#I thought reading groups and book clubs were going to make me more tolerant of other people's aesthetic preferences

[goldilockstheory]

someone I like and respect very much described Ursula K Le Guin’s style as “twee” and it took everything in me not to immediately commit murder

[rametarin]

Magneto is an interesting character. Or: A character essence study.

And when I say this, I don't say it from the direction of sympathy for their point of view. They're interesting, BECAUSE of what they, as a character, represent.

Magneto is the reactionary identitarian supremacist. The urge to take everybody else and either pound them into oblivion for the best interests of your own chosen group, or separate yourselves as a people from everybody else to go found your own, you-group exclusive club. He flips back and forth between genocide and self-segreating nationalism, but what he absolutely will not tolerate is his perspective and views being sublimated and what he is destroyed by a hostile outside force that outmatches him and wants him assimilated and destroyed.

X-Men, as per the creators, was always a thinly veiled allegory for being Jewish in a world that most decidedly is not, and nowhere is that closer to the surface than in Magneto's origin story. Which also flipflops a little, based on censors. But, more or less, he and his family were Jewish concentration camp victims, usually in Poland. If you're not well read, Poland kind of has a very ridiculous history with being invaded and trampled and subjugated, and doing this was something the Nazis AND the Soviets collaborated on.

And then we get to the subject of Jews and that's a whole other bunch of books of sadness.

But that being said, Magneto doesn't focus on being Jewish, he focuses on being a mutant. It's not a good look for the narrative of the story to depict the Jew as a superior form of human with powers beyond gentile's ability to even fathom, but well, it puts the mutant power in power fantasy and the allegory has since expanded (slapshod or otherwise) to include any minority group that feels persecuted, marginalized or discriminated against on the basis of how they look, what they are, or their lack of conformity. Depicting the non-Jew as ignorant banal have-nots is not a good look, but, again, allegory has expanded since then. Still not a very good look, but remember it's not a 1:1 allegory.

But talking specifically about Magneto is not what brought me here today. In fact, it's just a good example and a stepping stone to another subject.

Magneto's origin story is inexorably drawn to what the Nazis did to the Polish and Polish Jews specifically. To the point where imagining him as existing in any other time or place is difficult. To properly get the sort of scarring of Magneto, one would need to be some manner of ethnic and/or religious minority in a land that is only tentatively your own, and have it be invaded by at least one party, keen on erasing you and your family's existence specifically because your ethnic lines are not their own, and preferentially to the narrative, BECAUSE your specific ones are your own, which the persecuting group hate specifically.

So that got me thinking. If one were to re-imagine Magneto for a modern audience, enough so they could look upon the character and hear the origin story and go, "Yes, that is uniquely similar enough to parallel," how would they do it?

So I thought about it for a little while.

First and foremost, is the Jewish question (lol.) Does The Magneto, whatever his origins; does the niche itself, require attachment to being Jewish? This is an incredible, fundamental question. If yes, that limits options a little, but not too terribly much. More important, I think, would be the other fundamental components that make up a good Magneto origin story.

Magneto is the product of victimization as two horrible regimes and interests came and ravaged his land, mass murdered his people with antipathy based on their ancestry and ideological opposition to the ambitions of his attackers. A person that suffered imprisonment and forced labor and was waiting to die, until circumstances saw to him being rescued. But the experience drove them very sour, and they swore never to allow themselves to be treated this way again.

The Magneto we grew up with had his origin story in WW2. Originally he was an adult during WW2, later versions had him as the child of Polish Jews (in one animated continuity). So going by timelines, when he was introduced in the early 1960s, his character would've been shaped by events that happened in his childhood of the 30s and would've been a teenager in the 40s. Being born between 1926 and 1930. He would've been at most a teenager by the end of WW2, and at his oldest, 20. His first introduction taking place in 1963, that'd mean if he were to be introduced today, his origins would've required him to be born, at most, 37 years ago.

So, if he were introduced in 2024, he'd have been born in 1987. I kind of weep at the idea I'm now older than Magneto's age when he was introduced in the 60s, but time makes fools of us all, I suppose.

That would mean his formative years, the vague and obscure ones of his teenaged years to 20, would've been between 2002 and at the latest, 2007. With a shifting window, if we're to accept an older Magneto, closer to age 70 by the modern day. A younger, 1963-ish depiction of Magneto in a modern story would've been a late 80s baby, an older Magneto would've been a late 50s baby that would've been 15-20 by 1978.

So where do these times and the elements that make a Magneto intersect? What are our options?

I could see a Magneto that was the result of the Soviets and Taliban persecuting non-Muslims in Afghanistan. I could see a Magneto that was a member of the Twa or Tutsi people in Rwanda. I could see a Magneto that grew up in South Africa or Zimbabwe. I could see a Magneto that was Kurdish and survived Sadam Hussein's chlorine bombing and attempted ethnic cleansing.

And you could very easily have a Magneto borne from the gruesome shit Mainland China is doing to its ethnic and racial minorities, not just the Uighurs, today.

What Magneto ultimately is, is a person that jades their heart to attempts to exterminate what you and people like you are, on the basis of what you are, and the desire to kill or be killed both out of indignity and outrage. Someone that decides to make the wrong decision, that the world has decided there's not room enough on the planet for everybody to co-exist, so your particular culture must be eliminated, and decided, "not mine, not today; yours, forevermore."

But Magneto's Chosen are always mutants. Whatever their nationality, ethnic background or identity, tribal affiliation, geographic region of birth, or other forms of heredity. Do you have a mutant power, and does the world hate you for it? Then he sees you as kin.

Where else he could've been born in time for the exact formula of what made the character the way they are, is an interesting subject of exploration for me.

[wincore]

atlas | kim dongyoung

pairing: doyoung x reader

words: 15.4k

summary: kim doyoung has a lot of titles. student body president, music club president, favourite student of every professor who’s blessed enough to have him. in other words, he’s not your type and never will be. at least he’s a good kisser.

or, you feel the weight of the world on your shoulders and you do not know how to hold things as delicate as glass.

genre: college au, fwb au, hurt/comfort, angst, some fluff 

warnings: very suggestive content, making out, language, smoking, alcohol, mentions of sex under influence, me being pretentious,,

prompt: anonymous said: slippery + doyoung + "you can rely on me, you know." from the first dialogue link! LOVE YOU ❤️

song rec(s): playlist here !

a/n: yes it’s me experimenting out of my comfort zone again. yes you are required by law to listen to keshi while reading this hahahaha anyway writing this was painful. <3 (aka today i tried writing very complex human emotions and failed again. classic.)

In the beginning, there was no beginning. Ergo, this isn’t really a thing.

You shouldn’t be thinking of summer in Introduction to Latin. You are a good (perhaps great, if your ego allows) student after all. Here you are, though, listening to the ticking of the clock and wondering if you sigh loud enough, you won’t have to construct another sentence with the word for ‘death’. You pause to tell yourself that you shouldn’t be thinking of summer out of class either. Unremarkable; that's what it was and you don’t like unremarkable things.

When two people end up alone together, there’s not much to make of. 

“You know,” he had said, locking eyes. “We should get out of here.”

“And then what?”

“Fuck.”

So here’s the thing: this isn’t and won’t be a thing.

Doyoung has never been subtle when drunk, you found out, and he’s not as gentle as he looks. You flip the page of your notebook absentmindedly. You don’t like where your thoughts are going; the clinking of ice against glass rings in your ears again. It’s been far too long (one whole month) and you’re craving a bit of fun. You may forget yourself but you’re reaching your fingertips a little too far to call him again. More excuses pop up. See, in your world of perfection, there’s a hierarchy of things; men rank rather low. 

(Fun doesn’t.)

Here’s another thing: you forget yourself quite often. You know very well that you’re the one who continued this not-thing and now you’re daydreaming of Kim Doyoung in class hours. 

And under grey bed sheets with a tired smile, Doyoung is hard to forget. 

It was a party, it always is. That time, however, was the first party of the year Doyoung and you happened to be attending at the same time. You can’t remember who hosted it—the frat probably—but it was at a bar called the ‘The Meeting Place’ which had too many people you didn’t care about. Doyoung was there, in his laid-back glory, and you were drawn in far too easily. Being single did not help your case—and the alcohol certainly didn’t. You’re not sure if it was the gentle touches against your wrist or quick words that left his mouth or the attractive all-black get-up. All you know is that it was your mouth against his by the end of the night in a small booth, hot and impatient. Once, twice, thrice and you didn’t even need parties anymore. 

It’s not like you weren’t aware of what you were doing; it’s just that you were quick to give in—like you didn’t want to resist in the first place. And now, summer smells like Doyoung’s perfume. 

The first night had given Mr. Student Body President a near-stroke. You weren’t the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men at parties either so the morning had been full of awkward explanations to each other till you’d kissed him to shut him up (much like in a disgusting romantic comedy, minus the feelings) and somehow, it worked. He didn’t refuse and if you recall, he’d eventually pulled you closer by the waist.

You huff, twirling your pen. He’d never admit it.

You didn’t kiss so sloppily after that, unless it was to make out against a wall or while fumbling with the keys to your apartment. The lack of alcohol can bring wonders. You were a little surprised that he’d agreed—he is the Doyoung you’ve known since freshman year after all; blunt, rude, cares more for his grades than he’d ever for you. How laughable. He’s almost the same as you.

Here’s one last thing: Kim Doyoung is not and cannot be your type. 

You had the same part-time job in your second semester at a local fast food joint, and to summarize, your interactions were less than friendly. You can’t possibly count the number of times he yelled at you for trivial mistakes, and the number of times you sent angry, clipped sentences his way. So, yes, neither of you have told anyone—just acting friendly got you enough eyebrow raises.  If there’s anything worse than contradicting yourself almost directly, it’s having to explain that to your friends. So, you kept it a secret and so did he, for his own reasons.

You massage your forehead. If you think any more of this during class hours, you’re going to have to classify this as a terrible, terrible problem; like you don’t have enough already. You tune in to the lecture again, hoping it drowns out the rest of your thoughts. 

You tap your pen against the desk till you’re asked to stop by the professor. There goes your last resort. It isn’t the first time, but you breathe a sigh of relief at the hands of the clock. Casual means casual—you know it better than anyone. Maybe it would be easier if you could be more open about it. But you can’t. Your own problems aside, Doyoung would kill you if his reputation went down, even a nick. Men like that are so difficult, you curse to yourself. 

You run into Ten in the hallways, brightening at his absurdly wide grin. In fact, you haven’t seen him remotely upset since freshman year, when he couldn’t join the dance club, not because he failed the audition but because he mixed up the dates and missed it entirely. (It’s okay; he got in the next year.)

“Guess what!” he yells before you’re even in conversation range.

“What?” you yell back.

“No, guess,” he says, when you’re close enough.

You roll your eyes. “You scored a date?”

Ten deadpans. “No. I don’t even want one.”

“Loser.”

“No, you.”

“How clever.”

Ten flicks your forehead with no provocation whatsoever, making you yelp in pain. After a minute of cursing on your part, he squishes your cheeks to bring you back to reality—like he wasn’t the cause. You bite your lip to keep yourself from scowling. His hair is still light brown from the bleach, and you fix his bangs out of habit; your dumb friends are all you have at the end of the day. You sigh. They all lean on you unwittingly.

“Anyway, the news? I’m not guessing anything else,” you warn, taking a sip of your coffee.

“Well,” he draws out the syllable. “I heard- know you’re into the smart type. You know, student council kinda guys? So…”

You choke, the coffee leaving your mouth just as quick as it entered.

“Who told you that?” The laugh that leaves your mouth is forced and certainly fake but it’s the best you can do.

Ten rolls her eyes, still smiling. “I was thinking if you would be interested in a certain Park Hyungmin.”

Oh. Student body vice-president. He’s most definitely your type, with a gifted body and equally strong academic prowess—not to mention perfectly maintained tan skin and the most radiant smile you’ve ever seen in your life. 

“Oh, yeah, he’s hot,” you nod in agreement. “What do you want me to do with him?”

“He likes you. Like, totally has the hots for you. And I owe him so please help me out here.”

You furrow your brows, heaving a deep sigh.

“You...want me to go on a date with him?” you ask. 

You can oblige. Park Hyungmin is the hottest dude on campus (probably). It’s a win-win situation—in fact, it’s even better. A certain bitter taste finds itself in your mouth. It must be the coffee. You swallow it. 

“Yeah.”

And the deal’s done.

It was casual commitment, like most things you do for fun. You don’t think much of it, and the thought takes its final bow when you run into Doyoung himself.

Well, sort of.

You turn heel when he appears in your line of sight, pretending to fix your hair against a damn wall. You aren’t quite ready to face him yet, considering the coffee hasn’t kicked in—it’s not healthy how much you depend on it. Dependence is different, however, from consciously drowning yourself in it. 

See, Doyoung is anything but tolerable without a few shots of vodka. Or after sex. Or when he’s mumbling in his sleep. And you can’t erase any of those scenes. This is you trying to save yourself (and Doyoung) from embarrassment and a whole lot of explanation.

His coat looks expensive and you’d rather he had it on instead of on his arm. The tucked-in sweater and pants combo accentuates the line of his waist and the colour—you wonder where he found a teal so fitting—looks serene in the crowd. He’s wearing his glasses though, looking a little less put together than usual. Still, no one seems to notice and he continues to explain something to his group of friends.

God forbid you find Doyoung attractive during daytime.

His lips are chapped but pink as ever, the hair messed up by either the wind or his friends—you should stop staring by now. You give in. You’ll text him to book a hotel room tonight.

Sometimes you wonder how he has that large a friend circle, and always, the question answers itself. Eloquence, wit and regrettably, good looks—what does he lack? Maybe if he lost the habit to nag people around fifty-six times a day, he’d be the perfect man.  

An arm slings over your shoulder, punting the soul right out of your body.

“Fuck, Johnny, don’t do that,” you hiss, placing your hand over your chest involuntarily. 

The head of the photography club apparently spends his time terrorizing everyone he remotely knows. You make a foul expression but iIt’s not like he ever minds your scowling. He says he’s had enough practice from teasing Doyoung (and you’ll admit, it’s the only time you feel sorry for him). You were certain Doyoung would have filed him for harassment sometime in sophomore year. 

“What are you even looking at?” Johnny asks, raising an eyebrow at the plain offwhite expanse of the wall in front of you.

You feel hot at the neck. “I was fixing my hair.”

“In front of a wall?”

You click your tongue. “Do you not have class?”

“Oh, don’t be so quick to send me off.” He places a hand over his chest in mock hurt, fingers stretched delicately. 

To your dismay, the rest of his friends gather around giving you happy greetings—greetings only carefree college boys are capable of delivering. To your further dismay, Kim Doyoung arches an eyebrow at you, the same way he does on nights you’re doing things less than appropriate to think of in broad daylight.

“Hey, Doyoung, don’t you have anything to say? Or were you too drunk to remember?”

You bite down on your lip a little too hard. Doyoung, on the other hand, looks like he’s just seen God, stammering out a “what?” nevertheless.

“Weren’t you supposed to buy (name) a drink for driving you home that night?”

“Right,” he says, clearing his throat.

Oh, he’s bought you a drink enough times. Summer has waned but whatever thread you tied around your wrists hasn’t. Right now, your guess is that Doyoung has been ensnared in the common ritual for college boys to walk around campus and declare their friend is single just to embarrass him (or by some miracle, score him a date).

Everything, apart from the way you look at Doyoung, feels like a charade. You shake your head with a quick laugh, smacking Johnny in the arm and pay your condolences to Doyoung—keep it light. You’re good at it, or pretending you’re good at it, at the very least.

Doyoung’s gaze on you lingers for a moment and then you breathe. You’re going to be late for class—you offer the classic excuse and you’re out of there. In a way, it’s exciting. You’ve always wanted to have a secret relationship, even if this isn’t a real one. 

Doyoung is like the summer breeze, and you’d like for him to stay that way.

The next time you grace each other’s presence is when Doyoung’s tongue is in your mouth and his hands are running up under your shirt. 

He’s quite a pretty sight—messy hair, red lips and rosy cheeks. He moans into the kiss as he has quite a few times now and there’s the lovers’ high running through either of your minds. When he presses his lips to your neck, a soft restrained sound escapes you, not quite prepared for the sting of electricity through your skin. He moves to your collarbone and shoulders and then even lower, hands gripping your waist tight. The walls do not have ears here; these hotels are cheap but they’re built for privacy and maybe you’ll let yourself believe for once that you can belong to someone.

“Why did you text me in the middle of the goddamn night?” he mutters against the base of your neck.

“You want reasons now?” you whisper, hands running through his hair.

Doyoung has pretty fingers, pressing at the right places and prettier eyes that look at you with something akin to, dare you say it, love. He kisses you like he hasn’t had enough; and it makes you feel important.

He’s even better when he’s annoyed.

You wake up at around five in the morning. Propping yourself up on one arm, you take a moment to look at your partner. It’s easy to make out the line of his nose against the pillow, and if you focus, you can see his lashes against his cheek and his dark mop of hair clinging to his forehead. However gentle the moonlight is, it is kindest on a lover. 

Funny.

Too tired to sneak out, you go back to sleep.

“All I’m saying is that you have too much coffee,” Doyoung complains, slipping on his loose black sweatshirt. “It can’t be good for your health.”

You shake your head, scrolling through your phone as you lay on your belly. You’ve seen this view enough times—his back to you and sitting at the opposite edge of the bed, his incessant complaints and opinions about something that happened recently, running his hand through his hair when he sighs. You press on the calendar app and type in a note labeled ‘x’. Keeping tabs isn’t a bad thing; especially if you like order. Spending too many nights with someone is going to land you in trouble. That said, if you could trap love in a bottle, you would.

“You taste like coffee,” Doyoung adds with reddening ears.

Sometimes, it’s easy to ignore what he says if you listen to the sound of his voice instead. You sit up, scooting closer as Doyoung shoots you an alarmed look. He’s so cute like this; something about all the painted fences he puts up around him makes you want to lean in closer.

“So,” you poke his side. “How many relationships have you been in? Proper ones.”

“Three,” he answers, to your surprise.

Your eyebrows shoot up. “That’s more than I’ve been in!”

Doyoung furrows his. “How many have you been in?”

“One.”

He seems equally surprised but doesn’t probe further. After all, the price sticker that spells ‘youth’ clings to his forehead just as it clings to yours. 

“How many people have you fucked?” you ask suddenly, enjoying the visible flush across his neck.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he notes, flicking your forehead.

“Ow!” You place your palm against your forehead. “Okay, I get it, you have nothing to brag about.”

He shakes his head, an exasperated sigh leaving him. “I just don’t think you have to know. I like privacy.”

“Wait.” You gasp. “Don’t tell me- That night- don’t tell me you were a virgin—”

Doyoung squishes your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, a laugh erupting from your mouth. 

“Who’s a virgin?”

Nothing about this, you find yourself realizing, is complicated. It’s easy, gentle, natural, like a breath of fresh air—everything but complicated. Even under dim lights and within the depths of night, Doyoung is warm and uncomplicated. His chest, his hands, his lips—they are warm, as are his words. 

But Doyoung is a fucking fairytale.  

Even after these few months, all you know about him, in the definitive format, is that he plays the keys for more hours than he sleeps. What he does for fun, what his classes are, how he became student body president—you could play guessing games all night.

“Do your friends know where you spend your nights?” you ask, leaning back against the pillows.

“They know what I’m doing, not who I’m with,” he responds, running his fingers through his hair.

You purse your lips. It’s nothing hurtful but you don’t like the hush-hush in his tone.

“Why not?”

“Because this is a secret,” he responds as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Do you want them to know?”

He’s right.

“Ah, whatever,” you mutter, a stream of curses following when your elbow collides hard with the edge of the bedside table. 

“Your mouth is filthy.” He looks away to his phone. “I don’t swear as much.”

“Well, of course it is. I had your—”

Doyoung presses his palm against your lips with a tired sigh. “Please. Don’t speak. For the sake of my sanity.”

You smile under his hand and he returns it; and the November morning warms up.

“Where were you last night?”

You were expecting the question. Areum is the worst possible candidate for a roommate if you want some privacy. You don’t think she ever sleeps; sometimes, you wonder if she even showers because all she does is stare at her laptop screen and adjust her designs. Her lips are always chapped and her hair is always in a simple low ponytail but somehow still messy. You’ve never met someone so exhausted yet so full of life at the same time.

“Who were you with last night?” Eunji yells from the bathroom, before the two of them laugh.

You knew you shouldn’t have stayed the morning. You have the nosiest roommates anyone could (not) ask for. But they’re still your friends, you tell yourself begrudgingly. You would tell them about Doyoung if it weren’t for Eunji’s big mouth and Areum’s lack of common sense. And if it weren’t for the inherent comfort of privacy.

(Some part of you wants to keep him to yourself. You don’t care about student council president Doyoung or his friend group’s everything-regulator Doyoung or always-has-his-shit-together Doyoung. The one in your bed is the most loving.)

Areum adjusts her glasses, narrowing her eyes at you. “So? Any answer?”

You break out of your daydream at her voice, feeling a flush creep up your neck.

“I don’t have to explain anything,” you retort, snatching the coffee she brewed from the tabletop. “It was a Friday night and the two of you like Netflix more than me.”

“That’s mine,” Areum mumbles out a weak complaint.

“But don’t go out alone,” Eunji whines. “It can’t be safe.”

You laugh. “You know me. I don’t do anything too dangerous. Besides, you guys have that tracker app.”

They shrug, offering you a thin smile. A part of you is happy that they trust you but another part wonders what it would be like to be worried over. Maybe getting nagged isn’t so bad. 

You take a sip of Areum’s coffee and almost spit it out right back. 

“Did you add salt?” you ask, wiping at your mouth and hoping the taste disappears.

“Uh.” A reply so intelligent, you wonder if she ever pays attention to anything she's doing. 

You take a moment (a few), sigh (several times) and make your way to the shelves. Grumbling, you make her a proper cup of coffee before you leave.

Classes don’t wait for you (even if you think they should) and the world doesn’t wait for you (again, you think it should wait for people) so you’ve made it a point to understand the whole deal about rules. If everyone followed the rules, it would be quite a pretty scene; messing up is only valid if it’s done prettily. You laugh at the thought. That’s near impossible. The bus ride to the campus consists of music and thoughts of bleak tomorrows—an average commute for college kids, you think. You sure hope you aren’t alone in this.

Doyoung smiles at you in the hallway today, and despite your best efforts, it makes your day smell a little fresher.

Your day: classes, coffee break, classes, complaining with Ten, assignments, ‘me’ time. For someone who pretends to be laid back, you use your planner as though for survival. There’s no sticky notes or colourful sketches (except on occasion); just good old fashioned to-do lists and a calendar marked with time you’ve spent on productivity. Every day is a list to be completed. If people call routine a man-made cage, instinct is the biological cage. You’d rather be in control of the cage you’re in. You’d rather be in control of yourself. It’s scary otherwise.

So you know how to get the job done—it’s ingrained into you the same way you would place your hands over your ears at loud sounds, or the way you would run to your bed in the dark after switching off the lights.

It never occurs to you that the reason your world is so perfect is a sad one.

Sometime next month, it’s going to snow. Not yet though, and it’s still too cold.

The inside of the cafe helps the slightest, the heaters situated far back from where you sit. Christmas decorations are up already and the combination of red and green meshes delightfully into the form of an aching headache. The wood paneling on the walls are worn at the corners, the garlands hardly covering them, and the barista behind the counter seems as gloomy as the decorations are bright. You wouldn’t be noticing all of this if you weren’t stuck in one position.

You lean your cheek further into your palm and sigh, only this time Ten asks you to, quote, ‘shut the fuck up’.

He pulls up his sleeve and reaches for another pencil. His cryptic process continues, as it has been for the past half an hour and you feel yourself getting impatient, trying to not bounce your leg and get another bout of quibbling from your half-mad artist friend. You don’t usually run low on patience; but Ten has a special pass to test drive it.

“How much lon—”

“Shh!” He hushes you quickly. You can’t remember why you agreed to being his portrait study subject but you sure as hell regret it.

Around fifteen minutes later, you take a (permitted) breath. You have neither the energy nor the neck strength to glare at Ten but you make sure to show your displeasure by snatching the cookies from the table with a particularly sour look. He gets up and pushes you to the side of the small worn-out couch offered by the equally small booth.

“God, that chair was uncomfortable. My butt is frozen solid,” he lets you know, and you roll your eyes.

“You know, if we weren’t friends in high school, I would never be friends with you,” you state.

Ten tilts his head to the side, a mocking pout over his lips. “I would die without you, (name). Really.”

You smack his arm and he yelps, smacking your arm right back. The sound attracts some attention and giggles, and you make a gagging gesture to let them know you are in way or form in a relationship. The low-volume music changes to something with a more distinguishable beat, the sound of doors opening and closing almost every two minutes accompanying. Arriving on time is an accomplishment, especially arriving before rush hour on Fridays at the only decent cafe on campus, but both of your classes end early and there is no way you aren’t taking advantage of that. Leaving, however, is mostly done when you’re being glared at by the waiters and waitresses.

“Doyoung asked about you,” Ten says, all of a sudden. “Kim Doyoung.”

You try to not show concern, but raise an eyebrow. “What? So? He’s not my type or anything.”

You bite your tongue. That was too quick a response, too obvious. Your cheeks grow hot. Ten doesn't say anything, however, and for a moment, you think you’re in safe waters. 

“Are you guys… into each other or not?”

You cough, trying to show your surprise at something so outrageous. “Why would you think that? Does he look like someone who dates around?”

“Actually, he’s been on quite a few dates.”

“No way.”

You know that. He’s told you about it before, in vague references, but you know about them nonetheless.

“Isn’t one student council guy enough?” you mumble. “Why are we talking about Doyoung?”

He shrugs, a familiar feline smile on his face. “Just asking. He talks about you sometimes. Actually, we forced it out of him but whatever.”

You shake your head. “You’re all terrible.”

“You seem to like him though.”

“Who said that?”

Ten sighs, ignoring your question. “If you guys are dating—”

“We’re not.”

“—or fucking—”

“Ten.”

“—you should learn a thing or two about him. The guy’s not as annoying as he looks. Or stuck-up. He’s really nice but don’t tell him I said that.”

“I know that,” you snap, feeling warm at the neck all of a sudden. “I know him.”

“Oh, you do? Tell me what his hobbies are then. Or his major. Or the clubs he’s in, apart from the student council.”

“He- He likes to sing and he’s- he’s—god, what is this? An interrogation? I’m not going to meet his mom for dinner.”

Ten gives you an ‘I knew it’ look before leaning his elbow onto the table. “You’re sleeping with a guy you don’t know anything about. Serial killers would love you.”

You massage your forehead. “Look, I know he’s a good guy, okay? And he’s sweet- and- and—wait a minute. Oh my god, you tricked me.”

Ten lets out a snort. “Hey. Okay, look, the other guys might be dumb as shit but I have, you know, a working set of eyes. I can tell. It’s not that hard.”

You grumble but the cat’s out of the bag anyway. You should’ve known Ten would figure it out—he’s a nosy little shit, and he’s been that way since high school.

“Whatever. As long as Doyoung doesn’t start panicking about his tarnished reputation or whatever.”

“Oh, I think he’s desperate to let everyone know.”

“To you, Ten, everything seems obvious. It’s annoying.” You mess up his hair.

“No, I mean, I thought you were dating.”

“Well, we’re not.”

Ten shrugs. 

“And I don’t like him,” you add. “I like the- the thing that’s going on because there’s no feelings attached.”

He looks somewhat pained, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed, but doesn’t respond to your explanation. “Can I ask for a favour?”

“No.”

Ten sighs. “Come on. You didn’t even hear me out.”

“You’re going to say something stupid. Or insulting.”

“It’s neither, promise.”

You run your hand through your hair, breathing shallow. “Fine. I don’t have to agree though.”

Ten purses his lips. “It’d be better if you did.”

You hum in response, biting into the cookie and trying to ignore the glare from the nearby waitress. It’s about time you left anyway.

“Get to know him, dude. Don’t break his heart.”

“What?”

“Just kidding. There’s a party tonight. Hosted by yours truly. Finally moved out of that stinky dorm room. Bring over some friends but not more than three. And lend me some money for a juicebox.”

“That’s a lot,” you mutter. “You ask for a lot of favours.”

“Oh, speaking of which, Hyungmin—”

“He already asked me out on a date. Am I supposed to say no? You never mentioned he has such an attractive voice.”

“Oh, I’m not telling you to not go on that date. You have to, actually. I’m going to be in a lot of trouble otherwise.”

“That sounds good to me.”

“Shut up. I’m not done speaking.”

You roll your eyes.

“But if you didn’t, I could draw some conclusions.”

“What am I, your chemistry experiment now?”

“Well, you and Doyoung seem to be—”

“Don’t complete that sentence.”

“I was going to say something funny.” 

Ten flashes you a blinding smile and you sigh. By now, you’re about to get kicked out of here so you stand up discreetly while he packs up his stuff. You hug your jacket close to you as soon as you leave, shivering at the evening breeze. The sky is inky, but with a faint sort of ink—deep blue and light, all at once. From the crowd, you can tell classes just got over for quite a few people, eclectic chatter filling up the street.

“Fine. I’ll bring Eunji,” you tell Ten after some contemplation. “And whoever else responds to my text first. Areum never leaves the room. You know that.”

“Thanks, (name)!” he messes up your hair. “I would give you a kiss but someone will end up punching my pretty face.”

You furrow your brows. “Well, you’re not my type anyway.”

“I’m too good for you,” he responds in a sing-song manner, waving at you before running off and disappearing into the university crowd.

There’s always a sort of buzz in the air you can’t quite describe at college parties.

Even if this is a relatively small one, you feel an oncoming headache the moment you enter Ten’s new apartment, which you’re sure had a ‘no parties’ rule in the rental contract. You spot Kun, Ten’s roommate from the dorms and he flashes you a quick smile in greeting before he’s swept up by a doting crowd. Apparently, a cute guy in animal sciences is rare and it makes him rather popular.

Eunji disappears from your side the moment she spots Johnny, and the number of eye rolls you’ve given her haven’t warned her off him yet. You suppose it takes heartbreak to change a person. Sighing, you make your way to the kitchen only to be greeted with the strange sight of Yuta trying to balance Jaehyun on his back so they can imitate some anime formation and back out immediately. Living room, it is, despite its populous space. (You don’t really want to think of bedrooms right now.)

The apartment is quite big for what Ten told you the rent was. The hallway to the two bedrooms is narrow but you suppose something has to be sacrificed for space. You furrow your eyebrows at the two bedroom doors. Ten never said he was getting a roommate. You shrug it off, sitting down on the rather stiff couch. The lack of furniture, apart from the couch and a coffee table, makes the place look even larger and people sparse. You like the beige walls; Ten’s always loved warmer colours but something makes you think he’s going to be ruining them in a few days with garish green paint before he comes crying about that to you.

“Hey.”

You look up to the familiar voice, heart rising to your throat.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Doyoung remarks before sitting down beside you and offering you a cup of god-knows-what.

“I don’t take drinks from strange men,” you say, biting down your smile and crossing your arms.

“If you didn’t take drinks from strange men, we wouldn’t be fu—”

“Doyoung!” you hiss before looking at him with careful suspicion. “Are you drunk?”

“No. A little bit. Not enough.”

You sigh. “How will you get home now?”

“I live here, idiot.”

“You’re- You’re Ten’s roommate?” you sputter.

“Yeah. New one,” he responds. “He used to live across our room in the dorms, I can’t believe I actually agreed to this.”

“I can’t believe it either. I’ve seen cats and dogs friendlier with each other than the two of you.”

Doyoung laughs. “He’s surprisingly one of the better people to room with. I’d rather eat my own blanket than room with Yuta again.”

You laugh at his irked expression, eyebrows furrowed so cutely. The line of his brow bone to nose to lips, it seems a little too perfect to belong to someone. He relaxes his shoulders a little, leaning back on the couch as he looks somewhat lost in thought. (“You think too much,” you’d told him once. “And you think too little.”) If only that were true, you smile to yourself.

“Are you sure you can hold parties here?” you as when the music suddenly rises in volume.

“Well, it said student-friendly,” Doyoung responds, looking visibly disturbed. “Not sure if I want to test the limits of that so early.”

There’s a pause, filled in with loud pop music. You don’t think Ten, your dear introvert, would have agreed to such a party but there’s a chance Johnny or Jaehyun had something to do with this. You don’t know who to suspect when it comes to their group of friends.

“I still can’t believe you’re rooming with Ten.” You look at Doyoung.

“Well, that makes, what, eleven of us, I guess?”

You laugh, feeling conscious all of sudden. Maybe you should listen to Ten’s advice.

“Doyoung,” you call, looking at the cup in your hands a little too passionately. “What’s your major?”

He looks at you with eyes widened ever so slightly, and a pause over his lips.

“Linguistics,” he answers.

“Oh. You said something about it once,” you mumble, recalling something vague about an assignment of his. “You know mine?”

“Yeah,” he answers, eyes cast on his watch.

“Well, that makes me feel a little guilty,” you mumble as softly as you can.

“You should be,” he says. “You never listen to anything I say.”

You scoff. “You just complain most of the time.”

“Really now?”

“Yes,” you snap, looking away.

You look back again when you hear the sound of Doyoung’s laugh, a distinct brightness in it. Sometimes, you wonder if you really are as awful as you’ve made yourself be.

“You’re cute,” he says. “No wonder everyone is so in love with you.”

For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you.

“Everyone?” you laugh. You don’t care about everyone. It’s burdensome.

“Everyone. They hate you too, by the way.” He smiles to himself. “Heard you’re going on a date with that dimwit. Hyungmin.”

You feel a sudden discomfort in your being. Taking a sip of the drink, you try to shake it off as best as you can. 

“Yeah, I- I don’t think I’ll go,” you say, waving it off. 

Why are you lying? You left it hanging on a maybe. Part of you wants to tell Doyoung; he is your friend after all and you tell friends stuff like this. The other part tells you this is cheating; lying and pretending everything is okay—it feels like cheating. 

“Oh.” He looks lost before he focuses on you. “Why not?”

“Why do you care?” you ask, trying desperately to calm the uprising in your chest.

He stays quiet for a few seconds and then shrugs, looking away from you. It makes you feel a little guilty to dismiss the situation so quickly, another item to add to your troubles. You sigh.

“Sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, it’s okay. You’re right.” You can see his Adam's apple bob up and down.

“I’m not,” you say. “I’m wrong. I really didn’t mean it.”

He looks at you all at once, his gaze so gentle that it makes you think he wants to kiss you, or do something equally affectionate. Instead he sighs, downing whatever’s left of his drink before a wash of sudden looseness does away with the tension in his body.

“You have any more questions for me?” he asks, smiling. “What's it like to be student body president—or, or what instruments can I play? My favourite animal? Colour?”

You smile back. “What is your favourite animal?”

“I don’t have one. Don’t like them. Unless it’s a soft toy.”

“No way. You’re lying.”

“Now, I answer your questions and you call me a liar? Makes me a little hesitant to answer the next.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, next then. Why didn’t you join the frat? All your friends are in it.”

“Hurts my ego.”

You laugh. He’s still probably an honorary member. There is no way he’s apart from friends for too long with all those feelings of fraternity he has, no matter what he says. It’s the same as you. Affection leads nowhere though; just to short-lived moments of comfort.

You realize, through the course of the night, that you never asked. How he got into the student council, what his classes are, what he does for fun—you never asked. It’s almost like you didn’t want to know. 

How sad, you muse to yourself, to be this way. To be so wrapped up in your own problems that you fail to see people around you. Pity, however, isn’t something to feel at a party. You talk with Doyoung for the rest of the night till the sound of his voice makes you feel certain ghosts of butterflies, and till you have to take Eunji home before she does something she regrets. This is what it really means to have the price tag of ‘youth’ strung across you perhaps—when you feel old and immature all at once, and in between, when you feel nothing at all.

Doyoung is too old to mistake love. Or too young. 

Labels don’t define anything, especially when it comes to relationships—so even if he calls it love, whispers it to himself at midnight when he’s sitting alone on his bed while his friends are passed out drunk on the floor, it is empty. And then there’s you. The heat of your skin, the curse of your smile and that cheeky laugh you do to get on his nerves. He wants all of it and he’s not ashamed—but he’d be a liar to say he can shout it to the whole world. He’s not that kind of man, and what is his can remain his without the rest of the world prying its damn fingers in. The first night, no, the second—third? He can’t remember which night it was but something pent up in him exploded and he didn’t try to control it for once.

“Ow,” he mutters.

His throat burns from the whiskey. He hates drinking alone but you’re either asleep or with friends and he can’t think of anyone else but you. He tugs at the turtleneck collar, getting uncomfortable by the minute, and then proceeds to take off his coat.

For a moment, he considers getting back to the living room. There were more than enough people with lingering touches against his shoulder and longing gazes—they’re not you. He leans back onto his bed. Another hour and everyone will be gone; why did he even let them hold a party in the first place? Parties just remind him of you—he takes a whiff and smells summer and lemon vodka all of a sudden. A deep sigh leaves his lips.

You might not seem to find yourself especially sad, but Doyoung finds something oddly touching about you. Maybe it’s the way you say his name, he muses, like you’re desperately trying to fill the gaps. But it can’t be him in particular, of course—it’s a lover, any lover.

He hates long nights, just as he hates winter but lately, they haven’t been feeling too cold. Isn’t it ridiculous the way he’s running after you? Doyoung was never meant for this. It’s fucking pathetic and it makes him want to tear all his hair out but there he is, still and quiet in the same place. A certain agony makes its way through him. His hands are freezing and yet his insides are burning—nothing makes sense and right now, he doesn’t want it to. He presses his cold hands to the warmth of his cheeks and a laugh erupts from his mouth.

He must be going crazy to laugh like this in an empty room. The car lights from the window travel slowly from wall to ceiling, the only thing moving in the stagnant of his room.

Inevitably, he thinks of the end. It should come quick; in fact, he’s never been one to do this. He’s always been someone to get attached to people. He doesn’t know how the end will come because this shouldn’t have begun in the first place.

Doyoung’s out of breath.

“Crazy bastard,” he mumbles to himself, followed by a groan when he lifts his head up. As if on cue, the door opens and shuts with a bang. Ten walks in looking drowsy, running his hand through his hair with a disgruntled face.

“I hate to say this,” he slurs. “But you’re right. We can’t have extra furniture and parties. Gotta choose one.”

Ten lays down flat on the bed. “I vote out that ugly ass clock you bought. Why do we need it? We have phones and laptops.”

“It was a gift,” Doyoung mutters.

“Oh. Uh. Actually, someone already, uh—”

“Leave it. We’ll talk about that in the morning.” 

Doyoung massages his forehead, groaning at the pain when Ten suddenly decides he’s all up for cuddling. 

“Ew,” he says, scooting away from Ten. “Get away from me.”

“You don’t mean that,” Ten whines, trying very hard to pull Doyoung into a hug. Of course, his attempts are blocked by Doyoung’s palm against his forehead.

After a few more seconds of trying, Ten huffs and turns away, crossing his arms. “I don’t like you anyway.”

“I know,” Doyoung mutters.

Ten erupts into laughter, sounding more like a psychopath than a close friend of his.

“You do that every time you like someone?” he asks in between fits.

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “I just said—okay, yeah. Whatever.”

There’s a much needed silence and Doyoung wonders if he can just fall asleep without kicking Ten out.

“You should tell (name),” Ten says all of a sudden, Doyoung’s heart stopping at your name.

“What?” he whispers.

Ten looks at him as though he’s talking to a particularly stupid child. It makes Doyoung scowl but there’s too much alcohol in his system to know if he really means it.

“You don’t- you’re- everyone in this goddamn building knows,” Ten explains, exasperated. “Jaehyun knows, and he’s the densest kid I’ve ever met. God, if you like (name), go for it.”

Doyoung blushes so deep, he considers pressing his palms to his cheeks again. He thinks for the next few moments. Ah well, if they had to find out, he’s glad he didn’t have to declare it himself.

“Whatever, just ask (name) out. It can’t be that complicated.”

Except it is. You don’t have to spell it out for him—he knows the way you feel. The two of you only ever wanted one thing out of this. But if there’s something Doyoung isn’t good at, it’s keeping his mouth shut. He wonders how many times he let it slip, wonders if you even care enough to notice. God, it’s starting to sound pitiful for him.

“Ten. How much did you drink?” Doyoung asks, raising his head.

“Nothing. None. I’m not drunk.” Ten shrugs. “Just sleepy.”

A ‘wow’ is all Doyoung can respond with. He still isn’t quite finished figuring out what sort of horrific planet Ten stumbled from. A notification ding distracts him from kicking Ten off his bed and he has half a mind to toss it onto the bedside table but it’s still half. He softens almost immediately.

It’s a text from you: a ‘u’ followed by a smiley face and then a meme he can’t quite read through hazy eyes. He finds himself smiling anyway and sends a barrage of emojis, whatever he finds because he likes the way you get annoyed at them. Sighing, he decides that’s enough. He’s not in the right state of mind for conversation.

Doyoung shuts his phone off, attempts to push Ten off the bed one last time before closing his eyes and dozing off.

Not every day is meant to be fun—you know that in your twenties—but it’s still somewhat disappointing to have bad days. Like youth is meant to give you some sort of happiness daily. That’s what they make it sound like.

You groan, rubbing at your back. Sitting at your study desk for so long does not have good long term effects. At least, your temporary, meaningless assignments are done. You scowl at the text on your laptop screen; the more you look at it, the more you hate it and so, you shut it off. It’s not like your pissy professor is going to be impressed by anything you do. However, you like the orderly certainty of schoolwork.

Break time consists of guilt and sugary snacks. You’re done with most everything and you suppose leaving the final review of things to a later date can’t hurt. In fact, it sounds rather appeasing. A few more moments pass in making a decision.

You get dressed. The apartment feels eerie all alone, and you’re sure as hell not going to spend the rest of your evening here. You shiver, quickly striding out the front door and locking it before taking out your phone.

People misunderstand winter. Winter is only the end of things; and sometimes, the beginning. It isn’t cruel or crushing, it’s just taking its course. However, you have a tendency to blame seasons for all that happen in it. For instance, you shouldn’t be missing summer when you really miss the first night with Doyoung. 

He picks up after calling thrice. You wonder what he’s even up to, if Saturday evenings are also booked full for such a guy.

“Why do you take so long to pick up?” you complain. “Do you not get days off?”

“I’m busy,” he hisses. 

Something’s wrong.

You pause, unsure what to do. It’s not his voice but the one in the background that catches your attention. 

Inviting him somewhere. 

Rather sensually.

Your ears feel hot and you drop the call. Of course. Of fucking course. You’re the idiot thinking it was a thing. This whole thing is casual—feeling sorry wasn’t in the contract. Fucking around was.

It’s not like you’ll be heartbroken by something like this. Of course not. Of course. Doyoung and you never had a beginning so there isn’t an end, really. It’s fine. It’s fine. You take a deep breath and browse through your phone. With the onset of Christmas holidays, you have around three options left. Ten (yikes), Jaehyun (no way) or the latest addition, Hyungmin.

Well, you’re dressed. You have to go somewhere. And your statement about Hyungmin being the hottest guy on campus still stands.

You send two texts to the boy before deciding that’s apparently enough time waiting. He picks up after a few rings, voice groggy from what you assume to be a late afternoon nap.

“You up for a drink?” You cut to the point.

“Uh? Oh, uh, now? I am, of course- I just need—”

“Twenty minutes. I’ll text you the address.”

Nothing cheers you up like your favourite bar. Or friends. Or people who respond to calls.

Hongdae is as busy as ever. You knew the bar would be packed but not this packed. Still, you managed to grab a seat at the bar table. With the oncoming night, the smell is just going to get worse—so there’s nothing wrong with treating yourself to some lemon vodka (and its refreshing scent).

Hyungmin arrives exactly four minutes early, and the mussed up hair makes you think he must have been in a hurry. For what, you can’t be sure. 

You can still see the inklings of Hongdae nightlights on his hair right before he enters, and in the fallacy of that moment, you think it’s going to be Doyoung. You sigh. This isn’t the time for that.

“Sorry,” you say, gesturing to the bar table. “All the tables were booked.”

“No, no,” he responds quickly. “I actually prefer it here.”

He’s tall, not that it’s the first time you’re noticing, but even when he’s sitting, he’s at least two heads taller than you are. His shoulders are accentuated by the mocha coat, no doubt part of the latest trend this winter. As a fashion student, he hits the mark and more. 

For a moment, you feel bad for knowing his major. Ten let it slip about him and yet still, you feel guilty for remembering it. You’re not supposed to go into unnecessary detail about people that don’t matter. Does he matter? 

“Surprised you could make it,” you joke half-heartedly. “Aren’t you lot always busy with something?”

He laughs. “The student council? Oh, we’re busy alright.”

Busy. Right.

“What about you? Aren’t you part of like three different clubs?”

“So what kind of busy?” you ask, ignoring his question. You’re part of two, now that you left the music club last semester. It’s not like small talk matters though.

“Uh,” he hesitates. “You know- attend meetings and events, coordinate committee work, supervise stuff, etcetera etcetera. So busy, yeah.”

“Busy on Saturdays too?” you ask, before thanking the bartender for the drinks.

“Yeah, I guess. Doyoung has it worse than me honestly. Even now, he has to take care of stuff because of me. Hah…”

You gulp down your drink making Hyungmin raise an eyebrow in concern. “Stuff? Because of you?”

“Yeah.” Hyungmin scratches the back of his head. “He’s with the girls.”

“Girls?” you ask, playing with the glass. You’re starting to feel annoyed, red lining your vision.

“Yeah.” He makes no notion of clarifying his statement.  

“Must be quite the president,” you say, resting your cheek against your palm.

“Oh, he’s a nightmare.” Hyungmin laughs. “He has to control everything.”

You try to mask your scoff. You know what he can be like when you’re working beside him. 

“Oh, and the guy has no sense of humour,” Hyungmin laughs, the sound easy on the ears.

You blink.

“I think he’s funny,” you say quickly. You swear you have no idea why you sound so defensive.

He hums in response and you consider biting your tongue, telling him you’re only here for one thing and forgetting the uncomfortable churning of feelings inside your chest.

“Forget I- I’m a little confused today.” 

Is that an acceptable explanation? You can’t think straight enough to decide. The silence on Hyungmin’s part, however, worries you. The crowd around you fills in for the next few moments as your companion seems to debate something with himself.

“Look, I know you and Doyoung are… I don’t know, something.”

You huff in irked amusement. “God, does everyone seem to know?”

“Not until late actually.” Hyungmin takes a gulp. “He’s been acting weird. Doyoung.” 

You look away, breathing shallow. You don’t like it, the way things seem to be getting out of hand. All this time, the world seemed to be in the palm of your hand and now, it’s spilling everywhere; the sand in the hourglass is already up to your knees and you don’t know what happens when it fills.

“Do you actually like him?” he asks, leaning back just a little. You know where this is going. “Are you guys dating?”

“No,” you respond, checking your watch.

“Oh.”

There’s a moment’s hesitation in him but you’ve seen that look before. You know that look.

“Then we can- uh- we can—”

“Fuck?” you ask.

He gulps. “I mean, you can say no any time—”

You pull him by the collar and kiss him, hard enough to melt away your hovering thoughts. He kisses like you expect him to, not how you want him to. You know this sort, and somehow, that makes you feel comfortable. Knowing what you’re getting into is easing but it doesn’t lessen the weight of it.

It’s sickening. The way you’re pretending it’s Doyoung.

Hyungmin pulls apart, panting heavily. “Oh, okay.”

“Tell me you drove here.” 

He holds up his car keys in response.

You’re not the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men, but it’s better than falling in love with them.

So you follow a lover to a hotel room and try to feel something. Some time, when he’s kissing you against the hotel room walls, he pulls apart and asks, “You’re thinking of someone else, aren’t you?”

You know the answer; it just won’t leave your lips.

“It’s okay,” he says with a weak smile, “Let’s just have fun.”

And every time his mouth was on yours, every time you saw stars, you felt the ghost of Doyoung and his haunting touches. It was strange and unfair and unlike you—or at least, unlike the you that you built over the past few years. You feel as though you’ve misplaced something—like something was supposed to be there when you reached out but instead, it was empty space.

The night ends as it should and you leave right before dawn with an apology text you couldn’t put half your heart into.

Most winter nights, you wake up with pain so profound, it’s seeping into your bones.

It never made sense. You never tried to make sense of it. So you let the aches push you down by the shoulders, lodge itself into your neck and back; and you tell yourself, it must be what you deserve. It’s cold and you’re walking barefoot on frozen ground.

You gasp. The weight of who you are and who you have to be—it has its knee on the back of your neck, shoving you into the damp earth. There’s no particular reason to it; it makes it seem as though it’s insignificant. Unimportant. Irrelevant. But that’s the problem—the weight of the world on your shoulders makes no sense. Whose world are you even carrying? Whose approval are you trying to win? You scramble to get up, messing up your bedsheets in the process, and pull your blanket around you. Your own warmth surrounds you and it makes no difference. You frown.

You remember your phone call with your mom, and your lips tremble. You shouldn’t have told her about how crappy your finals went but it slipped. You tried to explain that you did work for them, that you gave it your best but sometimes things don’t work out. She didn’t have to say it out loud for you to hear her thoughts. 

You’re disappointing. 

You wipe at your eyes, feeling annoyed at the emotion. If you could let the ground swallow you whole, you would. In a heartbeat. You don’t even know what you’re doing most of the days despite that pretty planner of yours.

You get out of bed, pull on your cardigan beside the bed and grab your lighter and pack. The tiny balcony makes for a great smoking spot and while you would scold any of your friends for committing to this, you do it yourself. Hypocrite.

For all you try to shove into yourself—hobbies, student clubs, actual clubbing, friends—the more you feel less than enough, as if everything just vanishes into thin air inside you. As if you aren’t enough and never will be. You play by the rules and you lose, you break the rules and you lose. 

Maybe it’s because you let yourself be filled by the intricacies of other people that they like you. And thus, you cannot stop for fear of loneliness.

Just as you’re feeling crushed again, you picture Doyoung against your back, placing his nose in the crook of your neck—something he has never done—and you wonder why it helps. 

Sucking in air too fast, you cough. You shouldn’t have let it go on for so long.

It was fun—harmless fun. You shouldn’t even be thinking of taking a step in some other direction. You’re friends, barely, but you like where you are. If Doyoung was that important, you wouldn’t be going about this all backwards. You sigh, though it comes out jagged. The room is quiet and that’s the way it should be at four a.m, of course, but you crave music all of a sudden. Doyoung and you are just a temporary fix; and you let that thought relax you.

When you think of his chin on your shoulder, however, it feels feather light.

“Why are we doing this?” you ask. 

The atmosphere is warm and toasty, just like you expect it to be in a bakery with light pink doors and a collection of plastic potted plants on display. The decorations aren’t an eyesore here and somehow, it makes you feel better. It’s a little far but you decide it’s worth it.

Doyoung shrugs, sipping his hot chocolate. “It’s Christmas, and we’re both here.”

Your eyes follow the hanging lights over the counter, wrapped in pine tree stickers and eventually to the neat display of a ‘Season’s Greetings’ menu, the contents of which are currently at your table. A Christmas song by some singer who’s been popular lately plays, tunes light and dancing. You hate the end of the year solely because of the extra pressure January brings. Nothing you can’t handle, of course. Nothing you can’t handle.

You sigh. It’s been a little difficult lately.

“Doyoung, really, why are we doing this?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“Are you- uh- are you not enjoying this? I could—”

“No! No, it’s not that. I feel better, actually.” You bite your tongue almost immediately after. It’s not like he’s supposed to know the sort of hell week you’re having. A poorly received term paper, finals that weren’t up to your expectations, crippling loneliness without friends and, oh, the self-doubt—you are at the lowest you can be in college. The only sweetener right now is in the hot chocolate and the way Doyoung’s looking at you. 

You feel something close to guilt.

“Good.” He smiles. “You seemed… You seemed a little down.”

The sliver of warmth between your ribs makes you think this is unreal. It feels uneasy to be so affected by someone but you let it slide, turning back to your hot chocolate.

“Why didn’t you go home this time?” you ask, sipping your drink.

“Oh, I didn't really want to face my parents,” he says before leaning. “Didn’t do too well this semester. And my brother’s going to be there with all his achievements.”

You chuckle in disbelief. “You don’t like your brother?”

“I love him to bits. Just can’t stand my mom’s nagging when he’s around.”

“That’s rich coming from you.” You cross your arms, smiling triumphantly. You feel like children squabbling but it’s so lighthearted, you want to laugh.

Doyoung raises a pointed finger, about to retort but nothing comes out. He puts his hand down.

“I guess you’re right.”

You shake your head. “I’m sure she’s proud of you too.”

“I know that,” he says, laughing. “Of course she is. I don’t keep myself busy for nothing.”

You gulp, a sudden sourness rising at the base of your tongue. 

“Busy, huh? Didn’t know spending saturday evenings with girls also counted as busy,” you mutter against the cup, half-hoping he doesn’t hear you.

“What?” There’s a perplexed look across his face.

You wave your hand in dismissal. “Oh don’t mind me.”

“Are you talking about me giving a tour to the fresher girls?” Doyoung leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Hyungmin does that usually but Mr Man was sore from soccer practice and Friday fucking.” 

You blink. “Fresher… girls?”

“What, did you think I was at a brothel?” Doyoung laughs in amusement.

You feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “No! No, of course not.”

You wave your hands about for a few more seconds, trying to come up with an explanation. This makes things rather embarrassing.

“Sorry,” you say finally. “I jumped to conclusions.”

Doyoung laughs, rather deep and heartily, and you wonder if your apology really did sound as stupid to him as it did to you. 

“You do that a lot,” he notes.

“Thanks,” you quip, cutting the pastry with your fork a little too forcefully. His laugh follows. (You hate it so much. It sounds like pure adoration.)

The next few moments consist of scrolling through your phones (because Doyoung says his ‘mouth hurts from talking to you’) and you would’ve been in a better state of mind if everyone wasn’t posting pre-Christmas photos with their families. 

“You know they’re opening that park. What’s it called- Winter Wonderland or something. You said you wanted to visit.”

You look up at Doyoung amused.

“Let’s be honest. You want to be in bed, Doyoung,” you say. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I care,” he answers, looking at you with his doe eyes. “About you. You sulk when you’re upset.”

“I don’t sulk,” you reply but your smile is obvious when you exit the cafe. 

It’s like a date. The more you think of it that way, the more it makes you smile.

The evening is perfect—orange and pink and loving and happy. Doyoung trails behind you as you tread over the sidewalk with cheeky remarks about his speed.

“I’m in the track club, you know?” he huffs, finally tired of your jabs.

“As what, the start point?”

A fake, sarcastic laugh leaves him. “I wouldn’t get to see you if I walked ahead.”

You feel warmth creep up your face. You mumble, “that’s cheesy.” It’s too weak though, and it goes unheard. 

For the first time, you notice his eyes are a little like yours in what they reflect. You love them. 

So this is where the crowd went. The amusement park, or whatever you call it, is buzzing with a faint sort of excitement, mostly in the children that didn’t get to go on a vacation elsewhere. It’s quite the wonderland though so you can’t see them complaining.

“Do you think they’ll kick us out if we make out on the Ferris wheel?” you ask, smiling at Doyoung.

“I’m not making out with you on the Ferris wheel,” he replies, making a face.

You do end up making out on the Ferris wheel, and you get butterflies from it. It’s like a teenage dream but Doyoung looks even better. You pass on the cotton candy because frankly, you’ve had enough of sweet things. You sit at the frozen wooden seat, hoping it warms up while Doyoung brings the two of you some fries.

Your phone buzzes with a notification. Your eyes light up at the mail from your professor. You had turned in the term paper three days ago, weeks ahead of schedule and were particularly proud of the way it turned out. 

You look at the email and zero in on the word ‘redo’.

Your shoulders sag immediately. You spent four weeks on that—and it’s not good enough? You search frantically for how it could have gone wrong and come up with none. That’s not supposed to happen. Something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong. The week’s exhaustion swallows you up again.

When Doyoung returns, he looks at you concerned before quickly setting the fries on the table.

“(name). Is something wrong?”

“Huh?” Your voice sounds so weak and squeaky, you feel embarrassed. It’s embarrassing that after all these years, you still don’t know how to handle failure. 

Because it’s not supposed to happen. You tell yourself that over and over and it makes things worse.

You feel dirty, underneath all that dust and crumbled rock dangling in your hair. Whatever rests on your shoulders is cracking and collapsing, and you’re pushing in the wrong direction to make sure it all stays up. 

He reaches out his hand but you avoid it.

“No,” you mutter, weakly shaking your head.

You rub at your nose and eyes, hoping you can hide behind your forearms. Doyoung shouldn’t be seeing you like this, he doesn’t deserve to see you like this. You turn away from him, your palm gently pushing against the soft material of his shirt. 

Doyoung doesn’t move. Instead, he gently tugs on your wrist so you have no choice but to face him with your red-rimmed eyes. You’re not sure if it’s embarrassment or pity, but the concern in his eyes makes you cry harder. 

“You don’t have to do that,” he whispers. “You don’t have to find a place to cry.”

For the first time in adulthood, you learn what it’s like to lean your forehead against someone’s chest this way. Doyoung wraps his arms around you and the sound of his breathing soothes your near-erratic heart. 

“I worked really hard on it, you know?” you mumble against his chest. “My term paper.”

“I know,” he whispers.

Doyoung strokes your head delicately, fingers running through your hair with airy touches. Eventually, you let go of a final sigh and look up to his lips.

He seems surprised at the kiss but it’s all you can think of now. It’s gentler than usual and Doyoung moves cautiously though he seems to like it all the same. His arms feel comfortable around you. When he pulls apart, he looks at you yet still with careful concern.

“We can- we should stop if you want,” he says, and he means it. 

You shake your head. Night is creeping in overhead, deep and quiet and slow.

“I like you, Doyoung,” you say finally. “I really, really like you.”

Doyoung’s eyes widen, as though a rabbit wary of the traps it might set foot on but he eases into your touch almost immediately.

“I like… I like you too.” His lips waver but he looks away and takes a deep breath. “I like you so much.”

You smile and think that maybe everything is set right now, with his chin against your shoulder and your arms around him. 

Doyoung discards the jacket once you’re in your apartment, kissing you fuller now. Every other thought leaves you; you beg him to make you forget the rest of the world. The walls are comforting now that he’s here, and it’s warmer, hotter.

“Can we- Can we go a little slower?” you mumble, his arms still gentle when they wrap around your waist. He parts his lips from your neck to look at you momentarily before nodding.

You suddenly understand why he always makes you feel so good. There’s a certain fondness to his touch and warmth to his kisses. There’s no one quite like him, really.

“I love digging graves, especially if it’s my own,” you mutter against the pillow.

Doyoung laughs. “What did you do this time?”

“This time? Excuse me? Do you think I’m some sort of trouble child?”

“Hm. Let’s see. Yes.”

You pause. Why do you hesitate to tell him you slept with Hyungmin? It’s not like you were cheating—you weren’t dating Doyoung. Besides, that night with Hyungmin didn’t mean anything. A horrid feeling snakes around your throat, heavy and piercing. You resort to changing the topic.

“I’m… I took another course beyond my understanding.”

“That’s it?” he asks.

You nod.

No, no, no; it’s all backwards now and you don’t know how to reverse it.

Doyoung takes your hand in his, delicately and yet firm. His chest is against your back, bare and warm. When he presses his lips against your knuckles, the warmth that flushes through you makes you want to believe in something else entirely. You feel weak. 

A part of you argues that you feel honest—in a moment of clarity you don’t think you deserve. Neither vodka nor whiskey can make you this clear in the head; you struggle to breathe straight. How awful it is to feel warmth and not believe in it at the same time.  

“You can rely on me, you know?” he whispers.

The knot in your chest makes you want to cry.

You feel lonely and the opposite of it all at once. Doyoung is too much for you—too kind, too pretty and too true. He makes you realize too many things at once.

There are a few things in the world that can stifle loneliness. Like the notes Doyoung plays on the piano, like the songs he hums in the morning till you place open-mouthed kisses against his neck.

You realize, all of a sudden, that Doyoung really is your dearest friend.

And yet, you don’t think you deserve it. You’ve never loved, you believe, but you have. You don’t remember it well enough. The lovers’ touches you kept searching for led to this. Hypocrite. You wanted a lover’s touch and you rejected the love that came with it. What a complicated bundle of emotions. You weren’t always this way.

You loved your first cat when you were six, all the way till it died a warm death in your bed. You loved your mother even when she yelled at you for skipping your chores. You loved your middle school friends when you talked about comics and movies you saw for the first time. 

It’s hard to love the same way now.

You suppose sympathy needs a little backstory. Nothing is unconditional. 

It had all started when your heart had broken into two clean pieces. You put a bandaid on it and called it a day. No one taught you to ask for help.

Your friends know someone broke your heart; you tell them everything. Friends, friends—you wanted them so bad and yet, you keep them as far from you as you can. You pretend to be paper-thin and so shallow, sometimes you wonder if that’s all there is to you. But for all they know, they know next to nothing. It wasn’t just the aftermath of reckless puppy love. 

The first time your heart broke, it was watching your mother cry in the living room for a reason you didn’t understand. You wondered who committed the crime, who should be charged—and you found no one. A loveless marriage is cruel, yes, but you cannot point fingers. It isn’t just cruel; it’s infuriating.

The second time, the two pieces of your heart broke into a few more. It was a boy with an inviting smile and flags whose colour you couldn’t quite discern. They must have been red, but everything else was too—hearts, cheeks, lips, and the threads around your wrists. And eventually, he guided you to the conclusion that you are undeserving, unworthy, unloved. 

You were strong, however. It was easy to collapse on the bed and feel the weight of the world settling in, but you stood up again on shaking knees and you told yourself to have fun; you can have fun without feelings. You know better than to attach meaning to fun—you might hate insignificant things but it’s only fun if it’s pointless. You’re not letting go of this place you’ve worked so hard to arrive at, with all the shattered pieces in your hands.

It’s better to offer nothing at all than offer broken pieces.

“Can we stay like this?” Doyoung’s arms tighten around your waist, his breath shallow against your shoulder. “Just for a little bit.”

His voice is beautiful as always, but for a moment, it strikes you as sad.

Everything’s twisting up into knots and you are frantically running your fingers over them to straighten it all out. You know what it’s like to let things rot; and you are tired of it. Why can’t everything disappear for one moment? Why can’t you just let it be the two of you?

You sigh in response, nodding. 

“I might not know what’s happening in there,” he starts, drawing circles on your chest with his finger, touch comfortably light. “But…”

I’m here and I get it.

Is that what he wants to say? You don’t think you’ll get to know. You’re not exactly voicing yourself either. 

Stay the night. You want to say it but your lips are frozen.

Instead, you rub your thumb over the back of his hand, fitting into each other as perfect as a lie. You would tell him, you try to convince yourself, if you could say it with enough conviction. There’s no point to saying things that are half-meant, that are true but only just enough. You’re a coward.

And now, this has gotten complicated.

An end.

Tapping his pen against the desk, Doyoung grows increasingly annoyed. The council's next  meeting agenda isn’t going to finish writing itself but he can’t bring himself to either. Besides, Ten’s pacing outside his room is starting to get on his nerves.

“Ten!” he yells. “Can you quit it? You’re making too much noise.”

His disapproval is met with silence. For a moment, he spaces out and reflexively thinks of you, only to feel a confusing sort of emotion. It’s normal, he tells himself, and that it’ll sort itself out.

Doyoung feels like a glass box more often than not. If he breaks, who picks up the pieces? Who gets cuts all over their fingers?

‘Whoever breaks him’ should be the answer. But that’s wishful thinking. It’s not that simple. 

He’s so see-through that it’s painful. He used to tell Taeyong he’s wrong but he’s never been able to prove it. He is easy. It’s embarrassing.

But then again, part of him likes it when it comes to you. He likes it when you kiss him after a particularly heated disagreement, he likes when you get on his nerves just so he’d fuck you and most of all, he loves the push and pull. Fun is just that. He doesn’t know what he’d do if that heart of his he placed so gingerly into your palms falls and shatters.

The line between hate and love is thin; and he’s enjoying walking it too much.

He has nothing to offer but himself. He laughs at the thought and shakes his head. It’s somewhat dirty, and not just in the sexual sense.

“Ten!” he yells again. “Stop pacing!”

Getting up from his seat, he strides over to his door, swings it open and finds Ten scratching his head and glancing at his phone in repeated action. 

“Ten?”

He’s so in a trance that he hasn’t noticed Doyoung. He is the lovable sort of idiot if he ever chooses to be so. Most of the time though, he’s just a smartass.

“Oh, oh no, I’m a bad friend,” Ten mutters to himself, his pacing growing more restless. He scratches the back of his head, eyebrows furrowed and too inside his head to notice Doyoung. He wants to ask but something tells him he shouldn’t. 

Turns out, his apprehension isn’t strong enough these days. 

“Whose date did you crash?” Doyoung asks, more than annoyed already.

When Ten looks at him, Doyoung feels rather shriveled and freezes on the spot. Call it instinct but Doyoung respects fear and pain. Ten has a mixture of the two, amplified when he looks at Doyoung.

“Doyoung. Hey,” he says, trying to tone down the distress in his voice.

Doyoung still hasn’t recovered from the initial surprise of Ten looking that way.

“Did you fuck up? Did someone fuck up? Why do you look like that?”

Ten sits down on the small couch. “Long story… I guess. Too many details, you- you know? Just—”

“What the fuck happened?”

Ten still can’t look him in the eye. “The group chat’s a little…”

“Ten,” Doyoung snaps. “Cut the crap.”

“No, that’s- that’s what I’m- You’re going to be upset.”

Doyoung straightens, furrowing his brows. “I think I can fucking handle it.”

“You know that date I set up for (name) and Hyungmin?”

“You set that up?”

“(name) slept with Hyungmin.” 

Doyoung quietens. The silence seems to make Ten uncomfortable as he shifts in his seat, getting up when Doyoung speaks.

“So?”

Ten blinks. “You’re not upset?”

“Just what kind of loser do you think I am?” Doyoung mutters.

Glass shatters just that easily. Maybe he wanted you to shatter him. Maybe he was already cracking at the edges.

“Doyoung, you don’t have to—”

“Stop,” he exclaims a little louder than he intended. “Stop looking at me like that. I’m a grown man, I can handle shit like this.”

It still hurts though. You lied to him and he let you in. You lied to him. Doyoung sighs, returning to his room with a realization he should have had long ago. His night ends with more deleted drafts than he’s supposed to have and eventually, with increased discomfort, he delegates the job to Park Hyungmin himself with the excuse of sickness.

Doyoung does feel sick. He felt this way once, in highschool, but it had turned to red, hot anger ready to lash at anyone and everyone, spilling from his lips as easy as it was to breathe. And Doyoung can never feel that way towards you. He was different back then too, of course, but you—you’re unlike anyone he’s ever met. He loves the comfort of you, and something like that is hard to come by. 

He feels like laughing again but instead he finds tears on his cheeks. Silly boy, he can hear his mother tell him. You don’t give your heart to heartbreakers. 

So Doyoung falls asleep to the sound of upbeat music in his earphones, music he hates even just to pass the night. Morning will come and he will have to become stronger. Comfort is fleeting, after all.

With everything said and done, you know very well that if you were to tell someone you love them—genuinely, truly, from the heart—it would be Doyoung. It’s not a sudden realization, like the sky falling apart or a tidal wave crashing against the shore and sweeping away the city. It is like the gentle lapping of water, though, or the way the clouds change shape—natural and anything but alarming. You want to stare at it forever, and you want to believe that’s how it will be forever. 

“You told everyone we had sex?” Your voice is boiled to a shout. 

Hyungmin looks torn, lips moving but no explanation making its way out. “I- I told my friends, not everyone.”

“And you forgot that your friends talk? Everybody talks, Hyungmin, what were you thinking?”

He sighs before taking a step towards you. “Why are you so angry about it? As far as I remember, you had no trouble talking about whose pants you got into.”

You scoff. “With friends, not the whole campus.”

“That’s exactly what I did!” 

You cross your arms, feeling so upset you might cry and unsure as to why. You’re usually good at dealing with stuff like this, keeping things in the right place.

“It’s because of Doyoung, isn’t it?” 

You snap your head to Hyungmin. There’s a serene sort of look to him despite his unkempt appearance, and a look of understanding.

“I’m sorry. Really. But if you were so into him, you shouldn’t have called me that evening. It might not matter to me but…”

You broke his heart. All that devotion he had towards you led to this. 

“You’re right.” You choke on your words, leaning against the wall. “Fuck… Fucking…”

You turn around, making your way out of the hallway and hope the tears on your cheeks dry faster if you run.

You can’t remember the last time you ran. Your world didn’t need running from, it was right in the palm of your hands. Now that you look back, the world was always on your shoulders and heavy as it can be. Maybe you liked it—the weight. You could’ve shrugged it off any time; you didn’t need all those caging schedules or careful, elegant steps.

No. Atlas couldn’t shrug because his punishment was his existence. To have weight is to have meaning; and that is how you intended to live out your life.

Doyoung makes you see it differently. To love so fully even if it seems cautious—you, who has never loved at all, couldn’t comprehend it. And because he makes you see it differently, the box is now open and all hell is loose. 

For once, you don’t want to live in the world you crafted. You want more love, more hurt and you want to open the doors. You don’t mind hell if it’s for him.

You ring the bell to Doyoung and Ten’s apartment and pray the news hasn’t reached him yet. He said he was busy this weekend; maybe he was detached enough from his phone for once. You just want to be the person to tell him. It’s not a perfect apology otherwise.

Doyoung opens the door with pursed lips and cold eyes. There’s a sense of ease over his shoulders and arms but he won’t look at you and panic rises to your throat.

“We’re not fucking tonight, (name),” he says.

“That’s not- That’s not why I’m here.” Your voice is so meek, you wonder what happened.

Doyoung steps back, crossing his arms. He’s still looking at his feet and you feel the urge to reach for his face.

“I wanted to tell you- I… I just—”

“That you’re fucking other people?”

“God, Doyoung, stop with the fucking. I don’t care about that right now.”

“Really?” His voice is so sharp, it digs into your skin. “You were just in it for that. That’s the fun part in your stupid life, isn’t it?”

You feel a sharp pain in your nose and forehead. “You’re- Now that’s- Doyoung. I’m sorry. That’s what I wanted to say.”

“After—” His voice chokes up. “After everything is done? Stop with the excuses and face it for fuck’s sake. You aren’t made to fall in love. That’s why you dance around it all the time.”

Although he says that, he doesn’t sound angry. He sounds defeated.

“It’s not like you aren’t cautious,” you retort, throat feeling heavy. “You said it yourself- you don’t want to care too much.”

“I was wrong,” he says, voice hoarse. “I care about everything more than I’d like to admit. I care about you more than I’d like to admit.”

“The Hyungmin thing didn’t mean anything, okay? You were busy and—”

“So why did you lie?” He strains to not raise his voice. “Of course I knew our little thing didn’t mean shit to you. Why did you pretend it did? Last week, you said- you said—”

“Doyoung, last week- last week I- I wasn’t pretending, I swear.”

“You could’ve just saved yourself the trouble and the dignity.” A short, humorless laugh leaves him.

You feel your lips tremble, the explanation not quite made its way out yet. He looks so innocent like this, rabbit-like eyes watery and full of pain, pure the way they have always been. This is your mistake, isn’t it?

“Doyoung, please,” you manage to say. “That was wrong. I couldn’t clear up my head. Please don’t—”

“No. I was an idiot. Or you see me as one.” He frowns deeper, lips trembling. “I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t have. We shouldn’t have been at the same fucking party and I shouldn’t have drank so much. You’re- I’m not that kind of person.”

You bite down your lip. “What kind?”

Doyoung laughs, the sound raspy and empty. “The kind to not fall in love with you.”

It damn near breaks your heart to look at him. You have to say something, it shouldn’t end like this. You’re desperate and all you think is that you don’t want it to end at all.

“Please, I thought of you as a friend, that’s why—”

“And this is what you call being a friend?” he cuts you off.

You feel the sting in your eyes and nose, making you turn sharply to the side. You wish he’d just make you cry. It makes you feel the rancid guilt all the more.

“Make Hyungmin your friend for all I care. Let’s stop this.”

You stare at your feet, unable to respond. 

“You can have every boy in the world, (name). Don’t come to me.”

“Can you just stop talking about everyone else?” you yell, desperate. “Do I talk about your exes? Seungjae or- or what’s-her-name—” 

“That’s different!” He looks distraught, breathing heavily and with a painful red flush over his nose and cheeks. He runs his hand through his hair, tousling it further. “You lied to me, (name). You lied.”

Your cheeks are wet and the look that flashes over Doyoung makes you think he wants to step right out to you. He stays frozen in place, however, looking away to the side.

“Did you notice?” he asks softly. “Even once? How much I cared?”

You can’t answer, letting the tears drip down your face. It’s getting colder and colder. 

Doyoung bites down his lip before parting them. “All we did was have sex anyway. So please just- just leave.”

You take a long few moments but nod, hugging your coat closer and stepping out of his apartment. You think you hear Ten’s footsteps but it’s followed by the bang of a door—this is how it ends then.

The line between hate and love is thin; and you are deserving of neither.

You perfect your next semester’s academics, and the next. It still feels empty. You go out to drink with friends and return to a messy bed you sleep in alone. You smile as always and you laugh as always. No one asks you how you are as always. You never needed anyone to ask you how you are.

Ten tries but you push him away. You don’t need to drag in other people into a mess you made. He feels sorry for the whole thing but you tell him it was you that spilled the paint, Ten just handed a dash of it to you.

You were right. You don’t deserve Doyoung. At least, you made it so that you don’t deserve him. 

‘It’s better to have loved and lost than to not have loved at all’—it still hurts.

Every day is part of a list again. You doodled in some of the pages, when you thought you were starting to fall in love. There’s only a skeleton of it left now. Soon, you’ll let it crumble to dust too. 

You tear apart the planner sometime after graduation and cry and curse at yourself for doing that. No one’s good at parting with things they care about. You’re no exception.

It’s December again. 

This place is a little strange to visit right after graduating, especially with the memories flashing you by. Johnny said he booked one of the private booths (“A senior’s treat!”) but you feel your steps growing hesitant when you reach the neon signs by the stairs. It spells ‘The Meeting Place’ and smells of cigarettes just like it did the first time.

You stop midway up the stairs. For a moment, you think of Doyoung sitting there and wonder if you’ll ever be able to talk to him again. If you had the chance now, would you take it?

Of course, you wouldn’t. There’s too much to be set right and you can’t do it.

There’s supposed to be the six of you. Johnny mentioned Ten and you know Eunji’s invited too. You saw Jaehyun on the way here, still a student. You sigh. It must be him, the one they failed to mention to you. Kim Doyoung. There’s no one quite like him.

You spot him first. Looking a little forlorn as he gazes absentmindedly to the side, he faces away from you and you get the inevitable urge to run away. It’s a funny feeling. 

Your stomach is churning. You don’t want him to see you. Ten babbles on about something to Johnny, smiling like he found candy while clearing his drawers. Eunji looks tired, leaning against Johnny’s shoulder and you wonder if she already drank more than enough shots.

“(name).”

You jump at Jaehyun’s voice from behind you. 

“Hey,” you respond, giving him a wide smile.

He hesitates. “Are you okay? Not that you don’t look okay- you look really good actually. I mean, are you and… you know okay?”

“I don’t think so, Jaehyun,” you say and make your way to the booth.

It’s a little cramped for the six of you and Doyoung gets up before you can even greet him. It’s not like you deserve it anyway but it tugs at the wound.

“I’m going to go take a drag,” he mutters.

“You don’t smoke,” you say, looking up.

He stares at you momentarily and you look away. You think Ten and Johnny glance at you with pity but you don’t really care. 

 “Can I come with you?” you ask, barely a whisper.

“Sure,” he says, to your surprise.

The smoking area is so small, you’re surprised it’s even there. A glass structure overlooking the neighbourhood, there’s barely any light within. The only thing nice is how warm it’s in there. 

Doyoung lights his cigarette and then offers to light yours. It’s quiet, the music from inside numbed to the cold doors. You really can’t take it. You stub the barely consumed cigarette and throw it into the bin.

You’d rather just stay quietly in his presence.

“You’re not smoking,” he notes.

“It’s a bad habit.” You look out through the glass.

Doyoung chuckles. “You were a collection of bad habits.”

“And good ones too,” you quip. “I was a perfect student. I was perfect in most everything actually.”

Doyoung’s smile widens. “You were. You certainly were.”

A few more moments pass in silence, your eyes traveling over the outside scenery which seems to be growing duller by the second. City lights have never felt fainter.

“It was an accident, right?” You say suddenly. “The whole thing? Us?”

Doyoung hums. “Yeah. I fell in love by accident.”

You smile weakly. “Right. I never got to apologize.”

“I loved you on purpose.”

You look up at him. There’s not a lot of people who say what they mean. He looks the same as he used to under your grey blankets, with a warm blush over his cheeks and kind, wide eyes. 

“You’re so damn pretty,” he murmurs, “even now.”

You scan his face for signs of lying.

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” you ask finally. 

Doyoung blinks before easing into laughter. “You- You’re- You’re the same as ever.”

You let yourself crack a smile.

“Doyoung I- I really am sorry,” you say quietly. “And I did- do care for you.”

Doyoung stubs out his cigarette and discards it before looking you in the eye. You notice he’s wearing his favourite black turtleneck in the proximity, the grey plaid coat covering most of it. You really liked that look on him.

“I’m sorry,” you say once again. “I want you to know that. I didn’t want to hurt you and I promise I won’t ever do it again.”

You mean it. You’re never going to hold glass again. He doesn’t deserve it.

“That’s a problem,” he responds, breath mingling with yours. “I want you… I want you to hurt me. If you really do love me, I’ll take it.”

“Doyoung,” you whisper, turning away despite your whole body screaming at you to give in. “I meant it. I can’t hurt you.”

Doyoung cups your cheek with one hand, glancing at your lips for a moment.

“You’re warm,” he says.

He’s warmer.

“I want to kiss you,” he says.

You want to kiss him too.

“We went about this all wrong, didn’t we?” he asks.

“We did,” you answer, voice barely above a whisper. “I did.”

Doyoung pulls back. “Then let’s start again. I’m Kim Doyoung, I majored in linguistics. I was student council president and I made a mistake.”

You smile. “We don’t have to do that.”

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “After all the trouble I went through to make a good introduction?”

The two of you laugh, and it gets warmer. 

“I’m (name),” you say. “I was a top student and I made a bigger mistake, Kim Doyoung.”

“Oh? I wonder what it was.”

“Kind of a long story.”

“I’ve got all the time for you.”

You smile and start. He responds with gentle kisses. You’re piecing your world back together again; but this time it’s feather-light and fits right in the palm of your hand. 

[eriseimari]

Some of the things that gets me through:

When I was a kid, my first superheroes were the wrestlers active during the Attitude & Ruthless Agression era. My TOP FIVE were Rey Mysterio, Eddie Guerrero, Kane, Undertaker and yeah, since I'm writing this in all honesty, I have to admit that Chris Benoit was in my top five. In my young heart and innocent mind, I'm certain that I loved them, in a way how we love those celebrities we look up to. And with love comes pain. To this day, I still get sad whenever I remember all the tragedies that happened.

Then, when I came across Naruto, it has become the star of my childhood. Everyday I got to go home from school, I come home to Naruto on TV. Everything about this series — the epic fights, the words of wisdom, backstories, fun filler episodes, the roller coaster of emotions that I'm willing to ride anytime... Everything's perfect. Masashi Kishimoto is a genius. The only thing I couldn't accept until now is Neji's death, even more, the way he died. I mean, his death was meehhh. Hyūga Neji, the prodigy died because he couldn't dodge woods. I mean, I know where those woods came from but still! Dude!😥

When I aged a bit more, I was pulled into the world of Kpop by the boy group EXO, the group I swore to support until the very last. I'm not exaggerating if I say that they literally saved me from loneliness. At 16, my life turned upside down. All my plans crumbled down, I don't know what to do with my life. I even thought of just getting rid of myself to end all the problems. I was... lost. There will always be people who will help fix us — maybe not the perfect fix but they will at least help to keep us in shape and smiling. For me, that is EXO. For all the times that they made me happy, I'm willing to love them until the end. I don't know what'll happen, they might make mistakes in the future, I may not be able to tolerate all of it, but I just know, I will always be thankful that I met them in the right time... And I will always have love for them. But really, I pray that they will continue being the kind and humble men they are right now.

On 2017, IT hit me hard, there's something about coming-of-age stories, set during summer, and growing up in a messed up town. The thing that captivated me most in this film (besides Reddie 😂) is the friendship. How wonderful it is to have friends that will not leave you even when faced with an evil that is Pennywise? Evil lurks in Derry, but it is where a friendship as beautiful as the Losers' Club started. They say, you'll know the best people when you're at the darkest point of your life. Maybe, what I saw in them was the kind of friendship I desired to have. I shall admit that I got more immersed because of the fandom's overanalyzation on things. The book is a gem too.

2020, I decided to watched "The Untamed" (Chen Qing Ling), eventually I read Mo Dao Zu Shi and watched the anime too. For the nth time, I once again got emotionally involved. I invested time and effort yet again. It is everything I wanted for a love story. Losing the one you love just to meet again in the most unexpected circumstances just hits differently. Also, I favored the push and pull love stories a lot. Like, the one person clings a lot, the other pushes the former away, yet in the end, the one who avoids becomes the one who yearns. Waiting for years for the one you love is also my kind of thing. Watching CQL introduced me to Wang Yibo and Xiao Zhan who I want to thank for working so hard even when the spotlight burns and hurts sometimes. My BJYX cuties❣️ I'm also very happy to support the rest of the casts and the boy group that originated from this series, T.U.B.S.

So, I don't really know why I suddenly got emotional here 😂 These are only SOME of the things that gets me through difficulties of life. Being a socially awkward person, the most portion of my life revolves around fiction, pop culture & tv shows. I don't know if calling them my hyperfixation is appropriate but I often get back to these things whenever I need comfort or when I'm tired with the world... Or even when I'm just in my free time. They are my forever favorites.

[doctorofmagic]

Greetings and welcome to the Sanctum Sanctorum!

This blog is 99% dedicated to 616-Doctor Strange. 1% is meant to MCU (and other alternate realities) and other magic characters.

Spouses Supreme elected the Ultimate 616 Strange Ship of tumblr circa the year of our lord Vishanti 2023.

FAQ:

Where do I start reading comics?

I’ve made a Doctor Strange’s reading guide for three different levels: beginners, intermediate and advanced readers. In addition, I always recommend people to start with Doctor Strange v4, which has a very detailed guide here, in case the renumbered issues are too confusing.

The ultimate reading guide will be updated from time to time, via reblog. Please consider that it’s possible that a few issues are missing, but I’m always trying to bring every single one of them. I’m also looking forward to adding non-616 stories in the upcoming updates.

Is this blog spoiler-free?

NO! IT’S NOT! I tend to post Stephen’s appearances every week, whether it’s his current main title or not. Which means I could post spoilers from some run you’re currently reading. But worry not! I always use the tag “wednesday tomes”, so in case you don’t want to see spoilers, you can blocklist it.

Can I send asks anonymously?

Unfortunately, I had to close my anon asks for a while. And there are two reasons for it: 1) I was getting really weird anon asks about things that make me feel uncomfortable, despite my warnings on both this pinned and separate posts asking politely for them to stop. 2) the queue for my asks is actually veeeeeeeeery long and sometimes it takes weeks or a whole month for me to get to your message. I do not know when I’m going to open my inbox to anon questions again, my apologies.

IMPORTANT, THO: I truly appreciate all your kindness and constant effort to share your thoughts and ideas. But my inbox is truly draining me with so many asks every single day. So I decided that, from now on, I’ll be answering only ONE ask per day. If you want to talk, you’re very welcome to my twitter. I know some of you prefer to remain anon, but I promise you I don’t bite haha. In fact, I’ve been more active there because it’s been way less draining than spending lots of time returning asks.

Is this a main blog?

No, it’s a sideblog. For that reason, I cannot answer or reply your comments without a mention/tag via a new post. I always look thoroughly at mentions and reblogs, so if I didn’t reply you, please let me know!

Besides the reading guide, do you have any recommendations?

Yes. During the lockdown, we’ve created a book club called “Strange Book Club.” We’ve been through six issues during six weeks while comics were on hiatus. They don’t require previous knowledge about Marvel’s universe, so feel free to read them. You just need to check out the tag “Strange Book Club.”

Important disclaimer:

This blog won’t tolerate any kind of prejudice or bias, especially towards minorities and vulnerable groups of people. That includes racism, any kind of LGBTQIAphobia, misogyny, sexism, ageism, ableism etc. I’ll not hesitate to block. Be a better person.

Additional recommendations:

Top 5 Clea stories

Top 5 Wong stories

Stories I don’t like

What’s Stephen’s personality like in comic books?

I’ve written several posts about it. Some are not that great, but they’ll give a good overview about this matter. 

Stephen in character

Differences between 616 and MCU!Stephen

Doctor Strange according to MBTI (+ RPG alignment system) 

What makes Stephen my favorite character

Stephen and self-isolation

What makes Stephen self-destructive

Stephen’s sexuality 

Doctor Strange and the power of love

Stephen’s character throughout the years

Stephen’s unhealthy behavior

2007 Animated movie analysis

Doctor Strange's disability: a (much needed) chronological review

Stephen’s love languages

Do you write reviews?

I’m currently reviewing Strange v3. I also wrote reviews on Death of Doctor Strange and Defenders v6. I stopped caring about Strange Academy and I'm also strongly against Doctor Strange v5. Here’s why: 1, 2 and 3.

Do you write analysis?

In addition to the previous links, I’ve made a few of them over the years, in case you feel interested! I also write articles sometimes. Have fun with these links below:

The Burden of Magic

The different types of magic in Marvel’s universe

Can anyone perform magic in Marvel universe?

Clea never cheated on Stephen with Benjamin and I can prove it

Peter and Stephen’s relationship in comics

Wanda and Stephen’s relationship in comics

Doctor Doom & Doctor Strange’s deep relationship throughout the years

Stephen’s apprentices

Stephen remembers Battleworld/Secret Wars - Headcanon/Theory

Stephen’s indelible sin

How many times has Stephen died in 616?

The evolution of Doctor Strange’s outfit

Character Analysis - Clea

Who’s the strongest magic wielder and why you shouldn’t be bothered by this topic

Stephen’s former lovers

Do you talk about MCU?

This blog is slowly drifting apart from the MCU once again. But I have this one (1) analysis here.

Doctor Strange’s wristwatch as a metaphor for his hear

Do you mind shipping?

I’m growing more open to shipping Stephen with pretty much any character. I was careful in the past for no particular reason except for my overprotective instincts towards the character haha. But I do have some preferences. I just avoid writing about it in order to dodge hate and ship wars, which sadly still happens. But here’s a safe place. Feel free to ask about shipping and anything related to it!

Do you use any tags?

Yes. You can check “how can the sorcerer supreme be of assistance?” or simply “ask” regarding any questions. I also use “discourse” for negative reviews and “wednesday tomes” for comics spoilers. Feel free to blocklist them.

Any other way to contact you?

For now, you can also find me here, but I’m so much worse on twitter, so be warned haha.

NEW INFO

If you love Doctor Strange and want to share your passion with us, this is place!

Beware the unknown beyond the veil!

[shinymooncolor]

It’s Thursday, I’ve got a long weekend - so here’s a new sweater weather chat!

@lumosinlove is the mastermind behind these hilarious characters. I just play around and pretend my life is half as exciting as these guys’ lives are.

@wxlfstxrx and @siriuslyqueer are my best bro’s and always support my crazy ideas with no hesitation. 🙏🏻

If you have prompts - let me know! 👀

Sweater weather chat #4

Dumo panics. Celeste is disappointed. Tyler’s mom is thirsty. Logan has heard too much. Leo is scolded. Kuny is hungover. Nado has been dumped. He is also the king of nicknames. Walker brags. We spend another Sunday in the bat cave. I want to live there now.

———-

Wednesday, 4.32 pm

Nadotheman: @talkiewalkie I’m now at a record 8200 viewers for my live workout. 💪🏻👀

Talkiewalkie: whatever. I’m still more ripped than you.

Russiangod: I read blog. I think old ladies like

Tylerthemighty: my mom asked for your number. 61 y/o divorcee. Her book club wants to come to next match. I gave them tickets 🤓🤓🤓🤓

Eliascookie: 😂 thirsty housewives

Prongstar: nado got them old ladies. Sure you could learn a thing or two!!

Nadotheman: I am epic and my sexual encounters are epic

Russiangod: 5 minutes epic? Americans are strange

Siriously: savage

Nadotheman: fuxk off Evwhiny, Not my fault you’ve struck out for three fucking months. Remmy gotta worry about that wrist of kun(t)y’s

Fruitloops: leave me out. Also @prongstar stop changing my name.

Fruitloops changed their name to remuslupin

Prongstar changed remuslupin to fruitloops

RussianGod: not three month. Ur mom here last week. Show her good time.

Timmyforrealz: 😂😂😂 fucking got you there Nado.

Nadotheman: I hate you all. And he didn’t fuck my mom he’s scared of her. Bitch

DumoDad: language. And fruit loops is cute.

——-

Saturday 11.27 am

Dumodad created a group.

Dumodad named the group: grabby teen boy alert.

Dumodad added: talkiewalkie, newt-leo, carbo’hara, loganTremblayzzz, nado the man, RussianGod

Dumodad: first of all. This group does not exist. You know nothing. Celeste must not know anything.

Newt-leo: dumo you alright?

Dumodad: No! drove Adele to the mall. She said she was going out with friends. When I got home Celeste says it’s a date. She is 14?!?!?! My baby is in the mall with a perverted football player called Chuck? Someone has to go to the mall. NOW. I will give you my 1954 Stanley cup game puck. I cannot leave. Celeste has me under strict supervision.

CarbO’Hara: were already at the mall. @nadotheman got dumped so we’ve gone to watch a movie.

Nadotheman: I was not dumped. I ended things. I don’t get dumped.

RussianGod: she said sex was fine. She not call back. You were dumped also she winked at me when she tied shoes. Also u want buy her stuff. She just using u. Better off no girls. Poor baby Nado.

Nado the man: traitor. I didn’t sleep with that fan you took back to the hotel in philly or tell on you. So what they’re using me? I get more action than the rest of you babies combined. (Not you Dumo, don’t think I haven’t noticed those scratch mArks)

DumoDAD: I married well. Go back to rescuing my girl from that deprived creep. A footballer. Of all the idiots in that school and she chooses a footballer. Merde.

Logantremblayzzz: NO! DONT TALT ABOUT THAT he’s like my dad 😫😫😫

RussianGod: grow up. Where u think 4 baby come from? 🍆🍆🍆

DumoDAD: go back to looking for my daughter and leave my (active) sex life out of it

Talkiewalkie: @russiangod you dog!! Roadie one nighter. I’m so proud. Also go dumo!!!!

Nado the man: she was hot. No idea how he got her. Also @talkiewalkie like you’ve ever had the balls for a one nighter

Talkiewalkie: @nadotheman back off man, you’re just a baby compared to my epic sexual history

Nadotheman: @talkiewalkie huh you didn’t even play the v-card until you were 17

Talkiewalkie: @nadotheman not true. That was my first fan. V-card was my JUNIOR prom with the head cheerleader (she was totally a senior)

Dumodad: @walkietalkie no one cares you lost your virginity in the back of a Buick. My daughter is out there with a BOY. ALONE.

Talkiewalkie: @dumodad wrong username and it was a CAMRY and she was a SENIOR

LoganTremblayzzz: were at the mall. Finn and Leo scouting food hall. I’m covering first floor. @nadotheman any luck on second floor?

RussianGod: someone having sex in the bathroom

Logantremblayzzz: @newt-leo @CarbO’Hara behave. Also don’t leave me out.

Newt-leo: she’s in the food court. Also @russiangod they’re not having sex they’re fighting

Dumodad: IS HE TOUCHITN MY NAB GIRLv

Newt-leo: stress texting? Calm down they’re just talking

Newt-leo: okay he’s got his arm around her

CarbO’Hara: abort abort she saw us

—-

Saturday 11.54 am

Adele: MAMA! Leo and finn and kuny are stalking me. You promised not to tell dad. Charlie is terrified and he wants to leave and he didn’t ask me to prom

Mama: sorry mon Cherie. Your dad is in big trouble. Please call me

——

Saturday 12.01 pm

Carb’OHara: @russiangod just got scolded by guard for sitting without a tray and Adele is yelling at him too 😂😂😂😂😂😂

*pic of kuny sitting looking guilty while tiny Adele is shouting*

Dumodad: gentlemen. Why is my daughter calling me, crying cause you scared off her date? I don’t care what my imbecile of a husband has told you. You are all going home and you are all going to think about this. And NO DESSERT FOR ANY OF YOU. I am sorry you got dumped @nadotheman. @talkiewalkie don’t brag about losing your virginity in a car.

Saturday 2.43 pm

Logantremblayzzz: shit! Celeste is furious. Dumo is def sleeping on the couch. Oh fuck. She’s grounded him 😂 this is hilarious.

RussianGod: 😛

Logantremblayzzz: don’t have to worry about baby #5. He’s in the dog house for a month 😂😂😂

Dumodad: she wasn’t kidding. I’m banished to the couch for the foreseeable future. Don’t think you’re not in trouble, Logan. She wants to talk to you now.

RussianGod: nice knowing u Logan.

DumoDAD: 😬🙏🏻🥺😫

—

Saturday 3.44 pm

Celeste: Leo, I am very disappointed.

I expected this from the others but I thought you were better.

Leo: I’m so sorry!!

——-

Sunday 11.34 am

Kuny: my head hurts. I need food

Nado: it’s your own fault dumbass. Chucking vodka like it’s fucking water. Not gonna feel bad for ya

Kuny: I was homesick. U not feel bad today?

Nado: nah I can handle my liquor, you sad excuse for a Russian. What if I told your fellow countrymen you’re currently whining like a baby...

Kuny: I drink better than u. No one believe that.

Kuny: need water pleas. Also want fries

Kuny: pleas i pay.

Nado: stop texting me, I’m trying to watch a movie. Also you’re disturbing my sexting go away

Kuny: who u sext? Girl from bar? Pretty one or scary one?

Nado: I’m not telling you and maybe it’s both. Also quit texting me. Can’t keep this clever dirty talk up when I have to deal with your whining.

Kuny: I can help

Nado: you’re not helping me fucking sext now go back to sleep you big baby

Kuny: stupid also don’t wank with door open

Nado: then go fucking close it you ungrateful dick. Also you know wank but sergei and I had to sit there and help you fucking answer interview questions. Your little game of pretending not to know English is sad. Also your whole “baby face Russian giant with cute accent” bit is getting old.

Kuny: my accent is cute and I know wank cause walker told Me. Am not ungrateful u are. I not tell team lots of things

Nado: oh don’t even go there.

Kuny: I thought u busy sexting

Nado: u fucking ruined it ok. Are you clothed? I’m coming in there now.

Kuny: not naked also u lie about sexitng girls. He he. now bring me food. And Diet Coke.

Nado: ungrateful fucking hungover Russian waste of space. I hate you.

Kuny: u love me. Bring more blanket for room we can make fort and see Disney. I like little green eye

Nado: ordered some French fries and shakes now. In season. So naughty. Also We’re not watching monsters inc again. You’ve got a weird obsession with that film. Moana or the Scottish one.

Kuny: rude. Ok. Just bring food and blanket.

——

“You’re such an ungrateful roomie, scoot over you big lump. You’re hogging my blanket”

“No am not. U love me - DONT TOUCH MY CURLY FRIES”

“Funny you can speak English when people are stealing your food. Stop yelling. I don’t love you. I tolerate you”

“Shut up. Funny chicken, look like peanut When he drink”

“I’m telling him you said that”

——

Did they build a massive blanket fort in their epic cinema/game room? You bet. Does drunk Leo look like the chicken from Moana? I think he does.

[animerunner]

Luz’s Not So Great Luck

Fandom: The Owl House

Relationship: Eda Clawthorne & Luz Noceda, Luz Noceda & Willow Park, Luz Noceda & Gus Porter, Luz Noceda & Amity Blight, Eda Clawthorne & Lilith Clawthorne

Characters: Eda Clawthorne, Luc Noceda, Willow Park, Gus Porter, Lilith Clawthorne, Amity Blight

Warnings: Implied Child Abuse,  Summary: Luz and Eda don't talk much about how the magical human stumbled into Eda's life. Literally. But that doesn't stop people from asking. Theme: Unconscious (aka what kick starts this plot)

Notes: Okay got a few things to cover here before we start. Eda's curse. This does get addressed in the next one (since we're still in the same verse) but for now for reassurance sake I'll say this. Yes Eda was still cursed in this verse. However after that things take a turn. I'll explain maybe whenever I get to the standalone for this. But she is still a disability rep. Just how she is a rep is now different.I wouldn't remove the curse without putting something in its place. Eda's curse means far too much on a personal level to erase her representation entirely. I do have a plan. And it will make sense I hope. Also in that same kind of vein yes there is a catch here with Luz doing magic. It is kind of referenced here but we'll get into more details later. Last thing I can't fully go into the details as to why, yet, but Camila is absent from this Luz's life. Not by choice mind you. But that plays a part in how Luz ends up in this situation.

Last note. There ended up being a bit too many parallels for me between this and Campverse as the kick off point. And I decided rather than keep two separate stories, to integrate the Campverse idea into this where I could. Unforunately not everything could. But here we are. With this sort of fusion between campverse and orphanverse with some other stuff thrown in.  No orphanverse isn’t being dropped. Just campverse. Anyways Ao3 link here. Story is under the read more otherwise~

Eda, King, and Luz don’t often talk about the first time they met.

Mainly because Luz doesn’t remember any of it.

Sure she remembers the decision to run away from the camp. She remembers finding the portal door and stumbling through it. The last thing she remembers is a flash of orange that she now knows was Eda’s hair. After that though everything is blank for a few days.

Really to be honest she doesn’t remember much of those first few weeks if she is being completely honest. 

The few times she asked Eda it went nowhere. Eda always gets this distant look when those early weeks come up. King’s answers are worded in a way so Luz is never sure if she can take him seriously.

In the end it doesn’t really matter to Luz.

She found Eda and she’s away from the camp that’s all she really cares about.

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

Lilith is the first one to ask about it.

It’s a quiet moment between her and Eda. Amity, Luz, and King are elsewhere. They’re talking about some of the after effects of the curse.

Even now years after the curse had been removed. The effects aren’t completely gone.

Eda had paused for a moment to check on some potions she had brewing at the moment. Lilith of course had questioned what seemed like an abnormally large order compared to when she had seen Eda working before. To which Eda had simply said it was for a monthly personal stock. 

“I wasn’t aware you took so many potions.” Lilith said, frowning. Not liking at all the implications at all that the five different cauldrons implied.

Eda shakes her head at that. “I don’t. They’re not mine, they're for Luz.”

“Oh.” Amity had mentioned Luz had said she had some health issues. Lilith had never really thought about the extensiveness of it before now. “I didn’t realize it was such a concern.”

“Yeah well they caused some hiccups when she first came to stay with me so I’ve had to deal with them front and center.”

Hell, part of the reason Luz had ended up with her was because of it.

“You know I never asked. How did you two meet in the first place?”

“There’s not much to tell.”

Really there wasn’t. All it had been was Luz stumbling through the door which she had forgotten to close. Fainting from a high fever. 

Luz had originally ended up staying at The Owl House because Eda had no clue where she had come from. She didn’t know where the local landmarks were. Or where the human healers were. And she wasn’t about to kick out a sick child on her watch. 

The following weeks were where the story really started arguably. 

“There must be some story behind it Edalyn.” Lilith protests.

Eda pauses for a moment there seeming to consider how to best respond to that. “Maybe there is but do I ask you how you and Amity came to live together?”

That does the trick in getting Lilith to stop the questions. 

                                                 -------------------  Amity is next though she’s a lot less direct than her mother figure.

Boscha was being her normal self. Though a comment directed towards Eda had managed to set Luz off in a way Amity wasn’t used to seeing before. 

It had been only through some quick thinking and intervention no one had ended up in a fist fight. 

“Why did you even go after Boscha? You know that’s just going to make things worse right?”

“I know but you don’t get it. She never goes after you and Lilith.”

Now it was Amity’s turn to get annoyed. “Only because of Lilith’s status and you know that.”

Luz realized she had accidentally stepped on some toes in her own anger. “Right sorry. It just hit really close to home this time. Too close.”

Amity frowned not for the first time confused by her friend’s behavior and history. It didn’t make much sense to her if she was being honest. “What part the part about Eda being a-”

“No, no. It's the other part.” Luz admitted with hesitance. “Eda took me in when no one else wanted me. If I didn’t have Eda, I don’t know where I would be right now.”

Dead probably. Eda had saved her in more than one fashion.

“How did she save you anyway?”

Luz didn’t like talking about her time before the Boiling Isles. Something that for the most part Amity respected. Everyone had skeletons in their closet. Sometimes a bit more figuratively then literal in the case of Luz. So Amity was always wondering how in the world a wild witch like Eda had essentially come to adopt a human.

“I wish I could tell you but I honestly don’t remember much after I first started living there. My...issue was uncontrolled back then and at its worst before Eda helped.”

Oh that’s what Luz meant by save.

Amity lets the topic drop from there.

                                                 -------------------  Then Willow.

Willow is more just curious about how they became a family to begin with when she asks Luz the question. 

“Does it really matter?” Luz asks. 

To her at least it doesn’t matter. Eda’s the first person that she feels genuinely cares about her. She never knew her parents and the foster families she had gone through had only tolerated her so much.

“Nah I get it. Family’s family. Regardless if it’s by blood. I was just being a bit nosey that’s all.”

Luz nods, she guessed the question was inevitable at some point. Considering whether to answer before saying. “To be honest I don’t really remember anything about the first few days.”

“Nothing?”

“No. When Eda found me I was sick, extremely so. I was in and out of consciousness for a few days. And even then after that it's all kinds of muddled until she helped me find the right potions to help.”

To be honest Luz doesn’t really remember much about her first month on the Isles.

“I didn’t realize it was flaring at the time.”

“Only because of the camp.” Luz grumbled. 

Her opinion on the whole camp affair is complicated. She hates every memory attached to it. She hates how bad things got. However without it she probably would never have met Eda. Never found the Isles that had slowly become her home in the past year.  

So, yeah it was complicated to say the least.

Willow’s look at first surprises Luz. Then she remembers that she almost never talks about how screwed up the camp was. 

Eda is really the only one who knows outside of her healer. And Luz sometimes just prefers to keep it private. 

The less she reflects on that time the better.

“Hey, I’m fine.” Luz assures. 

“Still that that happened to begin with…”

“It’s messed up. I know that. However, without them I would never have met Eda or you or anyone else. So-” Luz shrugs. “It’s not all horrible.” 

                                                 -------------------  Finally Gus thought of his way of asking if by far the least indirect.

“I just don’t get if there’s so much cool stuff on Earth why you left?”

Luz thinks for a moment picking her words carefully. Gus, of the friend group probably knew the least about her pre-Eda time. Part of Luz didn’t want to break his fascination with the human realm. Just because she didn't have a great history there.

Though that reality breaking moment was probably going to come at some point anyway.

“It’s...complicated. Not everything's sunshine and rainbows on Earth, Gus. I know you see the good side.” Partly because that was mainly what came up when it came to Human Appreciation Club things. “But not everything’s perfect.”

“Sunshine and rainbows?”

“Ah right you guys wouldn’t have that here.” Even after living on the Isles for a year Luz still got tripped up over the different metaphors. “I don’t know what the equivalent here is but basically means not everything is good and happy as it seems.”

“Ah so like there can’t always be moonlight and conjurings. Got it.”

Luz made a note to ask Eda about that later. Though she guessed it sounded similar enough.

Maybe she should ask Eda for a book on witch metaphors.

“So were things really that bad?”

Luz hesitates for a moment trying to think how to best respond to it. Sure not everything was bad. But for years the good had been buried under so much. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“It must hurt to think about Earth if you have all those bad memories attached to it.”

“It does sometimes.” Luz admits. “But talking with you about the good times helps me remember that not everything was bad all the time.”

Gus lights up. “I’m glad I can help then.”

                                                 -------------------  It’s only after Gus that Luz finally asks Eda what actually happened.

“Why do you wanna know.”

“I guess I’m just curious. I don’t remember anything after I arrived for several days. And by the time I really started getting better you had pretty much just taken me in.”

Eda seems to debate at first for a moment, finally saying. “Alright. But first let's start with what’s the last thing you remember before waking up here. And the first thing you remember after that.”

“Stumbling through the portal door and then waking up in your room a few days later.”

“Yeah that sounds about right.”  Eda agrees. “Alright then-”

Owlbert had been running behind getting back from his human treasure run. So Eda had left the door open. What she hadn’t expected was for Owlbert to show up with a teenage girl in tow. 

Before Eda gets the chance to question anyone on anything. Like just how did Owlbert acquire a human apparently. The girl passes out on her. 

“What the heck?”

King walks up to her side. “Is she dead?”

“I don’t think so.” Eda kneels besides the teenage girl. Placing a hand in front of the mouth. Still breathing at least. Though what had caused her to turn into a heap is a good question.

Maybe it had something to do with going through the portal. Hand moving she passes by the kids forehead. Which she can now tell is radiating heat.

Fever. The kid was sick.

Which raised a whole bunch of questions that definitely weren’t going to get answered right now with her out for the count.

Probably the best thing to do was to take her to a human healer. But Eda doesn’t know anything about them. Let alone where to find one.

Well she did know how to treat an illness at least. Or at least a high fever. And as long as the kid was sick and out cold she was Eda’s responsibility. Whether she liked it or not.

First things first was to get that fever down. Eda reasoned, scooping the girl up off the floor. And then she could question Owlbert on a few things. 

                                                 -------------------  Eda learns the girl’s name on her second day, Luz.

Admittedly she doesn’t learn much else. Despite her work the fever still has yet to break. And Luz is in and out of sleep most of the time. 

Owlbert has been even less helpful in figuring out where Luz came from. He had said he had thought she was lost in the woods. And getting caught in the rain seemed like a bad idea.

He hadn’t even realized Luz was sick at first. 

Of course naturally the easiest way to find answers would be to send him scouting to see where the kid came from. However right now she wants Owlbert closer to her.

So for now the mystery remains.

At least keeping an eye on Luz is easy enough. The kid is sleeping other than when Eda shakes her awake to make sure she eats or drinks something. 

Day four post arrival throws a hiccup in that Eda had never been expecting.

Eda wakes up to an empty nest.

A quick talk with Owlbert tells her that he hasn’t left but has moved down to the kitchen. Moving down herself causes an eyebrow raise though as Eda finds Luz cooking. Or trying to if the way she’s falling asleep again on her feet is any indication.

“Kid?”

Whatever Eda expects, it's not Luz about jump startling herself back awake. Followed by a string of apologies. 

“Kid-”

“Luz.”

Eda wonders why the correction for a moment before pushing the question out of her mind. “Luz, take a breath for a second I’m not mad. I was just concerned to see you cooking while sick.”

“But if I don’t cook then how can I earn my place.”

“I forgot I said that.” Luz interrupts for a moment. She hadn’t realized she had said anything of that nature. But then again Eda hadn’t really seemed surprised when she had first talked about what life on Earth had been like for her.

“It’s not the only thing you said. But it was the one that started setting off alarm bells. Because-”

“No one should have to earn a spot in a family.” Luz repeats what Eda had said to her so many times now.  “I know you keep reminding me.”

“And I will keep telling you as long as you need it. Since you lived with some messed up people.” 

Well if that didn’t raise a whole bunch of red flags Eda isn’t sure what will. “Luz it's okay you don’t need to do that. You’re sick.”

“But-”

“No but.” Eda cuts in. “Now are you actually hungry or were you just trying to help?”

“More thirsty than hungry.”

“Okay I can work with that.”                                                   -------------------

Honestly part of Eda is starting to wonder if Luz is faking the memory loss.

Okay, not really but she was getting a bit tired of repeating herself to Luz.

The only time Luz doesn’t seem to have known where she was, was during the kitchen incident. And Eda thinks she was more on autopilot than anything else that time.

At least there hadn’t been a repeat of that she supposed.

Regardless Eda is almost at her wits end with trying to get Luz better. When a rather big surprise happens.

Luz casts a light spell.

It’s an accident. Luz still doesn’t have control over her magic. And her being sick only makes the situation worse. She’s trying to put the little ball of light out when Eda comes into the scene. Not having seen Luz casting but not being able to miss the floating ball of yellow light in the room no matter how hard Luz is trying to hide it. “Huh I don’t remember casting a light spell in here.”

Luz freezes in place. One hand still holding the light ball and staring at Eda wide-eyed. And proceeds to start panicking.

Okay, panicking over magic was definitely not something Eda thought she would ever see let alone experience. But at least she knows what to do. Grabbing Luz and pulling her in close so she can she starts taking her through the exercises she was taught. “Breathe with me. In…” Eda internally counts to 7 before talking again. “And out….”

Slowly but surely Luz’s breathing slows to a normal pace. Eda gives her a couple of minutes to collect herself before asking. “Are you feeling better?” A nod. “Alright do you think you can tell me what that was all about?”

There’s a pause before Luz shakes her head no.

Eda’s not sure where to go from there. There was some part of her that was confused. Why would someone panic over using their magic? 

“You know now that-”

“That you were worried I was going to take everything the wrong way? Yeah I’m aware. But at the time kid you gotta remember I had just walked in on you panicking over a light spell. It didn’t make much sense.”

Really she needed some answers on what the heck had just happened. But she didn’t want to force them out of the kid.

“Could you at least tell me why you were panicking over a light spell?” Eda decides to try.

Luz looks up for the first time in the whole conversation. Confusion evident on her face. “A light spell?”

“Yes, a light spell.” Eda’s equally baffled but pushes it aside for a moment. She casts her own light spell as an example. “See? Just like yours.”

Except maybe not. Luz stares at Eda’s own spell with a sense of open mouthed wonder. And now Eda is left wondering if she’s ever seen anyone else use magic before.

It would maybe explain the panic attack depending on how other humans viewed magic.

“Can I touch it?”

Eda cocks her head slightly wondering why but decides it doesn’t matter. “Sure. It shouldn’t hurt you.” 

The way Luz holds the ball gently in her hands cements Eda’s suspicions. “You’ve never seen anyone else cast magic before have you?”

Luz shakes her head no slowly. Some part of Eda’s heart breaks when Luz speaks her voice cracking slightly. “Everyone back on Earth just calls me a menace." If she's lucky as Eda later learns. Sometimes that's the kinder thing to be called. "I’ve tried so hard to control this but everything I do just makes it worse.”

“Magic can be difficult to control if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I know.” Luz has a distant look in her eyes for a moment. And Eda wonders what she’s remembering. 

Eda’s not sure who's more surprised by her next suggestion. Her or Luz. “Would you like me to teach you how to control your magic?”

Luz stares at her for a moment. “You would be willing to do that?”

“Of course. No one should have to live in fear of something that is a part of them.”

Eda will take it to the grave that part of this is self motivated. Yes she wants to help Luz to learn to control her magic. No one should have to live in that much fear of their own self. She would know herself how hard and trying that could be.

However, a human doing actual magic is such a curiosity. She’s hoping that maybe having Luz around some more might solve how this was even possible. 

Though part of her wonders if she is going to like what she finds out.

However, despite the self motivation there is some sincerity. She remembers what it was like when was freshly cursed. Being worried about turning into The Owl Beast on a moment’s notice. 

That was part of the past now. However that didn’t mean she couldn’t sympathize with Luz. 

“You know what that’s like?”

“Yeah but that’s a story for another time.”

No way was Eda going to explain just yet her troubled teenage years. Or her own magic based issues. That could come later. If ever.

On the bright side this does make things a bit easier. If Luz can do magic then she must have some sort of demon or witch blood in her. So a healer would be able to properly treat her. She just has to find a healer.

“And there’s not much else to say there really. You started getting better after Althea came out. And the rest is history.”

“So I basically wore you down into taking me in?”

“In a way I guess you could say that. I mean there was no one real moment I knew I was taking you in permanently. Though I guess learning you can cast magic was the catalyst. It just kind of happened. Whatever resistance I might have had left after nursing you back from a fever went away pretty quickly.”

What had started out as a strange want to help driven by a degree of curiosity. Had evolved as Luz had gotten closer to her. As Luz had gotten better and slowly started opening up to her and King. After Eda had found out the actual chain of events that had set up the two of them meeting in the first place…

Yeah, Eda had been more than willing to let Luz move in permanently rather than return to the human realm.

Sure the family thing wouldn’t come for a few more weeks. As Luz had wormed her way into her heart. But at first it was nice to have some other constant company besides King. 

The continuing mystery of Luz’s ability was just part of the equation. At this point Luz was as much family as Lilith and King were.

“Thank you.”

Luz isn’t entirely sure if she’s thanking Eda or Owlbert. Since they both had a role in her finding a life and family on the Isles. 

“Your welcome kid.”

[willowashmaple]

Go get lost.

When I was in high school (the 1990s, believe it or not!), I recall reading a passage in a book that read: “Americans are the people of entitlement.” These days, it’s probably better to say, Americans are the people of grievances.

I feel that much of the toxicity in the United States today comes from this culture of grievances and resulting tribalism and polarization. Some may call it “identity politics” or “oppression Olympics” or “social justice movement” but I see exactly the same thing happening among the conservatives and nationalists too. Grievance seems to be the driving force of public discourse these days. 

Because of this, I try to make conscious choices not to resort to grievances. I do not like to hide behind whatever the “labels” that might be politically and socially expedient to wear. Human lives are complex. Sure, I am autistic, POC, immigrant, and queer. But I also grew up in a life of privilege, and to the extent my parents could, they gave me opportunities at getting good education; I have never experienced poverty until I was adult. With every “oppression brownie point” I may have, I can also be an oppressor, too. And I live on a stolen Indigenous land that I thought of as a Land of Opportunity and American Dreams. Moreover, character and agency matter. Much of my life is a product of series of bad choices I made. as well as good ones. It would be unfair to blame others for the consequences of my moral and ethical choices. 

But sometimes, I wonder if I am suppressing too much of my sorrows and frustrations in hope of not creating a scene, or to not “rock the boat” or to make other people “comfortable,” The truth being, I’m kind of at a breaking point when it comes to this. 

The word “autism” was coined 110 years ago (1910) by a Swiss psychiatrist, from the Greek word αὐτός (self). This was perhaps because to a neurotypical observer, an autistic person seem too “self-absorbed” or even “narcissistic” and unable to “connect” with others, as if there is nothing outside their life other than themselves. 

The truth is, it is more likely that autistic persons lack a strong sense of self. We tend to be influenced by others. Often we don’t have a very clear idea of who we are and are prone to become “chameleons.” And we try too hard to fit in. We care way way too much about what other people feel or think about us, and that’s even more anxiety-inducing and frustrating because we cannot easily guess (but we usually know if they’re lying or bullshitting to us). 

About 10 years ago I began getting involved in all types of community organizations, activist groups, and clubs in hope that I could find some sense of meaning and purpose in life. I wanted to be worthwhile. I had volunteered for a few non-profit organizations on an almost daily basis. To an extent I enjoyed this experience and I met so many people that I would never have had. I was also part of the local art scene. I’ve shown my artwork in galleries and even had two solo exhibits during this period. I was busy and always on the go. 

But I found myself not getting the same kind of respect the neurotypicals get. I was at best being tolerated and humored, sometimes even pitied, and sooner or later I found out that everyone was talking shit about me behind my back.  I know people look at me like a freak of nature or an imbecile. They don’t tell me that in my face but they sure cannot hide it and I certainly know it. And I saw numerous times that the organizations that I got myself involved with imploded and dissolved because of me. 

I’m tired of making victims of everyone around me by merely existing, as though I’m some sort of radioactive pollutant. Yes, I have done a lot of stupid things (in retrospect) while I was overzealous and overly devoted to the “cause of the day.” I took the missions and works of those organizations very seriously -- too seriously -- and worked very hard to get them to be in a better position than how I found them. Sure, I was not perfect. I could have done much better, and I have a tendency to become extremely territorial when I take my work seriously. I know I’ve alienated quite a few people because of this. But I was always the one who was blamed for whatever the shit that happened. While in my face they feign some appreciation it was clear that they were having meetings without me and my knowledge to air their grievances over me. 

There is no genuine acceptance. I do not feel safe around people. I don’t appreciate their dispensing of know-it-all “advice.” They’ve never walked a tenth of a mile in my shoes. And if I said anything they think “the crazy is freaking out again.” And I know they don’t really want to say what they want to say, either, since they think I’m a dangerous mental case and they have to walk on eggshells so I don’t become violent or something (yeah right!). 

This is why I’m being very very selective right now with my involvement with whatever the things the neurotypicals around me are doing near and far. I’m probably useless to them anyway, and I don’t have any spoons left for their constant need for emotional connection and uncompensated emotional labor. 

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

I’m currently reading a biography of Monty Python (Monty Python Speaks by David Morgan) - this particular bit is a quote from Eric Idle. I have such a complicated relationship with Monty Python. Mostly because when I was younger, I had a very uncomplicated relationship with them. There is nothing complicated about hero worshipping people. And that is what I did. I thought they were the greatest men to ever walk the Earth.

My dad raised me on British comedy, and I’m still glad he did. But I didn’t realize at the time (as a Canadian child who had Asperger’s and therefore already had difficulty connecting with people) how much that would make all my references incomprehensible to my peers, and their references incomprehensible to me. It was worth it, though. It was worth it for all the hours I spent, at ages 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, watching every episode of Flying Circus over and over. Watching Holy Grail and Life of Brian and The Meaning of Life and Now for Something Completely Different. Other shows by the Pythons – Fawlty Towers, Ripping Yarns. How to Irritate People by John Cleese. I’d watch anything that featured them; my dad had a VHS copy of the early Secret Policeman’s Balls that I loved. When I was about 13, my CD collection had a whole section just for Pythons. Monty Python group albums, and albums by individual Pythons. Songs and stand-up routines. I was so into the Pythons that I listened to The Goon Show and Beyond the Fringe to see what their influences were. When I was sixteen I got to go see Spamalot and I still consider it to be one of the best nights of my life. When I was thirteen my dad went to the States to see Eric Idle live and brought me back a signed shirt; I wore it until it disintegrated and still have it in my closet.

And now I’m an adult and things have to be complicated. I’m not trying to say the Pythons aren’t geniuses. I’m not trying to say they aren’t masters of the craft. Of course they fucking are. I’m just saying life may occasionally be slightly more complicated than people make it sound when they write introductions to books about game-changing celebrities (I refer to the intro to the book I am reading now, written by John Oliver and eloquently describing what a wonderful influence these men had on the world).

Like this fucking quote by Eric Idle. I don’t know if this is clear enough from the paragraph I took a picture of without context, but no one fucking asked. He was asked something about whether members of the group performed to each other when deciding what sketches to include in Flying Circus. No one asked him how he felt about having no women in the group. He just volunteered the information that he thought having “girls” around would ruin it.

My reaction to reading that line wasn’t so much as a feminist who gets mad about politics; it was as a person who used to be a weird kid with no friends who threw myself into a few things, including Monty Python, to get through life (I’m not trying to say this isn’t political, I’m just saying this particular political thing is also personal for me). Before making a comment like that, I wonder if it occurred to Eric Idle that a lot of Monty Python fans are girls who spent a lot of time being excluded from or tolerated by boys clubs, being grudgingly allowed to take part in things but knowing the boys consider their presence to be an annoying thing they have to deal with. I have spent most of my life in male-dominated areas, and a lot of my life around male people who were anything from mildly annoyed to openly hostile about having girls around who wanted to be included.

But much of the time (not all the time), those male people at least had the sense to not actually say those things in public. Is that too much to ask from iconic celebrities like Monty Python? Just say nice things when biographers show up to interview you, and complain about girls being around to your friends over beers where you won’t be overheard. You know, like everyone else does.

That is actually a problem, of course. The problem of men who will seem fine with having women around to their faces but complain about it behind their backs. That’s a problem that hurts men and women - it hurts women because they learn that they can’t even trust men who seem to be Cool and Feminist and all of that, and it hurts men because lots of men actually are lovely people and it can be hard for them to prove that to women who are used to men being disingenuous about these things. The vast majority of the time, I would prefer it if shitty people would just be openly shitty and not keep us guessing.

This feels like an exception though. None of the Pythons are fooling people into thinking they aren’t old straight white men (the one of them who was not all those things is unfortunately not around to tell his side of the story that’s laid out in the biography I’m reading) who wrote comedy that was groundbreaking and immersive and fantastically funny but also “punched down” in various ways and came from a place of privilege. By keeping their prejudices to themselves, the Pythons won’t be tricking their way into any feminist circles. They’ll just be letting their feminist fans enjoy their work without a voice in their heads shouting, “This work was made by people who thought the trend of girls trying to break into things was annoying.”

Also, when you address the issue of being an all-male group that put the men in drag rather than hire women to play women’s roles (except when they actually needed the female characters to be physically attractive, because that’s the only time it’s important to have an actual woman around), you’re supposed to say you did that because men in drag is funny. You’re not supposed to straight-up admit that you did it because it allowed you to cast the roles without worrying about having girls around.

I’m enjoying the book, I really am. It feels cool and special to take a journey through the making of some stuff that was such a big part of my childhood and teenage years. It’s making me want to re-watch all of Flying Circus on Netflix, and I’m probably going to do that. But I just. I just. No one fucking asked you about having girls in the group, Eric. You weren’t backed into a corner with questions that asked you to address sexism in Monty Python. Just please shut up about that whole issue so I can continue to read this book while not thinking about all the #Problematic things that go with it.

[essie-essex]

anybody here remember night blogging??

You know thinking back on how I would do things differently, I would probably have gone to another school for college. I had assumed that you were required to write a thesis at every school to graduate, and at my school we had I.S. (Independent Study), which was kind of a final 100 page paper + project that we had to do our senior year, in addition to taking classes. But my school offered me the most money, and everyone I talked to said that it was a good school. I remember my English teacher being surprised that I got in. I wasn’t the best student, but during my senior year I started to be more engaged and pay attention in class. I think part of it was that my family (me and my mom lol) hosted a Japanese exchange student that year. She stayed for 10 months and I loved having someone at the house to do things with, and I think having her around really helped me out a lot with feeling less lonely. So, my grades improved (with the exception of math, I actually did a lot worse in math than usual despite studying every night for hours because my teacher was horrible, but that’s another story...) and for the most part I did a lot better academically. Also, I started running, lost weight, and felt generally better about myself (I thought that finally after all those years of depression, things were finally getting better, and I was stronger, and blah blah blah).

When I was accepted by a university, I was so excited, especially since my advisor told me I wouldn’t get into college (because of that awful math class--like honestly that year would have been so much better if I had had any of the other math teachers who could actually teach, and I came to my advisor meeting thinking that I was doing so much better with my grades than usual, like I literally had A’s in everything except for math, in which I had an F, and I thought she would ask me about what was happening in math and offer help, like seriously who sees a bunch of A’s and one F and thinks “this student clearly isn’t applying herself” and not “clearly this student needs some help with this one subject,” but no she said “I just don’t know what to do with you. At this rate, you’re not going to get into college.” And I just remember being so upset especially since I went in there without any emotional armor like I would have put up if I actually had really bad grades and was expecting to hear about it, but right that’s another story, so anyway... )

My problems started after I got back from Japan. Before that, while I did still have my moments of depression, especially when dealing with my boyfriend who had his own share of mood problems which tended to be a bit more high key than mine, it was a lot better than it was in high school. I loved my major, I had friends who actually appreciated my presence, and, for the first time in my life, I felt hopeful about the future. I remember when I was taking the bus back to my city after visiting my boyfriend and one of my friends, and I realized that for the first time I just felt like a normal person. I didn’t feel like some weird defective mistake that clearly didn’t belong in this world.

Then I went to Japan. And I fucking loved it, which is why I was so sad to leave. I’m usually a really quiet person, and in order to be outgoing I have to completely turn off my filter, which, I realize, can make me sort of obnoxious. It worked for me at first. I made several friends in different groups so I could have different options and be able to go out with friends more often.

My school only allowed us to study abroad for one semester. So, I had 4 months to do everything I wanted to do there. Like I’m not an energetic person at all, but basically I told myself “I’ll sleep when I’m back in the US, but right now I’m in fucking Japan and I need to do everything.” But basically everyone else was staying for the entire school year, so they weren’t in a rush to do and see things like I was. My no filter self helped me make friends, so I would have different groups to go out and do things with (like I changed my personality so much that when I told one of my dorm mates that I liked to play videogames, she said that I didn’t “seem like the type” who would do that. Like she was genuinely surprised.) Public transportation and the safety of Japan made it easier for me to be more independent than I was in the US. My college was in a small town, so while I was more independent there than at home (where if I so much as opened the front door, my mom would come rushing downstairs wondering where I was going/what I was doing/why was I going outside) I was still basically confined to one or two streets in the area. In Japan, I could just get on the train and go. Plus when you’re a foreigner you sometimes get random people talking to you on the streets and can even meet new people since you stand out. I went out to clubs at least once every weekend, and sometimes even twice (the advantage of having more than one group of friends). I didn’t sleep too much and always wanted to be out doing things since I just didn’t have a lot of time. I met guys, went out on dates and everything, had cultural experiences, and I mostly just didn’t care about any danger because I was in Japan and I basically had no plan after that and had done the one thing I really wanted to do (which was travel to Japan). The attitude was also brought on by me not giving much of shit about my studies because I was so angry and disappointed for not getting a placement in a program in which basically everyone who applied would get accepted. It was especially annoying because it allowed me to get experience in participant-observation while volunteering at a place that interested me, but most people who did the program were just doing it for fun, like there were a lot of various sciencey majors plus at least one math major, and I was just really disappointed. Luckily this attitude I adopted didn’t affect my grades too much, since most of the classes were pretty easy.

So, getting back to the point of all of this, I realize that the real problem was my shitty attitude, and I should have made the most out of my four months and then come back to “the real world,” as my mother put it, and be the same person I was before. Unfortunately, that’s not what happened. I have never been popular before, and having so many people not see my weird defective self was so exhilarating to me. For once I wasn’t the weird quiet girl. For once I could be independent. But then I was back to the small college town, and I wanted to go out and do things, I wanted to go to parties on the weekends. But my friends would mostly stay in and watch movies on the weekends. Like we went to the occasional party or did the usual hang out together and drink thing, but it wasn’t the same. I couldn’t be the same person I had been for the previous four months, and I didn’t take it well.

I had never had the kind of depression where I had brain fog. While I was still depressed in middle and high school, I could still do things like read books or write song lyrics. But brain fog made it impossible for me to get anything done. Like I could read a page and not know anything about what I read. I’d be stuck reading the same sentences over and over. When I hung out with my friends, I could muster up some energy, since I would cling to anything that brought me even a bit of joy, but mostly I just did nothing. I had this tiny room at the back of the house (we were a volunteer house and went to the local animal shelter every week) and I never even unpacked my clothes. Everything was in bags or boxes or in a clothing pile somewhere. I would have dreams of being back in Japan and wake up so disappointed. It was especially upsetting to think about all the people I knew in Japan, since they still were there. I tried checking in on people to see how they were doing, but--as is usual--they didn’t miss me nearly as much as I missed them. And I felt the same way about my friends at college too. I was back to just being tolerated instead of wanted. I always let them have their way and yielded to their decisions and just tried to keep my group of friends but I think a good number of them stopped liking me.

ANYWAY, getting to the point. I got on meds over the summer and felt kind of better. I didn’t having nearly as much brain fog. I was ready to do my IS and graduate, and then things went downhill again. My friends used to automatically include me in things, but now I always had to check in with them to see if they were doing anything. I started my IS, joined a local Pagan group to do my research, and started reading books to use as sources. My IS advisor was my favorite professor, but when I told her that I was having trouble doing everything because of my depression, she said “but you took care of that, right?” Like the meds I was on were supposed to fix everything. I just straight up never went back to her office. I stopped going to classes. I purposely avoided meal times and went to get food at times when most people were in classes. I stopped everything.

I feel like if I had gone to a different school, I might have been able to power through the year and finish my classes. Maybe. Or maybe not. I don’t know. This school truly felt like it was the best option though. They offered me the most money, and I was able to visit and write an essay while I was there to get an even better scholarship. I remember when I was offered a merit scholarship for the first time (for one of the schools I didn’t choose to go to) and I called my dad and told him they were offering me some money. He just thought it would be a few hundred dollars maybe, but when I told him $11,000 he was so surprised and was speechless. Like there was just silence for a few seconds for him to process it. The school I went to offered me $14,000 a year, and the scholarship I applied for and went there to write the essay for, brought the amount up to $18,000 (Sadly, this didn’t even cover half of the yearly tuition). It seemed like the best choice, even if they didn’t offer Japanese, I figured I could still learn on my own, and I didn’t realize that their IS program was so unique. If I had gone to any of the other schools, especially one of the bigger ones, I wonder if I would have made more friends. There would have been much more to do there. And all I would have to do was take classes and not be horribly stressed out by IS. Even if I was depressed toward the end of it, all I had to do was pass. Like even though I got good grades for the first two years, I would just need to pass the classes in the last two years to graduate. I got really off topic here I know. This is mostly just a stream of consciousness thing to get my thoughts out. And putting it here has probably stopped me from going into the kind of depressive rant that I usually go into when I write about my life.

Anyways, I’m not editing this or anything. I meant to write this while letting the Sims 4 load since it takes a while with the 938347283333 mods I have, but I forgot to actually start it, whoops!

tl;dr started writing this post meaning to talk about my college and senior IS, ended up having one of those sitcom clip episodes but in writing.

Also fuck my senior year high school math teacher, holy shit she was horrible at teaching

[harryhooksgazebos267]

Broken Trust~ Part one

A/n: This is going to be a series so be prepared.

Paring: Bang Chan x reader; Mark Tuan x reader(arranged marriage)

Genre: Mafia au, angst, little bit of everything honestly

Warnings: Cursing, mafia life shizzle

MASTLIST

“Y/n for the love of god hurry the fuck up,” Irene yelled banging on your bedroom door. You rolled your eyes as you took one more glance in the mirror, fixing the long red dress you had on.

“You can do this, just breathe,” you whispered to your self, ignoring her shouting. 

“Y/N COME ON,” she screamed pounding on the door harder causing you to roll your eyes.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” you mumbled out swinging the door open.

Irene stood and looked you up and down with one eyebrow raised as she let out a short hum.

“You look.....decent, I suppose. Not something I would wear but we can’t all have a great sense of fashion now can we?” 

“I didn’t even get to pick out the dress Irene and you know that. Can’t you lighten up a bit?”

“Whatever let’s go, your fiancé is waiting for you,” She stated with a fake smile and an obnoxiously happy tone as she began leading you out of your room.

Ah yes, your fiancé. The one and only Mark Tuan. You had been engaged for a few months now and it was far from paradise. You had nothing really against the young man, well other than the fact that he was rather cold to you. He didn’t get the nickname ice prince for no reason. Of course, you understood why he was the way he was. I mean he was raised to be a killer, to be heartless. Of course he was cold to you. It’s not like he even wanted to marry you. Hell, you didn’t want to marry him but what could you do? Your fathers set you up in an arranged marriage and you couldn’t just say no. So now here you were on your way to a party where you were expected to put on a happy face and be a fake image of a happy couple. 

“Were you even listening?” Irene questioned, breaking you out of your thoughts.

“Sorry did you say something?”

“I don’t know why out of all the women Mr. Jinyoung could have set Mark up with, he picked you,” She muttered out.

“Oh what? Was he supposed to pick you?”

Irene just ignored your comment and continued walking making you sigh.

“What were you saying though? I honestly wasn’t listening, sorry.”

“I said that some very important people are going to be at this party so be on your best behavior. It’ll probably be better if you just stay with Mark and don’t move those pretty little lips of yours. Got it?”

You opened your mouth to say something as you began to walk down the large staircase to your front door, but you were cut off by another voice.

“Oh shut up Irene, y/n is very capable of holding conversations with people without starting a war. Let her breathe a little will ya?” 

Looking to the left of the staircase you saw Joy leaning on the railing with a goofy smile on her face. Irene rolled her eyes and with a huff she began to walk faster down the stairs.

“What’s up y/n,” Joy greeted with a smile.

“Hey,” you replied back, returning her smile.

“So are you excited for the party?” Joy eagerly asked you while wiggling her eye brows causing you to give her a confused look.

“Joy....you do know we aren’t going clubbing right? We are about to go to a party filled with old creepy men who are filthy rich that just want to talk about guns and drugs and mafia this, mafia that.”

“Well duh, what else would they talk about? Buuuuuut you’re forgetting one important thing.”

“And what would that be?”

“Hot. Young. Rich. Mafia. Guys.”

Irene and you both gave her the “are you kidding me look” as you reached the bottom of the steps.

“Have you forgotten that I’m engaged?”

“I didn’t forget it I just chose to ignore it.”

You laughed while shaking your head as you followed Irene out of your house, Joy following behind the two of you.

“You know something? The both of you need to loosen up a bit! You’re acting like we’re going to a funeral or something,” Joy joked out.

“We don’t have time for jokes in our line of work,” Irene stated as she got into the limo that was waiting out front to take the three of you to the party.

“But tonight we aren’t working,” Joy argued back.

“Even if we aren’t on a mission, that doesn’t mean we aren’t working. Anything could happen at anytime so we need to be prepared.”

You hummed in agreement. She did have a point, being the daughter of Lee Soo Man had it’s perks but it also had many downfalls. Your life was in constant danger as was everyone around you. You learned that the hard way.

“So, speaking of you being engaged,” Joy started.

“Here we go again,” Irene whispered as she rubbed her head.

“No, you don’t even have to say it. The answer is no,” You firmly respond.

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say!”

“Okay so you weren’t going to ask me to try and get Mark to set you up with Jaebum right?”

“I....no?”

Irene and you both gave her a blank look.

“Alright maybe I was but think about it! Our kids would be gorgeous!”

“The answers no, I could never ask Mark to do that.”

“Why not,” she whined out.

“Because he hates me! How could I possibly ask him to do something like that.”

“No he doesn’t, he practically stares at you with heart eyes.”

“Bullshit.”

“Y/n, you literally could spit on him and he would say thank you.”

“Mark Tuan would say thank you if she spit on him,” Irene questioned with a laugh, “we all know that isn’t true.”

“Sorry Joy, I’m with Irene on this one. He might not hate me but he sure as hell doesn’t like me. He tolerates me. There’s a difference. He’s been cold to me since day one. I mean it’s been, what three months and he barley talks to me. You know damn well if he had it his way he would be back in America, not stuck in Korea engaged to someone he doesn’t love.”

“Just because he isn’t fully open with his feelings doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you, that’s all I’m saying. Plus I’m an expert when it comes to these things so don’t test me.”

“Joy that’s enough,” Irene sighed out but Joy just ignored her and continued on her rant.

“I mean yes the dude doesn’t talk to you but it’s the little things he does. Like remember that one time Seulgi, you, and I were talking while he was reading a book like a nerd and you brought up how you really wanted a heart necklace to match the new dress you had bought and then the very next day you woke up and he gave you one? Try to tell me that isn’t love, that man listens! I mean he might not know how to deal with his feelings, you know? Maybe that’s why he doesn’t talk to you. Or maybe you’re just too blind to notice, I mean you haven’t dated anyone since Chris and you clearly haven’t gotten over what happened so maybe that’s why-”

“I said that’s enough,” Irene barked out, giving her a dirty look.

Joy looked at her confused but soon realized her mistake.

“Y/n, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean....”

“You’re fine, let’s just drop it. I think we’re here anyway.”

Sure enough you finally made it to that party but you could careless. You stared out the window as your eyes began to water. She was right, you hadn’t gotten over him. It had been two years yet you still couldn’t seem to let him go. But you had to. He was gone, he was dead and there was nothing you could do about it. You had to move on.

“Y/n,” Joy cautiously called out.

“I’m fine,” You whispered as you dried the few tears that managed to escape.

“If you need a moment you can go to the bathroom and wash up. I’ll tell Mark that-” Irene started but you cut her off.

“I said I’m fine. Let’s just go and get this over with,” You started as you exited the limo.

Irene and Joy gave each other a look of uncertainty but followed you out. The three of you were greeted by GOT7, one of the sub divisions under the JYP empire. The sub division Mark happened to be in.

“Y/n,” Mark greeted with a slight nod as he took your arm in his. His eyes were stone cold and his face held no emotion at all. 

“Mark,” you replied.

“Hey Jaebum,” Joy slurred out with a playful winking causing Irene to hit the backside of her head.

“Stop flirting and help me find the rest of my girls,” Irene hissed out, grabbing Joys arm and dragging her into the building. All of the boys, except Mark, laughed at the two of them. Mark and you followed after Joy and Irene, not saying another word.

“This should be fun,” You thought to yourself as you entered the building putting on a fake smile.

For the rest of the night, you did basically what Irene had told you to do. You stayed by Marks side and didn’t say a word as he talked to his colleagues. Occasionally the men would pull you into the conversation but it would only last for a minute or two, Mark never being the one to pull you in. He barley even acknowledge your existence. After a few hours of mingling, Mark finally decided to speak to you.

“If you wish to leave I can arrange for a car to take you home.”

However you never got to answer him as the lights suddenly went out. The room began to be filled with panicked screams as Mark pulled you close to his chest.

“Stay calm, I got you,” he whispered in your ear which surprised you. 

After a few more moments the lights came back up as a group of men stood on a table that was set up at at the front of the room. There was eight of them and they all had masks on, covering their faces. After a few seconds, the man who stood in the middle took a slight step forward and slowly lifted his hands to touch the mask. After what seemed like forever the man finally removed his mask and you felt your heart stop in your chest. Everyone was frozen in place.

“What’s wrong? Did you all actually think I was dead?” he questioned with a chuckle as his eyes began to scan the room. 

“What the fuck,” you whispered out. No, no that couldn’t be him, could it?

Your body began to shake as his eye landed on yours, the smirk on his face faltering as his eyes moved from yours to Marks arms, which were still wrapped around you, and then back to your eyes. His smirk returning to his face just as fast as it disappeared. 

“Y/n, we need to leave. Now,” You heard Mark whisper in your ear as he began to pull on your arm. But you couldn’t leave, even if you wanted to. How could you?

Standing on the table was the man everyone thought was dead. It was him. It was Christopher Bang.

Part Two

MASTERLIST

[frostbitten-written]

“Oh, royal library…? Wow… I can imagine that must be extensive… That must have taken you forever to get through… Huh? Wait, you’ve read books from a royal library, yet you would voluntarily read my work?”

"My lengthy lifespan allows me the privilege of working my way through several novels and tomes of various subjects," he nodded. The pretty blush painting her cheeks proved she thought little of herself in relation to such published works. He shook his head in disapproval of her judgment. "Their placement upon those many shelves speaks nothing of their value. That is for the reader to decide. Am I not a man capable of discerning for myself what is worthy of my attention and what is not? Because, little Indie," the edge of his finger hooked underneath her chin to draw her attention back to his warm expression, "I find you very worthy of my sole focus for the foreseeable future."

His hand fell away from underneath her chin to gesture for the bartender to assist them once again. "I assure you that no harm will come to you in my care should you overindulge."

A brief conversation with the young man who approached with a raised brow, and moments later two whiskeys sat before them. A small selection of large bills pressed into the hand of the bartender with an appreciative dip of his chin ended the swift transaction. "To cover both my tab and the lady's. Thank you."

The bewitching little mortal shifted in her seat, bringing her closer to match his assertive stance, although he still towered above her and would continue to do so should she rise to her full height. The size difference compelled him to protect her, this delicate Midgardian whose trust baffled him to no end. Perhaps it was her intoxicated state that made her so comfortable expressing herself. Whatever it was, he enjoyed it immensely.

“Wait, no, that’s not right. Why would I need rescuing from you? You’ve been fine company thus far.” She playfully poked his chest as she admonished him and made eye contact.

In an instant his hand wrapped around her wrist, stilling her hand, swift and secure but gentle so as not to harm her in any capacity. The halting gesture turned into something almost reverent, calloused fingertips gliding over her smooth skin until he cradled her small hand delicately. Slowly he bent over to brush a kiss against her knuckles, an incredibly forward action with his piercing gaze trained on every minute change of her facial expression. "Haven't you heard that I am not to be trusted? God of Mischief, Silvertongue, Liesmith, all signs point to my nefarious motivations for continuing our conversation." He released her from his hold with a fleeting caress of his thumb over the inside of her wrist, straightening to his full height lazily.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, mister. You’re lovely company.” She offered a warm smile, hoping he’d do the same. She’d love to see him with a full grin. With the small smile he’s hiding, she could only imagine how spectacular he’d look teeth and all.

"Of course I am," he winked, "but those who share your sentiment are few and far between. The same compliment can be truthfully applied to yourself, as my evening is all the better for your presence at my side." Almost involuntarily his smile grew in response to her earnestness. A dart of his tongue wet his lips before he covered his mouth with his glass, taking another sip of the liquid fire scorching a path to the twisting thrill of her company making a home for itself in his stomach.

“I’ll admit, I’m not here alone or of my own volition… My friends dragged me out because they wanted me to get drunk and have fun. I’m not normally a club girl, but tonight it paid off.” She cocked her head to the side and raised an eyebrow playfully as she looked at him. “And just to be clear, I’m talking about you. You made tonight worth it.” She watched his facial expression, hoping she wasn’t overstepping any boundaries in her friendly endeavours.

A shout of revelry echoed about the bar, clearly originating from his oaf of a brother surrounded by the other Avengers. At least the display did not precede the destruction of property.

"Your friends are nowhere to be seen," he mused thoughtfully, searching the crowd for anyone who might be unusually interested in their conversation. Finding no one to come whisk his companion away, his grin turned mischievous when directed back to Indie. "You are very clear, I assure you." At least he allowed his eyes to dip down to her chest, taking notice of the cleavage presented to him from her position without any attempt at hiding his interest. "And I hope I am as well."

Another barrage of questions spilled from her mouth and he chuckled, taking another drink of his whiskey to compose his thoughts. One finger straightened from the nearly empty glass to gesture at Thor, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, and Sam Wilson drinking and chatting away with a group of admirers. "Our situations are similar. Thor believed it in my best interest to spend time with the others, to improve team morale or my public persona, but my time was admittedly feeling wasted until fate should bring us together.

"And now that I have interrupted the course of your evening and plied you with liquor a bit beyond your level of tolerance, my plans have shifted from suffering their foolish behavior for the far more pleasant and important task of ensuring your safety. I intend to escort you home, if that is agreeable to you." Sincere concern softened the edges of his cool mask. "It would put me at ease to know that you are safe."

-Loki

(Sorry I took so long to reply! Life happened. So, I may have gotten just as carried away as you; I hope it is satisfactory because I also had a blast replying to you!)

Indie blushed like mad when the edge of Loki’s finger brushed against her skin. His gesture was intimate; it made her breath hitch and her heart still for a moment. He was smooth and she was starting to notice.

“...Because, little Indie," the edge of his finger hooked underneath her chin to draw her attention back to his warm expression, "I find you very worthy of my sole focus for the foreseeable future."

If that line wasn’t a panty-dropper, then she didn’t know what was. She bit back a smile and chose not to comment, accepting his compliment.

"I assure you that no harm will come to you in my care should you overindulge."

“Oh, whiskey,” she purred, tipsy and very pleased. “You’re a fast learner, aren’t you, Lokes?” She mindlessly gave him a nickname before sipping her drink. She had the tendency to give people nicknames, especially when she was drunk. This was only the beginning.

Initially, the way he grabbed her wrist frightened her, and in her inebriated state, her reaction time was slow and useless, but he yet again proved to have pure intentions. The last thing Indie expected from a near-stranger (what the heck, she knew his name) in a bar, was being kissed so tenderly to the knuckles, prince-charming style. How gallant, how romantic and how intimate he was. He was making her feels things she had no business feeling. He was an attractive guy and how she held his attention for so long was beyond her, but she’d enjoy every moment while it lasted.

"Haven't you heard that I am not to be trusted? God of Mischief, Silvertongue, Liesmith, all signs point to my nefarious motivations for continuing our conversation." He released her from his hold with a fleeting caress of his thumb over the inside of her wrist, straightening to his full height lazily.

She whined quietly to herself. Why did she always fall for the bad boys and why were they always so damn attractive and tempting? Besides that, why did he keep saying he was not to be trusted when he’s done nothing but be honest all night? She decided to humour him and play along with his self-deprecating shtick. “Well, I have nothing to lose, Mr Nefarious.” She spat the name sarcastically, hating the stereotypes he was branded with. If she had the permission she would have bapped him on the head plenty of times for speaking ill of himself. She wasn’t drunk enough to do it, but she was getting there.

When he mentioned the Avengers, she was a bit too far gone to filter her words. “Oh right! You’re friends with the Avengers! Hey Loki, next time you see Thor,” she paused, feeling the nerves bubble in her stomach, “can you please tell him to take it easy with the lightning and the thunder?” She shivered and pressed her lips into a frown. “I hate thunderstorms. They’re scary,” she muttered to herself, sounding childlike in her request and complaint.

"And now that I have interrupted the course of your evening and plied you with liquor a bit beyond your level of tolerance, my plans have shifted from suffering their foolish behaviour for the far more pleasant and important task of ensuring your safety. I intend to escort you home if that is agreeable to you." Sincere concern softened the edges of his cool mask. "It would put me at ease to know that you are safe."

She pouted and resisted his efforts to make her go home. “Nooooo,” she whined as she propped her elbow up on the bar counter, her head lazily supported by her hand. “Not yettt,” she complained. “You can be my gallant, tall, dark and handsome hero later, I promise. For now, let’s have fun!” She exclaimed, shooting her arms up in the air and throwing her head back. She giggled before taking her glass in hand and sipping her whiskey. Her eye widened mid-sip when a new song started playing in the club. She managed to down the remainder of her drink in one impressive gulp and jumped off her stool.

“Ah! I love this song! It’s my jam!” She exclaimed and grabbed Loki’s hand, tugging him off his stool too. “Come and dance with meeeeee! Just one song, please? I promise you can play bodyguard and take me home afterwards!” She pulled him onto the dance floor, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks, in her body, in her head and in her soul. She felt loose and free.

Come here, girl. (Go 'head be gone with it)

Come to the back. (Go 'head be gone with it)

VIP. (Go 'head be gone with it)

Drinks on me. (Go 'head be gone with it)

Indie danced like no one was watching. Her heart raced as she danced with her handsome stranger; she’s always wanted to do this: catch the attention of a hot guy, drink with him, get to know him, and dance with him. Loki was like her fucking jackpot and she was revelling in every second of it.

Let me see what you're twerkin' with; (Go 'head be gone with it)

Look at those hips. (Go 'head be gone with it)

You make me smile. (Go 'head be gone with it)

Go 'head child. (Go 'head be gone with it)

She looked up at Loki, mouthing the words, not at all internalising the meaning of the song. She grabbed his hands and placed them on her waist, swaying to the music without a care in the world. She lazily slung her arms around his shoulders, bringing her body close to him. Dancing with him was such a thrill.

And, get your sexy on. (Go 'head be gone with it)

Get your sexy on. (Go 'head, be gone with it)...

- Indie

[i-eat-bread-and-cry-on-the-floor]

y i k e s

@it-fandom-exchange 

Here’s my fic for the IT fandom exchange! This is for Julian, aka @sigmatauris. enjoy!! 

Stenbrough :) 

TW: Mention of suicide attempt 

Stanley pushed a mixtape that Richie made for him into his car stereo. The House That Built Me by Miranda Lambert plays softly on the winding road to Ben Hanscom’s house for a Losers Club sleepover. The fiery sun rolls down the sky, painting a trail of pink on a pastel blue blanket. Barely-visible stars blink, sprinkles across the yellow sky. Stanley unrolled his window to hear the chirping crickets that no one else in all of Derry slowed down to listen to. 

At a stoplight, Stanley took a package of mint gum from the car’s cup holder. He unwrapped the flimsy strip of candy and folded it onto his tongue. Stanley checked his rear view mirror, keeping an eye on the full moon as it approached him. He was a good driver. He picked up the skill the day he got behind the wheel. He kept a rigid posture, hyper-aware every time a green light would flick on, gripping the wheel with both hands. 

On the other hand, Stan Uris’s best friend, Richie Tozier, was the exact opposite. Stan always made fun of him before they turned fifteen. (“I’m terrified to see you behind the wheel, Trashmouth, there’s gonna be a lot of lives lost!”) He’d joke. The two loved to joke. Richie and Stanley shot rebuttal after rebuttal, teasing each other whenever possible. In their teenage years of mood swings and raging testosterone, the reckless kids loved poking fun at one another. Their shield of an ego would protect them from such “love-filled” words. Stanley’s ego though, slowly crumbled, and his confidence too. He had to build a shield—a wall—out of something else. 

The Miranda Lambert song ended as Vienna by Billy Joel began. A smirk appeared on the lone driver’s face as the opening piano blinked through the speaker. 

“Slow down you crazy child. You’re so ambitious for a juvenile…” He hummed, moving his head to the rhythm. Not quite bopping or swaying, but a healthy middle ground, “Why are you still so afraid? Hmm…” 

Stanley let the crinkling piano and gentle vocals set around him as he subconsciously drove slower, reaching the Hanscoms’ neighborhood. He twisted the steering wheel, to prolong his drive. Stanley hated to stop in the middle of a song. Especially such a masterpiece as Vienna. His tires grazed the road until the song finished. He found his way to Ben’s house, nearing the song’s end. The same crinkling piano that opened the melody also closed it, prompting Stan to turn off the engine.

He noticed Barn Boy Mike Hanlon’s truck, similar to Richie’s pick-up in the driveway. He thought about Mike. He never understood the boy. Stan couldn’t resist rolling his eyes or making some passive aggressive comments sometimes, but Mike kept silent for minutes and more at a time. He reclined in the comfort of seeing his friends smile or share banter. Mike would blush under his dark skin at the sound of their laughter. Sometimes, Stan thought Mike Hanlon knew more about any of the Losers than the rest of them did. Other times, he prayed he didn’t. 

Stanley saw Beverly Marsh’s beat-up wagon of a car too. He got out of his car and went to examine the rusty thing. Beverly drove well. Her reflexes never failed her; she knew the moves of every driver around her; and she had the second most driving experience of the group, (first being Bill.) The thing was that she inherited the car from her dad after he stopped driving. The alcoholic got his license confiscated and left his car to Daddy’s Little Girl. Stanley bent to see a broken windshield wiper and examine the chipped paint. 

He assumed Eddie may already have arrived since the boy hated driving and lived within walking distance of Ben’s anyway. He finally decided to find out, hoping from Beverely’s car to the steps up to Ben’s front door. He knocked three times and stepped back, flexing up and down on his toes. Excitement ran through his veins whenever the Losers were about to meet up. 

“Hey!” Ben’s bright grin lifted his cheekbones. Ben was a chubby kid, but way more handsome than most of the fit kids at school. His hair always fell into the perfect place unlike anyone in the Bowers Gang. His eyes shone with gratitude. He looked like someone who should be in a toothpaste commercial, where at the end a little sparkle effect was added to his smile. 

“Ben, hey!” Stanley smiled back at his friend. Richie and Beverly both called Ben Hanscom “Ben Handsome” at some point behind his back. Beverly always loved plays on words. Ben once wrote Beverly a sloppy haiku entitled “January Embers.” Richie was the first person Beverly told about her crush on the golden-hearted boy, over a few cigarettes, a good month after the one-hit-wonder wrote: 

Your hair is winter fire 

January Embers 

My Heart burns there too

Their stuttering friend, Bill Denbrough, loved words as well. He wrote a lot in journals no one dared to read. Pencils don’t stutter, so when he wasn’t around the Losers, he built pages upon pages of expression. Bill had it bad for Beverly, but Ben Handsome got the girl first. Stan hated himself for being glad about it. 

Stan peaked inside, hearing a movie, some arguing, and bubbly laughter. 

“Come on in!” Ben pulled him inside. We’re watching Back to The Future. Kind of…” he trailed off, leading him to the living room. 

“All I’m saying is,” Eddie stubbornly argued, with sharp hand gestures to prove his point, “You can’t not have a backstory for a friendship! How the hell did Marty McFly and this stupid scientist guy meet? They clearly didn’t meet at school! Doc isn’t Marty’s dad or grandfather! You can’t just give us nothing!” Eddie stuck to his strict opinions on things.

“Eddie, it’s just a movie!” Beverly chuckled, crunching down on some popcorn. “Calm down.” 

Mike rolled his eyes with the widest grin on his face. As the rest of the Losers Club barely tolerated Eddie’s hard opinions, Mike enjoyed the supervised chaos. 

“That’s what I’m saying! It’s a shit movie!” Eddie leaned back on a dark blue pillow, against a white couch. 

“Woah, woah, we don’t talk shit about Back to The Future!” Stanley spoke up as he entered the living room. Ben smiled. 

“Maybe you don’t,” he shrugged, “I think the movie is trash!” he complained. 

“I’ve got an idea,” Beverly snatched the remote from the table and turned the TV off, earning three groans and one silent ‘thank you’ from her friends, “Who wants to play truth or dare?” Those groans were replaced with cheers. 

“Are we gonna wait for Richie and B-B-Bill?” Stan mocked Bill Denbrough’s stutter. He was only allowed to do so because they’ve been best friends since practically birth. He fumbled with the sleeve of his hoodie, sitting next to Eddie Kaspbrak. His lanky frame reclined against the leather piece of furniture. 

“I guess,” Ben shrugged, “I’ll download a truth or dare app in the meantime.” 

“We’re using an app?” Stanley laughed. 

Eddie jumped at his opportunity to insult his friend, “Well, you couldn’t use your brain. We all know the saying ‘can’t use what you don’t have.’” 

“That was a trash comeback,” Stan commented, fumbling with his Star of David necklace. He admired Eddie’s unwillingness to not chime in. 

“You’re a trash comeback!” the boy crossed his arms with raised eyebrows. 

Stanley furrowed his eyebrows, “What?” 

“FBI, open up!” Richie boomed, kicking at the door.

“We brought s-s-snacks!” Bill’s soft normal-pitched, stuttering voice chimed in. 

Ben marched to the door to welcome the conclusion of the group inside, “Hi!” Ben made way for the two, brushing his blond bangs from his eyes. 

“What’s up, Losers?” Richie stepped inside, pacing to the usual meeting spot; Ben’s living room. He dropped a shopping bag of snacks near the couch as the Losers crowded around it like starved wolves in a pack. Really, that’s what they were; a pack. 

“We were just about to play some truth or dare,” Mike informed, “For recap, Eddie’s been bashing on every little detail of Back to The Future and Stanley is a trash comeback.” 

“That doesn’t even make sense.” Stanley scoffed. 

“He’s also in love with Bill,” Mike added, making Stanley’s eyes go wide. “What are your sources? Aren’t you supposed to be the smart one?” This was one of those moments he severely hoped Mike didn’t know Stanley more than he knew himself. Truly, Stan didn’t know himself at all. He lost it somewhere in his mind and figured he may find it later. Perhaps, like an innovator digging through a dumpster, trying to find parts and pieces, he’d create something; bring it to life one day. 

“You’re the Jewish one,” Richie poked Stanley’s shoulder. “Aren’t you supposed to be, like, mad intelligent?” 

“Just mad.” Stan rolled his eyes. 

The one thing he knew for sure about himself was that he had his secret which was the fact that Mr. Uris had no interest in women. He liked Bill as more than a friend since they were fourteen years old. The Losers were sixteen and seventeen now and he couldn’t kill the butterflies in his stomach when Stuttering Bill’s lips curled into a smile. 

“The app’s downloaded if you guys are ready to play,” Ben held up his phone, showcasing the title screen of the application. 

“I’m ready!” Beverly excitedly raised her hand. 

“Me t-too,” Bill’s gentle voice followed Bev’s sharp one. The rest of the group ad-libbed ‘yes’s and ‘ready’s. 

Ben has a very nice house. Marble floors matching the marble island in his kitchen, a nice white couch with navy pillows to go with the white walls, accented with dark blue trim. He had a wood-and-glass coffee table too, separating the couch and the TV. It was comfy. 

Ben shooed everyone into the office, closed away from the living room with white french doors. There was a desk in the back of the room and shelves with books and comics and journals, displayed along the walls. The well-lit room had a shaggy carpet on top of the cold floor.

The Losers gradually made their way into a circle. Counter-clockwise, starting by the back of the room was Ben, then Beverly, then Eddie, then Richie, then Stan, then Bill, then Mike, then back to Ben. 

“Alright,” Ben started, looking at Beverly, “Miss Marsh, Truth or Dare?” 

“Dare!” her eyes glowed. The brave girl, far more chivalrous than any of the “men” in the room, loved adventures and thrills. Stanley insisted they call him a ‘man’ because of his bar mitzvah that barely happened. Bill and Mike were the real men of the house, but they both tied with Beverly even at that. The ‘dare’ part of truth or dare was a piece of cake.

Ben clicked the ‘dare’ button, “I dare you to put ice cubes down your shirt and leave them there until they melt,” he read with an amused expression. 

“Son of a bitch,” Beverly heaved herself up, the key on her necklace jingling. She opened the door, “How many should I get?” 

“Just grab a cup and we’ll see what happens,” Ben answered, offering a smile toward her, picking at the fabric of his hoodie. Beverly nodded and went off. 

“A whole cup?” Eddie’s eyes went wide. 

“Yes sir,” Ben nodded. Ben was not at all the evil type, even in truth or dare. The Losers dubbed him the ‘sweetheart.’ As long as everyone was safe and comfortable though, he enjoyed a bit of excitement, just like Mike did. Mike supervised all the shenanigans the group got into. Unlike him, Ben had no control over what happened. He liked to dip his toes into the pool of chaos nonetheless. 

Beverly arrived back, a full cup, shaking with ice cubes. She smiled and held one of the frozen squares to showcase it for the group, “There’s at least fifteen in here.” 

The Losers waited in anticipation and Beverly sighed. Her overalls would certainly keep the cubes in place. She slid the ice down the back of her shirt with a wince, “One.” 

She counted out the rest, managing to keep her breathing steady as the sharp temperature nipped at her back. 

“N-No one a-asked you to do a-a-all sixteen,” Bill reminded, an amused grin on his face. 

“That was the dare!” She shivered. 

“Actually,” Ben took a sharp inhale and showed the phone screen, “It never specified how many. It said ‘ice cubes’ in the plural, but could have just been referring to two.” This was a time that Beverly was not so much a fan of words. 

The red-headed Beverly deadpanned Bill and flipped him off. She had gorgeous red hair that used to hug her neck, but after cutting it short, it curled into the air around her as a pixie style. The only similarity was the color which matched the freckles sprinkled about her face and arms. 

“Why b-be mad at me? B-B-Ben’s the one who m-mmm-made you get a full cuh-cup!” Bill giggled, playing as if he were ‘oh, so offended.’ 

“I’m in so much discomfort,” she squirmed as she sat down, the ice numbing her lower back, “Okay, Eddie, truth or dare?” Ben passed on the phone after hitting ‘dare complete.’ Beverly earned one point for her troubles. 

“Truth,” he answered. 

“Pussy!” Richie taunted, “Just kidding, I love you, you fucking pussy-ass-coward.” Eddie huffed and looked to Beverly who now had Ben’s phone. 

“Who, out of the people in this room, is your least favorite?” she read with a smirk and curious eyes. 

“Richie,” he answered without a hesitation, making a grab for the phone. 

“Bitch, please, we all know you guys are gay for each other,” Stan called, receiving an exasperated blush from Eddie and a cackle from Richie. 

“That’s not true! I fucking hate him and his stupid face!” Eddie covered. 

Beverly kept the phone hostage, “I’ve got a better truth: Who do you have a crush on Eddie?” her direct eye contact intimidated the asthmatic. 

“I already answered a question!” he made another attempt for the phone, “That’s how the game works, you get one truth per turn!” 

“Nah-ah!” She pointed, “Come on…” 

“Richie’s, like, worse than Stan!” Eddie defended himself, “I wouldn’t date him if my life depended on it.” 

Ouch. Stanley thought, but found comfort in being on a higher ranking than Tozier. 

“Oh come on, I’m not so terrible!” Richie reasoned. “Are you saying you’d rather date Stan the Man Uris than this?” he posed, puckering his lips. 

“Gross, Rich.” Eddie’s nose turned up in disgust. “I’m not dating either of you.” he crossed his arms.

“Beep, beep, b-b-both of y-yyy-you.” Bill brushed his shoulder against Stanley. Something about it seemed non-accidental. 

“Richie, Truth or Dare?” Eddie turned to him. 

“I’m not on speaking terms with you,” Richie crossed his arms. 

“Oh, come on, I was kidding!” he admired Richie’s attempt to not burst into giggles. Eddie sighed and kissed Richie’s cheek, whispering a ‘no homo’ which received a wolf-whistle from Mike. “Truth or dare, you stupid bitch.” He took out a bottle of hand sanitizer from his fanny pack and applied it like a chapstick. 

“Dare,” the flustered and confused boy stated. 

Eddie took a second to click on the ‘dare’ button and read the task, “Ew, this one’s gross, I’m not reading it.” 

“What?” Richie whined. “I bet it’s fine!” he strived to take the phone. 

“You’re not licking the fucking floor, Richie.” Eddie snatched the phone away from Richie’s reach.

“Gross!” Beverly made vomiting noises. “Was that the dare?” she asked, earning a wrinkled nose and a nod from Eddie.

“Um?” Bill’s eyebrows furrowed, “Is n-no one paying at-t-tention to that k-kiss?”

“Just let ‘em do their thing,” Stan looked at Bill, wishing he could do the same to the blue-eyed boy. He’d imagined kissing Bill. He’d imagined holding his hand, cuddling, going on dates, pursuing a relationship, dancing, anything.  

“I f-fucking knew it!” Bill celebrated. Stanley couldn’t help but blush at the gleam in his crush’s eyes.

“It’s okay, guys, he said ‘no homo,’” Richie put his hands up in innocence. He thought for a second about the dare. “I’ll lick the floor though.” he shrugged.

“I can’t believe I’d rather watch you--” Eddie read off a new dare, “--Twerking for 60 seconds to a song of the group’s choosing.” 

“Please for the love of God do Please Don’t Go Girl!” Ben cackled, having the song stuck in his head all day.

“No!” Bev whined, “Babe, that’s our song! I don’t want to be dancing with you one night and end up thinking of Richie’s ass.” 

Stanley could only be jealous. Not because he wanted to dance with Beverly or Ben, but because he wanted someone to dance with. He looked over at his crush, envisioning Bill’s hands on Stanley’s hips and Stanley’s on Bill’s shoulders. 

“You’re right, you’re very right.” Ben nodded. “I vote You Got It then.” 

“Ben, no one wants to twerk to your New Kids in The Block trash.” Richie urged, pushing his glasses higher onto his nose. 

Ben pouted, whispering a correction, “It’s On The Block. Not In.”

“Whatever.” Richie said. “Can I please do Crazy Frog?” 

“Why don’t we pick something nice like Frank Sinatra?” Mike suggested ignoring Richie’s proposal. 

“Crazy Frog it is!” Eddie decided, cueing up music on his own phone. 

Beverly bopped her head, trying to hype Eddie into doing the same next to her. He just laughed along with her refusing to dance. Mike made another wolf-whistle as Richie twerked--poorly. Bill pretended to slide dollar bills off his hands at Richie. “Yeah! That’s my be-be-best f-friend!” He cheered.

Stanley admired how Bill encouraged him, even while doing a terrible job. He wouldn’t dare to be brave like Richie, but he hoped that if he was, Bill would be just as proud. Maybe even wear the same goofy smile. 

At the one minute mark, Eddie paused the music. “Who else is mentally scarred from that?” Five loser-hands all shot into the air. 

“Fuck you, fuck all of you.” Richie sat as the crowd booed him offstage. He failed to refrain from laughing. “Stanley, your turn.” he nudged him once Eddie handed him the phone. “Truth or dare?” 

He glanced in Bill’s direction, but decided not to fully look at Bill. “Dare.” he swallowed. 

“Ooh, unexpected!” Beverly grinned, spinning around to lay on her stomach. She put her elbows on the floor and her chin in her hands to observe. 

“Oh-ho-ho, you ain’t gonna believe this one, laddie!” Richie plastered an Australian, maybe slightly pirate-ish accent. “Feast yer eyes!” he shoved the screen in Stanley’s face causing the boy to squint and retract his head.

“Could you maybe like…” he brought the phone to a distance he could see. “What’s it s-ss-say?” Bill asked him. 

“Let the group go through your phone, sixty seconds each.” Stanley recited the line. “Easy, I guess, yeah.” he nodded. Off the top of his head, he couldn’t think of any embarrassing text messages or photos. Stanley was a clean kid. “Did you wanna go first?” he handed it off to Richie, “We can just go clockwise?” 

“You got it, chap!” Richie took the phone, “Which one of ye rascals’ll set up a time ticker for the gang?” he looked up. 

Mike pulled out his phone and went to the timer app, “I've got it. One minute is on the clock… and…” He glanced up to each member of the group. Everyone leaned forward in anticipation, “Go!” he initiated. 

“I’m going to the messages!” Richie declared and scrolled. The room erupted in instructions and suggestions, “Let’s see what Stanley is talking about with his dad…” Richie read a few messages out loud about handing in homework and test grades. He was doing relatively well in school, earning a congrats and a high five from Mike, across Bill’s torso. They studied sometimes together and both aced an English test no one else passed. 

Richie got bored of reminders about school and his dad asking about Torahs that would always go missing from Rabbi Uris’s office. (“Dad, why in the name of Baruch Atah Adonai would I take six Torahs and keep it a secret?”) He went to messages between him and Mike. “Why were you and Mike sending memes back and forth at three a.m.?”

“As opposed to nudes? No, thanks man.” Stan tilted his head. 

“I bet I’ll find some, somewhere here.” Richie laughed, reading three funny memes out loud before the timer rang. 

“Pass it on!” Eddie held out his hand. Eddie looked at the rest of the memes, saying most of them outloud. Laughter roared from the group. 

After Eddie spent his whole turn looking at Mike and Stan’s meme collection and Stanley calmed down a bit, he passed the phone to Beverly who passed it onto Ben. Ben passed on to Mike and Mike passed on to Bill. Stanley was almost completely calm by now. He was laughing along with the group. They made fun of Ben for sending Stanley drafts of poems that he wanted his friend to review before giving Beverly.

He had very little anxiety about them finding something personal since none of them yet came across something bad. He was just almost home free. 

“I’m guh-guh-guh-going into your sss-search histor-r-ry,” Bill declared. 

Richie cackled, “Why didn’t I think about that?” he huffed. Stanley’s eyes went wide, “What? No, that’s gotta be, like, illegal!” he reasoned. He was terrified of being outed. He knew he’d been doing research in the past week about if being gay was actually a bad thing. Gay quizzes, gay research, gay history, why gay? 

His mind raced: What if they hate me? What if they don’t want me around anymore? He loved being a loser because “you had nothing to lose” but he did. If he lost the losers, he truly did have nothing left but himself. That’s the thing he hated most. 

“So, you’re hi-hiding s-ss-s-something then?” he teased, looking to Bill to start the timer. 

“What would I be hiding?” Stan asked, before quickly adding: “Bill, don’t you dare, I’m actually begging you,” he could hear his heart pounding in his throat. What if Bill came across something terribly worse than Stanley imagined? The feeling sank in his stomach as his heart rose into his throat. 

“And I’m a-a-a-actually going into y-your ss-s-search history,” Bill rebutted, “Hey, if I f-f-find your wwweird p-porn, I won’t say it ah-ah-out loud.” The group laughed. Stan chuckled as his heart sank a little deeper, because he knew it would be far from pornography. 

“Fuck you, man,” Stan flipped him off

“F-fuck you!” Bill’s face scrunched up. 

“Sorry, I’m too busy fucking your mom!” Richie chimed in. He watched Eddie and Stan roll their eyes in unison. He saw Bill’s blue brown irises glowing almost white with the light of the phone.

“I w-w-won’t go into yyy-your search histor-r-y,” Bill bluffed. “Start the t-t-timer.” 

“Thanks.” 

“It just makes us all the more curious, Stanley,” Mike reminded him. He raised his eyebrow. Stanley did not like that gesture. 

“Yeah, well,” Stan brushed it off, looking at Bill. 

“Three, two, one!” Mike began the timer, officially. 

Bill typed his way into Stan’s history to silently be met with a few things. Stan glanced down at the phone. 

“Billiam, you bitch!” he reached for the phone. Bill deflected this turning his arm away. Stanley lunged at him but the boy dodged and stood up, reading out some searches, “From last night: Lots uh-uh-of reddit… Some songs… l-lll-lyrics… F-facebook… That’s a lot of s-s-swear words in Heb-b-brew.” his eyes widened.

“Stan, please!” Bill whisper-begged, an itching at his lungs brewed up. 

The Losers snickered along, all oblivious. Richie chanted “Fight! Fight! Fight!” as Stanley got on top of him to wrestle the phone away. 

“Bill,” Mike warned. He hated to see Stanley so panicked and used a stern voice, “Billy, hang on, I don’t think you should…” 

“H-how to t-t-tie a tie?” (“Stan you can’t tie a tie?”) Richie taunted Stanley from inches away. Bill was barely focused on the words, just Stan’s priceless yet genuinely desperate reactions.

“What is-” Bill’s voice shut down for a good second. He looked at Stanley’s, coughing once, then a few more times, almost clearly stalling. Can you overdose on melatonin? How many milligrams of melatonin can the brain handle? What is the suicide hotline number? Followed by other related searches to pull the tears from one's eyes and drain the color from one's face. They met eye contact, exchanging a thousand words before Beverly said,

“Bill? What is it?” she leaned forward, now more concerned than gossipy.

“I-I sh-shh-shhh-shouldn’t,” Bill turned Stanley’s phone off and returned it to him. He sighed. This brought some brief attention to the distressed boy. Stan’s throat tensed as if he were on the brink of vomiting. Gravity seemed to pull his chest together, tightening and tightening and tighter, and he was almost sure he’d close into himself if it continued. 

“What?” Eddie eyebrows furrowed, “What was on there?” he leaned his chin out at Stanley, the curiosity burning him up like one of the Bev’s cigarettes. 

Stanley put his hands up like a robber who’d just been caught with a bad, bad crime. As if a pack of police officers surrounding him all had guns, pointing shiny red lights at his vulnerable, unprotected chest. A light-headedness pressured him and his blood ran cold--Cold enough to re-freeze the ice in Beverly’s shirt.

“Bill?” Beverly sat upright, no longer relaxed on the floor, prompting his name, more as a search for a solution than a question. 

“I sh-shh-shouldn’t s-sa-say.” Bill stammered, much to Stanley’s delight. “P-p-per-per-p-personal.” 

The guns were still up, but this time, Bill was his bulletproof vest. Granted, he never tried on such a shield before, so he wasn’t sure how good it’d work, but he had something. 

“Is it something we should worry about?” Richie looked from Stan to Bill, indecisively. “Give us something, guys.”

Stanley shook his head with an instant, “No,” he answered, “Just personal.” 

Mike nodded, “And we respect that. Right guys?” he asked the group, as a pleasant reminder to lower their firearms and let the guilty man free.

Stanley gave both Mike and Bill separate thankful expressions. 

After a good minute of calming down, Bill still had the remains of thoughts flowing through his mind. Can you overdose on melatonin? What is the suicide hotline number? Can you overdose on melatonin? What is the suicide hotline number?

The group continued. Ben spilled the beans on how long it took for him to write January Embers and Bev gushed over him for the rest of the night. (“Babe, you spent a whole hour on seventeen syllables? That’s so cute!”) 

Bill tapped his nails on the floor. Stanley watched his anxious hand. “I’ll be right back,” Stanley stood up, “I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” he was met with a few nods and ‘ok’s. He had been dared to chug a whole can of soda in one gulp so no one blamed him. After Stanley shut the office door, Bill propped up. 

“I’m gonna be right back too,” he got up and followed. Stanley turned around at hearing the door open. He typically would feel butterflies in his stomach and blush in Bill’s presence, but after Stanley’s dare, he couldn’t think of a person he wanted to see less. 

“Hi,” he waved, “What’s up?” he walked toward the bathroom, Bill following. 

“C-can we t-t-t-talk?” Bill proposed, searching Stanley’s posture for any clues of expression. Stan turned around to face him, making the job easier. 

“Sure…” he prayed it wouldn’t be about the searches, but he knew, somehow, that he’d run out of luck for the day, “About…?” 

“I’m s-s-sss-sorry for still guh-guh-going into your hi-h-h-hi-history when you were c-c-clearly upset ab-b-b-bout it,” he started, looking between Stanley’s right and left eye, unsure of which one to make eye contact with. “I d-d-didn’t think i-i-i-i-it’d be that ssss-s-serious, I juh-juh-juh-just thought th-that…” he searched for words he didn’t prepare before hand, “Well, I d-d-don’t know wuh-wuh-what I thought b-but I just d-d-d-didn’t really c-consider how you f-fe-fe-felt and I’m sorry.” 

“Stanley, it’s okay, it’s a game as far as everyone knows, right?” Stanley touched his shoulder. Bill was stressed to say the least. Thin balloons clustered in his mind, all filling up with helium and popping loudly at different times. All the colors of this loud, wild rainbow. He needed answers he was too scared to ask for. 

“I’m- Is th-th-th-there- D-d-d-do you really fff-f-fe-feel like you wuh-want to d-d-d-d…?” it took a good ten seconds of ‘d-d-d’ before Stanley realized he wouldn’t be able to finish. 

“I got help,” Stan cut him off, “It means the world that you care, but I promise I’ll be okay.” Bill shook his head. That just wouldn’t do. 

“F-f-from whom?” the boy demanded. 

“Uh- you know, just- people. You know?” he stammered. At least he wasn’t worse than Bill at this point.

“Th-that’s a l-lll-lie,” Bill pointed out, “St-Sta-Stanley, have you t-t-told your p-p-p-parents about this? You c-c-c-can’t- You have to g-guh-get help. A-actual help, like p-p-profff-fessional shit or m-mmm-m-medicine,” Bill told him. It was not a suggestion, but a fact.

“No, I don’t,” the words rolled off of Stanley’s tongue, with perfect diction, “I can just… promise real hard to be safe?” he suggested. “I wouldn’t break a promise to you.” he shook his head, tapping the scar on his hand from their blood oath. 

“Stan, p-p-please,” Bill decided on Stanley’s left eye to stare at, “You’ve guh-guh-got to t-t-tell your p-parents, or- or I will,” he threatened. 

Stanley shook his head, “Bill, for the love of God. Literal God. Please keep this a secret,” he begged him, his anxiety spiking once again. 

“We ca-ca-can’t keep this a sss-s-secret.” he spoke, slowly and calmly, though Bill Denbrough was anything but that. 

“Please, Bill!” he reasoned, “I’ll actually do anything at all. I swear. I don’t want my parents to worry. I don’t want them to know everything and then never leave me alone about it.” He breathed. “I don’t want them to treat me differently or treat me like I can’t be alone!” 

“I’m nnn-n-not taking no for an answer on this wuh-wuh-one,” Bill decided. Every plea Stanley made only pushed Bill to give in, but he knew better. The two of them were tense. Anxiety sparked between the two of them when all Stanley wanted was a spark of love, not tragedy. Each word tasted like gasoline. Stanley had a lighter. He could easily mix the two. 

“I’ll work on it on my own!” he put his pinky out, “I promise! I really promise. I swear, Bill. I swear on my life.” They shared a collective thought. “I swear on your life. I can do it on my own!” 

“Stan,” his tone lowered as something clicked in his mind, “You don’t have to do it on your own,” he abandoned his coercive method instead, and approached gently, “I ha-ha-have no idea what I would do if- if maybe one day I woke up and you didn’t. Or what if… I missed my chance to say that I really appreciate you. Or if I never got to go to the quarry with you. Or give you another hug. Or tell you all the- a-a-a-all th-thh-” he huffed as his stutter made an ugly return. 

“Bill, I promise, I’m okay, I promise,” Stanley repeated for him. He heard laughter from the group, but the joy from the closed off room did not seem to reach either of the teens. 

“N-n-no, juh-just-” He took a deep breath. “I n-need-” Another breath. A breath so clear and refreshing that Eddie Kaspbrak would be jealous. “Stanley, I need you to know that I love you. That… not just friendship. I guess. Like the real, romantic, I want to be near you all the time. I want to make you smile and I want to dance with you and take away all your pain until I can just see you smile, type of love. I want to write you poems like Ben does for Beverly. And even if that never happens, I don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t know it.” Bill stared at Stanley, almost frozen. He couldn’t find it in him to move or speak to him. He listened. 

Stanley had been hit with something he never experienced before. His stomach turned and his mind fuzzed; those butterflies were back. His eyebrows furrowed, lip jaw just barely dropped, which turned into a smile. Time passed too quickly and he knew he was wasting time, standing still. 

“I- wow,” he raised his eyebrows. “Bill, can I give you a dare?” he swallowed, as Bill nodded. 

“I dare you to kiss me and then hug me for a really long time.” Stanley grinned.

Without hesitation, Bill slinked his hand onto Stanley’s jaw and collided his lips chapped with Stanley’s soft ones. Stan imagined if Mike saw, he’d do another one of his famous wolf-whistles. 

Stanley pulled away and smiled, “I feel the same way you do,” he whispered as Bill pulled him in again--not for a kiss, but for the promised hug, “I have for a while.” 

“Wuh-wuh-will you b-be my b-b-buh-buh-buh-boyf-friend?” Bill asked as his face lit up, unable to contain his excitement. The butterflies in his stomach were replaced with fireworks and a grin permanently planted on his face. 

Stanley hugged him tighter, burying his forehead in Bill’s neck. “Fuck yeah.”

Bill closed his eyes. He caressed Stanley’s back, exhaling a sigh of relief. He kissed Stanley’s head, not exactly aiming for a cheek or his temple, but just as his head was leaned on Bill’s shoulder. Bill rested his chin on Stanley’s shoulder. 

“C-c-cool,” a smile crept onto Bill’s face.

The sun had completely rolled down the sky, leaving a black blanket with silver, glittering dots and a big round moon that he could see from the window. For the first time in a while, the butterflies visited when Stan thought about staying alive. He reached for Bill’s hand hesitantly and cracked a slow grin. Bill looked at him and smiled, squeezing his hand back. Stanley searches his brain for the right words. He ended up whispering, “I appreciate you to an incredible extent.” 

Bill blushed and replied with, “I love you, too”

“I-” Stan’s face heated up at his inability to properly piece together the three fast words. He giggled and nodded.

Bill gazed at him, “D-d-don’t forget it,” he squeezed Stanley’s hand gently. “O-o-okay?” 

“I won’t. Same to you.” Stanley squeezed Bill’s hand in return with a proud smile. 

“Stan, y-y-you know we sss-s-still have to t-t-tell someone.” Bill raised his eyebrow, watching Stanley’s face fall to consideration. 

Stan almost wanted to protest. ‘No, we don’t.’ or ‘I told you, didn’t I?’ or ‘Why?’ or ‘Just give it a week on my own and we’ll figure it out after that.’ he thought about saying. Instead he looked at Bill’s face, longing for closure.

“I know.” he sighed. “Come over tomorrow and we can talk about details and all that, I guess?” he scratched the back of his neck. 

“I’ll b-b-be there.” Bill nodded, “I’m proud of y-you.” 

Stanley beamed, kissing Bill’s cheek again. Bill copied him, kissing Stanley’s cheek. Stanley’s face heated up, blossoming like bright red roses. He went to kiss Bill’s cheek again, but Bill matched his lips to Stanley’s and they shared a kiss. Stanley was exhilarated; overwhelmed with what he’d wanted for years. 

Richie stepped outside to check on the two, “Hey, what’s taking you so lo- oh.” The two pulled away from each other. “Reminds me of myself and Eddie’s mother last night.” 

“I am going to end your fucking life, Richie.” Stanley threatened. 

Richie put his hands up in innocence, “Just saying!” he went back into the office. Even through the closed doors, the couple heard: “Don’t bother them kids.” Richie’s Brooklyn accent “They’s suckin’ face and Eds here owes me five Washingtons.” 

Stanley and Bill chuckled. Stan smoothly put one more kiss on Bill’s cheek before, leading him back to the office. Their hands never unclasped. Stanley looked over to him as Bill opened the doors. The attention turned to the two. 

“Were you two actually kissing?” Eddie dropped his attention from his conversation with other Losers. “Cause I’m not paying Richie five dollars.” 

“Are you kidding? Denbrough was practically getting laid out there!” Richie answered, receiving five voices of laughter and one Jewish glare. (“Beep, beep, Richie.” “You g-g-guys put buh-buh-bets on us?”)

“Not getting laid, however, was getting a boyfriend,” Stanley corrected.

“Doubt it,” Eddie challenged, shrugging. “Not paying.” he shook his stubborn head. 

Bill glanced at Stanley, then kissed him on the lips for proof, catching the boy off guard. Stan almost fell over, before holding Bill’s waist and kissing back. “Whatttt!”s and “Woah!”s and Mike’s wolf whistle filled their office space. The two separated, grinning, sitting down in their original places. 

Mike looked at the two with an expression that could only be described as ‘I knew it.’ Eddie looked over at a smirking Richie. He knew as well. 

“I’m happy for you guys,” Ben smiled at the two. 

“Me too,” Beverly’s eyes shone with pride. 

“Th-th-thanks,” Bill answered for them with a smile, noticing Beverly and Ben holding hands. He whispered to Stanley, “C-c-come cuddle, let’s be a c-cuter cuh-cuh-couple then them.” 

Stanley giggled, leaning his head on Bill’s shoulder. “Thank you so much by the way.” he said, not exactly paying attention to the other Losers’ words. “You’re the best, Bill.”

[dkettchen]

Today we’re having our first Ally Book Club! This fortnight we watched Disclosure (2020), the new documentary about trans representation in Hollywood starring Laverne Cox, among many others.

I’ll ask you all to focus primarily on the black trans representation discussed (and other links between how trans/gender diverse people as well as black people were othered since the dawn of cinema f.e.) rather than the trans aspects primarily, as we are focused on black lives matter and anti-racism at the moment. (And also cause I’m trans and nonbinary and I had a lot of feelings abt that whole aspect of it and this is not the place to discuss that (this is for allyship only and I will not be an educator about my own stuff today), I already made a post about that if any fellow nonbinaries would like to go vent about it over there lol) However if you are cis and would also like to share some trans stuff you learnt, you are welcome to ;)

This post is a space to share what you learnt from the media we watch, stuff it’s made you think about, and any progress you feel you’ve made in your own personal allyship journey following it. 

It is meant to be a positive space for allies to support each other in their learning, so trolling, harassment, hate/discriminatory behaviour (related to our subject’s group(s) or otherwise) or shaming will not be tolerated. (Read: I am not afraid to ban anyone from my blog who doesn’t follow these rules)  This doesn’t mean you can’t discuss the demons and biases you’re fighting with on this journey, it merely means ‘don’t be a dick about it.’ I know it’s the internet, but there’s other ppl with feelings and deserving of empathy behind those screennames and this is an exercise in empathy to begin with, so be a decent human being, please. (This also goes for the defenders of the innocent out there, there’s two sides to any argument gotten out of hand.) We’re here to encourage and learn, not to argue and alienate.

I’ll go first! 

The thing with documentaries (and video essays (I would know lol)) is they love to present themselves as factual and unbiased, when, really, anything is biased always. And in a society where they’re usually made by the people with privilege/the majority, it’s always the same status quo POV and we stop questionning it at some point, until a documentary made by disadvantaged/minority voices comes along and scews it in a new direction that we’re not used to.

Because I was paying Extra Attention to the black representation, and because I work in several London trans spaces, I noticed the disparity between numbers of black trans folks I saw on screen vs the ones I know irl (not as many as there were in this doc), and like- my numbers might be scewed by my own experience too, ya know, I prolly know less trans POC than a trans POC would, just like I prolly know more nonbinaries than a trans binary would (also idk what differences in ethnicity groups’ percentages there are between the US & UK population in the first place). But because the documentary presented itself as talking about representation in media at large, I was expecting a similar lack of black voices that I know happens irl in a lot of the world and that I know happens in media, and like- they talked about the lack of representation, but at the same time, they made sure to HAVE representation in their actual film.

I already think way too much about representation in media in general, but basically there’s a few different schools of thought on how you can approach it in any given media: 

-you can represent reality by representing the percentages of different groups among the population, so f.e. in this case you would try and match the percentage of POC and binaries/nonbinaries in the real life trans community to represent it (the BFI’s current diversity goals follow this principle f.e.). In practice though, this tends to lend itself to tokenism and ultimately minorities still end up with less or lesser-quality rep than the majorities, because we are minorities.

-alternatively you can represent reality by the clusters that happen irl. People of a given minority group tend to flock together so if you have one of them it’s highly likely that there’ll be more of the same group in their immediate social circle, so representing a bunch of them together makes sense and accurately represents reality. 

The issue my brain ran into here was that I was expecting the former and it ended up being the latter. Representing the way trans people are portrayed in Hollywood would’ve implied the population overview approach, but Laverne (as one of the producers) and the bunch, instead of kind of- rehashing the depressing statistical reality of how little rep trans people of colour get, they focused on their own experience as trans people of colour, and how they experience representation, whether it’s black rep or otherwise. They left out a lot of white trans rep that is around, because it’s not much different from the examples they used (you can have an argument about also leaving out a lot of what little nonbinary and other genderqueer rep we have in the process, and the unexplored stereotypes associated with that rather than trans binaries, as well as the generational thing where The Youth today prolly would pick different examples of media that impacted them, but still). It is very interesting and refreshing to see a format that is usually very white-cishet-normatively scewed instead being scewed toward the experience of a middle-aged black trans woman. (wow I didn’t know she was in her 40s, I thought she was like a good 10 years younger, good on you Laverne (@cis ppl: yes, even me, who literally works with trans ppl can’t fucking tell what age anyone is, it’s like a 20 year gap of a guess usually x’D))

Please write your own thoughts & stuff you learnt from the doc in the replies! (note: you don’t all have to write half an essay like this lol)  Be nice to one another, my banning hammer and I will check in on the responses later :P

Last post <<<>>> Next post

The next piece of media we’ll watch is the first season (or as many episodes you can manage, but we’ll suppose the whole first season so spoiler alert! :)) of Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts, a fun cartoon show with an all-POC (and mostly black) main cast (characters as well as their voice actors)!

[endysgirl]

Sailor Mars Birthday Tribute

I am so late on posting this but I just did not have time to edit. For Mars I wanted to talk about her 90s anime version and her much better manga version.

Let me start by laying my bias wide open. I never liked Sailor Mars. As a kid I thought she was unnecessarily mean. She was and still is my least favorite, besides ChibiMoon. She’s beautiful, and her powers and attacks are awesome. As for how she fits into the overall scheme of things, I have major issues with how the anime portrayed her compared to how Naoko intentioned her. Frankly, I can’t help but view 90s anime Rei as an imposter and I’ll explain why...

Ok, first let’s talk about 90’s anime-Rei. We know she’s very hard working, goes to an elite girls’s Catholic school and wants to be an independent career woman when she grows up. Yet, for some reason (*cough*patriarchy) she sees Mamoru in season one and thinks he’s perfect so she’s gotta have him. She embarrasses herself going all boy crazy over him (he literally steps on her head and just walks away) and he seems like a typical clueless dude who doesn’t realize she *likes* him. I relate hardcore to Mamoru here. She’s so thirsty and he is so not. Then fast forward to after Endymion gets taken and Rei slaps Usagi calling her a coward. It’s meant to be some great emotional scene that some fans latch on to. Yet, it’s not Rei’s slap that motivates Usagi. It just hurts her. Go watch it again (epi35); it’s the voice of Mask from her memory, gently and patiently encouraging her, as always, that she is strong and can fight that spurs Moon into action. We’ve seen over and over that Usagi responds to patient encouragement over violence, just like when she does when she faces the baddest villains. Yet, the 90s anime always has Rei cutting her down. As far as I’m concerned, it’s just the patriarchy at work, trying to convince young girls that the boy or girl who’s mean to you really does care about you. It’s toxic and just plain stupid.

Now, am I saying 90s anime Rei doesn’t really care about Usagi? No. Not at all. She’s her Senshi and they share the same heart and the same dream to protect those they love together. Of course she loves Usagi. My issue is how the 90s anime portrays that dynamic. It’s spreading toxicity within female friendships and trying to sell it as genuine. I also understand that Mars’s fiery personality is what a lot of her fans love about her. I’m not saying that’s bad either, even if it’s an inaccurate representation of the character Naoko created. Apparently, it was Ikuhara that wanted the anime to change her cold and aloof personality to “fiery”. To perpetuate the patriarchal tropes I’ve mentioned, the anime tried to paint her as Usagi’s bff of the group, usurping Minako’s place. In the manga, Minako is the Leader of the Senshi and the one closest to Usagi in personality and in her role as the Leader of Serenity’s guards. Yet the anime is constantly trying to make Mars the one that is extra special to Usagi. Case in point, at the end of Stars the first voice we hear address Eternal Moon after she defeats Galaxia is Rei but in the manga, Usagi is drawn hugging Minako first. These little moments bother me, probably a little too much.

Then there’s the love triangle they tried to created with her and Mamoru. Fucking kill me. The love triangle garbage is just typical, patriarchal tropism within the storyline that has no place in the SM story in regards to Mars. Let’s make two friends like the same dude bc that’s drama that people have been conditioned to enjoy. It’s lame as far as I’m concerned. Let’s take a moment to remember the random, stupid and pointless scene in the curry episode where ChibiUsa and Mamoru run into Rei and after a moment of awkwardness they decide to go find Usagi together. Tell me that’s not the patriarchy trying to validate one woman’s place by using another woman as comparison instead of letting her stand on her own. 😒 And they’re trying to backtrack on the whole Rei liking Mamoru episode. This isn’t Rei’s fault obviously, I’m just using this scene to explicate why I don’t like the dynamic the anime created, and why that makes Mars a difficult one for me to get excited about.

There’s no way you can convince me that Mars’s bitchiness wasn’t a direct result of a “male perspective” (as Naoko called it). The idea that female bffs bully each other and cat fight all the time is ludicrous. As a 32yo woman (and lifelong Moonie) with a tight circle of girlfriends, there isn’t a single one of us who would tolerate such toxicity from the other, even at 14yo. It just isn’t realistic, unless it’s a bad relationship. I’ll give the anime credit for getting one thing right - her bravery. In both the manga and the anime, Mars is fearless. She charges into battle and gives it her all. She doesn’t let any doubt get in her way. She does not hesitate or dwell on self-doubt. And that alone is reason enough to love her.

Now, let’s discuss Manga-Rei. Because Adult-Moonie-Me LOVES manga-Mars. She actually appears in Codename Sailor V outside the arcade. She says the atmosphere is “disquieting” and leaves. In the manga, she’s very quiet and reserved. There is no bickering or cat fighting between her and Usagi. She’s also probably the most objectively beautiful of the Inners. She’s suppose to be “slender”, with long black hair and brown eyes which are sometimes seen as purple. When Usagi first sees her on the bus, she thinks she’s soooo beautiful. And another time, when they’re at the beach/pool, guys keep buying Rei drinks but she’s not flirting or giving them any attention, bc she is not boy crazy. Sis is enjoying those drinks tho.

Her awakening in the manga is very similar to the anime with the exception that’s she sees a premonition of Usagi and Jadeite that makes her go find the bus. Like the other Senshi, she is drawn to Usagi.

In her manga profile, her dislikes are television, modern society (the anime has her immersed in pop culture, going so far as to make her write her own songs and dance at the school festival), canned asparagus and men. It’s implied that she doesn’t like men or care for them bc of her father. He never had time for her and she doesn’t have a good relationship with him. Plus in a short story, she has a guy she likes but he chooses to follow her father’s footsteps into politics. So she kisses him and is like, boy, bye. ✌🏽 She considers men emotionally weak, untrustworthy and is generally disinterested in them, even if they’re buying her drinks and fawning over her. Same, Sis.

She is described as beautiful and “reserved”, but “scary” when she’s angry. She so beautiful that when Mamoru’s underclassman, Asanuma, sees her, he thinks she would be the perfect girlfriend for Mamoru (who Asanuma thinks is perfect) and that she should be Mamoru’s ideal type. He’s really surprised that Usagi is so *ordinary*.

Rei has strong precognition and has an affinity to fire. Ironically, there is nothing in Shintoism about fire reading, so that must just be a shoutout to the Greek influence on the manga. I love her psychic abilities in both the anime and the manga. Random fun fact: Naoko worked at a Shinto temple for a while before or maybe during college.

Mars is one of the only Senshi, like Michiru, who can use an item as an attack in her civilian and Senshi form. Her “ofuda” (Shinto talismans) are powerful enough to disperse evil and make regular people faint (remember anime epi w/Unazuki’s mouth getting sealed and in the manga/crystal she accidentally “purifies” Usagi, causing her to faint). Mikos (shrine maidens) are known to use archery attacks, so civilian Rei was already proficient in archery before awakening as Mars. Also, just like Jupiter’s earrings stay on her when she transforms, Mars is always wearing a pendant and when she transforms, it attaches at the waist to her fuku.

Mars also, uniquely, has her own guardians: the Crows, Phobos and Deimos. In the anime, the crows never take human form as they do in the manga. In the Dead Moon arc, Jupiter and Mercury power up by speaking with their inner consciousness. But Mars powers up by speaking with the human forms of her crows. This is a great moment in the manga bc Phobos and Deimos basically tell Rei that’s it’s ok to not want or desire men and marriage. She is the asexual goddess everyone overlooks and I love this aspect to her personality. The Crows are the ones to give her the Mars Crystal which is her starseed. We also find out here that Mars pledged a vow of Chastity to Serenity in the SilMill. They don’t explain the reasons behind the vow, but considering Rei’s spirituality and serious conservatism, it’s understandable. Also, while Phobos and Deimos are named after the moons on Mars, in the Stars Arc it’s revealed that they’re from the Coronis and were acquainted with Sailor Lead Crow.

For the most part, Rei in the manga seems more boring than Rei in the 90s anime, but personally, I don’t think so. Reading the manga in middle school and seeing a female not *give*a*fuck* about marriage was awesome to me. She’s also kinder and she has far more respect for Usagi. She’s extremely popular at her school and has her own fan club. She carries herself with a certain dignity that reminds me of Michiru. She’s second in command after Venus. And let me end this by saying that Crystal gave Rei justice, and for that I am happy.

Happy Birthday, Mars! 🔥 🌙 ⭐️

P. S. Check out Allison Yarrow’s book “90’s Bitch: Media, Culture and the Failed Promise of Gender Equality” for more detailed analysis on how women in the 90s who wanted to have a home and a career got turned into the bitchy boss, bitchy girlfriend or bitchy best friend to subvert their quest for gender equality. I think Rei is the perfect example of this narrative. Especially when you consider men changed her nature in the anime from what her female creator intended for her. Also, check out the podcast on it https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/unladylike/id1333193523?i=1000432317654 (podcast name: Unladylike episode 45. how to free the 90s Bitch)

Thanks for reading all this you wonderful Moonies!!!

[nomadmilk]

Why the God Isn’t Bored on Midgard - Loki x F!Reader Drabble

Summary: ... It was all because he saw you.

Word Count: 2K (yIkEs)

Warnings: None? Partying? Jerk ex-boyfriend?

Author’s Note: I don’t know why this sounds like an essay... Maybe because I’ve written a lot in the past 3 years so it’s kind of pouring out onto my creative writing too?... This is also post-Ragnarok with IW & Endgame non-existent... Let me know if I should continue this, cause’,  I mean, the end of this sounds like it’s going to be in chapters... I’m just stuck between Loki smut chapters or one-shots *Shrugs*... Hope you like, anyway ^^. Also, as of 02.06.2019, it’s been edited slightly, cause some parts bugged me ToT

Here’s the links to the next parts: Part 1     Part 2 Part 3     Part 4 Part 5     Part 6 Part 7     Part 8 (First Half)     Part 8.5 (Second Half)  Part 9

Thor had been busy trying to find homes for his people, alongside Brunnhilde and Bruce, and, whilst Loki did his part as Prince of Asgard to help as much as he could, Thor knew the nature of his brother. Since his reappearance on Earth, Nick Fury and Stephen Strange had made regular visits to him since his arrival.

Obviously, they didn’t trust him due to past events, despite Thor’s protest of his good behaviour and little evidence of this. On the other hand, Loki was pretty sure he was on good terms with himself now.

He realised that humans forget as fast as they lived, compared to Asgard and Asgardians. He was able to sit in libraries and cafes without getting any harassment for what he did in New York. After a few days or so, he was quickly able to find a café he could attend. After a few more times of visiting them, the employees had begun remembering his order.

He sat down on his usual spot; an area where the café was able to open its walls and extend itself with a roof hood to provide shade for the customers. He positioned his seat halfway underneath the extended roof of the place, and halfway inside the shop, where he could enjoy the outdoor Summer weather without being amongst the crowd that it brought about. His feet would cross, legs spread, and his book rested in one of his hands. His coffee would be brought over, and he’d dip his head in gratitude before taking a sip of his drink.

Although on one day, he got distracted by a woman; her tears were flowing over her cheeks, but she was listening intently to the person opposite her… Her brother? Her boyfriend?

After surveying for a while, Loki guessed that it definitely was her boyfriend; she had tried to hold his hand, but he had swiftly avoided her touch by leaning back into his chair.

Despite the short distraction, he thought nothing of it at the time. It just confirmed a quality all humans seemed to have; attachment to sentimentality.

As he left, and a waiter awkwardly brought over one crying girl two hot drinks, Loki could finally tear his eyes away from the situation and back into his book, although, he had lost where he was on the page.

Being on Earth, without bringing hostility from anyone, became a bit dull, and Loki wasn’t sure of what to do with the spare time he had besides reading a good book, and having a hot beverage. When Thor made it mandatory to attend one of the Avengers outings, Loki absolutely protested. He almost got away from the occasion, but Brunnhilde had punched his copycat illusion of himself so hard that his real self could feel it in the library he was in.

So, Loki went socialising, to a club with the people he once fought quite violently with. Before anything, he was warned by a lot of people to not get into any trouble, and so, with a gritted smile, he followed his brother to a large building with booming thuds of music and lights blinking in and out of the windows. They were escorted through by bodyguards managing through a sea of people, some of which recognised the famous faces. As the Avengers gave waves, and Tony Stark couldn’t help but take pictures with some of them, it made the trip through the club slower, and annoying, and the more agonising for Loki. He couldn’t hear anything or anyone, and just wanted to focus on walking with the others to go where they were meant to go.

And then he saw you, again.

You had not noticed the Avengers, not bothered to take a picture with any of them. None of it seemed to make you pay attention as you were clearly distracted by the beat of the club song. He was surprised he recognised you; the last time he saw you, your hair was tied in a low bun, you were wearing a woolly jumper, and your face was blotched in red with all the sobbing you had done. But tonight, you had completely transformed; a dress that fitted you, your hair was styled, and your face no longer blotched from the tears.

There was a man, not the boyfriend, dancing really close behind you, and you welcomed it by clasping his arms around your waist.

The notion kept his eyes on you; your lips were covered with a matte red lip, and they spread to a smile. He saw your head lean back and rest on the man’s shoulder, closing your eyes in full bliss.

Loki couldn’t tear his eyes off you this time. This was different. He couldn’t remember exactly when he last saw you, but it wasn’t too long ago. Your break-up seemed terrible for you, and now you’re out here, grinding against a man you don’t know, as if there was nothing bothering you at all. The way you were swaying and in rhythm to the music; it was a careless, and a messy solution to an otherwise meaningless problem.

On the other hand, it was almost chaotic, and began to intrigue him about humans.

“Loki, get a move on.”

He feels Thor’s familiar grab hold onto his arm, and he drags them to where everyone else is. Loki had ordered a glass of red, which was mediocre compared to drinks he had on Asgard. The room they were in was a balcony with glass walls, where it was quieter and a more tolerable atmosphere than the one beneath them. He settled himself in a corner, checking on the people below as the rest of his group mingled. He scanned the floor, flitting his eyes through some faces.

It was way past midnight. He was tired and tipsy; although, not as tipsy as the others. Thor, as per usual, could handle is liquor along with Captain America. On the other hand, the spy, the marksman, and Tony Stark, especially, had to be carried out by the others, and Loki had to do his part by opening the doors for all of them.

As Tony’s bodyguard pulled over in a large vehicle, he caught you one last time for the evening, leaning against a wall, the man’s body pressed close to you. The sober Avengers were busy trying to put the drunk Avengers into the car, so Loki knew he has a bit of time to check up on what you’re up to.

He sees you frown and jerk your head away as the man leans in for you. Usually, Loki wouldn’t think about other people’s business, but he felt his blazer collar tighten. He loosened it, unbuttoning the coat, beginning to stride towards you.

But then he sees it; you punch him in the face, keeling from the pain from your knuckles. The man laughs, and Loki’s strides become longer and faster, until another thing.

He sees you knee the man in the worst place possible, and Loki couldn’t help but flinch and stop in his tracks. He watches, the man shouting profanities at you, as you hail a taxi and go into the first one the pulls over.

In all of Loki’s weeks on Earth, nothing has ever made him smirk as wide as you had made him.

“Hey! Gothic Gandalf!” Stark’s voice made Loki’s eyes roll. The billionaire was slurring and didn’t have very good nicknames because of it. “You better not be doing some trouble!”

When the night was over, the next day Nick Fury arrived at the tower for his regular examination of Loki’s behaviour. So, after a couple questions, and a scrutiny of his behaviour in the past few days, he had agreed to lessen his visits now that Loki had worked out to be a functional civilian.

“You’re ready for a house.” Nick said. “But it’ll be chosen by us and monitored by us.”

Thor agreed with a smile. “Well, it’s something.”

“Might as well just put me in a prison.” Loki replied.

“Well,” Nick stirred his coffee, “that is Plan B.”

A week later, Loki, Thor and Nick went through several estate agents to find an apartment. They  entered a few buildings within the city, however they all had to meet to an agreement; Nick wanted to make sure that the place wasn’t close t anything that could give Loki any ideas, Thor just wanted to know if it’s within distance with his house he was planning to get, and Loki just wanted to know why he couldn’t just stay with his brother because all the places he saw was not to his standard of living.

By the time they got to the seventh building, it was at a quaint corner of the city, ad Loki had long decided that he wasn’t going to agree until Fury had actually taken the time and been aware of his terms.

The place was the most decent than the others. He couldn’t hear any neighbours, the floors were evenly spaced, so that guaranteed even living in one of the apartments meant that he could get a decent night’s sleep, and that meant he didn’t have to conjure up anything to fix noise problems.

The Landlord of the place was really overselling it; he flourished in hand movements and waffled in adjectives that complimented the building; he could have just stated that all the apartments had new bathrooms instead of explaining it over five flights of stairs.

He unlocks the door, letting the three of them in. “And, here is the apartment.”

The apartment was occupied with books, a television, a soft sofa, a couple of shoes on the side of the shoe rack, some scarves and jackets on pegs, and the kitchen was sectioned out by a counter, and had a jarring pale orange and black colour scheme.

As the landlord gave information to Fury, who took interest for him, Loki was not impressed.

“It’s a good apartment – that’s the bathroom over there, looking beautiful – and this-“ the landlord opens another door. “And this is the bedroom.”

As soon as the landlord opened the door to the next room, Loki couldn’t believe what he was seeing; it was you, again.

Your expression was in absolute ire and bewilderment the moment they had opened the door. You begin to raise your voice at the landlord, and the landlord begins to save face by angrily putting a front.

Thor crosses his arms, watching you increasing in anger at a situation you weren’t prepared for. “I don’t think this place would be good for you, brother.”

Loki was still stunned by your presence; you were beginning to shout, and Nick Fury was trying to dissolve the situation.

“I liked the previous apartment better.” Thor continues, making sure no one heard him besides Loki. “The person head of the building there didn’t understand us much, but you could definitely tell she was stubborn, and she wouldn’t be putting up with your…“

Loki drowned his brother out in the background. It was mere coincidence that he saw you in the café, in the club, and now in your own apartment. And his brow furrowed at the pattern of it. Was this Strange’s doing? Was this Fury’s? Either way, he wasn’t happy with it being all planned, if it is.

Who are you? And why are you reoccurring in his life?

As his thoughts trail as he looks at you, you catch a glimpse of him, only to immediately look back to him; for the first time, you see him too.

“…Y/N. Just Y/N…” He catches wind of your name as you turn back to Fury.

The rest of your words flew over Loki’s head; you were too wound up with the argument that you didn’t acknowledge your lack of pants, and the fact your blouse was loose around you. You looked as dishevelled from the last time he saw you, like you hadn’t recovered from the club. He couldn’t admit to himself that he was staring at you. He’s seen you get angry, and sad, and messy…

What else have you got?

“I’ll take the place.” Loki said. “I can move in as soon as possible.”

It was rich seeing your jaw drop.

Nick Fury stopped protesting, realising the change in Loki’s behaviour towards you; if he’s distracted, he should be less of a problem.