiled awkwardly, “Honestly, I’m so sorry for overreacting when you graded my paper” you confessed softly and Hyunwoo beamed a smile he hadn’t before, seeming a little embarrassed himself.

“Ah, yeah, I should have clarified myself too” he admitted and you chuckled a little, feeling your shoulders tense like they had when you first arrived. You still felt pretty damn embarrassed about what you had said, so in order to not completely drop down to your knees and apologize, you asked if there was more he wanted to talk about but when he said you were good to go, you thanked him and took off.

You hadn’t spoken to him since, continuing to turn in whatever work he asked for to him, and only replying to him through emails. You only saw him in class and occasionally made eye contact, both of you exchanging small nods or smiles, but that was as far as it went, and you were too scared to care for more at this point.

You made your way through the party with one of your friends holding onto one of your hands as you followed after her. It had already been half the semester and you were more than happy to be at one of these again, forgetting about classes for the weekend. The two of you bumped into a group of classmates and had stopped to chat up with them, drinking from your red cups as you exchanged laughter and ongoing drama, which you weren’t interested in but put up with it nonetheless.

Just then, as you listened to someone's story, your friend took your hand and shook it, leaning into your ear and whispering, “Don’t look, but your TA is here” she said and you knitted your eyebrows as you pulled away to look at her. “Which one?” you mouthed and she nodded in the direction of where your TA was. You took a sip from your red cup and glanced over your shoulder, catching sight of a group of guys who had barely walked into the house party. You squinted a little and suddenly your heart dropped, making you turn back to your friend in shock.

She giggled to herself and gave you wink, going back to listen in on the gossip.

He looked amazing, and you were terrified.

You glanced over your shoulder once again and found Hyunwoo once again, his hair away from his forehead, a white t shirt clinging loosely over his figure as a pair of light wash ripped jeans hugged his thighs. You looked away once again and squeezed your eyes shut momentarily, trying very, very hard not to imagine him under everything he wore. You excused yourself and headed for the kitchen, deciding to pour yourself some more alcohol and nearly downing all of it on the spot.

You had told your friend everything that had happened, from your outburst to the extra credit assignments,and she had simply laughed and encouraged you to start something with Hyunwoo, but you refused time and time again. You made your way back from the kitchen and noticed your friend was gone, making you sigh as you decided to look for her. When you turned a corner and made it into the living room area, you found her awfully close to Hyunwoo and his group of friends. Why hadn’t you imagined he’d be here? He was a college student! Of course he’d be here!

You felt your stomach tighten as you made your way to your friend ever so slowly. You finally reached her and caught Hyunwoo glancing at you, which you decided to ignore and tap your friend’s shoulder. She turned to you with too much delight in her face, biting her bottom lip and giving you a wink as she then turned back to whoever she was talking to. You wanted to glare at her, but she was no longer minding you and instead, Hyunwoo was very obviously turning his attention to you.

You could practically feel his stare on you from a few feet away. So you played along.

You glanced at him and raised your eyebrows in acknowledgement with a smile, then looked away, pretending to be deeply immersed in the conversation your friend was clearly excluding you from. It didn’t take long before Hyunwoo and his friends were moving away and you only caught glimpses of him throughout the night, his glances never going unnoticed by you despite how much distance you tried putting between the two of you.

It didn’t take long before you were buzzed and a little dizzy, and you could no longer hold up your resolve to stay away from Hyunwoo. Not when he looked the way he did, and was now laughing and meeting your gaze. You knew he wanted something from you, and you wanted something from him, and that was why you had stayed away all night, but now you were making your way to him and he was meeting you halfways.

You stood before him and smiled, feeling your stomach tingle as he finally stood closer than he had been in the last couple of months. “Hey” you said and he chuckled, “Hi”, making you grin and take a deep breath. “You’ve been avoiding me” he commented and you felt a tinge of embarrassment make its way onto your face in the form of a blush. “Yeah… you haven’t” you remarked and he nodded, staring at the cup in his hand, which he placed on the closest shelve before bringing his hands to the pockets of his jeans. Jesus he was hot. He dropped his gaze to the space on the floor that was left between the two of you, inching his way towards you and stopping a breath away to look at you.

You froze in your spot, wanting nothing more than to kiss him because you could tell that was what he wanted you to do. Without realizing, you leaned towards him and let your lips graze his own momentarily before his hand was taking the nape of your neck and his lips crashed into yours. You nearly shivered at finally being able to kiss him after so long, but your excitement was short lived because you were soon remembering your friends conversation about having him be your TA. You pulled away and he chased your lips for a second before he was meeting your gaze in concern.

“You’re my TA” you said, a little breathless despite your kissing not getting far enough. Hyunwoo cleared his throat and dropped his hand from your neck, straightening up and averting his gaze from you. “I know I just… you-” he tried but stammered and let out a scoff. His eyebrows knitted in what looked like frustration to you, making you tug at his shirt to get his attention once again. He met your gaze and his expression softened as soon as you smiled. You didn’t want anything between the two of you to determine your final grades in that class, whether he took whatever the two of you had going on into consideration or not, it just didn’t seem right to you.

“I lied to you” he suddenly stated, and you looked at him in bewilderment. “Can we talk somewhere else?” he asked, having people continue to push past him and the music blasting too loudly for a proper conversation.

You nodded and he took your hand, leading you out of the house and onto the sidewalk of the neighborhood. He took you to his car and unlocked it so the two of you could sit inside. Once inside you turned to him and watched him fidget with his car keys, “What did you lie about?” you asked in curiosity and he smiled a little, “I did remember you when you introduced yourself at the beginning of the semester” he confessed and you wracked your brain for the memory but when you found it, you knitted your eyebrows in confusion. He looked at you and nodded, “I know, it was a jerk move, I’m sorry I didn’t really know how to react” he said and you stared at him in disbelief. “Honestly you made me feel stupid” you admitted and he let out a sigh as he brought a hand to the back of his neck in what you assumed was guilt.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know we’d be in the same class… I didn’t even think we’d see each other again” he then said, and you nearly laughed at his bluntness. “Yeah… I had no idea I’d see you again” you said and he glanced at you with a small smile, making you meet his eyes. You wanted to stop talking and make your daydreams come true after all this time, but as much as that was your desire, a smaller part of you tried to make you reason. Hyunwoo looked away from you and leaned his head against the seat, letting out a frustrated sigh, “I really want to kiss you” he said with a half-hearted chuckle, toying with his keys once again.

You smiled a little and took in a deep breath, “Do it” you said, throwing any reason out the window despite your resolution from a second ago, how bad could the damage for a make out be? You thought, and Hyunwoo turned to you in surprise. You leaned closer to him and even though he was hesitant before, he seemed to have also gotten rid of anything holding him back. He kissed you deeply and this time, the two of you were able to take it further, having you sit on his lap while his seat reclined. You brought your lips to his jaw and down his neck, but he continued to bring your lips back to his, making you pull back curiously as you met his gaze.

Hyunwoo sat up and brought you into his chest, his arm wrapped around you as his other hand rested at your hip. A sudden shot of electricity shot through you as you thought that maybe it was finally going to happen, but was taken aback by Hyunwoo’s sudden change in behavior. He slumped his shoulders and let out a long sigh as he met your gaze, laying back against the reclined seat and letting his hands fall against his sides. You stared at him in question and some embarrassment began making its way into your system, was this all about to end right now, while you still sat on him with every intention of devouring him whole?

“You okay there?” you asked playfully, poking at his side gently and making him smile faintly at you. He seemed to have been thinking something for a while before he was finally sitting upright and bringing his hands to your hips so he could peck your lips. “I could get in trouble for this” he then said softly, making the moment feel intimate in a nonsexual manner as the two of you stared at each other and he held you close. You brought your hands to meet at the nape of his neck, relaxing on his lap and taking in a deep breath, “Are you going to use my grades against me?” you asked in a teasing manner, but Hyunwoo gave you a stern shake of his head as his eyebrows furrowed in disgust, “No, I wouldn’t do that- that’s not even what I was thinking” he said and you grinned, running your hands through his hair.

“I’m joking” you said and his expression softened as he watched you, wrapping his arms around your waist. After a few seconds of quiet, he chuckled and looked away, a small smirk on his lips, “I didn’t know how to talk to you and get to know you without making it look like favoritism” he started and you knitted your eyebrows at him as he continued. “I gave extra credit to people and figured that was a start to get to talk to you, because I couldn’t ask you on a date” he confessed. You felt your heart swell in your chest as you offered him a surprised look, pulling away a little to see him correctly. “Why couldn’t you?” you asked and he shrugged, “That professor is pretty strict with TA’s, he doesn’t let us date classmates” he said and you nodded in understanding.

“Can I take you home?” he then asked and you grinned as you nodded, leaning forward and placing a long kiss on his lips before you were moving back to the other seat so he could start the car. You let out a light chuckle and shook your head, “I had no idea you liked me” you said, as he drove you to your house and the two of you passed several green lights. turning back to him. He smiled a little and nodded, “Would you want to date me?” he then asked softly, and you glanced at him as he kept his gaze on the street before him. Once again you were surprised by how straightforward he was, making you grin a little to yourself, “How would that work out?” you asked and Hyunwoo smiled, his eyes crinkling a little.

Once the two of you arrived, he walked you to your doorstep and stood before you as you turned to face him. He stared at you for a few seconds before he was running a hand through his hair and putting both hands in his pockets. His hair fell swiftly over his forehead once more and you wanted to run your hands through it. You stared at him and made your way up to him and stopped only a few inches away. “Wait for me” he said, his voice low and deep, making a tinge of excitement go through your chest. “Wait for you?” you questioned, inching closer to him until your chests were practically grazing. “Till the end of the semester, then we can date” he finally said, and you leaned towards him, capturing his lips with yours in a slow kiss.

He brought his hands to cup your jaw and you smiled through the kiss, suddenly remembering your first night together at that party a few months ago. You finally pulled away and whined, “I don’t know if I can wait three more months” you said jokingly and he gave you a chaste kiss before taking your hand, “I waited half a semester too, so it’s only fair” he remarked.

You scoffed and laced your fingers with his as you walked backwards until your back was against the door, “Does this mean I get more extra credit?” you teased, making him look at you sternly. “No, just coffee” he commented, making you chuckle as you unlocked the door and pulled him inside, “Maybe I can change your mind” you joked and he followed after you.

“Maybe you can” he said, taking you into his arms as the two of you made your way further inside your home with quick kisses, hasty hands, and eager expectations for what was left of the semester.

[sugaabooga]

The Holiday Ghost

Pairing: Kim Jaehwan x Reader

Genre: fluff, little angst?, bullet scenario, ghost!Jaehwan

Word Count: 3.2k

Summary/Extra: MERRRRRRRYYY CHRISTMAAAAASSSSS!!! Part of the Christmas Packages:) thought i should start posting the writings ive finished even tho a lot of the kpop fandom has been through hard times last week! i’ve also extended this holiday thing until the end of my winter break, January 8th. ENJOY!

So you’ve never really been a fan of horror movies

But one day in the middle of December, winter break, your friends Jihoon and Woojin suggest the three of you watch the new horror movie that had recently came out

That was the worst decision you have ever made in your whole entire life

You couldn’t walk back home alone and made both the boys walk you

But either way it was scary

bc they wouldn’t stop scaring you!!!

“Y-Y/N….”

“STOPPPPP!!”

“THERE’S SOMETHING BEHIND YOU!”

And they would start sprinting down the sidewalk and leave you to stand alone in the flickering street light

You almost burst into tears

Jihoon and woojin felt really bad after you had a near panic attack

so Jihoon ends up walking in front of you and woojin walks behind you

b4 they leave they remind you that it’s not real and ghosts don’t exist

Blah blah blah

Their little assurance somewhat calms you

BUT YOU REALIZE YOUR PARENTS AREN’T HOME

IT’S LATE WHY AREN’T THEY HOMEEEEE

DID THEY DIE!? IF YOU GO IN THE BATHROOM WILL THEY BE LAYING THERE!?

you start running around the house and turn on every single light you have

you know you shouldn’t, but you really don’t wanna risk seeing a dark shadow in the mirror as you brush your teeth then be led to your death, so you don’t even step a meter near the bathroom

you change in the corner of your room so nothing would be able to stand behind you

You walk backwards into your bed then create a little house around your head with all your stuffed animals

you somehow fall asleep despite the feeling you had of someone watching you

But during the middle of the night you hear soft strumming of the guitar

At first you think that it must be your next door neighbor, Joshua playing his little morning warm-up

Then you see the time from your half opened eyes and holy shiz it’s only 2am

you start to hyperventilate and you can’t even close your eyes

Bc what if the killer ghost is hovering right above you when you choose to open them again

You can’t risk it

the strums come closer and closer to your window

and you feel yourself sweating more and your breathing becomes ragged

but then you hear humming of a soft, light tune

it makes you think back to third grade, first day of school

you remember a kid who always brought a ukulele to school

tbh you had a crush on that boy, but you couldn’t remember his name

he always sat with you whenever you mom was late to pick you up and he would play a short theme song like from a popular cartoon

his songs always assured you that your mom was coming to pick you up soon

and it helped you forget all the bullies and frights you had

the song that you were hearing rn was oddly familiar and it comforted you

The strums were nowhere near creepy, surprisingly and the hums lulled you back to sleep

When you wake up in the morning, you hear guitar strums again

your heart beats erratically but then you realize

The sun’s out

Which means

It’s bright and daytime

Which meanss

NO GHOSTS

Which meanssss

It was your cute neighbor joshua hong playing his guitar and singing with his heavenly voice

You just lay in your bed after opening your window a bit more so you can hear him sing

But then you realize….

It wasn’t joshua’s voice

Joshua had a softer, gentler voice

This voice was soft and gentle….

But there was strong emotion put into each word sung

way more emotion than a morning warm up

you slowly get up and peek out your window to see…

Nothing

You notice that the singing and guitar stopped as well

you slump back into your bed then think back to the horror movie from yesterday

It couldn’t be….

A GHOST!?!!?!?

You start screaming and crying at the same time when the scenes from the movie come rushing into your brain

You hear footsteps come up the stairs and you start screaming even louder

But stop when you see that it’s just your mom

“WHAT’S GOING ON!? IS EVERYTHING OKAY!?”

“MOOOOMMMMM!!! I THINK OUR HOUSE IS HAUNTEDDD!!”

cue your mom hitting your back and yelling at you

“I THOUGHT SOMETHING HAPPENED!”

“SOMETHING DID HAPPEN! I HEARD A GHOST SINGING!”

that just makes your mom even more mad

her slaps just drive you out of bed and you soon find yourself sitting out on your porch

You were currently rubbing your hands over your arms

bc it was FREAKIN cold

you couldn’t believe your mom had kicked you out of the house in the middle of December

you’re muttering to yourself how cold it is then you see a guy with a guitar slung over his shoulder walking down the sidewalk and across the street about to pass by your home

He seemed to be in a good mood

humming and all

but something just seemed off about him

he was rather….. pale

like transparent pale

you’re kinda worried bc what if this guy was rlly sick or something and he didn’t know about it bc he seemed to be in a good mood

“Hey!”

You yell from your chair and wave your arms

he turns to you and stares at you for a bit then keeps walking

you’re like “uh wut?”

you go down the steps and you honestly don’t even know what you’re doing

your feet were moving on their own

you felt like you had to help this person

“Excuse me?”

you call out, but the guy DOES NOT STOP WALKING

could he not hear?

you jog up behind him and reach your hand out to tap him

but

your hand goes through him

“AHHHH!”

the guy suddenly whips around in shock and looks at you with an equally bewildered look

you’re frozen on the spot

you can’t move no matter how creepy the situation is rn

“d-do you see me?” he almost whispers

“n-no”

He just starts laughing and it freaks the hell outta you

What kind of psychotic laugh was that!?

You felt shivers run up and down your spine as he tried to calm himself down

you slowly try to step away from him but Jaehwan does that creepy, nervous, cute looking smile

like do you know what smile im talking about

and he asks you “where are you going?”

your mind’s just going ‘GTFO GGTTFFOO”

you attempt to turn around and run, but you just fall flat on your face

How comedic would this look from your window?

“Are you okay?”

“STOP DON’T COME NEAR ME!”

tbh jaehwan is disheartened at your tone

He was ecstatic that someone could finally see him, but now they were getting scared bc of him

He just ignores those feelings and nervously chuckles

you don’t hear anything for a while and you start to stand up

then you hear music

Those guitar strums

that voice

Both those factors reminded you of that one boy who played to you

you frantically look around, but you couldn’t seem to see anything

then, you spot that ghost guy from earlier

he was sitting on the side of your house, leaned against the wall

If jaehwan remembered anything about humans, it was that they seemed to calm down when there was music

you slowly walk over to him, your feet making crunching noises on the fresh snow

You just stand across from him listening to his voice

when he stops you look at him in surprise and disappointment

“Why’d you stop playing?”

Jaehwan smirks

“You seemed pretty calm enough”

he stands up to take his leave

“Y-You’re voICE IS NICE!”

you’re still kinda creeped out about the fact that he’s a ghost AND WHY ARE YOU SEEING HIM!?!!?

but he just had this familiar comforting feel

you stop him by reaching out for his arm when he merely smiles at your compliment and starts to walk away from you

then remember he’s a frkn ghost

but as you retract your arm you feel the cloth of his jacket

0o0o0o0o000o0o0o0

why were you able to touch him!?!!

Jaehwan can feel after all these years

More like a few months but

“ARE YOU MY SOULMATE!?!?!”

Kim jaehwan plz

you’re like “bro wtf?”

he proceeds to explain how if a human can see him and touch him, he gets a chance to go to the afterworld

for some odd reason, jaehwan was rejected bc he had someone in the real world who wasn’t ready to let him go

This usually wasn’t a problem but the wanting of his presence was REALLLLLYYYY STRONG

So he had to stay in the human world until he found that human and spent three weeks with them to convince them to let him go

“Are you saying it’s me?”

“There’s really no one else who could touch me”

He honestly didn’t know why you were able to touch him

Let alone SEE him

but he felt like you were the owner of that strong, unseen force of wanting his presence

you’re really confused tho bc you’ve never seen him b4

“IM JAEHWAN!”

he suddenly blurts then grins

“....y/n…”

and like JAEHWAN REMEMBERS YOU

You were that one girl who he always played his ukulele for in elementary school!

he had once seen you cry bc you’re mom was running really late and he walked home so he stayed an extra twenty minutes just singing and playing until you cracked a smile

But maybe you weren’t that girl bc he knew at least two other ppl named y/n

Anyways

he doesn’t mention that he may or may not know you and just follows you into your home

by then your mom is calmed down from this morning

there’s already a plate of pancakes set on the table for you

Jaehwan takes a tour around your home while you eat

You finish eating then hear his laugh again

You temporarily forgot there was a ghost in your home, so you freaked but then

“Right… jaehwan”

After you wash the dishes you go up to your room but jaehwan’s already in there

WEARING A FRKN BRA

you clamp your hand over your mouth so you don’t scream from the shock, but instead, you start laughing

“I WISH I COULD TAKE A PICTURE OF YOU RN!”

you’re literally on the ground and Jaehwan just smiles at you and sits on your bed

STILL IN YOUR BRA

“STOP TOUCHING IT!”

it’s only been a few hours of spending time w/Jaehwan in your room

but you feel like you’ve known him for years

he told you about the day his first tooth fell out all the way to the last time he was still existing

you had shed some tears during his talk about his death and what he had felt when he saw the car barreling towards him

soon, a week passed

It was Christmas

You open up your presents

You had asked for a guitar and there it was

You honestly had NO KNOWLEDGE about guitars whatsoever, but the instrument always caught your eye

But ya know

Jaehwans a pro at guitar

So he basically teaches you the basics and helps you get started

You bond even quicker bc of the guitar lessons

And seriously

You never realized you would be best friends with a ghost

Christmas passed by really quickly with Jaehwan hanging out w/you all the time

his presence was always comforting

butttt a lot of your relatives prob thought you were crazy from giggling out of the blue and appearing to talk to yourself

you wanted to tell jihoon and woojin about jaehwan but you couldn’t find the time to meet them during the break

Soon it’s December 31st

third week

Jaehwan had mentioned his past b4

Especially he was now 99% sure that you were the one not letting him go after seeing, from your pictures, that you WERE that girl from like 14 years ago

you didn’t even realize that you were holding on to him from leaving this world

you didn’t even know that you were always missing that one kid in elementary school, who always managed to put a smile on your face and brighten up your day

you now knew that you were the one keeping Jaehwan from leaving to where he belonged

behind the Heaven gates

you kept putting it behind

“I’ll talk to him tomorrow…in three days…. next week….”

until it was New Year’s Eve

10:05pm

You were sitting out on Ong Seongwoo’s empty patio w/Jaehwan

Ong Seongwoo - a freakishly rich dude that somehow became friends with Jihoon and Woojin despite the four year age gap

Seongwoo had thrown a New Year’s Eve party

there were mostly college kids, but a few high schoolers from jihoon and woojin’s dance team were also invited were at this party

You have no idea how you were at this party, but woojin had insisted you come

you had spent some time talking with some of the dancers’ girlfriends and with Jihoon and woojin, but decided to get some fresh air bc the loud music and smell of alcohol was too much

Jaehwan hadn’t come with you even tho he begged to come as long

you wanted jaehwan to stay home

Just in case you did something completely embarrassing

but one thing you should know

don’t ever trust kim jaehwan

Especially when he’s a ghost

you were just gazing out into the night sky when you saw a glowing figure

you were about to freak out

BC ANOTHER GHOST!? JAEHWAN WAS ALREADY A HANDFUL

but then you saw that it was just Jaehwan

the ghost that you had somehow fell in love with

You really wished he was a person

As jaehwan spent more and more time w/you

the less and lesser you would be able to tap his shoulder, give him a small hug, or even high five him

It was like the very first time you tried to tap his shoulder, the first time you met

your fingers just went through him

you knew that you couldn’t let go of him

you missed his presence whenever you would wake up and not see him there on the floor, gazing blankly at the ceiling

Jaehwan was prob just lowkey stalking your other neighbor, Hwang Minhyun

I mean he still couldn’t believe someone could be so…..

clean

anyways

you don’t think you would be able to live without him

but that was just your selfish desires

You knew the longer jaehwan spent his time in the real world, the more dangerous it would become for him

Jaehwan would be turned into a human, but obviously he had to experience another death since he’s not supposed to be alive

but if that happened, he wouldn’t even get a chance to go to trial to go to Heaven

you didn’t want that

you would rather miss him for a bit then see him again in the form of an angel

so you decide to let him go at exactly 12am, January 1st of the new year

when jaehwan appears, he already knows you made up your mind

he could just tell from your eyes

both the sadness and determination

“Y/N?”

“Yes, Jaehwan?”

“I’m sorry I forgot I was a ghost the other day and tried to carry your guitar.”

you chuckle at his belated apology

“No worries”

The two of you spend the rest of the time talking about the three weeks you’ve spent together

it felt like you had been with him for years

Before you know it, it’s 11:58pm

ppl inside are already starting the countdown

Two minutes b4 the new year since seongwoo’s like that

Both of you know you’re running out of time

and you just suddenly break down in tears

you became so attached to the ghost in front of you in a matter of three weeks

It was like fate had brought you two together after he had died and give you the time to grow love for one another just to break you apart again

sure, it was only three weeks

But you already knew that you would be willing to spend the rest of your entire life with him

You had literally seen all sides of jaehwan

The good sides, the bad sides, the funny sides, the broken sides

“I love you, Y/N”

you look up in surprise

You were half expecting to be like

“AHhAHhahHAHkakkjakH LOVE YOUUUU”

And joke about it but

nope

you look in his eyes and you know he’s not joking around this time

your eyes were still half-filled w/tears, so you quickly rub them away in order so you can see jaehwan properly

But he’s fading away

WHY WAS HE FADING AWAY?

Jaehwan steps closer to you and you can actually feel… body heat?

you missed being able to actually physically touch jaehwan

he sadly smiles and all you see in his eyes are tears and genuinity

“I love you”

you hear the loud cheers of the people inside counting down from ten to finally celebrate the new year that will bring new New Year Resolutions and fresh starts

The countdown slowly fades away as you see the space between you and Jaehwan grow smaller and smaller

Just as you close your eyes and feel a light touch on your lips,

“ONEEEE WHOOOP!!!”

You hear cheers grow the loudest they’ve ever been that night

The touch…..

it’s gone

Jaehwan….

is gone

After Jaehwan just disappears into thin air, everything else is a blur

You remember woojin coming out to find you squatted down on the ground, about to cheer how it was the new year, but instead sees your face in your hands, and tears streaming down your face

he knew better than to ask what was wrong

he immediately takes you home and wishes you a Happy New Year and leaves a light, shy kiss on your forehead

if you hadn’t met jaehwan in the duration of your winter break, you prob would’ve been bursting with happiness rn

You had always had a small crush on woojin

but obviously it all changed when you had seen jaehwan

Instead, you offer a small smile, thank him for being such a supportive friend and bid him a safe walk back home

you trudge back into your room and fall face flat onto your bed

you want to cry

and…. you do

But as you struggle to calm down and get up to wash your face and move on with your life….

you hear a tiny crinkling of paper

you look over, confused and see a small piece of paper sticking out from the first fret of your guitar, fluttering from the wind that was being let in from your slightly open window

with trembling hands, you open it up and let some more tears fall

happy tears

“Merry New Year’s, Y/N! Don’t miss me too much. :P Move on with your life. Don’t forget about me though! I still want some attention you know lol (i used that slang word! Lol keke I saw it when you were texting that friend of yours lol) Thanks for letting me go. I will never forget you and all the things we’ve been through even though it’s been only three weeks. lol…

I love you. - Kim Jaehwan”

as you struggle to keep in your tears and not roll his eyes at his overuse of the “slang” word ‘lol’ you notice something falling out from the small note he had left

you crouch down and pick it up from the floor to see

his guitar pick

[piahautea]

Appreciation Post: My Lovely Barkada

I’ve always been the stick-to-one type of friend.

Back during the first two years of junior high, you’d only see me with just one friend. One lunch buddy, one fair week constant, one automatic partner, one let’s-go-to-the-library-during-intrams-instead co-lazy bum, one companion and one everything. But never really the more meaningful ones like: a confidante, a tell-me-your-secrets-they’re-safe-with-me type of chill, a laughing comrade or a wingman /pagdating sa mga crushes na iyan/. That was until I met each of the cartoon people above. 

This post is dedicated to them. The not-so-small barkada I never thought I’d have. They've also been so supportive of my blogging ever since and I want y’all to meet them! Somehow you may also try to see a part of yourself in them with their little intro’s /but that's only if you want to/.

A little disclaimer by the way: Their art banners are filled with silly deets about them while their actual descriptions are a lot graver; although, it's still sounding a lot like silly Pea wrote them, aye. 

This is Leila. Leila’s been one of my best friends since 10th grade. I never thought we’d be in the friendship situation we have now because I only thought surface-level bros were all we'd ever be. But, nah. What are those for anyway? She was the quietly-acing-my-way-in-the-honor-rolls type. And, well, I was trying so hard to be that student. But we just randomly sparked up a convo about my blog and her love for Niall Horan and then she became my confidante in an instant with her shipping me so hard with a Tumblr boy that I used to like. In the things I thought highly impossible for myself, she believed I could turn them around in my favor and she stood there behind me with her hand on my back. She’s the best. I still wish she'd become a doctor, even though she's already faced towards a different track.

This is Margaux. When she spots you and you tickle her fancy, she’d probably talk to you. Basically, that's what happened to us. We were just batchmates in the same baking class. That changed when we bumped into each other at a charm store; she saw me first, tapped my back and said, “Hi!” like it’s nothing. Post the little meeting and the year after, we became classmates. And then I knew that smiling was her best asset and her laughter was her best type of music. She’d made me cookies and a chocolate-mint birthday cake for my 18th because that’s her. You hear little words and phrases like pastries, being top-level artsy, beauty queen pageants, genuine grins, dressing up for fun and you got it. That’s still gonna be her.

This is Froilan. If you know me well enough, you’d know that this dude’s been one of my constants since the beginning of time /‘di naman haha since 9th grade lang siguro/. You'll see him almost everywhere I go and part of almost everything I do. We’ve also been constantly teased by past classmates about us having that chemistry and that maybe we were already secretly a couple. All I can say is, nope. We’re merely bros. I love him, though. In the gayest way possible. He’s amazing in general. He loves getting and slaying the D so much. Drawing, dancing and designing *wink wink*. I’m never afraid to be myself when I’m with him and for that I’m eternally thankful. He’s also my punching bag hehe he enjoys the force of my knuckles kissing and smashing his fudge brownie skin /poetic/.

This is Nesli. She’s the first friend I’ve ever made in our circle. We’ve been together since the 7th grade and mutually sworn to be each other’s best friends during 8th grade. She’s also one of my confidantes. And the one who’s literally seen me in the good, the bad & the ugly and has still loved me no matter what. She has a heart large enough to fit in giraffes, all her favorite Filipino & European dishes, historical fiction books, her family, her art, her hoes and all her other friends. She’s my happy pill, tbfh. She’s going to make it big in the animations field or in any other field because she’s that flexible. She can write, draw, paint /in both the common mediums/, care for wildlife and humanity vividly. It's such a cakewalk to believe in what she's capable of because when she dreams, she dreams with her eyes open and with stellar passion running freely in her veins.

This is Brian. He’s one of my sister’s former tutees. I’ve heard stuff about him being sassy and loud /which he was/, but our friendship was a bit like of a plot twist. An unexpected thing. Although believe me when I say this: my sister predicted that we’d be the best of friends in the future. And she was right about it. 9th grade and I can still fondly remember it all. We’d sit in a corner where people weren't around to sing Defying Gravity because it was his fave and I was his fave duet partner, too. Sooner or later, we begun that singing routine. He easily became the person I’d always wanna sing with and now he’s worked his way to get into theater by switching schools for both SHS and college. I love my theater geek friend /who apparently knows how to get wasted now/. And I miss having to deal with him and his antics everyday. 

This is Gia. Being friends with her was also an unexpected one. She’s quiet and was only the closest to Cather /you’ll get know her later/. We’d never really had those talk-talks until the final years of junior high. She lent me her copy of To Kill A Mockingbird and it opened me to widen my reading choices. We also discovered each others’ love for indie/alternative rock music. She loves Nirvana, blink-182 and The Killers and it killed me. I’d also boast to those who love her brother’s band from the indie OPM scene that I’m friends with the vocalist’s baby sister because Hello? it’s not everyday you get to be friends with someone who has blood thick and rich of musical notes and art. She's an epitome of those two things.

This is Mika. Mika was Froilan’s friend first. And then she randomly talked to me in class and we became instant friends who loved hugging each other. She’s the type to get crafty and make you keychains or little drawings of your favorite things for Christmas or your birthday. She’s the sweetest soul and she likes to share stories with you; it doesn’t matter how long you’ll chatter with her. She’s also super smart! She helps me with all the Math help I needed back when we still had to take Math. You would just never see an honor roll without her in it. And yes, she had a phase with Big Time Rush back in junior high. But now, it seems like she’s also been bitten by another Kpopper /probably a friend from outside the circle/. She's the kind of treasure I'd like to keep with me anywhere I go. 

This is Carmela. This one’s another plot twist kind of friendship. Like Margaux, she’s also extremely loud and friendly. Like randomly-popping-into-your-face kind of friendly. She’s chatty but it’s a reasonable kind of chatter. She also dances like a pro. I envy her grace on the floor and the flat stomach she'd cultivated out of that. We may not have the same amount of time as we had before but we see to it that no matter how busy we are, we’d never fail to exchange short stories and warm hugs when we see each other. Also, yes, she is my co-bully when it comes to Froilan. Everything she does to put him in artless misery cracks me up every time /that’s how we roll/.

This is Seline. I’ve only known her this year but since then, she’s already been one of my closest friends in class. We just vibe well and we could talk about anything in the pop culture spectrum or just anything Tumblr and art-related. I love how her mind just works like a charm and concocts puns real quick. I love how she'd update me and tell me stories about her dogs and their newborn puppies because we share the same love for these critters and it just makes me giddy every time. Because of her, I’m starting to rethink my stances on animated films /because I’m not big on those/. She makes some of the greatest digital artworks I’ve ever seen and I can’t wait to have more cafe adventures with her and our other amigos and to visit her in Benilde by the time we reach college. 

This is Cather(ine). Like Nesli, we’ve been friends since 7th grade and best girls since the 8th. She’s the cutest /next to my spot/ in the group and makes equally-adorable reactions to everything she sees. It kind of takes her a while to do almost everything she has to do but it adds up to how she handles anything with the utmost love and care not anyone would ever spare time for. She's also loud whenever she opens her mouth to speak /e.g. when we're in the car and it's quiet, she would completely ignore the silence and start a quickfire with her words but that's okay because she can never be irritating to me at all/. I love her that much. I hope she’d find solace in the fact that she’s a bright, bright kiddo who would slay any scientific fate she’d choose. I’d always have her back as she's always had mine.

When we met, it suddenly just made sense to meet altogether, too. It wasn't like our personalities were so similar with the other that we just had to gather around a campfire and talk about starting a tribe or something. Our personalities differ; but in such a way that we complement each other, filling gaps that needed a little something of this or that. But about the tribe thing, yes we do gather. Annually. For Christmas. And it has to be in a different house each year until we get to be in everyone's humble abodes.

Ladies & gents, this is my second ohana. My very own battle cohort. Top 1 in my small list of kada’s. My most favorite non-blood related people in the universe. I used to be a stick-to-one kind of person. Now, I'm mostly a stick-to-ten.