#and quentin is very confused

[leguin]

like it's such a specific experience that madu writes about, but i think also akin to so many other experiences where this deepseated negative belief you have about yourself (that you're inherently bad, evil, a monster, not a person, etc) is validated by a situation or an institution or an authority in such a way that suddenly it becomes clear that you never were that thing you believed you were, outside of this one terrible moment. and it's like. an unbelievably traumatic thing, i think, to most people, but if you can manage to hold onto knowing what the difference was between the feeling and the reality, your relationship with yourself can completely change...

[mellomadness]

UPDATE:

We finished the series and ???? what the FUCK

that was the WILDEST ride and not??? in great ways??? I????? There were so many decisions made and,,,,,,,,, they were certainly decisions™️

… and I lowkey feel violated by Eliot’s ending. Maybe not lowkey. I am??? Confused?? Shocked??? Like that whole. whole ending was out of left field istg

okay so I’ve been watching The Magicians for the first time with my boyfriend, and we just got to season 5 and I ???? WHAT THE FUCK

killing off Quentin was so??? WHAT! WHY?! Why would you do that?! And like. Why why WHY would he move on so quickly? He was so dedicated to magic and to his friends and he finally FINALLY got Eliot back and he didn’t even get to SEE OR TALK TO HIM AND THEN HE OVERSAW HIS FUNERAL?!

WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT

That betrayed his whole character. His whole arc. HIS WHOLE STORY!! He should have been able to fucking live in peace for a second, with the people he loves, and even if he had to die why couldn’t it have been temporary?? He’s moved on, there’s no coming back from that!!! ARGHHGHGHGHGHG BAD WRITING DECISION BAD

[rrxnjun]

dancing in my backseat ✲ l. donghyuck

pairing. film student! donghyuck x film student! fem! reader starring. uchinaga aeri genre. college au, acquaintances to lovers. fluff, comedy, suggestive warnings. mentions of alcohol and weed, swearing, sexual innuendos word count. 24k (24.047) a/n. please dont hate me for the fact that this does not have any expected smut in it i tried and it felt too awkward i just COULDN'T. also this fic doesn't fit the image of it i had in my head at all but i actually kind of prefer this version over the prev idea i had anyway <;3

playlist. marvelous - wallows / crash my car - coin / test drive - ariana grande / streets - doja cat / no manners - superm / feather - sabrina carpenter / AEAO - dynamicduo / wet tongue - thomas headon / car crash - eaj / delicious - the boyz / but i like you - boynextdoor

there are only a few things in which men value their social status; one of them being the number of girls in their bed, the next one their rank in league of legends, and lastly, their cars— or— where you would never fuck a guy without a driver's licence.

✲ PART 3 OF THE SIMPLIFY ROMANCE SERIES ✲

If anyone asked you about your relationship with Lee Donghyuck, you’d scoff at them and simply state that the resident gemini was your moral enemy. Was that true? No. No, of course it wasn’t– there was nothing this man has done in his life to get on your bad side, and you truly don’t feel any hatred towards him, but at the end of the day, it’s always easier to say this than to explain the exact feelings you have towards the male without sounding at least a bit overly-dramatic.

See, you don’t hate Lee Donghyuck; you don’t think he’s your enemy either– you just find him absolutely, excruciatingly annoying.

And it’s not his personality, no– although you do admit that the way he carries himself and has such high mind about himself is quite alarming– the way your toes curl and the hair on your body stands up, all alert in sheer ick and disgust, has nothing to do with his ego and everything to do with your experience with the man. 

The first time you find Lee Donghyuck intensely annoying is when you get a text one day (having acquired his phone number from one of the class group chats, since the two of you major in the same program), at 9 in the morning, approximately 15 minutes before you have to leave your apartment to get to your fist class of the day. The man picked the wrong time to bother you, since it was Monday, of all days– the beginning of the week always manages to rile you up just because it exists in the first place– and you could give him the benefit of the doubt and say that it wasn’t his fault at all and you woke up grumpy already, but the events that happened after made you so deeply disturbed and annoyed to your core that there truly wasn’t any other word left in your vocabulary to describe Lee Donghyuck than the adjective already mentioned – annoying.

lee donghyuck (film theory class) – hi im in a crisis lee donghyuck (film theory class) – can u pls throw some toilet paper lee donghyuck (film theory class) – we ran out and my roommate already left for class lee donghyuck (film theory class) – pleaaaaase

Staring at the texts appearing on your phone screen in a hurry, you stop in your tracks and furrow your brows at the contact name in confusion. The truth is, you haven’t spoken to Lee Donghyuck that many times– you just know that he’s friends with your friend Lee Yangyang from high school and you two meet occasionally at the said friend’s gatherings. Plus, you had a discussion or two about the beauty of Quentin Tarantino movies when you met at orientation in freshman year, and that's also when you learned that he’s your neighbor; in fact, the window to his flat's bathroom and his very own bedroom face yours. But that’s about as far as it goes when it comes to your closeness. You’re not familiar enough with him to text each other or to think of each other in a time of need, so to have his first texts to you be about him being out of toilet paper is a thing to really dwell on to fully understand the extent of the bad impression this man had on you.

you – what the fuck

lee donghyuck (film theory class) – just open the window and throw me some lee donghyuck (film theory class) – i am good at catching

you – im in a hurry rn. gotta get to class

lee donghyuck (film theory class) – SO DO I why else do u think id be up this early lee donghyuck (film theory class) – so PLEASE throw me the damn toilet paper so im not late today

Shaking your head in disbelief at the conversation you’re currently having, too confused and tired to deal with it so early in the morning, you walk up to your room and look out of the window. Right opposite of you, not being further than 10 meters, if you’re being absolutely exact, is Lee Donghyuck’s head popping out from the bottom rim of his bathroom window, seemingly still sitting on the toilet. The look in his eyes is desperate as he clasps his hands together and mouths “Please!” at you, his face forming into a truly humiliating scowl that makes you wonder if he's truly done with what he'd been doing on the toilet only a few minutes prior. 

Sighing, you turn on your feet and escape your room– not noticing the absolutely disturbed and mortified face Donghyuck’s pulling behind your back, thinking you abandoned him and took off for class– and you truly can’t believe yourself when you walk into your own bathroom and take the half-used roll of toilet paper off the stand, murmuring a silent “Fucking hell” under your nose as you walk back to your bedroom and open up your window wide. Donghyuck’s eyes light up now, as if he was a kid under a Christmas tree about to receive a gift from Santa.

“If it falls to the street, I’m not getting it!” you yell after the boy, seeing as he eagerly nods and ushers you with a wave of his hands.

“Just throw it and I’ll be sure to catch it!” he nods, waiting for you to start your career in the new twist on baseball– a sport you’d call a toilet roll throw against the street. His eyes seem focused, knowing this is his only opportunity at wiping his ass this morning (why neither of you thought of suggesting to use the shower instead, you don't know to this day– perhaps it was too early in the morning for such complex strategies), when you surprisingly do your best at aiming for his window– thank god you both live on the same floor– and throw the roll across the alleyway, the paper unwinding only slightly before it lands on the floor of Lee Donghyuck’s pearl white bathroom.

“Thank you so much, you are my savior!” he yells, his head disappearing from the window, leaving you alone in your room to watch the commotion. When nothing happens for a while, you only shake your head in disbelief once again, deciding your job here is over and you can finally take off for your dreaded lecture.

“I’ll get going!” you scream into the void, scratching the back of your neck, aimlessly. 

“Mhm! See you later!” 

Nodding to yourself, you sigh, closing the window and doing a double take as you’re about to leave your flat for class, hopefully still on time. In disbelief, feeling the second-hand embarrassment seeping to your bones, you put on your shoes at the entrance and swear to yourself that you’re never gonna answer any of Lee Donghyuck’s texts ever again.

The previous scene already established that you’re no stranger to second hand embarrassment. I’m sure all of you have experienced it before– seeing someone desperately flirt with your friend, knowing that they’re not interested… Watching a drama and being absolutely grossed out with the script, wondering how the actors got convinced to take on the role… Hearing someone say an absurd answer in class… There are many, for sure, and the list could just keep going. You saw it with your own eyes as well, when your friend Choi Beomgyu tried hard to impress a girl at the skate park and managed to fall off his skateboard mid-trick, tearing his jeans in the crotch area in the process. Or when your roommate Aeri got tipsy at the club and who she thought was a very fine gentleman to flirt with was actually her ex boyfriend. The list goes on and on.

What about first hand embarrassment, though? You’re sure you experienced it before as well, but if anyone asked you, you’d tell them you don’t remember any embarrassing stories. If it’s because you just don’t want anyone knowing about the shame in your bones or if you really hated those experiences so much you chose to bury them and extract them out of your memory, you won’t tell. You just won’t let the shame haunt you for any longer than it has to, that’s for sure. 

So when you walk home from the hairdresser one afternoon and you’re met with your roommate Aeri looking at you with lips pressed together, yet the corners tugging upwards in what you assume (and fully know) is her trying to hold back an amused laugh, you admit that your suspicions were indeed correct when you saw yourself in the mirror at the salon and you’re going to have to live through another embarrassing moment. One that will take days and weeks to outlive as well, since your hair doesn’t grow back overnight– and when you look into the mirror again, you’re terrified.

“Don’t laugh.”

“I’m not laughing, it’s just… you look… well, you know, it’s just…” she mumbles, before she finally breaks into a loud laugh, standing behind you and examining the state of your hair in the mirror of your entrance hall with you, hands coming up to play with your strands and hold them up and down, brushing your bangs out of your face and ruffling the top– trying everything possible to find a single good hairdo with the haircut you have going on right now. “Oh babygirl… what did the do to your beautiful hair…” she mourns, the tone of her voice still amused, but now also kind of considerate.

“I told her I only wanted a trim,” you say, voice weak in what you realize is you holding back your tears and suppressing a mental breakdown, “how the fuck am I supposed to show my face to the world tomorrow?” 

Your roommate sighs at you, spinning you around so you no longer can see the disaster on your head, a pout forming on her face as she lightly shoves you deeper into the apartment. “At a second glance, it’s really not that bad, you know–”

“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better,” you cut her off, annoyed at her soft eyes.

“I don’t?” she looks at you, shocked irises hardening when she realizes you no longer need her sympathetic words. “Okay, thank god. Man, she fucked you uuup, leave a bad review like, right now. I’d cry myself to sleep if I got a haircut like that–”

“I take it back, I liked your lies better,” you roll your eyes at her, walking over to the kitchen to fix yourself a glass of water to calm down your racing heart. The mental breakdown is still right around the corner and you realize you have to do everything in your power to stop it, because you already have a fucked up haircut– you can’t afford to show up to class tomorrow with puffy eyes and stress-induced pimples as well. Gulping down the cold liquid, you decide to hop into the shower (and avoid looking in the mirror at all costs, which is kind of difficult, since there's three of them just on your way to the bathroom). 

Meeting the encouraging eyes of your roommate once you come out of the shower, hair tied up in a towel so you don't have to think about it any longer, Aeri's words reach your ears in the living room. “Come on, I’m sure we can manage to do something with this tomorrow morning,” she smiles, “at least you have a pretty face. You can pull off everything!”

And the truth is, even though Aeri is nice, she’s not always right. You’re met with the fact the next morning as you watch your reflection in the mirror before you both leave for your shared Film theory class, standing next to each other defeated; one breathtakingly beautiful and one looking like the main character from Chicken little. You'd be fine with it if it was only you who was aware of your disastrous image, you would be able to deal with the shame and insecurity silently– but that's not what happens as you’re only reminded by the fact that other people, sadly, do perceive you, against your biggest wishes, throughout the whole day.

You’re reminded by the fact that your haircut is fucked up when Ji Changmin, the guy you share an Animation class with, sees you in the corridor and does the yikes face at you and his friend Sunwoo hides his face from you as they turn the corner. You’re reminded by the fact again when you see Jisu, the ever-so-sweet girl that majors in Finance, the girl that’s friends with everyone in this school, look at you with a considerate look, patting your shoulder when she passes you by before you enter your Film theory classroom. 

And most importantly, you’re reminded by the fact when you finally sit down– at the very back of the classroom, which is both valid and understandable, considering your current state– and you’re met with a thud of a backpack to your left, a figure sitting down on the usually vacant spot. Clenching your jaw and looking up to see its owner, mentally preparing yourself for the teasing that’s about to come, you meet eyes with a tall, sleek man, shirt tucked into his black jeans and a sigh of relief escaping his throat as he sits down on the uncomfortable chair. Lee Donghyuck waves at you in greeting when he notices you there, running his hand through his neatly styled hair.

“Hi there,” he breathes out, “can’t believe I made it on time. My alarm didn’t go off and my roommate couldn’t be arsed to wake me, even though our morning lectures start at the same time, so I had to run and my usual seat is taken already… hope you don’t mind me sitting here– woah.”

And here it is again– the feeling of absolute humiliation as the man scans you up and down, eyes bearing into yours with an unreadable look on his face. Is this how he felt when he texted you to throw toilet paper through his bathroom window? Or was he immune to the shame? 

“Did you get a new haircut?” he asks, squinting his eyes at you in question.

“Shut the fuck up,” you sigh, already annoyed with his antics– because frankly, you know what will come next. 

“That’s an interesting answer to a yes or no question,” he muses, chuckling to himself, “I’ll take it as a yes, though, but it seems like you’re not satisfied with the new look…”

“Woah. You should work with the FBI or something,” you mumble, averting your gaze from him and looking straight in front of you, praying for the class to start fast so you don’t have to interact with your neighbor any longer and listen to him make fun of you for your new look.

“Why? It doesn’t look bad at all,” he says, the tone of his voice fakely considerate, making you want to punch him in the gut, “It’s interesting. I like it. It shows off your eyes and your forehead more, since your bangs are way shorter now,” he says, putting emphasis on the fact that your bangs truly are half their original length– which wasn't your original plan at all– only riling you up more.

“Only thing left to add is that I have a massive forehead, isn’t it?” you ironically smile at him, and the male takes your word for it as his eyes focus on the exposed part of your skin, furrowed eyebrows and all, as he examines your features.

“Not massive, but it’s a little… like, I wouldn’t say–”

“Just don’t say anything, okay?” you sigh, cutting him off and folding your arms at your chest in a poor attempt at defending yourself.

“Geez, why are you so snappy? I was complimenting you, y'know,” he says, and if you were more stupid, you’d even believe him– the tone of his voice still sounds genuine, but that’s just the way your neighbor likes to deceive people, and you know that; you’ve seen it happen multiple times before. “It adds character.”

The comment makes you roll your eyes, all words taken off your tongue– you simply think there’s no use defending your atrocious haircut now (not that you tried defending it before, even you aren't that oblivious). Your gaze is focused anywhere but at your seatmate, counting down the minutes until the class starts and you're taken out of your misery for at least an hour and a half. Your Film theory professor is almost never late and now is the only day you’re content and happy about the fact, because it means you won’t have to listen to Lee Donghyuck for more than approximately 2 more minutes until the small, hunched over frame of your professor strides through the door. 

Still, you feel his burning gaze to the side of your face, and despite your best intentions, you snap your head towards him and bite at the annoying gemini.

“Take a picture, it will last longer,” you spit, scoffing at the male.

“Can I really?” he asks, and before you have a chance to disagree, his phone is shoved into your point of view and the shutter comes off, making you lounge after the man in a poor attempt at taking his phone away and deleting the first picture of your new hair ever taken. (Well, except for the one you took crying last night, with a peace sign and your tongue darted to the side against your mirror. You don’t need any more traces of your current haircut than that one.)

lee donghyuck (film theory class) – hi neigbor whatchu doin lee donghyuck (film theory class) – u have a car right

Squinting at the next text conversation with Lee Donghyuck, the first one since he asked you for toilet paper 3 weeks ago, you feel nothing more than pure confusion at the strange questions the man asks you in the middle of the night. It’s Friday evening and your roommate went out with a guy named Eric she met four weeks ago in the gym, and even though you were slightly concerned when she texted you to say she was staying over at his house for the first time, you only showed her support as you went to lay down with no other plans for your evening. Falling asleep to your midnight playlist playing in the background (thanking God for the smart feature that makes the music shut off after 30 minutes), it's completely understandable and predictable that the noise of an incoming text annoys you when you hear it only a few minutes after 2 in the morning. The fact that it’s your neighbor texting you, out of all people, only makes the fury in you bigger as you click your tongue and shoot him a quick text back.

you – what do u want

lee donghyuck (film theory class) – neighbor!!!!! lee donghyuck (film theory class) – you do have a car 

Staring at the text that just appeared on your screen, you sigh and decide to spill the truth, preparing for whatever request that’s about to come after you admit to the fact that you do, indeed, have a perfectly functioning vehicle parked behind the building.

you – yes 

lee donghyuck (film theory class) – perfect lee donghyuck (film theory class) – do u hav sm time on ur hands

you – im sleeping

lee donghyuck (film theory class) – veryfunny youre replying rn tho lee donghyuck (film theory class) – come on itsa simple request

Breaking your back just to decipher the words through the amount of typos Lee Donghyuck’s making, your annoyance only grows bigger. Has he always been a bad texter? You don’t remember him struggling as much when he was sitting on the toilet three weeks ago– his texts were absolutely clear and with 0 mistakes back then. Maybe he was in a more desperate situation back then, after all…

you – what do u want hyuck its late

lee donghyuck (film theory class) – can u drive me home

And here it goes– in the back of your mind, you somehow knew it was coming. There were only a few reasons why someone would ask if you owned a car, and judging by the fact that it was now 2 in the morning on a Friday night, your neighbor wasn’t trying to sell you a new vehicle just in case you didn't have one yourself. Getting a drive home would be the only logical request from someone asking if you owned a car– it would only be more logical if the person asking you was your friend, and not an acquaintance at best.

Staring at the screen of your phone, counting down from 10 to not snap at the ridiculous request, you watch as the device lights up with an incoming call. You don’t even have to look at the caller ID to know who’s calling, and despite your best assumptions, you pick up with no more thought given, waiting for the person on the other side of the line to speak first.

“Y/N,” he says, voice breathless. 

“Lee Donghyuck.”

“Can you please drive me home?” he asks, tone of voice lazy and tired, something about the dragging of his words hinting you that there’s more to the request than you’re grasping right now.

“Are you drunk?” you ask, right off the bat, to clear out any confusion. 

There’s a short silence on the other side of the line, one that hints that you’re completely right in your assumptions, but you still want to hear it from the guilty man himself. “Maybe a little,” he admits, snickering, “I was over at Yangyang’s and then he kicked me out and I… my legs hurt too much to walk home.”

Sighing loudly at the man’s antics, you shake your head in disbelief and clear your throat. “I don’t see how that’s my problem?”

“Oh, come oonnn,” he drags out, “it’s not that far.”

“Yeah, so I don’t see how you can’t walk back, then?” you mutter, rolling your eyes at the demanding tone in your neighbor’s voice. If it was anyone else, maybe, just maybe, you’d be on your way already. You never decline your friend’s requests for favors, since you know they’d do the same if you asked, but you don’t really see how Lee Donghyuck, a man you’re not even close to in the first place, could repay the favor. What on Earth was he thinking in the first place when he called you? Were you his last option? Is he out of his mind?

“Because my legs hurt, if you were paying attention, you’d know that I told you before–”

“I don’t really care,” you mutter, “this is not my problem, I’m ending the call now, goodbye!”

“Y/N!”

The tone of his voice is desperate. Laced in agony, even. Still, you don’t care as you cut off the line and close your laptop that's been your source of music during the late night, settling deeper into your sheets. This is not your circus, not your monkeys, and frankly, you don’t really care what happens to Lee Donghyuck on his way home from Yangyang’s house, no matter how drunk or high he is right now. The man has done nothing but annoy you in your short, 23 year old life, and you’re not going to change out of your pajamas just to drive a few miles to get your dumb neighbor back home.

You’re not going to lose your beauty sleep for this. No, not at all.

Still, your eyes only close when you see the light in Lee Donghyuck’s room go on and the shadow of his slouched figure safely hits his bedsheets, another smaller frame coming to close his door and shut the blinds off, turning the light back off. 

The next Monday, you find yourself sitting in your Film theory class alongside your roommate Aeri that’s currently snoozing in the middle of the lecture. You can’t really blame her, since she only got home from her romantic retreat (read as: hanging out at Eric Sohn’s house the whole weekend and having sex possibly on every surface of his little flat downtown) on Sunday evening, and you can only imagine that she didn’t have much sleep during her stay there. 

And the class was boring, to add another reason for your roommate's nap. It’s not like you weren’t interested in the theory behind every movie, like the topic itself wasn’t interesting– you quite enjoyed wondering about all the special details in each movie that complete the story and make the atmosphere pop just in the right way– but the professor currently standing at the very bottom of the auditorium is old enough to be there when the Lumiére brothers showed the first ever movie to the public back in the 19th century, and his age only matches with the monotonous style of his teaching. Which means that his voice is mellow, but close enough to a lullaby, and with the amount of issues you have when paying attention in general, the lack of focus caused by this only feeds your distraction during the lectures, resulting in you not really being the top of the class in this specific subject.

So when you hear the professor mutter something under his nose about a project in pairs you’ll have to submit until the end of the semester, you feel your heart drop down to your stomach, all alert. Suddenly, you’re 100% present, brain racking about all the possible solutions and ways you could go around this just so you could pass the subject this year. 

Because frankly speaking, at the moment, you’re failing the class. And if you don’t manage to get a good grade on this final project, you’re going to have to retake the class next year– and trust me, another year listening to the monotonous lectures won’t make you pass easier, since you can only imagine the boredom will only grow once you’re in this class the second year in a row and you'd already heard all of the lectures once before.

“What was that?” Aeri mumbles under her nose when she notices you staring at the front of the classroom with wide eyes, an expression close to one you'd wear after seeing a ghost (with the age of your professor, you might as well have). She often tells you you look like a deer in the headlights when you get shocked or stressed-out, and you can’t say that comment doesn’t make you insecure. Still, you can’t quite control it when you sigh and turn to your roommate with a distressed look on your face.

“We have a final assignment to do,” you mumble, “in pairs.”

“Amazing, we’re doing it together, then,” she yawns, stretching a little before slumping over the desk again, ready for round two of her nap. 

“Fuck no,” you quickly dart, looking at her with furrowed brows.

“What do you mean, no?” 

Sighing, watching as she opens her eyes and looks at you with an offended expression on her face, you shake your head in disapproval and lower your voice, careful to explain yourself. “Look, girl, I love you, you know that,” you assure, “but we are both failing this fucking class. And I can’t afford to do badly just because the both of us suck, because I am not retaking this atrocious class ever again, so I suggest that the both of us find someone with good grades to leech from and get this over with.”

Aeri squints at you, seemingly lost in thought– more so contemplating your master plan– before she leans back in her chair and cautiously looks around the room. “You have a point there.”

“See? It’s nothing personal,” you chuckle, seeing as your roommate nods to herself.

“Okay, I’ll flutter my eyelashes at Shotaro,” she turns to you, eyes bright with the newly made plan, “we’re both Japanese, so he’s not legally allowed to turn me down.”

Rolling your eyes at her comment, you only nod in approval to her idea. Shotaro was one of the best in this class, so you can imagine that working with him would satisfy your professor enough to let Aeri pass the class this year. The only thing left to do was find the culprit to your own plan– you needed to team up with someone good enough to at least make you get a D on your final. And since half of the class was just as good as you in this particular subject, there weren’t many candidates left.

Eyes scanning the crowd (thank god you chose to sit in the back again), your gaze lands on a particular man sitting a few rows under you, a little bit to your right. Helplessly searching through the flood of your classmates currently occupying the auditorium, you sigh to yourself in realization, already dreading what’s about to come when the class is dismissed and you hurriedly walk over to the only person that can help you now, before he escapes the university grounds and you’re going to have to shamefully text him or ring his doorbell this afternoon.

“Donghyuck! Wait!” you yell after him, legs taking you closer to the man in question, now standing still in the middle of the moving crowd, watching you in curiosity.

“What’s up, neighbor?” he asks with a lazy smile, the tug at his lips only making your blood boil and your insides tighten into a bundle of nerves. Everything about him was ticking you off, the slouch in his shoulders making you want to stand behind him and fix his bad posture and slap the back of his head so you no longer have to look at him standing like a hermit crab, the glint in his eyes making you want to curl your fingers into a fist and slam your hand against a wall. The seemingly strong emotions of annoyance run through your veins whenever you interact with Lee Donghyuck, it seems, but the senile voice of your professor keeps repeating itself somewhere in the back of your head throughout the whole interaction, and so you choose to take a deep breath in and out before you smile at the man and prepare your best speech– you can't afford to be picky with this any longer.

“Who are you doing the project with?” you ask innocently at first, trying to get some info out of him.

He offers you a suspicious look, but replies nonetheless. “I’m not sure yet,” he sighs, “I was thinking of chasing down Haknyeon, but you stopped me in my tracks…” he shakes his head at you, teasing. 

“Hmm, I see,” you mumble, more for the effect than for anything else, “well, what if we do it together?”

There aren’t many instances in which you could catch Lee Donghyuck completely silent. Now is one of them, though, as he watches you with wide, surprised eyes, furrowed brows and his plump lips slightly agape, breathing in a few times before he shakes his head as if to reset the system, snickering to himself. “Us two?”

“Yeah, why not?” you peep, shrugging.

“Look, respectfully,” Donghyuck starts, and you brace yourself for the impact, “your grades in this class aren’t as good as mine, and even though I’d love to do it with you, I don’t wanna be the one doing all the work and–”

“I’ll help!” you snap, maybe too urgently for your own liking. “I promise. I’ll do everything in my power, I just really need your help with this,” you plea, looking at him with what you pray are your best puppy eyes, seeing as the man in front of you chuckles at the expression and averts his gaze from you for a heartbeat, signaling that you were most likely unsuccessful at the attempt.

“Sorry, Y/N,” he shrugs, shaking his head at you, even going as far as taking one step away from you, “see, if you hadn't declined my call on Friday, maybe I’d take this offer as a way to repay the favor, but you know…”

“I threw you toilet paper before, Donghyuck, you can’t be shitting me right now–” you feel your blood boil at the note, the ever so familiar annoyance seeping back into your bones.

“That was nothing–”

“You seemed pretty desperate back then.”

“That was the past, sweetheart,” he chuckles, taking another step away from you, somehow overthrowing your annoyance with pure, embarrassing desperation as you chase after him and stop him with a swift motion of your hand, catching him by his wrist. He stares at you with a shiteating grin on his face, one he always uses to get a reaction from you, and somehow, you know this is all a game for him, a stupid tug of war, but you can’t help it– you are in a desperate situation. So if you need to say please to the man and humiliate yourself in front of him just to pass this class, then so be it.

“Please, Hyuck? Just this once, I swear I’ll make it up to you. Literally, say anything, I’m gonna do it, I just really need to pass this class,” you mumble, a pout forming at your lips as you clasp your hands together– much like he did back when you two communicated through the window of his bathroom– and you swear you can see the gears in his brain turning when he calculates his next move and tells you his answer.

“Anything?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” you nod, hoping that Lee Donghyuck still has some dignity in him and wouldn’t ask for anything that would make you uncomfortable. He’s annoying, sure, but he’s not a dick, after all.

“Okay, then,” he nods, tone of voice airy, underlined with laughter, “be my personal driver for the entirety of the project, then. I’ll do it if you drive me places,” he grins, and that’s when your composure falls.

“Absolutely not.”

“Well then, say goodbye to the grade!”

Putting your arm around the passenger’s seat headrest, twisting your whole body as you look back and reverse the car into the parking spot in front of the mall, you see the figure next to you still in its place, eyes alert and staring at you. “If you’re so terrified of me driving, why did you want me to do this in the first place?” you sigh, finally turning back to the front and turning the engine off once you're standing straight between the lines, satisfied with your job.

“That’s- that’s not it,” he clears his throat and gulps nervously, shaking his head. “Anyways, let’s go,” Donghyuck says, slapping his thighs like parents do when it’s time to leave a family gathering, grinning at you widely as he waits for you to get out of the vehicle.

“What do you mean, let’s go? I drove you here, I can go now,” you glare, not satisfied with the way your Wednesday afternoon was going. You only agreed to the deal on Monday, and Donghyuck already made you drive him home after class twice and also asked you to drive him to the school this morning. Having him constantly leeching around you and making you drive him places wasn’t exactly fun, since he always asked weird questions and made fun of your bored face at every red light, so you really, desperately, needed him to be gone already so you could head home and scream into your pillow to unwind the nerves. 

“Well, how am I supposed to get back when I’m done shopping?” he innocently asks, pouting at you. “My hands are gonna be full with bags and you’re gonna have to come pick me up, because that’s the deal, and I can’t afford to wait with my hands full until you get back here, so you might as well stay and come with me, so it’s convenient.”

“Nothing about this is convenient for me,” you mumble, but comply with his orders nonetheless. “Why don’t you get a car? Or take a bus back?”

“Buses smell and I don’t have a license,” he mutters, “besides, I have you now to be my personal taxi driver, so I don't need a car,” he shrugs, walking alongside you to the mall. 

His confession startles you, makes you halt in your step as the boy looks at you with defeated eyes, already knowing what’s next. This scenario has happened to him multiple times before– he’s best friends with Huang Renjun and Liu Yangyang, he’s in for a teasing at every single action of his that goes just slightly wrong– but to hear it from you will surely feel more humbling to the man. Closing his eyes as if to not see the grin overtaking your features, he sighs. “What?”

“You don’t have a license?” you tease, snickering. “For real?”

“No.”

“Why? You failed the test?” you ask again, catching up to the male and falling in with his quick pace, enjoying the fact that you now have the upper hand on him for once.

“Never really tried getting it in the first place,” he mumbles, shrugging. 

“Why?”

“I dunno,” he shamefully ducks his head, “it seems scary,” he adds, making you snort out at his confession.

“Fucking hell dude,” you laugh out now, swatting his shoulder in a teasing manner, “that’s so embarrassing, it’s not even really that difficult in the first place–”

“I don’t know what’s more embarrassing,” he cuts you off, tone of voice laced with frustration as he realizes you are a bit too amused at him admitting to one of his fears, “is it me not having a license or you driving me around because you're failing a class… Hm?” he asks, locking eyes with you, lips pressed shut into a straight line, and suddenly, your composures exchange. He won. Again.

“Anyways, let’s get going!” he smiles, dismissing the previous discussion as he tugs you by your hand into one of the stores right in the middle of the mall.

You should’ve already predicted that shopping with Lee Donghyuck would be exhausting. Not only did he demand to know your opinion on every single thing he tried on, he also wanted you to pick up something for him to try– as if driving him here wasn’t too much work for you as it was. All you wanted to do was walk back to your car and get away from him as soon as possible, but with the way he teasingly poked your sides every time you weren’t paying attention and turned to your phone to entertain yourself with some mindless scrolling on social media, you weren’t able to escape even mentally, no matter how hard you tried. 

“Why don’t you try something on?” 

“I’m not in the mood,” you glare, walking out of the last store in the whole entire mall, the sky behind the glass doors already dark from how late it’s gotten. You’re pretty sure it’s gonna close soon, but checking the time on your phone, you’re relieved to learn that you still have enough time to get boba from the stand at the entrance of the mall. You deserve a little treat after involuntarily hanging out with Lee Donghyuck the whole day, after all. Call it your girl dinner, or something.

“Taro milk tea with coconut jelly, please,” you smile at the tired barista behind the counter, noticing the way Donghyuck stands next to you and looks at the menu. You expect him to order a drink for himself as well, and surely, he doesn’t disappoint as he smiles at the girl, the tone of his voice sweet and considerate– so far away from the way he speaks to you on a daily basis– as he asks for his own drink.

“Will you pay together or separately?” she asks.

“Separate–”

“Together,” your companion cuts you off, grinning at you when you glare at the man, sighing at his antics.

“Come on, I already drive you everywhere, do you think gas is cheap? Now you want me to pay for your boba as well?” you whine, reaching for your wallet as you frown at the male, his confused eyes bearing into yours when he slightly nudges you from his way, offering the girl behind the counter his card instead. The action shuts you up, making the gears in your brain turn faster as you watch him in the action, and it doesn't fully register yet, but you're left feeling a bit taken aback and sheepish when the cashier hands him the receipt.

“I was gonna buy it for you as a thank you for the nice day, but now you’re making me look like I felt pressured to,” he sighs, shaking his head at your little tantrum. His actions still don’t register in your brain, though, his words resonating all the way through your ears to your Wernicke’s area and right back, hanging everywhere in the air of the mall, shock making your body still. Then, it hits you.

“Ah,” you gasp, feeling the tips of your ears burning with shame at the fact that you managed to ruin his nice gesture, your eyes scanning the space in a poor attempt to not look at him or the cashier still watching your exchange.

“Get your drink and let’s go,” he nudges you instead, rolling his eyes for good measure as he walks out of the mall, nearing your car in the parking lot.

“Look at this, look! Isn’t it funny?” Donghyuck hovers over you with his phone in his hand, giggling to himself as he tries to make you look at the screen. You don’t really know why he’s trying to get a laugh out of you, honestly, but he’s currently doing everything but that as you’re sat in his living room, legs plopped up onto the sofa and crossed in front of you, waiting patiently– but also kind of boiling on the inside out of frustration– for him to pay attention to you.

“Hyuck, I didn’t come here to watch Tiktoks with you,” you say, eyes sharp, tone of your voice cutting like razors– efficiently making him look up from his screen and meet your gaze with an amused grin, “I’m not really sure if you forgot, but I came to discuss the project,” you mutter, sighing.

“Jeez,” you see him roll his eyes, the energy around him still not shifting as he maintains his casual and unfocused composure, but you know that on the inside, he's enjoying the view– your angry face seems to be his most favorite thing to stare at recently, “didn’t know you lack a sense of humor.”

“What?” you look at him, confused, quite frankly, before you shake your head in disbelief at the comment. “You know what, just put the phone away for 5 seconds and finally talk to me about the project, smart boy, or else I’m not wasting my time here any longer and I’m leaving.”

“You’re acting as if you’re the one putting in work,” he mumbles, snickering.

“I will be putting in work when you tell me what to do!”

At your sentence, Donghyuck finally puts his phone back at the coffee table and shifts a little in his seat, facing you and scratching the back of his head, seemingly lost in thought. You let him, convinced that if you speak up and cut off his train of thought, the poor boy wouldn’t be able to get back to it again, waiting for him to be done with his brain weaving so you can pick up on them and ride them out, seeming at least decently smart (or not completely stupid). When he finally speaks up, he licks his lips and shrugs.

“We just gotta pick a theme and do our best portraying it with no words in a 3 minute clip, right?” he asks you in reassurance, as if you were the most reliable source of information when it comes to this class and its assignments.

“Yeah,” still, you agree.

“Well, then we just gotta pick a theme and the rest will be easy,” he nods to himself, reaching back for his phone, which you swiftly take from his hold and hide behind your body. 

“Hey–”

“We’re not done talking about this! I’m not letting you use your phone, because you’re just gonna scroll on Tiktok instead of thinking about this,” you squint at him, twisting and turning in your seat as his hands try to sneak around your sitting figure and take the device out of your grasp. 

He seems determined as his arm lands on your elbow, a victorious grin smoothly swiped off his face when you sit on his phone and flash him a wide grin. “I’ll give it back when we have the theme down!”

“That’s an invasion of my privacy,” Donghyuck mumbles, and you roll your eyes at him, pointing a finger to his shoulder.

“That’s not what an invasion of privacy means, but whatever floats your boat…” you mumble, watching him sit back in his seat, defeated as his shoulders slouch and his gaze is glued to the wall in front of him. You’re not sure what’s so interesting about the white paint, but at least there’s not the noise of his phone filling your ears right now– you’re more than okay with silence, since you don't get to hear it often when Donghyuck is present. You would like it better if he spoke up and talked to you about the assignment, but if you had to choose between him being annoying and him being quiet, you think everyone knows which one of the two you’d prefer.

“So?” you test the waters after a while, seeing if your project partner decides to finally comply with your request and discuss the important matters.

“So? Do you got any ideas?” he teases, watching you with challenging eyes.

Clearing your throat, caught off guard at the request– you assumed he’d tell you exactly what to do and you just have to do it and follow his lead, essentially not putting in much effort and still being sure of passing the class– but it seems like Lee Donghyuck won’t let you off that easily. You should've expected it. Being difficult is his favorite hobby, after all.

“Well, you’re the smart one here, so…” you shrug, trying the method that always works on men– and that is praising them.

“So you’re saying you’re stupid?”

“If it works in my favor during this conversation, then sure,” you nod, smiling at him in irony. Hyuck gives you a defeated sigh, shaking his head at you before he clicks his tongue at you and finally gives in.

“Okay, so, I was thinking we should pick a theme that fits the current social struggles, but after hearing this, I don't think feminism is our best choice,” he mutters.

“Like you’d know anything about feminism–”

“What do you have me for?” Donghyuck sharply glares at you, clicking his tongue at you in pure offense. “I am a fan of Little women, I'll have you know, of course I’m a feminist.”

“Well, you must be a fake fan, since everything about this deal is just me majorly girlbossing,” you point out, trying really hard to prove your point.

“Are you even being serious right now–”

“Anyways,” you cut him off, “what were you thinking?”

The man sighs and shakes his head at you in disbelief, but still speaks up again nonetheless. “I was thinking, well, maybe we could pick something that would really play into the old man’s feelings, you know, so we get him all sentimental and moved to tears…” he starts off, tone of voice now completely serious, making him sound kind of smart– startling you in the process, “that leaves us with a few possible options. We could do something with the 18 hundreds, or… fishing? I heard he’s into fishing. Or we could do something more abstract and shoot something about youth, since he’s very old and this could get him nostalgic. Or!” he suddenly perks up in his seat, eyes wide and a disturbing grin sitting at his lips, “we could include nudity! He’s a man, after all… wanna shoot porn? We don’t need words for porn.”

In absolute disbelief, you stare at the man with eyes wide open, blinking a few times and taking a few seconds to yourself to process the monologue you just listened to. You knew he was absolutely insufferable, but you didn’t know he was this much of a dumb freak. 

Taking your silence for disgust, Donghyuck just nods to himself and purses his lips.

“Youth it is, then… I mean, nudity would be difficult to present in front of the class for sure–” he admits, pouting.

“Yeah, like that’s the only problem with that idea…”

Afternoon classes aren’t your favorite ones of the week and although you absolutely despise waking up early and having to commute to university while you’re still half-asleep and absolutely irritated, there’s nothing that infuriates you more than knowing you could be done with the day already, sitting at home and watching your favorite TV show, only if it wasn’t for the responsibility of having to stay at campus and sit through another hour and a half lecture on a Thursday afternoon, way too late for your brain to be working in those hours.

This is one of the only classes you don’t share with your roommate Aeri– which makes the lecture that more excruciating, since you don’t have anyone with you that you could gossip with about your classmates or friends from back home when it gets too boring and you can't bear sitting in silence and forcing yourself to focus anymore– but there is one person from your circle that you do share this class with, and yes, you already guessed it; it’s Lee Donghyuck.

You don’t know when you’ve gotten so close to the point where he sits in the vacant seat right next to you almost immediately, followed by his friend Ju Haknyeon who you’ve never even spoken to before, but he still does so nonetheless, every Thursday, just so he could annoy you with his only half-funny remarks to every other sentence that comes out of your Animation class professor’s mouth. 

“What are you doing this weekend?” you hear Haknyeon ask the devil sitting on your left, and trust me, you don’t really like listening to other people’s conversations (that’s a lie, you live for gossip. You just wish you knew the least amount of information about Lee Donghyuck as possible, because sometimes you learn fun facts you wish never joined your brain), but you can’t really help it this time, can you? Haknyeon doesn’t know what whispering is, and you’re convinced Donghyuck would love everyone to hear him talk and give him attention anyway. 

“Not really sure,” Donghyuck replies, “Renjun bailed on me, said he’s going to the shelter with his girlfriend again, so I was thinking, right? You know, I’d looove to go on a road trip, and it’s crazy, you know, because–”

The words coming out of his mouth instantly make you alert, snapping your head around to make eye contact with the man that’s already staring at you with a shit-eating grin on his face, knowing you’re listening to them talk. “Lee Donghyuck, I am not going on a road trip with you–”

“See, Y/N here is my personal driver for the semester, so she can’t really say no–” Donghyuck continues, enjoying the way your face distorts into a pained scowl, your hand coming up into your hair to tug at the roots in frustration.

“If you make me do this, I’m going to open your door while we’re going 120km/h on a crowded highway and throw you out so you die under the wheels of someone else and I don't face the consequences,” you propose, shaking your head in disbelief, your voice shushed due to you still not wanting to be heard by the whole classroom, but still loud enough for both of the boys to chuckle.

“Come on, I bet you’d have fun. I have the best playlists for road trips, you know,” Hyuck teases, poking you with the tip of his pen, to which you click your tongue and move a bit further away from the male. 

“The last time I drove you somewhere that was more than a 10 minute drive, you had Céline Dion on loop, so I don’t know just how believable this claim is.”

“That’s disrespectful to the legend Céline Dion is, dear Y/N, and I’d take it back before her ghost comes to haunt you at night.”

“Is she even dead in the first place?” you squint at him, at disbelief of his words.

“She’s not,” Haknyeon chimes in from the side, shaking his head at the both of you before he chuckles, “you two argue like a married couple.”

“I would rather die than to marry him–”

“See, Hak, Y/N just hasn’t realized she’s in love with me yet,” Hyuck adds, clicking his tongue at his seatmate, “but she’s gonna realize it somewhere during our 5 hour long road trip, I’m sure. Just wait, it’s gonna happen soon.”

The class gets dismissed somewhere in the middle of the argument, and as you’re gathering your things to go, you hear the two of them talk among themselves, not really including you in their conversation anymore (which you’re glad for, frankly). 

“Are you going home after class?” Haknyeon asks.

“No,” Donghyuck shakes his head in disapproval, and there it is– the shit-eating grin appears on his face when he initiates eye contact with you and snickers, “Y/N and I are actually getting fried chicken at this place downtown, since I got coupons– well, Renjun got coupons for free chicken from his uncle last week, but he doesn’t like chicken that much, so I stole them from him–”

“Huh?” you scowl at him, wondering if you heard right. “I’m not getting chicken with you.”

“Of course you are,” Hyuck announces, “the coupons expire tomorrow, so we gotta do it today. I know you’re not busy, come on.”

“I’d rather choke than to spend any more time with you than I already have today, Donghyuck. Go with Haknyeon,” you say, pointing to the clueless senior staring at the both of you in wonder.

“Yeah, go with me, man,” he shakes his head, “I like chicken.”

“Unfortunately, this offer only applies to people that have a working car that could drive me there, so in case you wanna get your shiny BMW fixed in the next 24 hours, I can save the coupons for you,” Hyuck chimes, smiling innocently at his friend.

“What are you even talking about?” you mutter, tone of voice pained.

“Look, do you wanna get out of the road trip on Saturday, or not?” he stares at you, his gaze flaming as you sigh more for him to hear than to get out your frustration– you learned long ago that it does nothing to calm you down, worse, it makes you even more infuriated.

“Woah, Donghyuck!” you exclaim, fake excitement written all over your features. “Chicken actually sounds so good right now!”

That’s how you appear in one of the fried chicken places downtown, your car parked in their tiny parking lot, with Donghyuck excitedly skipping towards the restaurant with the bunch of coupons in his hands. You don’t really know why he insists on spending time with you– he could get a bus here or drive with one of his other friends that own a car, and you’re certain you are not the only one on his list– so the whole interaction makes you slightly confused. Still, you enjoy the free meal– like any other broke college student would– and when Donghyuck eats, his mouth is usually shut, so you don’t find that many negatives in this whole thing, after all.

“What are you thinking of doing for the project, by the way?” you ask, wiping your greasy fingers on one of the napkins Hyuck had offered to you just a few seconds prior after noticing your dismay at the state of your hands. You don’t like it when you get dirty with food, but you’d rather not eat at all than to eat fried chicken with a fork, so you guess this is the price you have to pay.

“You keep talking about the project,” he shakes his head, chuckling, “don’t worry about it. I have it covered.”

“What do you mean, you have it covered? This is supposed to be teamwork. Just because I drive you around, it doesn’t mean I won’t put my hand in– you’ll complain too much if I don’t,” you mutter after you swallow, rolling your eyes at him. He keeps saying the same thing each time you ask him– you’re suspecting that he has zero idea at all, and he’s just bluffing to make you feel more comfortable. Hell, you might even fail while working with Donghyuck and your whole plan is going to be ruined, for all you know.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, grinning, “we got the theme, so half the work is already done. We’ll just have to take one day to shoot some scenes on a field or something, and then I can edit it and put some sad music over it, and we’re sold. Trust me, I am a straight A student, I know what I'm doing.”

“You are not a straight A student, Lee Donghyuck,” you glare at him, not believing a single word that's just came out of his mouth.

“Okay well,” he shrugs, taking a sip of his coca-cola that he got for free with the order, “maybe I’m not. But you can count on me with this, hon.”

Sighing to yourself, you shake your head at him. “Don’t ever call me that ever again.”

“Hyuck,” you call for the male, nestling a little in your seat and scratching the back of your neck in frustration.

“Hm?”

“You said we were going to work on the project today, am I correct?” you ask, watching as the male walks up to you from the kitchen area of the room, a bowl full of popcorn in his hand as he plops on the sofa next to you (on the only area that allows you to lay down comfortably and still face the TV, also known as the spot you’ve already laid on, making the two of you almost uncomfortably close in the small space), a bottle of coke situated under his right shoulder.

“Correct,” he nods, reaching for the TV remote he spent approximately 15 minutes searching for in between the cushions of the sofa when you arrived, screaming at his poor roommate for losing it again as the shorter boy just grimaced at you and escaped the flat to hang out with someone you heard him call RJ! y/n.

Humming to yourself, you nod. “Okay, then… why the living fuck are we watching Hunger games right now?” you ask, tone of voice laced in frustration.

Donghyuck doesn’t reply to you for a while as he fumbles with the TV remote (and frankly, you don’t really know why he’s so focused, it doesn’t take much to just press play), but when he looks back at you and sees your gaze impatiently glued to his forehead, he shrugs. “We gotta find some inspiration first, you know,” he innocently states, “Hunger games is a movie about youth if I’ve ever seen one.”

“We’ve both already seen Hunger games, Hyuck,” you whine, but take a hand-full of popcorn out of the bowl that’s currently sitting in his lap. 

“How do you know that I have seen it already?”

“You just said so, you dumb fuck,” you mutter as you roll your eyes, watching the opening credits start. You can do nothing else than settle deeper into the sofa and watch the painfully long movie with your annoying neighbor now, and you despise the fact.

Well, you could do something else. There are many things, to be exact– you could either protest so much that Donghyuck finally gives in and turns the movie off, focusing his efforts into actually working on your project. If that doesn’t work, you can fight him for the remote, but you can’t really know if that wouldn’t make him pettily give you the silent treatment, which is exactly the opposite of what you’d like to be doing right now. Or you could just give up– seeing that you’re not gonna get much work done today– and stand up and go home. It’s not like you live that far away anyways… 

But still, you stay and watch the movie with him. You’ve seen it at least three times already, having watched it recently with Aeri when the movie had its second wave of fame on Tiktok, so you’re pretty sure that if you tried hard enough, you’d be able to recite the script alongside the actors, word-for-word, 100% correct and exact, right on time. You stay and watch Hunger games with Lee Donghyuck– why exactly, you still don’t know– and you find yourself enjoying the experience. It’s not as boring when you hear your neighbor annoyingly comment on each and every little thing that happens in the movie, his nasal voice cracking jokes and jumping into the conversations as if he was a part of the cinematic universe. Somewhere along the way, you join in with him, laughing and giggling when your roleplay gets too silly, and before you know it, the movie is about to end and you’re finally going to be free to work on the project with him.

Donghyuck gets unusually quiet towards the last part of the movie. You turn your head to him, ready to crack jokes at the tears you’re expecting to see in his eyes because of the emotional outro– Katnis and Peeta’s berry scene got you the first and the second time you watched the movie, the third time not so much, since Aeri kept pausing the movie for pee breaks, ruining the full effect– only to witness the man’s head falling to your shoulder the exact second you try to lock your gaze with him; your neighbor having passed out somewhere in the middle of the movie. You foolishly jump just the slightest bit at the contact, opening your mouth to say something to him that could wake him up, your instincts telling you to move away from the already uncomfortable closeness of your bodies and give yourself more space.

But as your lips part and you’re about to protest, you notice his own lips apart in a small pout, his cheeks appearing softer now that one of them is smashed against your shoulder, his long eyelashes fanning over the bones of his cheeks. The blue hue of the TV paints his cheeks rosier in the dim light, making you notice the moles on his face for the first time– leading you to count them and mentally create constellations between them as your gaze focuses from all the different places of his face to another. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you shut your mouth and awkwardly make yourself look away from your annoying neighbor, cracking the knuckles of your hands that have been resting in your lap; but when the credits of the movie roll and you have nowhere else to focus your gaze on, you find yourself scanning the man up and down again, orbs catching every detail of his suddenly so pure being.

He is wearing gray sweatpants, the fabric hanging low on his waist, a plain black tee adorning his upper figure. He doesn’t often look this casual when he comes to class, opting to wear jeans or pants more formal, so you foolishly admire the cozy fit he has going on, not quite used to seeing Donghyuck looking this homey. His clasped hands resting in his lap catch your attention next, the soft skin adorning his slender fingers looking way too inviting right now as you subconsciously want to glaze your fingertips against the surface of his palm, just to see if your suspicions are right and his skin is just as gentle as it seems to be to the eye, and you almost do it– for scientific reasons, of course– before you catch yourself and almost mentally slap yourself for being so foolish.

What the hell is going on with you right now? You should wake him up now– the movie is already over, there’s no use in you staying over any longer if he’s asleep and won’t work on the project with you anymore– but you find yourself freezing each time your eyes focus on the creature sleeping against your shoulder, so soft and comfortable it makes your insides squeeze in warmth. It’s a strange sensation, and even a stranger one to feel for a person that annoys you the most in this world, and you can't bring yourself to do anything else than to overthink the simple fact. 

He can sleep for a few more minutes. You don’t mind. He must be tired, you think– he deserves 10 more minutes, maybe even 15– you won’t disturb him. The silence is strangely comforting, after all.

He can sleep for a few more minutes, you think– but the exact moment those thoughts roam around your head again, the front door to Donghyuck’s apartment opens and his roommate stands still in the doorframe of his living room, gazing at you with suspicion in his gaze. You quickly jump away from your project partner when eye contact with Huang Renjun is made, feeling the tips of your ears heating up in shame as you scatter to your feet and scramble for your things. You feel like you were just caught red-handed, doing something you shouldn’t have been doing, and you can’t bear the thought any longer. You need to get out.

A dissatisfied noise leaves Hyuck’s mouth as he wakes up to the impact of your movement, squinted eyes watching you as Renjun just laughs at your antics, shaking his head as if to tell you that he knows something you don’t. You don’t wanna hear it.

“Where are you going?” Donghyuck asks, voice laced with sleep. 

“Home,” you snap, running your hand through your hair as you move through the door frame that separates the living room from their entrance hall. “We can’t work on the project if you’re asleep, so I might as well just go and not waste my time here any longer!” you offer him, making sure to save your face by putting just enough pretended frustration into the comment as you put on your shoes and don't look back at him– however inviting the mental image of him seems in your brain– before you shut the door after yourself and leave.

dongfuck – drive me to mcdonalds

you – well hello to you too you – no.

dongfuck – >:( dongfuck – please

you – its 2am dude

dongfuck – your point..?

Sighing, scrambling for your things as quietly as possible to not wake up your sleep deprived flatmate, you get dressed in comfortable sweatpants, throwing a hoodie on to shield yourself from the chilly air. The walk down the stairs doesn’t take you more than a few minutes before you’re standing in the parking lot of your apartment complex, already seeing Donghyuck’s figure leaning on the side of your car, almost looking like he owns it– he does act like it lately, to be fair. 

“I knew you’d come,” he snickers as you roll your eyes at him, pressing the button on your car key to unlock the doors, watching as the man swiftly opens the driver’s side for you and then jogs towards the passenger’s side to get in, an excited stride in his step.

“I’m only here because I haven’t eaten dinner and chicken nuggets sound absolutely amazing right now,” you mutter, “don’t get too ahead of yourself. None of this is for you,” you grin, fastening your seatbelt and adjusting the rearview mirror just the slightest before turning on the engine and driving off the parking lot.

Donghyuck only shakes his head at you, a bright grin playing with his features. “Of course,” he hums, “wouldn’t want me to think that you actually want to hang out for once.”

“Of course,” you nod, “because that would be a lie. My goal is chicken nuggets, nothing else. And if I manage to get them out of you for free, that’s even better.”

“Who said I’m paying?”

“The gas station clerk did when I last went to get gas, actually! He told me I’m using twice as much gas lately because I’m driving a certain dumbass around, and I’m paying for all of the gas myself, can you believe it?” you shake your head, teasing him as you turn right on the main road, already seeing the McDonald’s in the distance. 

“That’s a strange way to talk to a customer,” Donghyuck squints his eyes at you, watching as you slow down when getting into the food chain’s parking lot, ready to drive up to the drive-through window and order your late night snacks.

“At least he’s looking out for me,” you shrug, teasing the male. “I better order a hefty meal, since you’re paying and all…” you mumble, looking over the poster to your left, tapping your chin, trying to look lost in thought. 

Hearing the man next to you scoff– already satisfied with how frustrated you’ve managed to make him– you pretend to look over the most expensive parts of the menu. “I’m starting to regret my decision,” Donghyuck adds, but the tone in his voice is light.

After a few more minutes of picking out your menu, you both order your meals and wait for them at the window. It doesn’t take long, since you’re the only ones in the whole place, and before you know it, Donghyuck is pressing his card into your palm, nudging you to pay for both of your meals. The gesture should be expected– you pretty much plastered him into doing this with how much you teased and complained– but it still shocks you when he does it with no other annoyed comments, watching as you offer it to the cashier and smile at him in thanks, taking the bags of food and driving off into the very back of the whole parking lot, turning the engine off and settling into the dark.

You tug your feet up to your seat, sitting crossed-legged in the small space as you face your companion, watching as he offers you the bag of food and digs into his own fries as well, scanning you from the corner of his eye. Now is the time you finally get to admire his attire for the first time the whole night– you never knew you had a thing for guys in sweatpants and oversized jackets, but the way your breathing almost catches in your throat at the sight of Donghyuck dressed so cozily again should be enough of a warning for you to the future. Forcefully taking your eyes off the male next to you, because you’d rather not think about the way you find yourself eyeing him lately, you eat your chicken nuggets– the ones you’ve dreamed of the whole night– and listen to the sound of your neighbor chewing on his burger. 

Feeling his eyes on you, you glare at him. “What are you staring at?”

“No take a picture, it will last longer this time?” 

“I learned my lesson from the last time,” you laugh, reminded of one of the first interactions you had with the male. “I hope you deleted the pictures, by the way.”

“No, I stare at them every night before I go to sleep,” he says, “so I’ll dream of you,” he sing-songs, laughing at the way your face distorts in discomfort at his words.

“Ah, so annoying,” you roll your eyes at him, but can’t battle the way your heart jumps a little at the sound of a laugh escaping his throat. Your eyes automatically trace his movements, noticing the way the far standing lamp post illuminates his face in just the right way, casting orange shadows over his features, making his eyes glimmer when they catch yours. Clearing your throat after being caught staring at him, you avert your gaze and finish the last of your fries, noticing the male done with his meal as well. 

“Now what?” he asks.

“We go home, what else?” you laugh, shaking your head at his question.

“But I don’t wanna go home yet,” he whines, and you already know what’s coming– pursuing, weird ideas, absurd arguments just to make you stay longer. And you’re immune to them on most days, but it’s too late in the night, so you have to cut yourself some slack. So what if you don’t want to come back yet either? It’s not a crime to want to spend some time with Lee Donghyuck.

“What a shame,” still, you tease, waiting for him to come up with a bright idea that you could use as an excuse to stay out longer.

“Oh come on,” Donghyuck mutters, “you always ruin the fun. Teach me how to drive, what do you say?”

Shocked at his preposition, you turn to him again, wide eyes and mouth agape. “What? Absolutely not.”

“Why? The parking lot’s empty. I can’t possibly be that bad that I crash your car into nothing. Come on!” he pleads, going even as far as pouting at you– not really knowing that the expression has you shamefully stare at his lips for a split second, insides heating up– and realistically, you should have warning signs blinking at you from everywhere in your brain, an alarm going off to tell you that this is not a good idea at all, but you’re too stunned to come up with another plan for the rest of your evening, and, well, you may be getting a little weak for the annoying gemini. He's right, though– what could possibly go wrong? 

So you only sigh in response, opening the door and getting out of your seat, watching as Donghyuck excitedly mirrors your motions and jogs to the driver’s seat, ready to possibly ruin your evening and your car at the same time. When you’re back safe inside of the car, you quickly fasten your seatbelt, a sign of your sense of self preservation still working well, watching Donghyuck move your seat further back so he can comfortably reach the pedals. His focused face is in your full view as he adjusts all the mirrors possible, and only then is when you notice him chewing on the inside of his cheek– in either nerves or concentration, you can’t really tell right now– and the sight makes you halt him in his motions before he manages to start the engine.

“Have you ever done this before?” you ask, watching as he turns to you with wide eyes, shaking his head in disagreement.

“No,” he peeps, laughing to himself, “Yangyang declined me the last time I asked.”

“Yeah, because he has a working brain,” you whisper under your breath, still in disbelief of what you allowed to happen, “so… can you reach the pedals?”

“I can.”

“And you see the whole back window in this mirror, right?” you ask, pointing to the rearview mirror, watching as Donghyuck nods.

“Positive.”

“Great. So… start the engine now, I guess?” you say, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you see him nod and reach for the keys, turning them. The car instantly comes alive right in front of him all while Hyuck seems  absolutely clueless, looking at you with big, adorable eyes, and you take it as your cue to instruct him on his next moves.

“Now press the clutch– the far left pedal– and move the gear stick into the first gear,” you say, watching as the boy slowly does as you say, reaching for the device and moving it to the desired place. “Good. Now, keep pressing the clutch and slowly start pressing the accelerator– the far right pedal– while also slowly letting go of the clutch until you get to the point where the car starts moving on itself. That’s when you don’t let go of the clutch, but keep it at that same exact spot, and put a bit more acceleration until the wheels spin like, once or twice. Only then can you keep your leg off the clutch.” 

“You’re kinda hot when you tell me what to do,” Hyuck mumbles, but the flirting doesn’t quite come through when his face is focused at the road and his composure seems shaken, too stressed out to actually mean the words coming out of his mouth.

“Shut up and do what I said,” you snarl, seeing as the man nods and tries moving with the car. It takes him some time, but it seems that he is a natural– the car moves without the engine dying, and suddenly, you find yourself cheering him on. “Good! Good! You’re moving!”

“Oh. My. God.” 

“Don’t panic!”

“I’m not panicking!” Hyuck hums, nodding to himself as he turns the wheel and makes a circle around the parking lot, grinning to himself with confidence. The car moves painfully slowly, and you, despite your best interest, find yourself enjoying the view– although you should probably be more worried about your own safety than you currently are. That's when you decide to challenge the male further.

“Okay, then we can shift into the second gear, it’s gonna go a little smoother,” you muse, seeing as the male nods.

His eyes stay focused on the road, though, so you take it as your cue to instruct him again. “Press on the clutch then, and move the gear stick straight down.”

“Mhm,” he hums, and presses on the clutch, but the struggle comes next as his hand flies all over the car, not quite used to the placement of the gear stick yet. Stressed, eyes glued to the road in front of him to not run into any possible obstacles in your way, he refuses to look away for even a second, and the whole sight makes your heart race in anxious agony as you reach for his hand and grip it, guiding him towards the stick and placing his palm on top of the device.

Your hold on his hand doesn’t loosen up as you guide his movements further and do it for him, just to make sure the stick really gets to its designated place and doesn't get stuck in neutral, which would make the engine die with the next press of the accelerator. His skin is soft under your touch, just like you imagined it to be, and you find yourself growing hotter the more your skin is in contact with his, the touch so innocent yet still sending you to overdrive.

“Now let go of the clutch,” you order, eyes glued to the side of Donghyuck’s head as he nods, listening to everything you say. The car now goes more smoothly and you watch him take another lap around the parking lot before you realize your hand is still gripping his on the gear stick, the information making you jump slightly in your place, clearing your throat in the awkward, tense atmosphere you managed to create for yourself.

“Okay,” you announce, “the trial is over, it’s time to press the brake– the middle pedal, if you haven't figured that out so far– and get out of my place,” you say, hoping the tone of your voice sounds as light as usual. 

The car comes to a strong halt, since Hyuck doesn’t really know how fast the brakes react yet, and if you weren’t buckled in, it’s certain that you’d go flying in your seat and smash your head against the dashboard. Breathing out when the car stills, you finally feel yourself relax, having been alert this whole time, as you squeeze Donghyuck’s hand for the last time, amidst selfishly, before you let go of it and turn towards the door, opening it and thanking the chilly air of the night for slapping you to your face. You really needed that wake up call.

Do you really need to drive a fucking manual? 

hyuck – can you drive me to yangyangs at 8

Staring at the text message on your phone, sighing to yourself at the weird discomfort in your stomach when it appears and registers in your brain, the sound catches attention of your roommate Aeri currently getting ready on the floor of your room, pressed almost uncomfortably close to the mirror. She should really wear the glasses she was prescribed.

“Donghyuck again?” she asks, staring at you through the mirror, a mischievous grin sitting on her face as she asks the crucial question.

“How’d you know?” you roll your eyes in irony, walking over to your closet and picking out your tonight’s outfit.

“Well,” she shrugs, “one, he’s like, the only person that ever texts you except for me, and two, you had that disgustingly doe eyed look on your face.”

“I so did not–”

“You so did,” she notes, putting another coat of mascara onto her long eyelashes.

“You know what? I regret telling you about this,” you mourn, scrambling for your things around your room and putting them into your bag, practically already ready to leave the apartment alongside your roommate slash best friend. When you came home last week after the McDonald’s run at 4 in the morning, you decided that sleep really wasn’t worth it anymore– as if you could fall asleep after the hotness in your whole body despite your window being wide open– and so you took a cold shower and decided to stay up in the living room, watching Netflix (more like having the show in the background as you tried hard to not have a mental breakdown at the newly found information about yourself). Aeri found you like that at 6 in the morning when she woke up to get a glass of water, and even though she was sleepy and groggy– which was probably why you decided to spill the beans so quickly– she interrogated you about the weird look on your face and it’s been a running joke between her and herself for the whole week.

“It’s really not my fault that you find our neighbor hot,” she notes, shrugging to herself.

“When did I say that? When did I say that!” 

“Well, you said you came home all flushed and that you imagined making out with him when you dropped him off back home, so that’s basically the same thing.” 

“I did not say I wanted to make out with him!” you defend yourself. You didn’t say it. You thought about it, that’s for sure, but your roommate really doesn’t have to know that. Unless she can read your thoughts, of course.

“Yeah, whatever. You and I both know it’s true.” 

Sighing, deciding that you’re ending the conversation with your roommate as long as the topic is your annoying neighbor, you turn to your phone and finally reply to his text message.

you – can’t

He replies almost instantly, as if he was waiting at his phone for the last 15 minutes, and the predictableness of his message almost makes you chuckle.

hyuck – why

you – cuz im going you – and i wanna drink you – so i cant drive

hyuck – ok that changes things then hyuck – my original mission was to get you to go there with me but this has to do i suppose hyuck – see you there ;)

Yes, you admit that you reread the messages a little too many times for your own liking. Trying to decipher the hidden meaning behind his words, you swear your brain is running a thousand miles an hour, and realistically, this is the part where you reach for your girl best friend and ask her what exactly is happening in the chat with you and the guy you’re talking to, but after the endless teasing you’ve already heard from her side, you decide against it and just turn off your screen and put the phone into your bag with the rest of your necessities.

“If you mention something about this tonight in front of Donghyuck, I’m locking you out of the apartment.”

“Ay ay, captain!”

The journey to Liu Yangyang’s house isn’t long. He’s the only one that still lives with his parents, but you can’t really blame him– the house is huge, and they are hardly ever home, because they are always on business trips in Taiwan. Half the time, it’s like the guy owns the place, and he also acts like it too, since half of the parties you’re invited to in a year are taking place at his house. 

When you get there, it seems that everyone was already there– at least the usual group, you suppose. You don’t know who else is invited, but when you arrive to Yangyang’s basement– the part of the house where he usually hosts the more chill, laid-back parties, with low music in the background, laughter resonating through the place and alcohol being passed around between people drinking straight out of the bottles– your eyes instantly zero on Donghyuck, dressed in a light bomber jacket and skin tight jeans, you decide that burning your throat with alcohol is the best thing you can do instead of audibly moaning at the sight.

Taking one of the opened bottles of Bacardi off the little camping table situated near the corner of the big room, you take a swig, not really caring about the people who have drank out of it before you– because the pandemic has taught you nothing, it seems– when you finally walk over to the group and say your greetings. Deciding that avoiding the object of your desire for the whole evening is the best plan how to survive without doing something you’re going to regret, you engage in conversation with pretty much everyone else, completely unaware of the way your neighbors eyes are burning a hole through the side of your skull, kind of offended that you haven’t come up to him first, since as far as he’s concerned, out of all the people present in the room, you spend the most time with him in the first place (with the exception of Aeri, of course, but you two live together, so it doesn't really count). In his opinion, you didn’t need to be talking to Na Jaemin right now– you’re not even friends with the man.

But still– drinking beer out of a bottle Lee Jeno passes you somewhere in the middle of the night before he disappears with his best friend to dance with them under the cigarette haze (pretty embarrassingly, you may add) – the only thing resonating through your brain is that you got this, you’re not gonna give him a single glance, you’re not gonna think about how attractive he looks in all black.

You guess that everything about the way this evening has been going is the prime example of every single college kid’s usual Friday. Sitting in a basement of Liu Yangyang’s house, your vision cloudy with a bit of alcohol and also the sweet, piney smoke of the joint that’s been passed around the room only a few minutes prior, music lowly plays in the background, adding a relaxed, yet exciting and bubbling atmosphere to it all– it’s the epitome of the experience you imagine before you go to college when you’re 15 and gazing longingly outside of your window, wondering if life when you’re older will be better and more fun.

And while you don’t necessarily think life is better now– you do have a shitton of assignments to do and stress eating up your insides– you do think it’s kind of fun. Everything is more bearable when you have a group of friends by your side, and while you wouldn’t call every single person in this room right now your closest friend– a friend for life, even– you’d say everything is better than being stuck in your house on a Friday evening, mourning the break up of One Direction one more time as you watch This is us again with spoonfuls of ice cream shoveled into your mouth, figure cuddled up under the blanket with your roommate by your side.

The fun only lasts until a round of Truth or dare takes place, though. You must admit that it��s the fundamental part of the whole hang out, and yes, it’s the thing you always see in the movies. It adds a bit of spice to it all and it’s twice as fun to play when you’re a little intoxicated, but still– you’d like to think you’re too old for the game now, even though your friends believe otherwise and never fail to bring it up again.

This time, it’s Jaemin who brings it up. You shoot daggers to his skull, annoyed eyes and all, but you don’t think he notices as he continues to excitingly sway his arms in the air when he repeats the submission over and over again, finally heard by his roommate Jeno that’s just come back from the weird dancing session with his best friend that he’s very obviously pining over, and grins at his roommate in agreement, starting the game. 

“Not again,” you whine audibly, because frankly, if you wanted to survive the evening with no embarrassment and no weird thoughts about one of the party guests, you don’t think a game of Truth or dare is your best move. Your disgust makes your own roommate– that’s suddenly glued to your side, too tipsy to even walk (you heard her exclaim that her legs are too heavy to be used)– giggle, already familiar with your thoughts on the game. And frankly, that makes you even more terrified– because when Aeri is drunk, she talks even more than she does when she’s sober, and well, there’s no promising that all of the information you’ve ever shared with her will stay truly confidential when she’s under the influence.

“Don’t start again,” she says, shaking her head, “you always say you hate it, but you always end up playing it anyway.”

She’s right. It’s not like anyone is pressuring you, but you kind of feel like the situation calls for you to join in– because what else are you supposed to do, watch them? There’s no fun in watching if you’re not involved, and you’d feel like an intruder if you just watched them do all sorts of dares while not being in on the game. 

“Yeah, because you’d all whine if I didn’t,” you say instead, taking a sip of your drink, letting the bitter taste of beer slide down your throat as she rolls her eyes at you, nudging you in your side with her elbow.

“Just say you end up having fun,” she snickers, “nobody would think that’s weird, you know.”

“Yeah, whatever you say,” you shush her and pet her hair, taking advantage of the fact that you’re very obviously less tipsy than her, as you turn to the middle of the circle and wait for the game to start.

Usually, a couple of rounds pass before your name is called. You enjoy the tension– it feels like you have time to prepare to do whatever task their hazed minds come up with or answer whatever question that’s been burning on their tongue, yet, it also feels like a buildup before the big thing– a strange sense of climax, if you will. 

This time, it’s no different. A couple of minutes pass as you watch Yangyang lick the bottom of Jaemin’s foot– because Jeno always likes to come up with the nastiest, most worrying dares of them all– followed by the sight of Shotaro kissing the forehead of the most attractive guy in the circle (Renjun wasn’t happy with the wet peck left on his skin). The guys almost always pick a dare, and you think that’s an advantage, since before it’s your turn to finally participate in the game, they run out of ideas for dares that are possible to do in the weed-smelling basement of Liu Yangyang’s house and you can safely choose truth instead. It’s not like you’re not brave enough to choose dare– you did so many times before and never once backed away from the task, not even when you were dared to kiss the person on your right (that was the night you learned Kim Sunwoo wasn’t all that, because the drunken peck he pressed to your lips wasn’t all that appealing) – you just simply tried to pick the safest strategy for the game. 

Another kissing dare could suggest that you kiss the person you find the most attractive in the room right now. Or they could ask you for a lap dance on one of the guys. The possibilities are endless, and even though choosing the truth isn’t that much safer, since their questions could vary all the way from ‘What’s the color of your underwear right now?’ to ‘What is your favorite sex position?’, you’re trying to comfort yourself with the fact that you could just lie. You know it’s kind of prohibited, and that it also defeats the whole purpose of the game, but still– you’re not planning on embarrassing yourself tonight, and you were always a pretty good liar when it came to words. Actions? Not that much.

Sinked deep in the stained light orange fabric of the sofa, eyes half-lidded, you await Jaemin’s question as you tell him you did indeed pick the truth. And you were right, there are no protests coming out of the boys’ mouths this time around, seemingly tired of coming up with original ideas for their dares. 

“Come on, man, we don’t have the whole day,” Renjun nudges the boy into his ribs, annoyed with the lack of words from his friend. 

“Actually, we do. I don’t see the issue-”

“Just ask something already!” Shotaro whines from his position on the floor, his back pressed against the side of the sofa.

“Fine,” the man straightens up in his position, as if struck by a newly found sense of clarity, the look on Na Jaemin’s face reeking of insanity, “I've got something.” 

The room cautiously looks at the platinum-haired boy sitting on the floor, his back resting against an armchair in the corner of the room as he blinks a few times, seconds passing, yet there’s still nothing coming out of his mouth. 

“Are you gonna say something, or will you continue to act all dramatic…?” Jeno snickers, making his roommate roll his eyes at the jab, finally breaking the silence.

You’d argue that he just forgot what he wanted to say– with how Jaemin gets when he’s drunk, it wouldn’t be half surprising– but it seems like his roommate knows him better than you do, because the man speaks up fast, and suddenly, you take back all your impatient thoughts that urged him to ask you something already, because the question takes you by surprise and leaves you in shock, staring wide eyed and speechless.

“If you had to have sex with anyone in this room, who would you choose?” 

You no longer wish he took longer to ask you the question. No, you wish he would’ve sent it to you telepathically, so you could prepare your answer beforehand. You’d save yourself a lot of trouble– being met with the gaze of everyone, looking at you as they await your answer is truly not helping you with the difficult task of responding to the truth, when in reality, you don’t think you can manage to even say anything.

Because truthfully, if you were asked this question at any time prior to the weird situation you found yourself in with Donghyuck– who’s, just by the way, still present in the room, but more quiet that usual, which you shamefully notice and worry about on your insides, but don’t mention out loud– you’d think that you wouldn’t have sex with anyone in this room. It may be hard to believe– even though the men in this room aren’t the sexsymbols they often think they are– but that's the sheer reality.

But now? You feel like the truth is written all over your face, you feel like everyone can see right inside of your head and read the words straight out of your brain. It’s embarrassing. You feel ashamed.

Looking around the space, shiteating grins meeting all of their expressions, you shrug and finally get some words out, hoping they satisfy their needs for an answer. 

“No one,” you say, praying you sound confident. 

“Yeah, no-”

“Oh, come on-” 

“That’s a lie-”

Multiple voices cut into your confession, all in disbelief. If this isn’t the proof of their impressively big egos, you don’t know what is. All of them now staring at you with furrowed eyebrows, not believing a single word that’s just came out of your mouth, you start to wonder about how to convince them that you are, indeed, telling the truth, even though you’re obviously aren’t, so you don’t have to take a shot of whatever liquid the host of the party has hidden in the closet of his basement as a punishment.

“I’m serious! I’ve never looked at any of you and thought, ‘yea, I’d let him get it’,” you shrug, taking a nervous sip of the beer in your hold again.  

“Okay, but if you had to? Like, imagine someone is holding your mother captive and telling you they’re gonna kill her if you don’t have sex with anyone in this room. Who are you choosing?” Jeno squints at you, and you’re starting to believe that the man just wants you to pick him. 

“I’d have sex with Aeri,” you muse, pointing a finger to her as she’s leeching to your right shoulder, snickering.

“That’s a cop out!”

“Look, man, I don’t find anyone here hot, okay?” you shake your head at the commotion, grinning to yourself to seem more believable. And with how they roll their eyes and sigh to themselves, you think it’s working. There’s a premature feeling of relief in your insides, thinking that you’ve done it, you haven’t exposed yourself, before you hear your roommate mumble from her slumber, making your heart drop deep down into your own fucking asshole.

“Not even Hyuck?” 

Slowly spinning your head towards her, the tight smile on your face suggesting that you’re going to kill her in under approximately five seconds if she doesn’t take back what she said, you’re painfully aware of the fact that everyone’s staring at you now, grinning to themselves with a look that says they believe that Aeri knows something they don’t– she’s your best friend, after all– and you realize that you’re going to have a hard time getting out of this one. 

You should’ve expected this the moment you saw her drink that much. Maybe you should’ve stayed home today. The information about Lee Donghyuck was still too fresh in her brain to not mention when she has some to drink– you understand, in a way. At least, you’re trying to understand.

“Fuck no,” you grunt out, furrowing your eyebrows in the best acting performance you’ve managed to put on since your theatre kid days. You don’t think you’re convincing anyone, though. You’re not even convinced.

“Was that my name I heard?” 

And again, your heart drops at the familiar tone coming from the place straight opposite of you, the place that’s very obviously in your point of view, yet you’ve been successfully avoiding the whole evening to not seem as obvious to everyone that the very man has been occupying your every thought for the last week or two. You realize this is the first time he’s spoken to you this evening, if you’re not counting the text messages you exchanged before you got here, and something about the fact makes you shiver.

Meeting his eyes, because it’s the natural thing to do when someone speaks to you, you mentally curse and feel your heartbeat quickening at the grin sitting on his face. Eyes roaming his body– all against your will–  you notice the comfortable way he’s sitting on the armchair in front of you, legs parted wide and his thighs on full display, hair a little messy and eyes glossed over and blown out, since he smoked just a few minutes prior to the game, making you realize just how painfully he resembles someone who just had a long make-out session; the thought automatically leading you to think of the fact that you’d like to have a make-out session with him right now, and wow, his thighs do look inviting to sit down on.

“You wish,” you spit instead, still wanting to save the situation. Averting your gaze from him to keep yourself sane, you choose to focus on the floor instead, heat rising to the tips of your ears. 

“I mean, it seems more like you do,” he grins, the whole group snickering at the sudden quarrel in between the two of you. Your conversation suddenly reminds you of the ones you had with him before the two of you started properly talking, and something about the confident smirk on his face makes you remember just how annoying you’ve always found him whenever you encountered him at this very place. You’re back to square one for a minute, with your defensive remarks, similar to the way you used to quarrel with him before, and the familiarity engulfs you like a warm blanket.

“Your confidence amuses me,” you bite back, choosing to look at him as you say it to add more impact to your words; your decision seems to only worsen the things for you, though. The conversation admittedly sounds a little too much like flirting, and the way you notice him clutching the can of beer in his hand only makes you more flushed under his gaze.

“You don’t seem amused.”

“That’s because the idea of having sex with you makes me want to leave this room,” you grunt, shifting uncomfortably in your seat.

“I’ll take you home if you’d like,” he winks at you. Alarm sound goes off in your mind, your hands clammy as you run them through your hair, and suddenly, you’re on fight or flight. And if you can’t escape the situation, you decide to choose the latter– throwing him the most jabbing remark you can think of at this moment, fighting to keep your dignity.

“On a bike, or something?” you snicker. “As if I’d let a guy without a licence fuck me. You know that’s below my standards, Hyuck.”

An amused gasp is heard in the room when this remark leaves your mouth. The main source of the noise is Liu Yangyang, the host himself, since he likes to laugh at times when it’s the least socially acceptable. 

Now, you know that there are only a few things in which men value their social status; one of them being the amount of girls in their bed, the next one their rank in League of Legends, and lastly, their cars. And while Lee Donghyuck is known to be quite the player when it comes to the first thing in the list of social ranking between guys (or at least you’ve heard so from the girls in the locker room in the past years. Not like you were listening to their conversations whenever his name was mentioned… you just have very good hearing) and he was known to be the one that carries the team whenever any game on Yangyang’s PS5 is played in the dimly-lit basement on nights much like this one, there was something always setting him back in the neat ranking, and that something was the state of his car. 

Why? You guessed it– he doesn’t have a car. Or a licence.

To be quite frank, by the expression on Donghyuck’s face– all wide eyes and mouth agape in shock– you hit him right when it hurts, the grin falling off his face when he takes a sip of the beer in his hand, seemingly to chase down the taste of being put in his place and to have something to do to not seem as awkward and embarrassed as he must be feeling right now. 

You feel victorious, in a way– you managed to mask your very obvious sexual frustration caused by the man, while also managing to rile him up with your comment, which is definitely a first in your dynamic– adrenaline rushing through your blood as you look at him with expecting eyes, awaiting his response. The rest of the crowd laughs at your remark, only fueling the joy you feel when he suddenly averts his gaze from you, licking his lips for only a millisecond (yet it doesn’t get unnoticed by your eyes) before he snickers again, shrugging.

“Okay then,” he grunts, pressing the tip of his tongue to the inside of his cheek in annoyance, “you won.”

You know what? Once he admits to it, the feeling of victory quickly fades. Watching his frustrated face, eyebrows furrowed as he looks everywhere but at your face, suddenly, you choose to drown yourself in the rest of the beer in your bottle, relieved when you notice the game progressing without you. 

You won, he says, but you don't feel like you did. Quite the opposite, actually. You feel a tad bit defeated. 

You managed to lie to the crowd, but the very obvious pit in your stomach reminds you that you can’t lie to yourself– and now, bear with me as I say something cheesy, yet true– because even though Lee Donghyuck can’t drive, he’s still very successful at driving you crazy.

You feel like the universe is punishing you for every little, smallest thing you’ve ever done wrong in your life. You feel like whatever force is there that’s making this world go around, absolutely, completely, wholeheartedly hates, despises you, and won’t have mercy on you as you’re left dealing with the text message shining on your phone screen four days after the party, at 8 in the evening. 

hyuck – drive me to a date hyuck – please ig 

Sighing, one, two, three times, you chew on the bottom of your lip as your eyes scan over the messages, and something about the very few words makes your stomach turn and twist in an emotion you’d describe as a weird mix of disgust and shock as you mentally try to come up with a reply. And it’s hard.

It’s difficult, because you hate it, you hate it, you hate it– the way Lee Donghyuck just managed to score himself a date only four days after your ever so growing sexual frustration has started to see the light of the day, you hate the way he’s asking you to drive him there– as if to show you that he still has it, that you’re wrong, and that even though he has no car and no license to boost in front of other girls, they still want him and you’re about to witness it as you drive him there. 

And you hate it so much you start to think you’re going to chew on your own fist and throw a rock through your own window, but you strive hard not to show it. And is there a better way to seem unaffected in this situation than to comply with him? If you weren’t so jealous about the whole thing, you’d surely just make fun of him and do it, no questions asked– a friendly favor, or something. And so you do it. Like it’s nothing.

you – ok text me when you’re ready 

After a few minutes, you end up sitting in your car, hands on the wheel ready to turn (and run into the nearest car out of pure rage, possibly), waiting for Lee Donghyuck to appear on the passenger’s seat, all dolled up and dumped in cologne, presumably– and that’s exactly what happens when the door swings open and your nose is filled with his usual smell but somehow amplified, and you catch a glimpse of his leather jacket and the shirt tucked into his black jeans. You don’t outright look at him– because you’re still trying really hard not to show all of your inner thoughts on your face– and so you only turn on the engine and hum at him, already making your way out of the parking lot.

“Where are you going, then?” you ask, tone of voice completely unbothered and not too stingy or tight. “And I’m just dropping you off this time, right? Because I won’t sit there and watch you have a date and wait to drop both of you back,” you say, playing with the car radio and trying to find a station that would both satisfy your need to tune out your thoughts with a good song and the need to do something with your fingers to seem occupied.

“Of course not,” he snickers, “wouldn’t do that to poor you. And just go the way I tell you. Now turn left at the end of the street.”

Sighing to yourself at his orders, you do your best at driving your neighbor to his date while trying to ignore just how ridiculous this whole situation is. You should’ve said no back when he first asked you to be his personal driver for the semester– failing Film theory class doesn’t seem like such a bad thing in your eyes now, when you look at the situation in retrospect.

“Can’t believe you have to be dropped off at your own date and you still pull bitches,” you shake your head in disbelief, hoping, praying you seem annoyed because of your duties and not because you’d much rather have him staying in so you could catch a glimpse of him in his window, crouched down in the blue light of his room (yes, he has neon lights in his room. Yes, you teased him about it countless of times before) as he plays League of Legends or stays up on a discord call with his friends, playing Minecraft.

“See? You’re missing out,” he chuckles, shrugging to himself. 

“As if I’d ever go on a date with you,” you huff, moving to turn the volume of the radio higher so you don’t have to make small talk with him anymore, agitated, yet completely ignoring the fact that it was you who brought it up in the first place.

Hyuck moves his slender fingers along the knob of the radio and tunes the volume back down, and you’re eager to repeat your previous steps just to anger him and also so you don’t have to listen to his sneaky, egoistical remarks for any longer, when you hear him tell you the next directions and you realize that you still indeed need to hear Donghyuck’s voice, or else you’re not gonna be able to drop him off at his destination and drive away as fast as humanly possible.

The terrain around you starts to look more stranded. There are more trees than buildings in your sight, lampposts decreasing in amount as you drive further away from the city center, and only when you pass the sign that tells you that you just left the town you speak up again, now truly concerned.

“Where the fuck are you taking your date, man? To the middle of the woods?” you huff. “Is she meeting you there?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he laughs, shaking his head at your furrowed brows. Something about his casual composure makes your nerves tick off and goosebumps appear all over your body, as if you were sensing danger, when you sigh out heavily in frustration and turn to look at him for only a split second, eyes meeting with his. 

“Or are you making me drive to another fucking state, you fucker? I don’t have that much gas right now, you dumb ass–”

“We’re almost there, don’t worry,” he rolls his eyes at you, pointing somewhere into the distance again. “Just turn right there and drive up the hill.”

“Up the fucking hill?” you repeat, concerned.

“I told you to not worry about it,” Hyuck hums, settling deeper into the car seat, letting you battle your own thoughts as you follow his orders and drive up the hill for him, praying no deer decides to jump onto the road and total your car right now. 

“I worry about the girl that agreed to go on a date with you, Donghyuck,” you mutter, “I’ll tell you that, she clearly doesn’t have everything alright in the brain, because this is ridiculous.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he swats your worries away with a swing of his arm, pointing towards a place that extends out of the main road– if you can even call it that, since no cars are passing through the hill ever, much more in these hours of the day– and tells you that you can park the car there. 

And you do as you’re told, despite your never-ending complaining– that’s the dynamic you have with Lee Donghyuck, it seems. 

Stopping the car out of the main road, your car shielded from one side by a row of trees, you step on the break and look at the man to your right in question, the engine still running. “Is this it? Is this the place?”

“Yeah,” he nods, a grin slowly starting to play with his features. Something isn’t right– you feel it in your bones and see it in his eyes, but you can’t quite put your finger on it, still utterly confused and in the dark about everything. “Come on, get out of the car.”

He wastes no time in unbuckling his seatbelt and hopping out of the vehicle, his figure circling the car as he leans on the hood, turned away from you and seemingly waiting for you to follow his actions. Confused, figuring that you can’t do much more about the situation right now– where the fuck is his date? Why are we on the top of a hill? Will his date show up? – all swimming around your brain, you hop out and find his warm being, standing one step ahead of him and staring at him with stern, frustrated eyes.

“Look, isn’t it pretty?” he asks, pointing somewhere behind you. It takes everything in you to turn and gaze at the sight in front of you, your heart still weak and angrily beating against your ribcage, but you do as you’re ordered, eyes bearing into the view. 

The whole town is stretching out right below you. Now that you’ve turned the engine off and your headlights have gone out, you see the lights even better, shielded by a blanket of stars glimmering above the horizon, and you can’t help but gasp out in the beauty of it all. This place makes you want to take a picture, so you can remember how you felt while standing here and admiring the city forever– so you can remember how you felt while standing next to Donghyuck, heart foolishly drumming against your ribcage– and you suddenly realize just how badly you despise the fact that he showed this to you just to send you off while he waits for his date, as if to show you everything you could have if you went out with him, even though the question was never even on the table in the first place.

Clearing your throat, you turn to him, eyes glazing his side profile. “Where’s your date? Is she turning up? I don’t think it’s safe to make her–”

“My date’s already here,” he hums, nodding to himself. 

This does nothing to clear out the fog of confusion from in front of your eyes. “Huh? Where?”

“Here,” he repeats. The word has you wearily looking around yourself, furrowed brows and all– and that only makes the man chuckle at your antics, low voice cutting out of his throat making its way straight to the bottom of your stomach. “There’s no one else here. Just us. And no one else is coming, so will you chill out and enjoy our date, finally?” he asks, locking his gaze with you in a lazy, yet attractive manner that has your hands shaking and your brain instantly panicking.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you process his words for a few seconds, doing mental acrobatics and racking your brain in thought. Nothing helps. “Our date?”

“Mhm.”

“Yeah, no,” you giggle out in awkwardness, feeling unarmed and like somebody’s just dunk a bucket of hot water over you. Shaking your head, you try hard to mask the way you’re feeling on the inside right now, because what are you even feeling right now? As you do some unreadable gestures with your arms as a way of declining and canceling everything that’s happening right now. “Us? A date? Yeah, not happening–” 

You mumble out, ready to escape the situation as fastly and as efficiently as you can while you try to make your way back inside of the car, not really thinking of the journey home you’re about to have to make with him on the passenger’s seat, when a hand grips your wrist, making you stop in your tracks. You take a few steps away from him nonetheless, and the man soon follows you before your body is swiftly turned against your car, the small of your back coming in contact with the driver’s door. Your breathing is quick when the man hovers above you, and you don’t feel danger– you just feel a bit panicked at the way tonight’s playing out. A date? You wouldn’t have thought of this in your most insane dreams.

“Why are you trying to run away?” he asks, his hand still holding your wrist, his fingers firm, yet gentle on your skin.

“Because– um– because-” you stutter, eyes instantly meeting his– regret pooling in the bottom of your stomach when you realize the proximity of his gaze, something tense bundling up in your insides, “this is ridiculous, Donghyuck, you can’t just–”

“I can’t just?” he tempts you, eyebrows rising to make you continue.

“You can’t just lure me into a date with you, that’s not how this works–”

“Would you go if I asked, then?”

“No, of course not!” you shake your head at him, tone of voice a few octaves higher than usual. Your eyes scan over your companion, his face reflecting the moonlight, and you find yourself counting the moles on his cheeks and noticing his sped-up breathing, automatically matching it despite not realizing it yourself. 

“Why? ‘Cause I don’t have a driving license, or because you’re just scared to admit that you’re attracted to me?” he challenges you, quirking up his brows at you in tension. 

Something about it makes you lose all the air in your lungs. He’s so close now you swear the scent of his cologne has made you drugged up, since you can’t seem to take your eyes off his lips for the next few seconds, completely in trance and electrified, and before you know it, you’re a blubbering mess, too lost in everything that is him to come up with something coherent. “That’s- that’s just not-”

He laughs at you, he snickers, as those words escape your mouth, not even a full sentence. You bet it’s enough of a confirmation for him that you’ve officially lost all control– you can’t seem to get out a teasing remark like you usually can, no smart words calculated and thrown his way to scatter down his ego, and you think he realizes that he won. You’re defenseless, you’re weak, and you really want to make out with him right now.

Which he might have sensed out of the way you’ve been yearningly staring at his lips the whole exchange. Still, he mumbles out a small ��Stop me now if you don’t want this,” just to be completely sure.

And you don’t. You don't stop him when he leans in and captures your lips with his. You’d be a fool to.

His lips crash against yours with a fever-like pace, the tension that’s been building up between the two of you making itself known in the hurried motions of your lips. His kiss is deep, hands cradling your cheeks as he angles you to lock your lips with his better, not a hint of shyness or hesitance in his motions. Your fingers shakily grasp at the front of his shirt, trying to steady yourself when each motion of his mouth against yours leaves your knees weaker and weaker, your body pressed harder against the car door.

He tastes of mint, making you suspect he planned this and chewed on a gum before meeting you, and when his teeth gently pulls at your bottom lip, eliciting a gasp from you, his tongue is left exploring the inside of your mouth, making you grow hotter and hotter under his ministrations. Your hands occupy themselves as they finally let go off his shirt and sneak around his small waist, pulling him closer, and you swear that you’ve never experienced a kiss that would leave you so eager for more before, a kiss that would leave you so weak and open for anything that’s about to happen– as if you were already naked and bare, a puddle in his palms. 

You’re soon left out of breath, gasping for air when he pulls away from you, and his kisses turn into pecks left on your lips, open mouthed kisses slowly trailing to the corner of your mouth and down your jaw, lips hungrily attaching to your neck, his nose glazing the soft skin as if to smell your scent and ingrave it into his memory. Something inside of you unties and makes you lose all of your control, finally falling fully into the sensation of the novelty of making out with Lee Donghyuck against your car, and you find your hands tying themselves into his hair, tugging at the roots when he finds the soft spot on the crevice of your shoulder that makes you squirm, and you suddenly know what all the girls in the locker rooms were talking about. Each action of his has you gasping for air, eyes pressing shut in the blissfulness of it all– the bites he leaves on your neck, smoothing them down with kitten licks each time surely leaving bruises, making your insides light up with the acts of possession.

“Hyuck–” you gasp, his mouth sucking into another spot on your neck, your head instantly moving away from his way to give him more space to work his magic.

“Hm?” he hums, a satisfied sound cutting out of his throat as his actions get more slow, more lazy, but still just as electrifying. You don’t really know what you wanted to say– perhaps you had no point of calling his name just to say it, and the hazy look in your face is enough of a proof to him when he unattaches himself off your neck and locks his eyes with you, a grin settling onto his face. “Feels good?” 

Nodding eagerly, almost a bit fast and a bit too soon to your own liking (but you’ll worry about that later), you watch him lean towards you again, lips locking with yours in need. Your fingers trail up and down his clothed back, his fingers mirroring the same, but up your loose shirt (which reminds you that you didn’t even dress prettily for the occasion– since you didn’t know this was your date you're attending), cold hands against your heated skin. Shivering from the fresh breeze of the night, you feel him grin against your lips before detaching himself from them to speak against your mouth. “Let’s move this somewhere warmer,” he murmurs before he tugs you away from the car and opens up the back door, pushing you inside.

Swiftly getting inside and closing the door behind himself, Donghyuck appears hovering above you, caging you against the uncomfortable seat. Still, you don’t have time to feel any sense of discomfort as his fingers move your hair from the way and his lips are back on yours again, leaving you no time to think of the implications of the whole situation. 

“See? Isn’t this much better than arguing with each other all the time?” Hyuck snickers again in a moment of weakness when he pulls back from your face to admire your swollen lips, and the teasing has you pushing him towards the seats, a dissatisfied look on your face. 

“Shut up,” you whisper almost hurriedly, climbing onto his lap (not before you admire his sprawled-up legs and the sight of his thighs, though).

“Make me,” he challenges.

“Gladly,” you nod, attaching yourself to his plump lips again, since you can’t seem to get enough of the sensation of them against your weak self, every sweep of his tongue with yours making you feel more heated and impatient as you move against him in his lap, the motion earning you a dissatisfied grunt sent against your mouth as his palms grip your hips with unsaid urgency.

“Don’t start something you wouldn’t want to finish,” he breathes out.

Nodding, you hum. “Who said anything about stopping?” you muse out, grinding against him harder.

You’ll worry about the consequences later.

“Why am I the only one in the shot?” you squint your eyes at the male, watching him as he points his camera to you and tells you to smile and act natural. Donghyuck has on his varsity jacket and his hair is sitting messy, a bit curled on the top of his head, his legs are covered with loose gray sweatpants instead of his usual black jeans– he looks casual, and yet, he looks amazing, you foolishly think as you sigh to yourself and walk across the field, much like the male mentioned a few weeks ago when the two of you ate fried chicken with his free coupons, trying to capture the energy of what youth feels like to you.

“Because you are the main star, honey,” he grins at you, the nickname making you trip over a little on your own feet, before you turn back to him and send him a glare.

“I told you not to call me that,” you mutter, but feel the heat from your stomach slowly rising to the tips of your ears and the tops of your cheeks, your composure slowly crumbling under his gaze. Not only are you watched by his deep brown orbs, there’s also a camera pointed at you now, and if he doesn’t stop with the weird flirting he has going on– especially after what happened between the two of you last week– you don’t know how you’re supposed to contain yourself and act so you don’t look like an utter fool in front of everyone, when the clips will be played in class next week.

“Besides, the project is due next week and this is all we’re doing? Are you sure we’re going to be able to pull this off?” you ask, wary of his confidence. You’re not really sure if Donghyuck knows what he’s doing with this assignment. Why did you even trust him with it in the first place?

“I told you to leave it to me,” he says, “now be a good girl and run down the field, maybe twirl a little like a ballerina, I dunno… Hum a little tune to yourself, do anything remotely interesting and youthful, okay?” he instructs you, and you comply, ignoring the fact that he told you to be a good girl, because after what the two of you did last week, you’re not able to register those two words in a way that would not be mildly sexual in your brain.

You two haven’t spoken about the fact that you hooked up in the backseat of your car after your weird date last week. Truth be told, you two haven’t spoken about anything since it happened, because you felt too awkward and hesitant to bring any conversation topic up. The first time you two spoke was when Donghyuck texted you yesterday about the project, and you told yourself that you simply can't ignore him when it comes to these things, and so you agreed to meet up with him, hoping he won't bring up the events of last week. You were scared. What were you scared of, exactly? You have no idea.

Something in you was almost a bit shameful to admit to yourself that you managed to fall for Lee Donghyuck this quickly. Something in you was a bit embarrassed at the fact that you let yourself be so intimate and so close with the male, and although you don’t regret it, you don’t think you want to talk about it with him (or anyone, for that matter) just yet. Or ever, actually.

And although you could be rational and tell yourself that surely, Donghyuck wanted you in just the same way you wanted him, and there was nothing embarrassing about it, you didn’t feel comfortable with talking about the act with him, because deep down, you know it wasn’t just about the sex for you and you were afraid that it was for him, and you’d rather stay in the blissful unknowingness than to know he only wanted to have sex with you and not try to go somewhere further with your relationship. Did this inner monologue reek of disgusting insecurity? 

Yes. Yes, it did. But somehow, you’re not able to do anything about it.

And so you run down the field like Donghyuck told you to, and you twirl and twist and shout and dance around, trying your hardest to act silly and youthful and exactly like he would like you to, because you’d hate to be unnatural around him, and you pray it’s enough for both the project and him included. Turning back to gaze at him from the distance, you notice that he’s not even recording anymore, only watching you with a lazy grin on his face, eyes glimmering under the direct sunlight, and you wonder how you haven’t realized just how beautiful he is when he’s simply just existing all those months ago, and how foolish you feel with the thought and both without it now. Walking up to him, you muse. 

“Are we done here?” 

“I think we got all the shots we need,” he hums, nodding to your question. There is something reassuring in his smile, and if you were confident enough to grasp at the straws, you would try to talk to him about the events of last week. You lack in many ways, though, and you were never so self-assured as you try to portray yourself to be, and so you don’t. 

“Let’s go, then,” you say, shuddering from the cold November wind as you walk away from the man, expecting him to follow you. You drove here, since the place is a few miles away from the city, and the fact that this marks the end of your project didn’t really make you as relieved and happy as you thought you’d feel back when you agreed to be his driver for the semester. 

A soft fabric envelopes your shoulders, his varsity jacket hugging you into warmth. You smell his cologne when you shyly push your limbs through the sleeves– a self-indulgent desire, too strong to be fought away– and when you look at him to thank him, he wears a soft look in his eyes that glazes you with such tenderness you feel like combusting from the inside with the strengths of your own emotions. Your heart beats fast in your chest when he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear as you walk towards the car, and when a stronger wind hits your heated face, you think that maybe Donghyuck was right, after all. 

You do think this perfectly captures what youth feels like.

“So we won’t talk about it?” he asks, and you turn away from him in fear of your emotions being clearly written on your face. He doesn’t have to name it– you know what he means.

“No,” you shake your head, determined, yet a little scared of his response, “not now.” Not yet, you think. You want to enjoy today a little longer.

“Why?” he asks.

Taking a shaky breath in, sensing that you won’t get to avoid the confrontation like you wanted to, you shrug. “I don’t know if I’m ready to hear it yet,” you bitterly laugh, meeting his eyes with something close to fear in your eyes.

“Hear what?”

“That you… you didn’t really mean anything by it, y’know,” you mumble, “I mean, you probably just did it to stroke your ego, or something, after everything I said at the party, so… yeah, I just don’t know if I wanna hear it.”

There’s a heartbeat of silence after your explanation, and Donghyuck only stares you down with a blank expression. It's not often that you don’t get to clearly see and experience all his emotions flashing through his face, letting you know what he feels even before he gets to speak it out loud. Now is one of the situations, though, and it scares you– it makes you so deeply afraid you’d rather back away from this conversation– damn you for entertaining it in the first place, and so you pretend it never happened in the first place.

“You think I did it to stroke my ego?” he clarifies.

“I- I mean…” you stutter, shying away from his gaze.

“Okay, then,” he mumbles, jaw hardening, his eyes not meeting yours when he circles the car and gets to his designated place on the passenger's seat, “that’s fine, I guess. I’ll try to show you my intentions clearer next time.”

Sitting in class, head resting in your hands as you stare right in front of you, mentally counting down the seconds until the last class of the semester starts, you are only vaguely aware of the things happening around you. You register Aeri talking to you about the new episode of her favorite drama somewhere to your right and you are also aware of Haknyeon and Shotaro sitting in the row in front of you, laughing loudly to themselves about the way their weekend went– yours went terribly, just for everyone’s information, since you decided to drown your feelings in alcohol alone in your apartment, having to be led to bed by your roommate after she got home in the middle of the night from one of her dates with Eric. You don’t really realize it when the class starts, because the monotone voice of your professor doesn’t do much to wake you up, but you are painfully aware of Lee Donghyuck’s body slumping next to yours into one of the only vacant chairs approximately 10 minutes after the class starts, out of breath and slouched over.

Aware of his presence, yet still acting like a scared deer around him, you don’t make any effort into turning to him and greeting him upon his arrival. Still, you sense the smell of his cologne filling your nostrils and making you just a bit more tired and sleepy, your eyes closing on themselves before you’re woken up by the sound of your name coming out of the professor’s mouth.

Scared you’re getting scolded for sleeping in class, you straighten your back and put on your best polite expression, but then you realize your name wasn’t called, just mentioned, and the name of none other than your neighbor was following, when the projector on the wall in front of you lights up and a file named Final projects is opened on the professor’s laptop, each .mp4 file named with a pair of surnames, and two clicks after, your final project is the first one of many presented in front of the whole class. You tried to tell Donghyuck that you could help with the final editing, but the male said he had a vision he needed to achieve, and for that, he wanted to be in charge of it alone, and frankly, out of fear of interacting with him more than was absolutely necessary, you left him to do his thing, resulting in this being your first time watching the final video as well.

There’s a few seconds of silence, a point of complete blankness as the clip starts, and a song played on an acoustic guitar starts playing when the word YOUTH, all capitalized, flashes at the screen. 

A clip of you running down the field in your flowy dress starts the video, the camera zooming in on your figure when you twirl and skip around in the tall grass, and then you laugh over the background music, the sound making you gape in surprise. You didn’t know your laugh sounded like that, and with the hazy coloring of the clips and the solemn, youthful atmosphere Donghyuck managed to capture in the video, you find yourself thinking the sound was kind of beautiful. 

Then the clip cuts into another one– and you widen your eyes at the sight, because Donghyuck told you he’s only going to include the clips from the field, and you believed him, well, because you never saw him record anything else– as the screen shows you a bunch of moments, all wordless, of you just going on with your life. The very next one is of you arriving to class late, a grumpy expression playing with your features. You didn’t notice Donghyuck filming back then, when he offered you a cup of coffee as you laid back on the desk, and a fit of giggles erupts around the class at your behavior. The next clip shows you laughing at Aeri’s shoulder in Yangyang’s basement– a couple of clips of that night following, capturing you playing beer pong with your other friends, or taking sips of your beer when you sat down on one of the folding chairs in the corner of the basement– each one showcasing you completely natural, unstaged, and raw. You had no idea anyone was watching you, yet alone taking clips of you. Did Donghyuck have his camera with him all those times? Or was he just taking those with his phone, since you never even noticed?

There’s a clip of you showing him the middle finger through the window when he called you late at night one day. Another one of you driving, and frankly, you don’t even know where you were going, but the sound of you giggling breaks through the speakers and you slouch deeper into your seat, shy at hearing the sound. The very next one is of you sipping at your boba through your straw, and that’s when you realize those were taken by his phone– at least some of them– because you attempt to hide from the lens by showing your palm against it. Another clip shows you digging through bags of McDonald’s take out in the driver’s seat of your car, another one lets you remember the time you went to get fried chicken with him, thinking he’s sending the video he took of you to tease his roommate with the free food he got with someone else back then, unaware that he wanted to use it for the project later. 

There are a few clips that only last a second. You walking a few steps ahead of him– you think it was the time you two went to the mall, you angry with his antics. Another one of you picking out cans of soda from the rack in the convenience store. A clip of you driving, once again, but now the sky is starry and dark, and you remember the night too well, since it wasn’t that long ago. A clip of you glaring at your bangs in the rear view mirror, another one of you staring into your textbooks at the library. 

There’s only one clip that shows Donghyuck as well. It’s one taken without you knowing, much like the previous ones, and how you missed the phone plopped up against the corner of your dashboard, you really don’t know, but the video shows you two in the McDonald’s parking lot, your hand touching his on the gear stick as you show him how to drive. Only then do you notice the flustered look on his face and the nervous laugh he gets out in the clip, the sound making your heart jump in your ribcage. 

The last part of the video is of you walking a few steps ahead of him, his varsity jacket hugging you around your shoulders. It’s the latest clip of them all, and it makes you painfully shy to look at it. The video comes to finish with a few last strums of an acoustic guitar in the background, and you come back to your senses when you feel a hand squeeze your thigh under the table, the whole class erupting into claps. The video was beautiful, and you feel moved.

Although you should be more mad about the fact that Donghyuck took videos of you without you knowing, there is something incredibly moving about the fact that somebody was looking at you and felt the need to capture the moment before it went away. The clips were candid, real, raw, showcasing exactly how the memory went, how your laugh sounded, and how you looked through Donghyuck’s eyes. The video was exactly what it needed to be and more. 

There’s something about the fact that all of the clips were of you that made you feel weak in your knees. If the video was what youth feels like, does this mean you were his youth?

If you felt beautiful in the video, loved the way your eyes crinkled in joy, liked the way your expressions morphed into the purest form of whatever emotion you felt at the moment, did that mean this was the way Donghyuck saw you with his eyes?

“See?” you hear him whisper into your ear, his hand still resting at the top of your leg. “I told you I had a vision. I did a good job, didn’t I?”

You chuckle, then offer him a nod. “I didn’t know you were recording all of those,” you whisper, ignoring the words coming out of your professor’s mouth– surely evaluating your work right now. You don’t really want to hear it, though– you’re sure you’ll pass. After seeing what your neighbor’s capable of, you have no doubts.

“I wanted it to feel authentic,” he peeps, “to the way I see you, I mean.”

“Is this what you meant when you said you’d prove your point later?” you wonder.

“I mean, the fact that I’ve always had the biggest crush on you was supposed to come across when I liked your objectively terrible haircut you got at the beginning of the term, but yes,” he admits, sheepishly smiling.

“Okay, uncalled for,” you shrug off his hand from your thigh, to which he giggles and captures your limb with his again, interlacing your fingers. He sways your hands back and forth, offering you a soft look that drives you slightly insane. After all of this, you’re really not sure what you were so afraid of.

“How does that roadtrip sound right now?” 

“Still absolutely terrifying,” you note. 

“Even if I pay for gas?” he laughs.

Squinting at him, admiring the boyish grin playing with his lips, you sigh. “I’ll think about it.”

[daddy-deathslinger]

Hey, I'm a big sucker for DBD imagines and posts and you're one of the top three I like.

Is it ok if I can have some imagines of Caleb, Kazan, and Trickster reacting to an s/o who LOUDLY curses in their native tongue (Like Caleb = Irish S/O, Kazan = Japenese S/O) and they let it out during a trial with them, shocking even the crows.

I rage around failing gens and evading, and I always cause a scene when I do 😅. You don't have to find any accurate swear words or curses, I like to see the build up to their reactions for it XD!

Hi there! I hope ya like what I came up with, I wanted to try and google some swears in these languages so if something's incorrect, blame google! xD

The Deathslinger/Caleb Quinn reacting to his S/O cursing in Irish:

It’s a trial like any other for you. Repair generators, flee from the killer, yadda yadda.

The killer in this trial is Caleb, so you know he’s gonna go a bit easier on you, which is good because you feel distracted this trial.

It might be the map, you hate the creepy school of Silent Hill. Nothing ever seems to go right when you’re sent to this map.

To prove your point, you suddenly get very startled while sneaking up to a generator.

BANG! It’s a corpse, it just falls right out of a locker! Right in front of you, as you’re sneaking by!

You can’t help it, the words just come out.

“Nách mór an diabhal thú! Fucking manky piece of-”

“Y/N?”

The next second, you’re startled again, this time by none other than Caleb, sneaking up behind you.

“Caleb! What in the goddamn-”

Your curses are cut short when you see the confused look on Caleb’s face. 

He just stares at you, and you’re starting to wonder if he’s alright.

Then, he suddenly burst out into laughter.

He laughs and laughs, folding himself double where he stands, tears forming in his eyes.

“Yeah yeah, laugh it up. This thing scared me, alright?” you hiss, but Caleb only continues laughing as he leaves the room.

The Oni/Kazan Yamaoka reacting to his S/O cursing in Japanese:

You and Meg find each other in a trial. You decide to sneak up to a generator together, since you make a notoriously good engineer team.

The wet bamboo rustles beside you as you sit down at your silent generator, and as Meg keeps watch at first, you start working the cables.

This is easy. You know your way around generators, you’ve repaired hundreds of them by now.

Even though Kazan is the killer in this trial, you’re not nervous. He goes easy on you, and you’re not worried about Meg and her speedy legs.

Meg is still keeping watch just in case Kazan shows up, and you’re almost halfway on the generator. This is too easy, why-

BOOM!

A part of the generator explodes right in your face, and the next second all hell breaks loose.

“Kuso kurae! Motherfucker! This stupid piece of shit generator!”

You go on and on about where the generator can get lost and you don’t even notice Meg staring at you like she could kill you.

You do notice the heavy footsteps approaching, however. You go silent, just now noticing the echo from your angered voice.

Kazan looks at you, just staring from behind his mask.

Then, he grabs his sword and slowly saunters along, as if nothing had happened. You hear him mutter something to himself, then he’s gone.

The Trickster/Ji-Woon Hak reacting to his S/O cursing in Korean:

It’s just one of those days. Nothing goes right, and every possible thing fucks up.

You’re so tired of this trial, even if your Ji-Woon is the killer.

You wish this would just end already. You break every part in the generators, you can’t sneak or hide for shit apparently and on top of everything Quentin is just aimlessly staring at the wall whenever you come across him in the trial. He must be falling asleep again, stupid guy.

The cup finally spills over for you, when Ji-Woon finds you and decides to taunt you a bit.

He brandishes his knives, singing about how easy you are to catch and how useless your teammates are in this trial. It’s like a whole performance.

You sigh in anger and suddenly you shout: “Gae-sae-kki! Shut up, you idiot!”

Ji-Woon quiets down and stops in the middle of a tap dance, staring at you.

“Babe, I’m sorry, I love you”, you say. “Just, shut up! And you look stupid, dancing like that!”

A moment of silence, then Ji-Woon grins at you.

To your surprise, he leans over and kisses your cheek, then he giggles and starts walking towards Quentin, who’s now clearly asleep.

[mostlyghostie]

Book Recs Wanted!

I have recently noticed that I'm drawn to the sub-genre of fantasy books that involve a person, or group of people, who secretly discover a huge magical secret that they do not fully understand and will never fully understand. So yes, fantasy books, but mostly 'other world' books and whatever the opposite of books with 'a good magic system' are. I know some people are into that, but I always avoid books where the magic makes sense, I like it to be confusing and oblique and mysterious. Ditto books with a grizzled anti-hero protagonist, not interested.

Examples of this I've enjoyed include:

The Magician's Nephew by CS Lewis - where Uncle Andrew has learned a few shreds of information from an elderly relative about magic. He then experiments and plots for years and finds the doorway to the wood between the worlds without having any real knowledge of what he has found or what to do with his discovery and gains no benefit from it.

Piranesi by Susanna Clarke - (spoiler), where a group of academics and hangers-on under the thrall of an outsider anthropologist find the way into a world hinted at in pre-historic texts. I love how the implications of this discovery are so huge, but those that can visit this world are incapable of fully exploring or sharing their discovery because of their competitive and sadistic natures. Even further worlds are hinted at but nobody visits them.

[Limited bits of] The Magicians by Lev Grossman - I haven't been able to re-read these books since they came out because I find many of the characters so unbearable, however, those sections where the students who fail to get into the college try to piece together magic on their own, or where the Chatwin children find their way into Fillory, or particularly where Quentin attempts to create his own world at the very end, are very compelling.

[Bits of] Fairy Tale by Stephen King - I found the fantasy world itself fairly irritating, but the way into it was great, and the discussion of how the fantasy world would likely be exploited if the knowledge was spread further was something I hadn't seen before.

Little, Big by John Crowley - I love how the existence of Faerie is taken as a matter of fact by the Drinkwater family, but there's no rhyme or reason to how it 'works'. It's unclear what exactly is going on half the time and all is enjoyably dream-like.

I also intent to give the Gormenghast books and Mordew a go soon, as they seem up my alley, and I think I've read all the Lovecraft stuff in this vein. I always liked the Lovecraftian bits of the Discworld book Moving Pictures too, which was my favourite as a kid- I like when the magical discovery gets too real and everyone just runs away, realising it's better left alone.

Does anyone else enjoy these tropes and have a book or two to recommend?

[deadpresidents]

Brigadier General Theodore Roosevelt Jr. -- the eldest son of the 26th President of the United States -- was the only Allied general to land on the beaches of Normandy with the first wave of soldiers during the D-Day invasion on June 6, 1944.

Crippled by arthritis, hobbled by old combat wounds from the First World War, and forced to use a cane as he landed on Utah Beach with the U.S. Army's 4th Infantry Division on D-Day, General Roosevelt was the oldest man to take part in the opening stage of the invasion. He had made three requests to personally lead the assault on Utah Beach before finally being given command despite concerns about his health. During the confusion and chaos of the largest seaborne assault in human history, Roosevelt realized that tidal currents had carried nearly two dozen of the initial landing craft to the wrong location and was said to have announced, "We'll start the war from right here!"

For his actions on D-Day, General Roosevelt would be awarded the country's highest military decoration, the Congressional Medal of Honor, on September 21, 1944:

For gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty of 6 June 1944, in France. After two verbal requests to accompany the leading assault elements in the Normandy invasion had been denied, Brig. Gen. Roosevelt's written request for this mission was approved and he landed with the first wave of the forces assaulting the enemy-held beaches. He repeatedly led groups from the beach, over the seawall and established them inland. His valor, courage, and presence in the very front of the attack and his complete unconcern at being under heavy fire inspired the troops to heights of enthusiasm and self-sacrifice. Although the enemy had the beach under constant direct fire, Brig. Gen. Roosevelt moved from one locality to another, rallying men around him, directed and personally led them against the enemy. Under his seasoned, precise, calm, and unfaltering leadership, assault troops reduced beach strong points and rapidly moved inland with minimum casualties. He thus contributed substantially to the successful establishment of the beachhead in France.

However, the Medal of Honor would be awarded to Theodore Roosevelt Jr. posthumously. On July 12, 1944, thirty-six days after landing in Normandy on D-Day, General Roosevelt died in his sleep at the age of 56 after suffering a heart attack. In a letter to his wife, General George S. Patton would write, "Teddy R[oosevelt] died in his sleep last night. He had made three landings with the leading wave -- such is fate...He was one of the bravest men I ever knew." General Patton would join General Omar Bradley and numerous other generals as honorary pallbearers at Roosevelt's funeral. Roosevelt was buried at the Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial along with thousands of his fellow American soldiers who died in Europe during World War II. He is buried next to his youngest brother, Quentin Roosevelt, who was killed in action in 1918 after being shot down over France during World War I.

[coraniaid]

I don't know if someone asked this already but: AU where the final big bad of Buffy was the Council of Watchers. Or AU where Buffy *does* take Anya's advice on charging money, or a job in some way that's related to her slaying.

Oh, the Council as the Big Bads of Season 7 is kind of fun.

Trying to make this as different from my other S7 AU as possible, let's lean harder into the idea that no Slayer was called after Buffy died in The Gift. The Council know that Buffy died stopping Glory and (especially after what went down in Checkpoint) they're pretty pleased about it. No more Hell God and no more trouble-making, too-old Slayer. Win-win, right? Only ... they wait and wait all summer and no new Slayer is called to replace her, and then they learn Buffy is, somehow, alive again. How does she keep doing it? They decide that they're sick and tired of waiting for a new Slayer they can control and this time they're going to make sure they get one.

We start with the Council trying belatedly to patch things up with Faith. They start talking about getting her convinctions overturned and how she could be doing much more good out in the world, but she figures out pretty quickly that they're trying to get her to replace Buffy and tells them to get lost. So the Council decide it's time for Plan B. We cut to Ethan Rayne, somewhere in a military prison in Nevada. "Good news," his guard tells him. "You're getting extradited back to England. You can thank your new lawyer for that." Ethan is confused. What new lawyer? In walks Quentin Travers... As the season continues, Buffy still has nightmares like the ones we see her have in canon, but this time the girls she's dreaming about being killed aren't just Potentials. They seem to have full Slayer powers, though not much training or experience. Otherwise the first few episode of the season go mostly as in canon (except no First). Meanwhile Buffy herself [and also Faith, we later learn] starts to have moments where her powers start to fail her, just like back in Season 3's Helpless. In one of Buffy's dreams, the girl whose life she's experiencing is in the middle of a fight with some vampires when her own powers also fail her.

As Buffy and her friends soon work out what's going on. Somebody [spoiler: it's Ethan] is using magic to temporarily drain them of their powers and hand it to over to other Potentials. Only those Potentials aren't ready for it, the power transfer isn't stable, and the people don't seem to care that the new temporary Slayers keep dying. They track Ethan down (for handwaving reasons he has to be close to Buffy to do the spell), she recognizes some of the props he's using [the same crystals from Helpless, let's say] and correctly guesses that the Council are involved. While confessing, Ethan lets slip something about the Council being happy to keep doing this until "one of you" gets killed, and realizes that Faith is in danger. We cut to a version of Faith's introductory scene from Salvage: Faith's working out when she's attacked by another inmate. At first she effortlessly disarms her, but then suddenly her powers begin to short out. The other woman suddenly has the upper hand, but Faith is rescued at the last minute by Buffy herself, who has managed to break into the prison [possibly using that super jump from The Harvest the writers later forgot all about] to save her.

Buffy breaks Faith out of prison and they head back to Sunnydale. Lots of similar-to-canon vibes here [Buffy being very weird about Faith being back while blaming Faith for 'weird mixed signals', plus Faith being just as weird about the fact that Buffy once again chose to save her life]. For their part, the Council seem to have moved on to plan C: trying to get Faith and Buffy killed as quickly as possible. They use a mixture of their own agents and freelance assassins for this [maybe we can bring back the Order of Taraka too?]. Meanwhile Giles is in England and we learn that there's a growing split in the Council between Travers' faction and a group of people who aren't quite so willing to go along with all this dark magic stuff [can namecheck Gwendolyn Post here, maybe]. Ethan admits that he was just hired to demonstrate that the concept worked, and that Travers is working on a spell that will let him give and take away Slayer powers from any Potential he wants. He's already had dozens of Watchers send their Potentials to England for evaluation [and this is how we can meet Kennedy and any other Potentials we want to include].

Back in Sunnydale, the gang are brainstorming their next move when they get word from Giles that the anti-Travers faction have managed to kick him out and are inviting Buffy to England for (essentially) peace talks. Faith loudly insists that this a trap but when Buffy insists on going anyway because it will give them a chance to find Travers spell preparations and destroy them (and gives a big speech about how they have to do this, not just for their own sake, but for every Slayer who will be called after them). They go, and while it's not a deliberate trap -- and Buffy finally gets to meet the Potentials in person -- Travers does launch a final attempted coup; having his allies attack the Council headquarters to get rid of both Slayers and the rebel faction that tried to oust him.

The situation looks pretty bleak at first, as the anti-Travers faction of Council don't have much in the way of loyal fighters (all the hardline types like Weatherby have defected) and Travers has pulled together a small army of various minor villains from the history of the show. But Buffy and the others find Travers' ritual prepartions in a hidden part of his offices [maybe throw in something from Faith explicitly comparing Travers and the Mayor here?] and Willow is able to modify the ritual to cast a version of the spell she casts in canon in Chosen, activating all the Potentials who are then able to use their new strength to defeat Travers' allies. Standing in the badly damaged ruined headquarters of the Council building, Buffy tells the Council (including Giles) that they're not going back to the old way of doing things -- that the problem wasn't just Travers, but the whole institution he represented -- and this is the end of the Council giving orders. It wasn't just the Potentials in this battle that Willow's spell activated, but all of them. Then we segue into [a version of] the final moments of Chosen; Buffy and Faith standing where the Council used to meet and looking out over all the new Slayers. Dawn asks Buffy what she's going to do next, now she's not "the one and only Chosen anymore" and Buffy slowly smiles.

[ask-leon-skennedy-dbd]

With the halloween season, comes with the revival of the boogeyman or in this case the Shade.

They seem to have several tsumis on them and seem very confused. Michael, Laurie, Quentin, Felix, and a nemesis. They offer the nemesis to them.

"I believe this one belongs to your crowd" their voice rough and raspy, but still coherentable.

[racefortheironthrone]

Greetings! I'm asking the reverse of a question from a few weeks ago.

Who would be each ASOIAF character's favourite X-man, or mutant if you prefer? Obviously there's a lot of ASOIAF characters, only whoever strikes your fancy of course.

Thanks!

I could have sworn I had done this years ago, but I think I must have gotten a draft or something eaten back in 2018 when I did the reverse of this. In order to make this a bit more manageable, I'm going to stick with ASOIAF POV characters only.

Bran - Xavier. A morally ambiguous disabled psychic. Kind of over-determined, really.

Catelyn - Madelyne Pryor. A wronged wife with red hair granted dark powers to wreak revenge.

Daenerys - Jean Grey. A woman of immense supernatural power who literally walks through fire? C'mon.

Eddard - Cyclops. Honorable warrior respects honorable warrior.

Jon - also Cyclops, but only after the Dark Phoenix Saga.

Arya - Laura Kinney or Gabby. Not sure which.

Sansa - starts as Firestar fan (justice for Lady Butterrum!) ends as Emma Frost stan.

Tyrion - this is more a deep cut, but I think Tyrion would be a huge Whiz-Kid fan, especially his S.W.O.R.D era incarnation.

Theon - I think Theon would be a Quentin Quire fan; something about the combination of great potential and raging insecurity.

Davos - Gambit comes closest, but I could see an argument for Storm, especially Storm's depowered era.

Melisandre - Rachel Summers. Fire, Mother Askani prophecies, the whole shebang.

Jaime - big fan of the Fenris twins. Just kidding. He's super into Angel/Warren Worthington III, and has confused thoughts about whether Warren is better off with Candy Southern or Psylocke.

Brienne - super into the Captains Britain.

Samwell Tarly - I think he'd be a Beast fan, but Percy's X-Force would make him very sad.

Aeron Greyjoy - Exodus is another predetermined choice.

Victarion Greyjoy - doesn't see why Sabertooth has such a bad reputation.

Asha Greyjoy - big Laura Kinney fan.

Arienne Martell - I could see her being an Emma Frost stan.

Barristan Selmy - Cable. Again, white-haired grizzled soldier who protects children of destiny. Not a hard pick.

Quentyn Martell - has a soft spot for Beak.

[jahayla-parker]

Bewitched Love : Peter Parker x Reader

Part 1

Bewitched Love Series Navigation

Desc. & Warnings: 3.5k wc, see navigation for description and warnings

“Is… is that Mysterio?” Y/n questioned, her eyes wide as she stared at the jumbo-screen. J. Jonah Jameson from the Daily Bugle was holding a televised broadcasting of Mysterio. It seemed to be his last words, but it was hard to make out over the loudness of Madison Square Garden.

Peter was in his Spider-Man suit, his suit’s eyes equally as wide as y/n’s. He snapped his head towards y/n as he lifted his right hand out to the side in question. Peter couldn’t believe what he was hearing, Mysterio was trying to claim that Peter Spider-Man was behind the loss of life in London. He quickly squeezed y/n’s hand before leaping onto the nearest lamppost to get a better view.

Y/n watched from the street as the video recording of Mysterio returned after J. Jonah Jameson’s ignorant remarks. She felt her stomach drop when Mysterio mumbled “Spider-Man's real... Spider-Man's real name is.…”. Y/n was granted a very brief moment of relief when the video glitched and cut out. However, before she could even let out a sigh, Mysterio’s picture returned as he shouted “Spider-Man's name is Peter Parker!”. Y/n froze after she snapped her attention towards Peter.

Peter was still perched on the lamppost next to the road. He clutched his head in panic, “what the fuck?!”. Peter glanced down at y/n only to see her staring back at him in just as much shock and confusion. He swallowed thickly as he heard J. Jonah Jameson summarize what Quentin Beck proclaimed.

Peter snapped his head and when he heard y/n’s faint gasp. Looking down he saw the crowd had begun to point at her. Peter jumped down as soon as he heard someone repeatedly ask if she was Spider-Man's girlfriend.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Please don't touch her” Peter begged, holding his hands up as he stood between the angry citizens and y/n. Peter slowly spun in his defensive position as a citizen neared them asking, “you’re just a kid?”. Peter heard y/n groan in annoyance behind him as more people stepped closer.

Y/n glared at the stranger who came up to Peter and asked “you murdered Mysterio?”. She shook her head and began to defend her boyfriend, “he didn’t-“.

But then the stranger turned to her and gasped, “you helped him murder Mysterio?”.

Y/n’s jaw dropped slightly, her eyes wide, as she shook her head adamantly. She and Peter both tried to assure the surging crowd that neither of them did what the video of Mysterio was proclaiming. Y/n had moved to stand beside Peter, rather than behind; much to his frustration.

Peter tensed as yet another person approached them, this time reaching their hand out to try and touch them. He reflectively swatted the woman’s hand away before she could touch either of them. Peter’s actions resulted in the woman screaming, “Whoa, whoa, whoa! He hit me! Spider-Man hit me!”

Peter glanced over at y/n as she argued, “That’s not what happened! You tried to-“. Normally he’d make sure whoever they were talking to let her finish her sentence, but Peter noticed everyone had started pulling out their phones and recording. As much as he wanted to not step on y/n’s toes as she tried to defend him, he couldn’t risk more bad publicity. Peter tried to calm the crowd, but failed once again.

As the angry citizens moved closer, Peter brought y/n to his side. He hooked his arm around her waist, holding her tightly against him. Peter nodded once at y/n to warn her of his next actions before he shot a web and lifted them from the surging crowd. He apologized as he felt y/n hold on tight. Peter knew she preferred to use her own abilities to fly rather than him pulling her around. But, he didn’t feel he was left with much choice. Especially because Peter didn’t want her to have to risk getting her identity disclosed to the world too.

Like Peter -before this broadcast that is-, only a handful of people knew of Y/n‘s secret identity. May, Happy, Ned, and MJ were the only ones outside of her family and Peter that knew what y/n could do/what she was. May was inevitable given her relationship with Peter and Happy’s situationship with May. Plus, May was great at patching up any scrapes or cuts after a night on patrol with Peter. Happy and Ned had been made aware during the events in London; with Ned’s questions answered upon their return to New York. MJ was looped in when she and y/n worked on eliminating the tension between them.

Y/n and MJ both had a crush on Peter going into their London trip, and for a short time Peter had a crush on both of the girls. In the end, Peter knew he only truly held romantic feelings for y/n and not MJ. MJ sensed this and was supportive. But there had still been some understandable tension between y/n and MJ. It wasn’t much, but it made them both uncomfortable so it had to be addressed.

Y/n assured MJ that she didn’t do anything to try and ‘win’ Peter over in London. MJ assured y/n that her crush on Peter had been minimal. In fact, once Brad showed interest in MJ, her crush on Peter dissolved. Both girls were pleased with the outcomes of the whole affair and ready to move on as if nothing happened.

But y/n felt awkward keeping a secret from MJ. She always had. But now that y/n had told others, including their mutual friend Ned, she felt she owed MJ the truth. She was nervous as to how MJ would react, but Peter assured her it would be fine. It turns out, Peter was correct, y/n had nothing to worry about; MJ was actually thrilled and very intrigued by y/n’s abilities.

That being said, Peter knew that didn’t mean y/n wanted everyone to know. Heck, Peter didn’t want everyone to know about his secret life either. But, he wasn’t given any say in this public disclosure. Peter was going to be sure that y/n wasn’t placed in the same position as him; even if it meant causing a brief surge of panic when he suddenly pulled them through the air to escape the crowds.

Peter’s guilt soaked eyes scanned y/n’s body to see if she was still nervous. He’d made it back to his bedroom, sneaking them in through the window. Peter could tell y/n was very relieved to have been standing on her own two feet again, but otherwise she seemed fine. He let out a short sigh, pressing the center button on his suit.

Y/n placed her hands on the upper part of Peter’s exposed chest, staring deeply into his eyes. “It’s okay, Peter, breathe” she whispered soothingly as she pleaded with her eyes. When Peter continued to mumble that he didn’t know what to do now, y/n stepped closer and lifted one hand to his cheek.

Y/n stood extremely close to Peter, enough to feel his breath ticking the tiny hairs on her face. She closed her eyes, one hand resting on his chest, the other cupping his cheek. Y/n took a deep breath and whispered “stabilis corde; stabilis mentis”; steady in heart, steady in mind.

Just as Peter felt his out of control pulse calming and his racing thoughts coming to a halt, the door burst open. Y/n and Peter both startled as Happy hid his eyes and May apologizes. Peter quickly shot a web over to y/n’s waist to keep her upright when she stumbled backwards, tripping over his suit in her attempt to distance from Peter. “This isn't what it looks like, Happy!” He groaned, his face flushed.

“It’s not -“ y/n mumbled quietly. She glanced at the door as Peter’s aunt, May apologized again and went to close it. “I’m sorry” y/n sighed, her gaze shifting nervously around the room.

Peter swore he was going to spray May with the kitchen faucet hose when she advised, “just practice safe...”. “It's not what it looks like” Peter shouted, unable to look at y/n out of the embarrassment his aunt’s response caused him. He let out a sigh of relief when May cut herself off as she opened the door again and noticed y/n.

“Oh! It’s y/n” May grinned, walking over to hug the girl.

“Who else would it be?” Peter questioned as he watched y/n giggle shyly as she returned May’s hug.

“I hadn’t even considered that, I was more focused on trying not to see anything!” May explained, laughing at Peter’s deepening blush.

“It’s not-“ y/n began, biting her lip.

May shook her head, “I’ll get out of your guys’ hair, just be safe”. She turned towards her nephew and curled her the corner of her lips up, “there’s a box of con-“. Before May could finish her sentence Peter cut her off.

“Okay! Got it” Peter blushed. “Not what’s happening, but got it” he sighed, rubbing his face with his hand.

“Oh no , you don’t have to stop on account of us” May said, pushing Happy back from the doorframe.

“Maaaayyy” Peter groaned, “Please stop”. He sighed as May just held her hands to in surrender as she went to close the door again. Only this time, Peter noticed the tears on Happy’s face. Peter felt guilty that Happy’s tears gave him an easy change of topic. Nonetheless, he gasped dramatically, “wait have you been crying?”

Happy pouted, making May resist an eye roll as he confessed, “we broke up”.

“Oh” Peter sighed, glancing between his aunt and Happy. “I-“ he began, only to be interrupted by the sounds of a helicopter as someone shouted “hey Spider-Man”. “Oh, uh-“ Peter mumbled, his racing thoughts and heart picking back up at full speed.

Y/n quickly located a random shirt on Peter’s bed. She picked out up and momentarily held onto it as she watched him web the blinds shut. Once the window was covered, she tossed the shirt to Peter.

“Thank you” Peter smiled softly at y/n. “I didn't know you guys broke up” he sighed sympathetically as he looked at Happy while pulling the shirt over his head. “I thought you were in love, May” Peter fibbed, pushing May out of his room.

May, Happy, and Peter softly bickered as they all made their way to the living room; y/n following behind them. Y/n noticed Peter herding them away from the door just as someone buzzed their apartment. She flicked her eyes over to the door to ensure it was locked. Y/n panicked upon seeing someone standing at the still open front door.

Y/n quickly rushed over and slammed the front door shut. She winced as she realized her frantic response probably didn’t help things. “Sorry! Not now!” Y/n justified, locking the door. As y/n made her way to the others, May smiled at her, “as always, make yourself at home”.

“Now Peter, about sex” May began softly, making Peter groan.

“This has nothing to do with sex!” Peter shouted, his embarrassed eyes shifting over to check on y/n. His eyes changed back to fearful as he watched y/n swiftly closing the blinds as more people surrounded their apartment. Within seconds Peter found himself dashing around the small space in a frazzled attempt to hide any signs of what transpired moments before he and y/n arrived at his home. As he stole Happy and Mays phones, he lightly scolded “can you get off your phones for five minutes?! I just wanna talk to you about your relationship, okay?”

Y/n sighed as she noticed what was on the television behind Peter. She’d been watching as he tried so hard to cover up what Mysterio did, even if just for a few seconds of peace. But, y/n knew the TV gave him away. “Peter..” y/n whispered, pointing to the TV. She figured he’d want it off, but she didn’t want to overstep.

When Peter’s eyes widened as he looked at the news being played, y/n searched for a remote to turn it off. Upon not seeing one quick enough, she took it upon herself. Y/n turned and flicked her fingers, the blue strands of cosmic energy moving speedily towards the television set, “removere potestatem”. Unfortunately, y/n wasn’t fast enough in her decision to use her powers as May and Happy had seen more than enough.

“Peter, what’s going on?” May asked hesitantly, glancing between the kids in front of her.

Y/n looked at Peter to see how to handle the situation. She slyly grabbed his hand and held on to it for support as he struggled to find the words to explain. Y/n’s eyes and hand never left Peter the entire time it took for him to catch May and Happy up to speed.

Y/n stared at Peter silently as MJ and Ned got rid of their letters.

Their group had applied to countless colleges, including last resort back-up options. Over the last few weeks as colleges mailed out their decisions, the four of them received nothing but rejections; even from said last resorts. All the rejection letters cited the same reason, “recent controversy”.

Even though Peter had won his legal battle against Mysterio’s claims, their lives hadn’t returned to normal. Instead, despite being four of the brightest students at their high school, they remained unable to find a college that would admit them. They’d all dreamed of going to MIT for years, and now they couldn’t even get into a small newly formed local community college.

Y/n knew Peter blamed himself. Even though she would never regret anything that happened during their trip to London, she knew he wished to change the ending with Beck. Y/n and Peter had talked about that event in great length since it happened. Y/n was able to take him through it so that his regret and guilt for what happened to Mysterio wasn’t eating at him constantly.

These rejection letters however ,only sent Peter back down his spiral of remorse and depression. While none of their friends blamed him for their inability to get into college, Peter felt responsible. If he’d handled things better with Mysterio, hadn’t let him trick and manipulate him for so long, maybe his friends could get into MIT. Maybe y/n, the girl he loved and wanted to give the world to, could’ve gotten into her dream school. Hell, there was no maybe about it. Peter knew that if it hadn’t been for his mistakes, she’d be packing for MIT. Instead, she was sitting with him and their friends as they stared at their rejection letters.

Y/N slid off her chair and silently made her way to Peter. She watched as he kept his eyes downcast, tears staring to stream down his cheeks. Y/n frowned and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, hugging him from behind. Peter melted into her embrace, making a small smile from on her lips.

Y/N’s attempts at comforting her boyfriend were cut short as Flash walks in to the coffee shop. He was dressed head to toe in MIT merch and barely notices the look of disappointment on their faces. But when he did, he stopped and asked, “you guys didn't get in?”. Flash instantly regretted his question when Ned sassed that they’d been rejected since they were actually Peter’s friends unlike the way Flash had been falsely portraying he was.

As Flash left, the group sighed collectively. MJ promptly excused herself as she returned to work. Ned picked up on her cue and explained he needed to show his parents the rejection letter. When they’d parted ways, y/n grabbed Peter’s chair and turned it so he was looking at her.

“I’m so sorry” Peter said, his eyes slowing peaking up at y/n. He sniffled quietly as y/n shushed him and pulled him to her. Peter shook his head, this was his fault and y/n was caught in the middle; yet, she was comforting him?

Before Peter could voice his frustration, y/n stepped back and held his face in her palms. “Stop apologizing” she whispered. “The only one blaming you is yourself, Peter” y/n assured him. She lowered her head and pulled his closer to her, pressing her lips against his forehead. “Please try to see it from our perspective” y/n requested, playing softly with his hair.

“I messed up” Peter muttered shyly, clutching tightly onto y/n’s coat. He knew she was going to argue so he kept going. “I.. I pulled you into this chaos and it’s not the life you wanted” Peter explained. “You haven’t even had the chance to consider what you want with your situation and I came in like a… a… uhh… bulldozer and ruined everything” he whispered.

Y/n furrowed her brows as she glanced down at Peter. She shook her head and took a deep breath. “Peter,” y/n whispered, sighing when he kept his eyes on the ground instead of looking at her. “Babe, please look at me” she begged, tenderly squeezing his jaw.

When Peter finally made eye contact with her, y/n smiled softly. “On that plane, with Happy, I decided” she argued. Y/n shook her head as Peter opened his mouth to protest. “You’re right, I hadn’t decided before. But Peter, I was afraid. I didn’t think I could do this alone,” y/n admitted, “I didn’t want to do this alone. I still don’t. But I’m not alone. And neither are you”.

Y/n moved to sit on the stool beside Peter, taking his shaking hands in her warm ones. “Things like this are going to happen, but what matters is that we are there for each other as we work through them” she professed. She grinned as Peter nodded slowly. “Now, my Spider-Lord,” y/n teased, “I must go meet my parents for another training, but, you can call if you need me okay?”

Peter groaned, “uuughh”. “Don’t” he laughed, shaking his head at the horrible nickname that had come as a result of one of the news articles written about him lately. Peter nodded promisingly, standing up and pulling y/n in for a tight hug. “Be careful,” he whispered, placing a shy short kiss to her lips, “but be magical”.

“Peter!” Y/n groaned, rolling her eyes at his returned teasing. She smiled and squeezed his hand once more before turning to leave. Y/n glanced back at Peter as she reached the sidewalk before she truly made her way home; but not before blowing him a kiss when she saw he was watching her still.

Peter sighed to himself as he watched y/n walk down the street, his eyes on her until she left his sight. He appreciated that she didn’t blame him for their inability to get into MIT. But, Peter still blamed himself; after all, the ‘controversy’ The university cited was about him. He had to do something, but what?

As Peter stood from his seat and zipped his jacket, he glanced up to say goodbye to MJ. However, his eyes landed on the Halloween decorations that were still hanging up long past the holiday. In particular, Peter found himself staring at what was supposed to be a string of lighted vampires. He couldn’t place what they looked like to him, but he didn’t see vampires though.

Peter’s lips curled slightly just before he dashed out of the cafe. He’d realized why he was so intrigued by the string of lights; they didn’t look like vampires to him, they looked like Doctor Strange. The one person Peter believed might be able to help him, Y/n, and his friends with their predicament. He wasn’t sure Doctor Strange would agree to help, but he had to at least ask.

Peter shuffled his feet nervously as he waited for Doctor Strange Stephen to answer Peter’s request. He knew it was likely a long shot, but Peter was desperate. Peter’s lips curled downwards as Stephen sighed sympathetically.

“Peter... we tampered with the stability of space-time to resurrect countless lives. You wanna do it again now just because yours got messy?” Stephen Strange asked. He felt for Peter, he really did. But, what Peter was asking was a bit extreme.

Peter shook his head quickly, “this isn't... it's not about me”. He took a deep breath to calm himself before continuing. “I mean, this is really hurting a lot of people” Peter explained. “My... my Aunt May, Happy...” he rambled guiltily.

Peter saw the understanding in Stephen’s eyes and kept going. “My best friends,” he added, biting his lip as his frown depended at the thought of the name of the next person he hurt, “my girlfriend, y/n…” Peter shook his head, “their futures are ruined just because they know me, and... they've done nothing wrong”. After he finished his monologue, Peter stared up at Stephen in anticipation. This was his shot, and he could see he was starting to make some headway with the sorcerer.

Bewitched Love Series Navigation

Peter Parker Navigation

Tom Holland Navigation

My Main Masterlist Navigation (All My Works)

Taglist:

@justapurrcat @natswife-marvelicious @directioner5life @ell0ra-br3kk3r @galaxyholland @bigbirdstwins @mcushvft @fishingirl12 @raajali3 @theslayerofthevampires

[trashyswitch]

"Did you just tickle me?!"

Will and Hannibal are in a therapy session. Will is trying to keep things serious...but Hannibal wants him to laugh and smile a little bit. He doesn't need to be serious all the time, right? He makes it his mission to make him laugh.

So I open up Tumblr one day...and Hannibal is trending?! Hannigram is trending?! And...I happened to have a fanfic that I kept locked up in a safe because I thought Hannibal was super off in terms of my brand. But wouldn't you know...So, I hope you enjoy.

Will Graham was looking around the room, admiring the many bookshelves of items against his psychiatrist’s walls. “The world is so complex…” Will told him. 

“It is meant to be complex.” Hannibal told him. 

“I know that...Otherwise the world wouldn’t be as serious as it is.” Will told him. 

“The world has its serious points.” Hannibal told him, pulling out a larger book from his bookshelf, and flipped a few pages. “When you think of the renaissance era…what do you think of?” Hannibal asked. 

Will thought for a moment. “Paintings by Leonardo De Vinci…sculptures by Michaelangelo.” He said. 

“Yes. And how did their paintings make you feel?” Hannibal asked, handing Will the book with De Vinci’s painting of The Last Supper. 

Will took the book, and looked at the painting. “Uhhh…” Will thought for a moment as he stared at the painting. “Confusion…Fear.” Will explained, before looking towards Hannibal. “What’s this got to do with anything?” Will asked. 

Hannibal smiled and took the book. “The world can have its serious moments…with complex historical stories to try and take apart to better understand. We both know that.” Hannibal explained as he flipped the pages. “However…” Hannibal stared at a specific page for a moment. “The world can have its humorous moments as well.” Hannibal told him. “Have you heard of the painting ‘The Old Woman’ by Quentin Matsys?” He asked. 

Will turned to look at him. “No, I haven’t.” 

“It’s also referred to as ‘The Ugly Duchess’.” Hannibal smiled as he handed Will the book to look at it. “Tell me what you think of-” 

Will couldn't help but crack up, interrupting Hannibal’s directions. “Sorry, sorry. Ihit’s just-” Will cleared his throat and turned the book to show Hannibal. “Wh-Why?” Will asked.

“It’s believed this piece is a humorous play on gender and female beauty. Many scholars refer to this painting as ‘satire’.” Hannibal took the book. “But on the other hand…the painting made the country, and later the world, rethink the idea of beauty and aging.” He explained. 

Will smiled slightly…before clearing his throat and trying to get back on track. 

Hannibal noticed this. “Might I ask why you feel the need to be serious?” Hannibal asked. 

“Because I’m in an hour-long therapy session, and I only have so long to talk about a heavy job that will heavily affect my mind if I’m not careful…” Will admitted. 

Hannibal nodded his head as he walked to his piano. “Very well.” He said slightly abruptly. 

While Will closed his eyes and tried to think of what to say next, Hannibal sat down at his piano and…

Started playing music. 

But not just any music: but that stupid song, Chopsticks. 

Will bit his lip and tried not to laugh. Though, this wouldn’t last long…as the song was played, and the irony of Hannibal playing the song filled his mind…titters and laughter quickly erupted from his mouth. “STAHAP THAT!” He ordered with a smile on his face. 

Hannibal couldn’t help a chuckle from leaving his own mouth. “Come on…” Hannibal stood up. “Even people like me need to get our creative juices flowing. Mine happen to currently be in the science of laughter.” Hannibal teased. “Also known as ‘Gelotology’.” He added. 

Will sighed and tried to come back to his senses. 

He soon managed to successfully get back to his senses. “I see- aAH!” Will shouted suddenly, holding his sides. He turned around, to see a rather humored Hannibal walking away from him. “Did you just tickle me?!” Will asked in surprise, still holding his own sides. 

“Peherhaps I did. Or perhaps I didn’t.” He replied, trying not to laugh. 

“Oho, that’s it. Get over here!” Will ran to Hannibal, which only led Hannibal to walking backwards. 

“Will: a little reminder of our professional relationship-”

“Professional, my ass!” Will reacted. “You started this!” 

“Wihill, I will warn you: I know how these games are played.” He warned, now ganging up on him. 

“Good, getting eager now.” Will thought he had the upper hand the moment he grabbed his side. 

“Nope.” Hannibal grabbed his hand, swung him so his back faced the doctor, and locked Will into his chest. With both his arms, he locked Will’s arms in place and tickled all over his chest and belly area.  

“OHOHohoho nohohohoho! HAhahahahahaha!” He laughed. 

“Ticklish, I presume?” Hannibal asked.

“Hahahaha- Yehehehehess!” Will tried to get out, but had no such luck. He was stuck in his surprisingly strong grip. Did Hannibal work out or something?! How was he so strong?! 

“A man like you needs to relax. Relaxing is the only way to calm your nightmares and your nerves.” He told him. 

“Hohohow cahahahan Ihi rehelahahahax whehehen yohohou’re tihihicklihing mehehehe?” He asked. 

“Tickling releases endorphins. It also releases dopamine because you’re laughing.” He explained. 

“Ihihi knohohow thahahahat.” Will told him. “Sohoho dohohohoes dohohogs!” 

Hannibal stopped tickling him. “That is true. Do you have a dog at home?” He asked. 

“Yeheah, a few.” He admitted. 

“That’s wonderful.” He reacted calmly with a small smile. 

“Ihis it?” He asked. 

“Dogs are great companions. Better than humans sometimes.” he told him. 

“I’ll say.” He replied. “Dogs don’t tickle you.” Will told him. 

Hannibal smirked. “Are you not enjoying this?” Hannibal asked. 

“I...I don’t know.” Will replied. 

“Because we may stop anytime you’d like to.” He told Will. 

“That sounds nice.” Will responded. 

Hannibal smiled and moved his arms under Will’s armpits. “Ready?” He asked. 

“Yeah.” Will replied, a slightly eager smile on his face. Will squealed almost immediately as he felt the tickles reach his belly and his belly button. “HAHAHAHANNIBAHAHAHAL! NAHAHAHAT THEHEHERE!” Will laughed as his belly button was tickled.

“Not your belly button?” Hannibal clarified. 

“YEHEHEHEHEHES!” He laughed. 

“Very well.” Hannibal stopped tickling there and moved onto his lower back instead. This left Will in a state of giggly madness. 

“HAhahahahahahehehehehehe! Hehehehehehehe- Tihihihicklihihihish.” He laughed.  “Your laugh is a pleasant sound, Will. You should laugh a little more often.” Hannibal told Will. 

Will giggled and rested his head on Hannibal’s shoulder. “Reheheheallyhyhy?” He asked. 

“Yes. Your laugh is a wonderful sound. In my eyes, your laughter even beats the piano and the violin.” He told him. 

Will blushed at that. He didn’t really know what to say. “Thahahahanks, Ihihihi guehehehess.” he replied. 

“You say that very awkwardly, Will. Is something the matter?” He asked. 

“Nohohoho. Ihihihi’m juhuhust an ahahawkward guhuhuhuy!” He told him, as he felt his knees slowly fail him.

Hannibal stopped his attack and carefully followed Will down to his knees. “I don’t see you as awkward.” Hannibal picked him up bridal-style. “I see you as a beautiful creation.” Hannibal told him next, carrying him to a comfortable chair. “A person can sculpt a drawing based on his imagination, but he can never fully predict how the drawing turns out.” He told him. “Some of his drawings are asymmetrical. Some of his drawings will have quirks. And some of his drawings will be a little less than perfect. But they are still beautiful in their own right.” He told him. 

He placed Will onto the chair, while he sat himself down on the armrest of the chair. Then, he started to tickle very gently up and down Will’s neck and shoulders. He would reach the shoulder blades, and would go back up near his upper neck again. It was a pattern he wanted to keep up. 

Will was a giggly, wiggly mess. He was scrunching up his shoulders and getting nowhere in covering his ticklish spot…but he also didn’t wanna stop him at the same time. He was starting to realize that he might like being tickled! 

“Does this feel different to you?” Hannibal asked. 

“Feheheheels...Yeheheheah, dihihifferent.” Will replied. 

“Do you want to move away?” Hannibal asked, tickling down to his shoulder blades and keeping his fingers there. 

“Nahahat reheheally.” He replied. 

Hannibal stopped tickling and turned to face him. “What you are experiencing is a dilemma known as touch starvation. When most people are tickled, they seem to hate it or tolerate the physical aspects. However:” Hannibal smiled and pointed to Will. “You don’t experience being tickled nearly enough to create a hatred for the feeling.” Hannibal further explained. 

Will nodded and listened to him.

“Your many dogs don’t tickle you often, I presume?” Hannibal asked. 

Will smiled and looked down. “They don’t think to.” 

“Hm...That’s too bad.” Hannibal replied. 

“How about you?” Will asked. “Do you like to be tickled? Are you ‘touch-starved’ as well?” Will asked further. 

Hannibal smiled and chuckled a little bit. “I haven’t been tickled in years myself. You could say I am touch-starved.” He replied. 

“Wouldn’t revenge be appropriate then?” Will asked. 

Hannibal looked at Will...and sloooowly stood up. “...No.” 

Will smiled and got up as well, taking a step forward. “You broke the ice. Now I can break it further.” 

Hannibal took another step back with narrowed, observant eyes and a crooked smile on his face. “Is now too late to make rules on touching the therapist?” He asked. 

“Technically touching the patient should’ve been off limits too. But…” Will smirked and crossed his arms. “You seem to want more than just a professional relationship.” 

Hannibal didn’t know what to say. Will was right, and Hannibal didn’t like that. 

“And while I’m on the subject:” Will put his index finger up in curiosity, before pointing at him. “If you hated being tickled, you would’ve said so. So if you like it…” Will got even closer to Hannibal. 

“I never said I liked it.” Hannibal mentioned. “I said I was touch-starved.” 

“You never said you hated it either.” Will mentioned. “And you said touch-starved people usually like it.” Will told him. 

Hannibal opened his mouth...then closed it. Dammit...He was right again. “You are...smarter than you look.” Hannibal admitted, a little cowardly. 

“Get over here.” Will ordered. 

“No.” Hannibal said with a smile. 

“I’ll chase you around this room if you don’t.” Will warned. He reached out for his side, causing Hannibal to jump back and laugh at Will’s failure. He had successfully dodged Will’s attack!

“Ohoho, you’re just messing with me now!” Will reacted.  Hannibal smiled and chuckled. “Maybe.” 

Will took off running towards Hannibal. This made Hannibal widen his eyes and just barely dodge him. But Will was smart. He grabbed his arm and pulled him towards him. “Gotcha.” 

Hannibal just about squeaked like a mouse at his unpredictable, yet, predictable move. “W-Will, let’s think about this please.” Hannibal tried to protest. He appeared to be slightly taken aback by their physical closeness, yet grateful for the playfulness they developed in so little time. 

“Getting antsy for me to get started?” Will asked. 

“N-No!” Hannibal reacted. 

Will skittered his fingers on his sides, eager to get started himself. 

Hannibal held his breath and tried to get away from him. But a quivering smile was growing onto his lips. 

“I see a smile. Iiiii see a smile~” Will teased, moving one of his hands up to point at Hannibal’s undeniably quivery smile. 

He quickly covered his mouth with his hand. “You see nothing of the sort.” He mumbled into his hand. 

Will took advantage of this moment and quickly tickled him on his vulnerable hips. 

Hannibal wheezed- actually WHEEZED, and doubled over. “NOhoho!” 

“Hey! There we go!” Will bent his knees down slightly and tickled his belly. “Not so protected now, huh?” 

Hannibal seemed to jump and jerked with every skitter. “HAhahahaha! WIHIHILL! STOHOHOP THIHIHIS!” Hannibal ordered. 

To say Will was shocked, was an understatement. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh like this!” Will reacted. 

“PLEHEHEASE!” He covered his mouth with his hand in an attempt to muffle his laughter. 

“No, no covering it up.” Will told him. “You, Mr. Lector, never laugh. It is MY job to get it out of you.” Will told him. 

Hannibal struggled to deflect his attacks, and tried to back himself out of his grip. But Will always managed to follow him. Hannibal’s back eventually hit the back wall. 

“Now to mess with you like I mess with my dogs:” Will knelt down really quickly and blew a big fat raspberry on his stomach. 

Hannibal wheezed again and doubled over, before snorting and bursting out in glorious laughter. It was somewhat out of character for Hannibal to be laughing like this. But at the same time, it suited him so well! 

“DAHAhahammihihihit yohohou!” Hannibal started poking at Will to try and find a tickle spot he had previously found: his belly button. “NOHOHO HAHAHAHAHA! HANNIBAL!” Will laughed. 

“Yohohou ahasked for this.” Hannibal reacted.

“YOHOHOU STAHAHARTED IHIHIT!” Will laughed. 

“Strahange how a button so small, can make a man like yourself, laugh so hysterically.” Hannibal told him. 

“SHUHUHUT UHUHUP!” Will cackled. Hannibal stopped poking and picked up Will, before dipping him backwards. “I suppose I should keep this a little secret from Jack...Hm?” Hannibal asked with a smile. 

Will looked at Hannibal with playful fear in his eyes. “...Please do.” He told him. 

Hannibal smiled and lifted him up. He looked at his watch and chuckled. “I suppose this concludes our...therapy session.” Hannibal told him. 

Will chuckled. “If you can call it that.” He mentioned before poking Hannibal’s belly a few times. “You know I’m never gonna let you live this down, right?” Will teased. 

Hannibal jumped and poked his belly button back, causing Will to lose his balance. Will fell onto his knees in a puddle of giggles. 

“I’m not letting you live down that ticklish button of yours either.” Hannibal teased. 

Will just laughed at that. “Hehehe...good.” 

From then on...short moments of teasing and tickling would become more and more common between the two. But they would only do such things in the comfort of each other. They didn’t need to speak in order to make that rule. 

[hollowsart]

@rancid-zinnia-onthepatio ehehehe I knew you would, as a fellow Webspinners fan.

but also, man. MAN. now THAT is a movie I'd watch. it would still have flaws, but ehhh, what doesn't??

He'd likely be a lot younger than what he canonically should be in the source material, but it's fine. he can be college aged, too. whatever. but like. he could still be older than Peter and I'll accept that. even if the actor, Jake, is literally not even that old........ it's ok shhhh it's FINE. it's OK. Don't worry about it. don't think about it too much--

Anyways, there's so much fun that could be had with this overall concept. So many ways you could go about working it into the MCU movies in a way that makes somewhat logical sense but improves upon what the MCU has already laid out.

mmm since the issue is about who "Peter Parker" is being wiped from everyone's memories who knew him before.. There isn't really much issue here with Quentin knowing who killed his dad, Elmore. he could very easily just continue his whole spiel about thanking Spider-Man for offing the old man with no issues there story-wise. no real plot-hole. Not unless Quentin somehow had some kind of remaining recording of his dad's last words and him being confused who Peter Parker is.. he could very well be the only one who actually knows him to some minimal minor degree.. he'd still know him.

That could actually set up a really unique dynamic between the two. Like.. Maybe Quentin in this world DOESN'T actually wanna actively kill the kid? Maybe they have some kind of weird buddy-villain thing going on? idk just a hypothetical.

[positivelybeastly]

X-Men #6

Getting caught up!

Let's go.

Mmm, this is a good page. It's interesting to see Quentin in a kind of melancholy - it's not a state of mind you see him in very often, honestly, and I have to wonder if it's because of what he saw in Ben Liu's head, the fact that Cassandra Nova is on the board now, or just a general ennui about the state of things as an X-Man. Being a teenage firebrand only lasts as long as you're willing to burn, and Quentin's been burning for a while now with very little to show for it.

Also, wow, Idie, you have the eyes of an eagle that you were able to see that girl pulling a Spider-Man tribute - uh, I mean, the Midnight M, or whatever it's called.

Fun fact - this is the first time in this series that someone's directly mentioned Hank's psychotic villain turn from X-Force. Makes sense it would come from Quentin, since he's the only other member of X-Force on the team and he has the most face time with evil Hank, though I have to call bullshit - psycho Beast was a fucking bore.

Cain and Illyana continue to be hilarious bash brothers. I also like Hank being like 'ix-nay on the beheading-ay while the newbies are around to hear you-ay!' while Ben and Jennifer have little shock lines around their heads.

You will not get me to read Marauders volume 2, Jed. You will not.

So, this is a bit early in the run to have a 'this is what you missed in the series so far' scene, though I suppose having new context means they want to put the pieces together in a straightforward way so that no-one's confused going forward. And it's at least being done with character interactions, and not just a rote recitation of facts.

So, you, uh, ever gonna go and be a dad to those Savage Land mutates you fucked around with and made, Max? No? Mmkay.

Really dancing around the hashtag, huh, Scott?

"Maybe if you'd taken better care of your last resident genius instead of treating him like shit and neglecting him, so that he didn't go insane and blow himself up in a homoerotic stupor, you'd be having an easier time of this, but you're stuck with me."

Don't you fucking dare talk shit about quiche, Quentin.

I genuinely love the amount of play Glob is getting in this series. There's such an obvious affection for him that you can't help but be charmed. Also, a rare acknowledgement of Glob's past as a member of the Omega Gang and the fact that he was one of Quentin's very few friends during New X-Men! Love to see it!

There's that patented Scott Summers paranoia.

Also, I have to say, I love what this issue is doing with Illyana and Idie. As far as I know, these characters have barely, or never, interacted before, and there's just such an easy interplay between them that I already want more of - they tease and poke and prod at one another, in a way that feels younger and more vital than the older members of the team, even as Illyana demonstrates what being on a mainline X-Men team for the last 10-15 years does for your knowledge base.

It also really, really makes me happy that Idie is getting as much play as she is. The people who were worried about her being background fodder for this series really couldn't have been more wrong, she's getting a lot of good development and agency here.

It's something that only really shows up when you're reading continuously, but it's visible here - I like the panel composition in this issue, and this series in general, a fair bit. I like the separation of panels to show progression and create distinct scenes while still creating a larger tableau. Good composition makes you notice it, but doesn't pull you out of the experience, it merely serves it.

Also, oh boy, Hank's getting nostalgic again . . . that only ever means he's about to get depressing.

Yeah, that tracks.

Now, I do like this sequence and this conversation, but I have to pick at something that bugs me here, even though I have to wonder if it's intentional or not.

. . . Max, you and Scott were both on Krakoa. You remember that, right? You were dead for a fair bit of it, sure, but you were around long enough to see the start of X-Force. You were a member of the Quiet Council and Scott was the General or whatever of Krakoa.

You had the power to stop him. You don't get to say that you won't allow it when you both already did allow it. It would have been outrageously easy for the both of you to just waltz right up to the Pointe, grab evil Hank by his hair, and kick the shit out of him for being a genocidal maniac, but neither of you did that. None of you did. You allowed him to continue. Worse, you enabled him, you and your little twink 'I Can't Believe It's Not The Maker' Xavier.

And even before that, you hold responsibility for encouraging Hank to loosen his morals and kill people! You were there during the Inhumans vs. X-Men conflict, encouraging him to double cross the Inhumans for mutant gain! And Scott outright told Hank, MULTIPLE TIMES, that the ends justify the means during the Utopia era! Are you going to acknowledge that fact? Are you going to confront the fact that he internalised YOUR methods? Fucking evil Hank's penultimate words before he was atomised were MAGNETO WAS RIGHT, for fuck's sake!

That's why I like that Hank says, 'Of course, of course.' There's a ring of, yeah, sure, whatever to that, that I like. He doesn't say I know, because he doesn't. He's well aware that everyone saw what was happening to him and didn't stop it, that they didn't care enough to intercede, that Scott was too busy fucking Jean and Logan on the regs to care that one of his oldest friends was turning into the lovechild of Josef Mengle and Henry Kissinger.

I need that to become text. I need it. I know that it fucking sucks, Jed MacKay, to have to answer for Ben Percy's sins, but you cannot have dialogue like this and expect it to fly through uncommented on. No-one becomes a monster on their own.

I really do hope that dialogue choice was intentional and that MacKay is willing to interrogate this. Thus far, he hasn't let me down, but I need this to be the first part of a conversation, not the end of it.

Yeah, valid, I wouldn't want to deal with Cortez either.

Hank is very cute here. Like, he's always cute, but he's especially kawaii here. Hims have the teefs.

Yeah, you gotta get on choosing a mutant name quick, or else you'll get stuck with something like Negasonic Teenage Warhead.

Hoo boy. Yeah, this is . . . that would be a problem. I can see why Scott's pissed. Then again, valid for Idie going for forgiveness over permission, as far as she knew, Piper might have been being abused, and the info she has here is pretty important . . .

All right, roll on issue #7!

This was a good issue! I don't know that it needed the whole 'here's what you missed on Glee' segment in the middle, but it was at least done with enough character and verve that it wasn't boring, and the rest of the issue giving everyone some shine and interactions made it more than worth it - plus, it feels as though the plot is finally starting to move, which was a little bit of a concern with the previous issues.

Be there or be square . . .

[littlepatchofhell]

I just know Armand would have trash taste in movies. Like, he wants people to think he has good taste with the "I ran a very avant garde theatre with cutting edge film projections" act when we know that the plays were all shlocky and the animations were half baked. The audience was two die-hards and a handful of people fucking in the shadows. He was never the talent behind Theatre des Vampires. The talent dumped him and changed continents.

I think his favorite directors would be Zack Snyder and Quentin Tarantino. I think his favorite movie is Suicide Squad. I think he found Everything Everywhere All At Once needlessly sentimental and confusing. I think his suggestions for movie night make Daniel Molloy want to jump out a window.

[battlestory]

How “Battle Royale” Took Over Video Games

With a simple, ingenious formula, a Japanese novel has inspired some of the most successful games in history. By Simon Parkin

In the mid-nineteen-nineties, Koushun Takami was dozing on his futon on the island of Shikoku, Japan, when he was visited by an apparition: a maniacal schoolteacher addressing a group of students. “All right, class, listen up,” Takami heard the teacher say. “Today, I’m going to have you all kill each other.” Takami was in his twenties, and he had recently quit his job as a reporter for a local newspaper to become a novelist. As a literature student at Osaka University, he had started and abandoned several horror-infused detective stories. But the well had long since run dry; he had left his job with neither a plan nor a plot in mind. The visitation wasn’t a haunting; it was an epiphany.

In the novel that followed, an instructor sends forty-two junior high schoolers to a deserted island. The kids awaken to find explosive collars secured around their necks. They’re ordered to collect a backpack containing a map and a random weapon: a gun or an icepick, if they’re lucky, a paper fan or a shamisen banjo if they’re not. The students must compete to become the last person standing. The winner will leave the island with a lifetime pension; if there is more than one survivor, the collars will detonate. Some of the students choose suicide over submission. Most, eventually, comply and fight.

Takami was a fan of professional wrestling. He particularly enjoyed matches that involved wrestlers who made fleeting, mutually beneficial alliances, a style traditionally known as battle royal. There could be only one winner in a battle royal, so pacts were inevitably broken, lending each match a wary frisson. Takami saw a similar dynamic in adolescence, when friendships were easily formed and revoked. Forcing a group of classmates to destroy one another was provocative, but also strangely relatable. When he told a friend that he planned to call the book “Battle Royal,” his friend, confusing the term with a coffee drink, café royale, replied, “You mean ‘Battle Royale’?”

The novel proved controversial. In 1997, the judges of a Japanese writing prize passed on the manuscript, because it was too reminiscent of a recent murder, in Kobe, in which a fourteen-year-old boy impaled the head of another student on the gates of a school. But, in 1999, Ohta Publishing, a company known for provocative titles (it later published the memoir of the Kobe killer), released the book. It became an international best-seller; Stephen King named it to his summer reading list. In 2000, “Battle Royale” became a hit movie, starring Takeshi Kitano as the schoolteacher. Quentin Tarantino later called it one of his favorite films of all time.

Takami’s premise was well suited to video-game adaptation. The rules were clearly defined, the setting neatly contained, and competitive violence had been one of the medium’s primary currencies since the nineteen-sixties. Video-game technology, however, wasn’t quite up to par. In the early two-thousands, very few computers could simulate, in 3-D, the behavior of dozens of characters doing battle across an island, and very few Internet providers could calculate whether a banjo hurled by, say, Bob, in Kansas, would strike the head of Sven, in Stockholm.

Soon, though, such games would be more than possible: they would transform the industry. In 2020, Warzone, the Call of Duty series’ take on “Battle Royale,” attracted more than a hundred million active players, generating revenues of about three billion. The same year, Epic Games reported that Fortnite, its candy-colored, kid-friendly spin on “Battle Royale,” had three hundred and fifty million accounts—more than the population of the United States. (A recent lawsuit revealed that, when Fortnite was available on Apple devices, the game generated an estimated seven hundred million in App Store revenue.) Today, countless games, along with hit TV shows such as “Squid Game,” bear the stamp of “Battle Royale” ’s influence. Takami’s blueprint, drawn from a dream, has become one of the dominant paradigms in entertainment.

The story of that rise might begin in 2013, in Brazil, where Brendan Greene, an Irish Web designer, was living while saving up for a plane ticket home, following a divorce. Greene, who is assiduously private (his online moniker is PlayerUnknown), grew up on the Curragh Camp, an army training center in County Kildare, where his father served. He and his brothers played on the family’s Atari 2600 console “until it fell apart,” he told me, but he later fell out of love with games, which he felt were becoming too scripted—more like movies than the tests of skill and cunning he enjoyed. In Brazil, Greene was browsing Reddit when he read about DayZ, a punishing, survival-based video game that appealed to his desire for challenge. It was the first game he bought in years, and he quickly became obsessed.

DayZ was a mod, a new game built from the parts of an old one—in this case, a military-combat simulator called Arma 2. Mods, which are usually made by amateur enthusiasts, can be arcane and scrappy, but the scene is a hotbed for experimentation. DayZ’s game play fascinated Greene, who, despite lacking technical expertise, began to make his own mods to the mod. He added a fortress in the middle of the map; players would enter empty-handed, scavenge for weapons, then fight to the death. Unlike most competitive video games at the time, in which characters respawned after dying, Greene’s mod radically gave each player a single life. When you were out, you were out.

The rules evoked “The Hunger Games,” a series of books that share a similar premise to “Battle Royale.” (The series’ author, Suzanne Collins, has insisted that she was unaware of Takami’s work when she wrote the books). One of Greene’s collaborators suggested the title “Hunger Gamez,” but Greene had worked long enough in marketing to know he was “going to get sued if we did that,” he told me. While studying fine art in Dublin, Greene had watched “Battle Royale.” Recalling the film’s poster, which showed two schoolchildren, one holding an axe, the other a shotgun, he mocked up an image that placed his game’s character in a similar pose, alongside the text “DayZ: Battle Royale.”

Greene drew further inspiration from the film. He replaced his game’s fortress with a barn, and arranged twenty-four backpacks at its far end, each containing a grenade, a pistol, a bandage, or a chainsaw. At the beginning of a match, which lasted ninety minutes, the players arrived at one end of the barn. “If you were smart, you didn’t give a fuck about the backpacks and you just ran,” Greene told me. “But new players would rush forward. Someone would get the gun. Then everyone would be screaming.”

In Takami’s novel, portions of the island become off limits at regular intervals, forcing the classmates into smaller spaces. Greene wanted a similar way to narrow the field. Dividing the island into squares was beyond his programming ability, so he placed a tightening circle onto the map; if a player wandered outside it, their character would quickly expire. Each match now enjoyed a natural, exhilarating crescendo.

DayZ: Battle Royale went online in September, 2013. The game used six servers, which Greene managed by hand; he stayed awake for forty-eight hours at a time, acting as a virtual bouncer, allowing new players in and locking the room when it was full. An obscure nook of the Web became a coveted hangout. “People were waiting for hours, even days, to get in,” he recalled. Saqib Ali Zahid, a popular American video-game streamer known as Lirik, was an early player. “He kept coming back for one more game,” Greene said. “A guy of discerning taste like that . . . I was onto something.”

Greene’s mod soon caught the attention of industry professionals. On Twitter, he received a message from John Smedley, the then president of Sony Online Entertainment, who invited him to San Diego to design a battle-royale mode for H1Z1, a game in development. “Here was an opportunity to get my game in front of a global audience,” Greene told me. He joined as a consultant, but left after finding that the H1Z1 team had simplified his vision. Several other companies had become interested in making battle-royale games, and Greene worried that his idea was being wrested from his control. “I was, like, ‘Hello?’ ” he said.

In 2016, Greene received an e-mail from Changhan Kim, a game developer from South Korea, offering him the chance to make a battle royale to his specifications. That March, the day before his fortieth birthday, Greene immigrated to South Korea, and a year later his team released PlayerUnknown’s Battlegrounds, or pubg. pubg was based closely on Greene’s original mod, with a few elegant adjustments: a hundred players would now enter the map by jumping from a plane, allowing each to choose whether to head toward a popular area, for immediate tussling, or toward a more remote spot, to scavenge. The game was an immediate blockbuster, earning eleven million dollars in three days. In 2018, it passed a billion in sales.

To read or watch a battle royale is an intense experience. But to participate in one involves a different tier of exhilaration, which flings one between states of anguish and euphoria. The sense of being at once hunter and prey feels primal. The first time I played pubg, I forced my character to crouch in his underpants in a bush, hypervigilant for the sound of approaching footsteps. Eventually, having secured a shotgun and a few improving attachments, I trembled my way to the top of a hill, where I lay nauseous with adrenaline. After a while, another player stepped on my character. A brisk fusillade later, I was out.

“Often, in multiplayer games, you’re just running around, racking up points,” Frank Lantz, the founding director of the New York University Game Center, told me. “That works well, but it has a samey intensity, like a piece of music that starts out fast and stays fast. Battle royale has a built-in structure and dramatic arc.” In 2021, Lantz released a Scrabble-themed battle-royale game called Babble Royale, which he co-designed with his son. “In game design, you’re always looking for rules that interact in particularly interesting ways,” he told me. A battle royale’s steadily reducing map heightens a game’s intensity, and the fact that each player has a single life raises the stakes, making each victory unforgettable. “Every action matters,” the professional Call of Duty player Ben Perkin told me. “The closer you get to the end, the more invested you become on staying alive, for that rush of a win.”

Video games broadly fall into two categories: those which, like sports, emphasize competition, and those which, like films, emphasize storytelling. Battle royale is a rare harmonious combination, a mode that encourages both dynamic, dramatic vignettes and high-stakes rivalry. At Infinity Ward, the Los Angeles-based co-developer of the Call of Duty series, which has long established the template for online competitive shooting games, pubg was disruptive and divisive. “You could see it propagating through the office like wildfire,” Joe Cecot, the studio’s multiplayer-design director, said. “People were, like, ‘How do we make something like this? What would our twist on this be?’ ”

Introducing battle royale to a marquee series was a major risk. Call of Duty’s dominant mode had been Team Deathmatch, where two teams compete across small, carefully engineered environments, and where players can reënter the field a few moments after they’re eliminated. Battle royale, with its meandering combat and vast map, required a profound redesign. The team got to work on a new mode called Warzone, assigning six designers to build a large-scale environment using the game’s existing engine. (They loosely based the map on the Ukrainian city of Donetsk.) In order to introduce bullet drop-off over long distances, they rewrote the game’s ballistics system, and in the process realized that the series had sped up over the years, with characters running at about fifty miles per hour. In Warzone, this made it nearly impossible to hit a moving target at range. The animators installed a line of L.E.D. lights in the studio, which would trigger in sequence to show the speed at which characters ran; after attempting to race the lights, they reduced the top speed by twenty per cent, causing some on the team to balk. “One designer said to me, ‘Congratulations, you have ruined this game,’ ” Infinity Ward’s studio head, Patrick Kelly, told me.

The team also played with the established template. “We felt that battle royale was a bit too punishing,” Kelly said. “The fact you can randomly get shot in the head encourages players to hide until the herd is culled. That brutality promotes conservatism over action.” Inspired by a popular in-house mode, Kelly suggested that they introduce a kind of purgatory: eliminated players would be sent to a “gulag,” where they would take part in a one-on-one match against another loser, with the victor returning to action. This, too, was contentious. “We heard, ‘This is not battle royale—this is terrible,’ ” Kelly said.

The anxiety that Warzone would ruin the Call of Duty franchise was intense. One afternoon, Kelly was so preoccupied while driving home from the office that he ran into a stop sign, crashing his car. But when Warzone launched, in March, 2020, it became an immediate success, with more than six million downloads in twenty-four hours. “It was a transcendent moment,” Joel Emslie, the studio’s art director, told me. “It completely reënergized the franchise. Now the sky is the limit.”

One of battle royale’s virtues is its legibility: any onlooker can understand what’s happening, which is often not true with video games. On YouTube, the channel TopWARZONEMoments posts a daily twenty-minute-long highlight reel showing skilled or amusing moments of play. Within hours, each video attracts tens of thousands of views.

In the past, this straightforward voyeurism has occasionally been paired with political critique. Ralph Ellison’s “Invisible Man” begins with a battle royale: a group of young Black men are blindfolded, then forced to fight in a basement for the amusement of drunk, wealthy white professionals. Even Takami’s book, though less overtly symbolic, uses the game to question the status quo. The novel takes place in a world where Japan won the Second World War, emerged as a Fascist power, and brutally suppressed any rebels; the battle royale is a military program meant to seed fear in the country’s youth. But Takami also targets the lure of conformity. His mother lived through the Second World War, and she told him that, though many citizens opposed Japan’s involvement, they feared the danger of protesting. “Even if a rule is clearly ridiculous, nobody will speak out against it,” he wrote later. In the novel, most of the students acquiesce to the game’s rules.

In the video-game medium, where players prize novelty—and, typically, not social commentary—the key to battle royale’s future may lie not in tweaking its rules but in deepening its story. In November, Activision released Warzone 2.0, which introduces some new mechanics. There’s now more than one safe circle, so players are herded into pockets of refuge, and it’s possible to interrogate downed opponents, making them reveal the position of their teammates. These embellishments add subtle points of difference, but it’s unlikely that they’ll energize the form. “Battle royale will now always be a part of the tool kit, in the same way that we’re never not going to have the fifty-two-card deck,” Lantz said. “But there’s not a lot of people making new games for the fifty-two-card deck. When a thirteen-year-old hears that there’s a new battle-royale game coming out today, it’s already a little bit boring. Like, you know, boomer stuff.”

[celestemona]

HIIII BEA I AM BACK WITH MORE HEADCANONS (A distraction from my language homework that's due tomorrow morning smh)

Kazuha's kids love to listen to him playing his leaf tunes. They're like a lullaby to them. Perhaps his son Kazumi tried to imitate him multiple times but failed and Kazuha's just all chuckles

Since Marie has a brother that's like 14 years older than her, she has that aura ykyk hehe. Imagine having a much older brother and a father who's the boss of a prison be the family of your crush. Like anyone who's pinning on her will have nothing but nightmares getting through Cameron and Wrio. The two would team up to be Marie's bodyguards and when she calls out on them they'd play dumb like "whaaaat haha wdym"

At one point Marie also gets a bit hardcore as she gets older. She's still a daddy's girl, but she's also her father's daughter ykwim? Perhaps she also learns how to box like her dad??

Since Eveline is the Hydro dragon offspring and can naturally wield hydro, she spent her childhood being so confused as to why other kids can't wield hydro like her. Imagine her hanging out with kids and they're like "Wow you can wield Hydro without a Vision?" and she's like "You can't???"

Game nights are always playful war for Lyney's household. Both Lyney and mama reader try to play nice for the twins but always end up victorious and somewhat competitive. In a way, they think it's a way for the kids to nurture their strategizing skills. They make sure to treat Corinne and Quentin some treats tho after every game night hehe.

Heizou. His kid(s). Unknown Case Files game. Imagine.

Fontaine mama readers having mother's group sessions twice a month because why not

The other Harbingers are quietly very fond of Kimi. Every once in a while, Scara would bring her to Fatui Headquarters for work to look after her. The other Harbingers secretly look forward to seeing Kimi as she seems to be the only bright and warm thing in the cold halls of the Fatui Headquarters. Kimi also likes them and sees the Fatui as her home somewhat!

Kimi and Mama reader ice skating in Snezhnaya!!

Okay yapping over I hope you have a wonderful day/night Bea!!

OMG!!!

Hi Yessu, my dear ♡ How have you been aside your studies?

I loved the last headcanons you sent me but these… I think I even got a bit emotional lol Some of them are more canon than you'd imagine...

I mean. How could I disagree with a scene of a little Kazumi trying to imitate his dad by blowing a leaf and ripping it? He's so used to listen his dad's music since he was just a baby that isn't strange he wants to copy him too. His son's shenanigans amuse Kazuha but you can see the love and joy shining in his eyes too. It'll take a while for Kazumi to learn how to play a leaf correctly because he's a bit hasty but eventually he's gonna achieve it <3

One of the million things I love in Marie is her aura hahahah It's also quite funny that Wriothesley's constellation is Cerberus because only it can explain the three "dogs" from the Fortress who are super protective over her: Papa, Cameron & Mama hahah

I absolutely LOVED and agreed with the hc about Heizou's children and Lyney's.

Though Heizou's daughter isn't as interested in police stuff as her parents and older brother are, Ren, on the other hand, can become a bit too competitive when he's playing board games with Heizou. To this day he hasn't beaten his dad or his mom lol

Lyney and Mama!Reader giggling at their twins' pouty AAAAAA <3

By the way. Now that you've mentioned the harbingers meeting Kimi (which is true since she was still pretty small back when he was in the Fatui), I remembered Arlecchino's voice line telling us about those days la Signora used to visit the House of Hearth and rejoy in the kids' attention.

These two had some good times together ♡