#but i guess...i just feel off in general? i miss some of my writing partners

[ofgentleresolve]

the way i think moving blogs might help with my enthusiasm on here but also not knowing if it would actually help....

[ugh-yoongi]

about u | jjk

❝ this song is about a love that you can’t reconcile—wanting to make a home out of a person that has proved to you time and again that they are not a home; they are just a person. it’s about retracing scars, negative patterns, all with the silent belief that moments of communion and understanding might justify months of misfiring and regret. we’re all just trying to get back to that ‘first high’ feeling—an honest endeavor, however futile. ❞

✤ PAIRING jungkook x f. reader ✤ GENRE exes to fwb to strangers, college/grad school au; angst, smut ✤ RATING explicit. minors do not interact. ✤ WARNINGS toxic & self-destructive behavior (inc. jealousy and possessiveness). infidelity (with an external partner). reader is bisexual (which is not a warning but a general statement so the homophobes stay away) and there is a brief mention of coming out. two people who are both too honest and unable to communicate. swearing. cigarettes and alcohol use. kissing, some spitting, fingering, oral sex, protected vaginal sex. every time i asked jess to read this over for me she always came back with "jfc jewel" so i guess this is angsty. unhappy ending. ✤ WORDCOUNT 7.3k ✤ LISTEN TO this was based off of "winterbreak" by muna, but there are bits and pieces of the entire about u album in here, "everything" and "outro" especially. ✤ THANK YOU to muna for writing the album, @the-boy-meets-evil and @hot-soop for reading over this for me multiple times and putting up with all my brainstorming and my beloved @here2bbtstrash for the extra set of eyes. ✤ AUTHOR'S NOTE hi, thank you for reading! i cannot emphasize enough how much more sense this story will make if you listen to about u in the background. i would also like to reiterate that these two are maybe not all that likeable most of the time, but i hope they're still human. as i once saw in an ao3 tag, you are more than the worst thing you've ever done.

[ the first. ] You’d read an article once—something about the second time you fall in love.

It’s going to feel different, it’d said. The first time felt like a dream.

As you stare across the kitchen at Jeongguk, you think that might be true. The part about it feeling like a dream, because it used to be a pinky-lavender haze and everything that has come after hasn’t felt so good. Not a nightmare, but close. At least with nightmares you can force yourself awake. You can tell yourself it wasn’t real. You can pretend.

This is as real as it gets, watching him smile over the rim of a plastic red cup. Someone else’s hand on his arm. The girl it belongs to looks nothing like you, and you wonder if she’ll be the second time he falls in love. You also wonder why you didn’t stay home. You wonder about fault and regret and if either of them even matter. No, you eventually decide: there’s just you in Taehyung’s kitchen and Jeongguk on the other side of it and the result of a million decisions in between you.

There had been a plenitude of reasons you’d fallen in love with Jeongguk, but he’s undoubtedly beautiful. Soft, tinkling laugh; a smile that reaches his eyes. Not all that long ago you used to be responsible for both, so there’s a lingering, bitter sting beneath your wonder. Jeongguk is beautiful and no longer yours, and that’s enough to have you retreating to the living room.

Jimin’s at your side immediately. Wraps an arm around your shoulders and presses a kiss to the top of your head that does little to alleviate your guilt. Missing someone is always easier with thousands of miles in between you. All those distractions. Just like a nightmare, distance lets you pretend. Not so easy to do when all those ghosts come back to haunt you; when you can still hear Jeongguk’s soft voice in the kitchen. The music is so loud but you’d be able to hear him anywhere, you think.

Even places he’s not.

Jimin leans down, forces his way into your personal space. “Are you doing okay?” he asks, and his words are warm and wrapped in alcohol, but you nod. You’re scared you might start crying if you open your mouth. Afraid of what might come out besides shuddering breaths, which just makes you feel stupid. Baby’s first breakup, you chide yourself. Maybe Jimin can get you a commemorative ornament.

Taehyung is turning twenty-four and it should be joyous. It is joyous. People that aren’t you are laughing and dancing and pressing their cheeks together as they huddle close to take selfies. Someone you don’t recognize is cackling wildly as they wrangle Taehyung into a headlock and smear cake frosting on his face. Someone else is tutting and running a rag under the tap to wipe it off and then the frosting is gone. It’s hard not to draw parallels.

There one minute and gone the next.

Gently wiped away.

But the feeling lingers, doesn’t it? The tack of the frosting, all the love that transpired between you and Jeongguk. Sometimes you fear it’s permanent—not able to be wiped away with a rag run under the tap, not able to be wiped away at all. Just this burden you’re cursed to carry, because Jeongguk isn’t and can’t be yours but knowing does nothing to erase the past. Doesn’t help you forget. It’s fucked and it’s unfair, but that’s just the way it goes.

“I think I should leave,” you say, watching another scene play out in the kitchen. Jeongguk fills a cup and hands it to a different pretty girl. Everyone here is so pretty. Makes sense; so is Taehyung. Pretty people are drawn to one another like that. “Is it too soon? Will it be obvious?”

Jimin sighs, wraps you in a hug. Says, “Oh, love,” in a way that’s too sympathetic. Makes you sound too pathetic. “No one will blame you. These things are hard.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Not that you don’t appreciate Jimin’s reassurance, but sometimes it all feels a bit silly. Weren’t you the one to walk away? Call it off? Are you allowed to mourn the very thing you destroyed?

And Jimin, bless him, is so patient with you. Asks if you need a ride home and you wave him off, remind him your parents’ place isn’t far, that the cold might do you some good. You tell him you appreciate him and his night shouldn’t be ruined on your account, and you just laugh when he tries to protest, tell him to go get himself another drink.

“Text me when you get home,” he says, voice stern, and you brush that off, too. “I’m serious. It’s late and it’s dark and anyone could be out there—”

“Maybe I should walk you home, then?”

All those articles you read about the second time you fall in love didn’t mention this. Said nothing about the way a voice will always be able to turn your world on its axis and how to right it again. Said nothing about how to coexist with ghosts. Said nothing about what to do with all the yearning and the pain and the stupid, selfish strands of hope. There are paragraphs about an overarching, general grief, but nothing about the specific one living inside of you.

The shock on Jimin’s face is reflecting your own. It’s nice to not be the only one caught off-guard and stammering over their words. It’s nice to have a friend when it feels like your entire world is on the edge of collapse. “I don’t…” he begins. Swallows thickly and turns to look at you, an obvious question biting at the back of his teeth.

You know the answer.

You know that what you should say isn’t what you want, just like you know it isn’t fair, this thing you’re doing. Because you turn to Jeongguk and say, “Are you sure?” which might as well be a yes, because you’re selfish and suspended in this liminal space and don’t want him to go home with anyone else. You don’t want him to move on.

He shrugs. “It’s on the way.”

You say okay. Let Jimin help you into your coat, hide his face in your neck as he tells you to be careful, and that stings. You’ve never had to be careful around Jeongguk before. The two of you never, ever hurt one another—until you did. The kind of hurt your heart hasn’t easily forgotten, is still stubbornly clinging to.

Your heart wants Jeongguk, always.

You want Jeongguk, always, so you let him grab your hand, link your pinkies together. You let him lead you out of the house and don’t turn back to see who might be watching. God, you want to, though. Want all those pretty girls to see that he’s leaving with you. Want them to know it’s your name that’s branded on his heart; your name beneath his skin. For once, you want someone to want what you have.

It’s strange. The two of you have been apart for eight months, and there’s a lot of things you might want to tell someone in that amount of time, but you find it hard now. Don’t know where to start, which words to use. Don’t want to say something stupid, because Jeongguk is just walking you home but you’ve assigned a lot of meaning to it, and eight months is a long time to yearn for something and finally get it.

So you say, “You didn’t have to do this, you know,” because it’s something that’s true and easy to say.

Jeongguk doesn’t answer right away. Drops your pinky so he can hold your hand properly—fully, all five fingers intertwined—and squeezes. “Is it weird for you?” he asks, and he doesn’t sound nervous. Almost sounds like he’s smiling a little, giving you shit. He sounds familiar.

“No. I don’t know. Maybe a little.” He asks why? at the same time he passes under a streetlight. Lights up golden and amber. He’s beautiful—“I don’t know. It’s just… I guess it’s just been a long time. We didn’t leave things the best.”—and no longer yours.

The Jeongguk walking beside you is not the same Jeongguk that walked out of your dorm eight months ago, tears staining his cheeks, the smell of a goodbye fuck still clinging to his clothes, his skin, sweat still dotting his hairline. This Jeongguk is sharper, more selfish with his laughter, and you wonder about all the ways heartbreak can change a person. How you’re changed for facilitating it. You wonder if Jeongguk blames you before deciding you’re too much of a coward to find out the answer.

“Was it that bad?” When you look over at him, he’s chewing on his lip ring, trying to bite back a smile. “You’ll have to remind me. I don’t remember.”

You stop walking, jerking forward when Jeongguk is left unaware and keeps going. “That’s not funny,” you say. “Jeongguk, that’s not—I did what I thought was best, okay? I thought I was doing the right thing—”

The smile drops from Jeongguk’s face. “Hey, hey, look at me,” he says, and he’s hesitant to reach out and touch you but he does it anyway. Cups your face in both hands. “I know, it’s okay. That’s just—it’s just life, right? You did what you had to do, babe. It’s okay.”

You did what you had to do, babe.

Did you?

Jeongguk is selfish with his laughter but never his affection, and knowing that feels like an albatross around your neck. You have broken him so entirely, but he’s still kind to you, finds it a worthwhile thing to be.

His eyes go to your lips. Tattooed fingers dimple your face just a little more, dig in deeper. When you dare to take him in, he looks… different. No longer amused, the way he was just seconds ago; now, there’s something dark there. Longing, anger, hunger. Jeongguk looks like he wants to swallow you whole and make you suffer; looks like he wants to cage you beneath him and worship you through the comedown.

I’d let him, you think as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. As you smell the smoke that lingers, the sweat and the alcohol. I’d still let him.

It’d be so easy to press a kiss there. To feel his skin beneath your lips: flushed, still warm from the party, not all daunted by the bitter winter wind biting at your cheeks. As you lean in further, you wonder if it’ll taste the same. You wonder how much can change in eight months and if all those old comforts change, too. If it’s something inevitable.

Jeongguk moves his hands to your waist. Crawls his fingertips beneath your jacket and finds bare skin. Sucks in the smallest bit of air, and you would’ve missed it had it been any other time, but winter is always quiet and subdued. Always smells transitional, something dangerously close to hope and redemption.

And eight months is a long time to miss the feel of someone’s lips, isn’t it, so you think you can be excused for reaching for something you thought you’d never have again.

The first kiss is hesitant, testing; pressed to the spot just beneath his ear. Maybe you don’t know this Jeongguk, but you know the version of him you used to love—the one you still do—and you know the way he’ll sigh. You know the way his hands will grip tighter. You can still hear it, the way you used to kiss him there and he’d say, don’t start something you can’t finish, baby, and the way you’d laugh and always, always finish it. Can still feel the warmth that used to bloom in your chest. The love.

Jeongguk won’t say that now, you know. Wonder if it’d sound more like don’t start something you already finished if he did. He huffs a small laugh, more an exhale than anything, and asks, “What are you doing?”

And you answer, “I don’t know,” because it’s honest. You admit, “I guess I just miss you,” because it’s true.

A war wages within Jeongguk. You can see the storms, the white flags that are close to being thrown out. Can see the way his gaze flits between your lips and your eyes. What he’s looking for, you don’t know, but the storm rages on. And just like real life, just when you think it’s at its worst, there’s a break in the clouds: a tangible beam of silvery-warm light when Jeongguk tangles his hands in your hair, thumbs at the hinge of your jaw. Jeongguk tilts your head back and looks ethereal in the amber glow of the streetlights.

He says, “We shouldn’t,” and you nod, because you know and the anguish on his face is surely mirrored on yours, but when he follows it with, “let me take you home, let me take care of you,” you find it impossible to care.

You nod.

Everything is amber.

Eight months is a long time to go without the way Jeongguk kisses you: intentionally, demandingly, insatiably. He still tastes the same. Tastes like the first time you’d ever dared to kiss him, back at that party freshman year, tongue flavored with cheap liquor. Jeongguk tastes forbidden and feels like coming home.

You couldn’t say how you make it to Jeongguk’s apartment, but the way you stumble over the threshold feels familiar. The way the door is barely locked when Jeongguk crowds your space; picks you up, wraps your legs around his waist, presses you against it, hips moving on their own accord, rutting, all those little sounds spilling from his lips—everything is familiar. This is not just a practiced song and dance but something memorized. Something instinctual. You could be apart from Jeongguk for years instead of months and your body would still know what to do.

He carries you to his bedroom and you don’t think about who else has been between his sheets, because he puts you down so gently. Kisses your lips, your jaw, your neck—all gentle, powder-soft. Sounds like spring when you paw at the velvety cashmere of his sweater, pull it over his head, and he sighs. Feels like he’s breathing fresh life into something he shouldn’t, something long dead, but then you skim along his warm skin and your world is reduced to the way it feels like silk beneath your fingertips.

“I still love you,” Jeongguk whispers against your mouth, his inked fingers toying with the button on your jeans. Pops it open, pulls the denim down your thighs. Doesn’t bother pulling them off, only goes as far as your knees. And it’s uncomfortable, the way it’s bunched there, but the way Jeongguk says, “Fuck, missed you so much,” is so sweet.

Everything happens too fast.

Jeongguk leaves your shirt on. Drags it up and over your breasts and kisses at the newly-exposed skin. Sinks his teeth in, lets it hurt for a second before he laves over the marks. Settles between your legs and coaxes an orgasm out of you with his mouth and his fingers. Speaks his praise into the juncture of your thigh, breathless as he touches himself, strokes his cock with the wetness lingering on his fingers. Looks so, so pretty when he sits back on his haunches and says, “Just wanna look at you,” and makes it sound wistful and longing.

Makes it sound like it means something.

He’s still touching himself, still slicking himself up. There’s a split second where he goes to move and thinks better of it. Looks to the side before looking back at you. The storm kicks up again. “Have—” he begins before he swallows thickly. Dares to look hopeful, even through the squall. “Have you been with anyone else? Since…?”

You haven’t. Tried to, once—another stupid party, more cheap liquor passed to your mouth from someone else’s, but it hadn’t gone anywhere. They hadn’t tasted like Jeongguk; hadn’t felt the same. Two puzzle pieces that fit together all wrong.

Jeongguk has, though. Something you’d heard from a friend of a friend that you weren’t meant to. They’d called it a rebound, and it had bloomed so many ugly thoughts in your head. Five months had passed. Jeongguk was fucking someone else in his bed while you were in yours, torturing yourself over whether or not to tell him happy birthday. Whether it was allowed to or not, it’d stung.

(You had. You’d reworded the text a million times, plucked up all the courage you could find before you sent it. It’d gone unanswered, just like you expected it would, and you thought it was because Jeongguk didn’t want to talk to you. Thought you were digging your fingers into wounds that had yet to heal, so it’d stung but you understood.

But Jeongguk hadn’t answered because he was fucking someone else. Had someone else’s taste on his tongue; was panting someone else’s name into the dark. The embarrassment had been the worst part.)

Still does, if you’re being honest with yourself, so you lie. “I—yeah,” you answer. “Just one.”

Looks like it stings Jeongguk, too. “Right,” he responds, blinking back tears, and he’s got a lot of nerve, you think. “Yeah, okay, I’ll just—a condom. Are you…”

“Jeongguk—”

“Are you sure? Maybe this isn’t…” He huffs. Drops the condom on the bed, hangs his head. “What are we doing?”

You stare up at the ceiling. Nothing up there but the swirls in the plaster. “I don’t know,” you admit. “Hurting each other, probably.”

Jeongguk walks his fingers down your thigh. Grips at your skin, wants it to bruise. Wants you to have something to remember him by come morning. “Sometimes I’m really mad at you, you know?”

“Yeah, trust me, I know.”

He nods. Refuses to look you in the eye now that you’re watching him. “I still love you so fucking much and I’m still so angry. What am I supposed to do with that? What am I… fuck, I thought I was over it. I thought I’d see you and not feel a fucking thing.” There’s fresh ink on the back of his left hand. You hadn’t noticed it earlier, but you notice it now, when he runs his hands down his face.

You also notice the way the atmosphere shifts, the split second in which his heartache bleeds into something else—resolve, maybe. Obstinacy. Like he knows how this is going to end and he’s going to do it anyway. He’s going to find the most painful part and press on it, dig his fingers in, and it’s just an inevitable, foregone thing. Something he can prevent and something he’s choosing not to.

“You fucked someone else,” he sneers. Rips the foil open with his teeth, flashing too white in the dark of his bedroom. Rolls the condom on like it’s an inconvenience. Like you’re an inconvenience. “Was it good? Was it worth it?”

You roll your eyes. Feel the way your breath catches in your throat, because you’re not going to cry. Jeongguk fucked someone else and is vilifying you and it’s hypocritical and ugly and unfair, but you’re not going to cry over it. You’re going to press the gas pedal as far as it can go, say, “Yeah, it was,” and find some wicked delight in the way his eyes squeeze shut, as if it can spare him from the pain.

The two of you used to love each other. Jeongguk used to smile down at you when you were naked beneath him like this. Used to lean in close and whisper that he loved you just as he pushed inside even though you knew, you could feel it in everything he did. Now, there’s no smile. Now, he leans down and spits on your pussy and pushes inside and doesn’t tell you a goddamn thing.

Not with words, anyway.

Because the way he fucks you says it all. Impersonal, desperate, bitter. He grips your hips and fucks into you frenzied and fast. Takes your hand and puts it on your clit and tells you to get yourself off. An inconvenience. Tells you he misses your tight cunt, tells you he misses the way it milks his cock, tells you he misses watching the way you come undone underneath him, but he doesn’t tell you he misses you.

There’s a moment, just after he spills into the condom and stays inside, just catching his breath, when you think he might say it. Might tell you he loves you around the lump in his throat, might apologize, might ask if you two can’t figure it out.

There’s only a moment.

Jeongguk doesn’t say anything. Lets the moment pass. Pulls out and ties off the condom and wordlessly gets up to throw it away. It’s the silence that pisses you off. The disregard. Jeongguk hates you for something you’d lied about doing that he’d done for real, so you can be wordless, too. You can treat him like an inconvenient, cheap fuck, too. You can get up and find your clothes and pull them on and let him watch, words biting at the back of his teeth, and you can tell yourself to feel nothing.

You can say, “You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve,” and not shy away from the resentment in your voice, because it’s properly placed. “You fucked someone else, too, so you’ve got a lot of fucking nerve, Jeongguk.”

Eight months is a long time to miss someone, to play at daydreams. To think of all the things you want to say, the things you’ll do. In not one of them did you think about this: you, fully dressed and stinking of sex, saying, “It’s late. I’ll show myself out.”

Jeongguk, tears glistening on his cheeks, saying, “No, let me—baby, I’m sorry, please—I’ll drive you.”

A shake of your head. Jeongguk doesn’t push it.

Roll credits.

[ the second. ] Jimin wants to talk your ear off about it—the girl you’re seeing.

It’s new and there isn’t much to say. You tell him the two of you met at one of the student showcases put on by the art department and leave off the part about all of Jeongguk’s old friends being there, that he would’ve participated, too, if he hadn’t dropped out after you broke his heart. Leave off the part where you would’ve been there to support him instead, in another life. Leave off the part where it’d just been morbid curiosity: you, not an art student, wandering those halls to see if Jeongguk’s photographs were still framed on the wall.

“Is she nice?” Jimin asks, head nearly knocking into yours as someone shoves by him. “Fucking asshole.”

You nod. “Why would I date someone that wasn’t nice?”

Jimin, perpetually unbothered until he decidedly isn’t, sends you a look that he hides behind the rim of his cup. “Because you’re in your self-destruction era and aren’t thinking clearly.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

“Exactly what I said. You know I’m happy if you’re happy, but…” He pauses as he trails off. Tries to wrap his words in something delicate. “It’s pretty clear you still aren’t over it. That’s all.”

You snort. “That’s all?” you repeat, like it’s some small thing. Like it’s normal and fine.

“I’m sure it’s easier to pretend when the two of you are thousands of miles apart,” Jimin amends, and he must see how you bristle, stung by the callout, because his eyes soften. “Tell me about her.”

She’s beautiful and kind and smart. Smokes clove cigarettes and the smell is always clinging to her skin. You know how to make her come but don’t know what she’s majoring in—fashion, you think, because she’s always holding fabric swatches against your skin. Tells you what suits you and what doesn’t. Tells you which textures don’t work, what’s too warm, and she doesn’t need to tell you what’s too cold because you already know it’s you.

She’s beautiful and kind and smart and has no idea you’re still in love with someone else.

But you can’t tell Jimin that, can you? Can’t tell him about how she’d dragged you to a private corner in the gallery and kissed you breathless; the way she made you come on her fingers; the way Jeongguk’s name nearly slipped out of your mouth as you shook. Can’t tell him that she’s got arms full of art. Delicate patchwork; nothing like the harsh, bold colors inked into Jeongguk’s skin, but it feels the same to trace the lines.

You can’t tell him much of anything, so what you settle on is, “She’s nice—good for me,” and it doesn’t sound convincing to either of you.

Jimin doesn’t call you on it, though. Not again. Instead, he keeps his gaze steady, staring into the fire, the flames dancing wildly when you meet his eye. “You need to be careful,” he says. “You’re going to hurt her, too. Maybe worse than you hurt him.”

“Jimin—”

“Just be careful,” he reiterates, and all you can do is nod. What else is there to do besides wait for the inevitable crash and burn?

And it’s a little unfair, you think, that Taehyung grows older every single year. A little unfair that guilt won’t let you decline the invitations. A little unfair that you can still pick Jeongguk’s laughter out of a crowd. A little unfair that these hometown friends-turned-acquaintances still throw sideways glances whenever someone else touches him, as if he still has someone to answer to; as if they’re expecting something.

An hour. You’ve survived an hour longer than you did last year, and it’s not much but you’re still proud of yourself. You’ve had a drink, talked to someone other than Jimin. Managed to ignore the way Jeongguk is ignoring you; the way he immediately leaves a room as soon as you enter.  Maybe it’s better like this, you reckon. Maybe it’s what you need.

An hour is long enough. Jimin doesn’t comment on the way your bones crack when you stand to leave. No one needs a reminder of growing older. He doesn’t ask if you’ll be okay, either; if you need a ride home. Instead, he stays quiet as he studies you, clearly wondering if lightning strikes twice. If you’re going to be able to walk past Jeongguk and out the door without making another mistake.

You can at least make it across Taehyung’s sprawling yard and to the house. You can dodge the sweat-slick bodies and the girls sitting in laps. You can toss your empty cup in an overflowing trash can. You can pretend the eyes on your back are well-intentioned.

You can make it to the bathroom.

Annoying, the way your phone has been vibrating all night only to disappoint you. Irrational. You scroll past the emoji-laden messages, the coy flirting, because they’re from the person you’re actually dating—the person you told you were going to sleep early—and not from Jeongguk. You should feel guilty. You should feel guilty, but the face staring back at you in the mirror doesn’t look guilty at all.

She looks tired. A little beat-down, but that’s life.

Maybe that’s just what happens when you’ve spent the last two years of your life chasing after ghosts.

A knock at the door startles you. Sends your phone tumbling to the floor, screen probably cracked to hell, and you swear under your breath. “Just a minute!” you call out, a little stunned from how threadbare you feel all of a sudden.

Still, the knocking continues, and you’re on your knees on this bathroom floor and all you want to do is cry. You don’t want to be on this floor in this house. You don’t want to keep putting in the effort of maintaining the facades of all these friendships. You don’t want to keep coming back to this town, don’t want to keep being confronted with the harsh reality of all your mistakes.

“Just a fucking min—”

The words die on your tongue, because there Jeongguk stands, all the air in your lungs dissipating at the amount of space he takes up. Even worse when he steps inside and locks the door behind him. You feel like you’re going to drown. You feel like you’re going to scream or cry or both, and you’re still on the floor, still on your knees, and it feels too much like penance when you look up at him. Feels like you’re groveling, praying for forgiveness.

You stand quickly, ignoring the rush of blood to your head, the way your legs tingle. Jeongguk still hasn’t said a word, doesn’t seem like that’s going to change, either, and it’s really all you can do to stay on your feet when everything in you is screaming to collapse.

Eventually, he says, “You’re seeing someone,” and it isn’t a question, not really, but it borders on one. It’s a question and a confirmation and somehow sounds a lot like he’s asking for permission for something.

“I—yeah.” You swallow. “It’s new.”

He hums. Steps a little closer. Leans against the sink. Darts out his tongue to swipe at his bottom lip before he tugs his lip ring between his teeth. “Yeah? Does he treat you well?”

“She,” you correct, and there’s a flash of something in his eyes. Surprise, maybe. Jeongguk, at one point, had known everything about you, but not this. “And yeah,” you add on, barely a whisper, “she does.”

Part of you feels embarrassed. Jeongguk had known everything about you but not this, and you shouldn’t feel embarrassed or guilty but it still sits there in the middle of your chest. Feels like you’ve been keeping secrets. Feels like shame, even though you aren’t ashamed. Feels like you’re awaiting judgment. But the surprise in Jeongguk’s eyes disappears and something else settles in its place—uncertainty, if you had to guess.

“Are you happy with her?”

You shrug. “Like I said, it’s new.”

And Jeongguk is as emulous as ever, because he asks, “Does it feel like what we had?” and you already know the answer is no.

“I’m not sure anything will.”

It’s honest; you hadn’t said it to appease him, but he looks pleased anyway. You’re starting to understand why so many people write about their first love. Why it’s such a powerful role to fill. Because you and Jeongguk are standing in a bathroom behind a locked door, feet apart from one another, and you think, I don’t think there’s anyone I will ever love more than him even though it’s been two years. You think, I don’t think I’ll ever recover from this.

You think, I would try over and over and over again if he asked me to.

Later on, when you’re alone in your childhood bed and your face is streaked with tears, only your shame and guilt for company, you won’t be able to figure out who moved first, but one of you had.

Once upon a time, you had known everything about Jeongguk, too. You could recite his taste from memory, but it’s different this time. He licks into your mouth and it tastes like ash—nothing like the clove cigarettes your girlfriend smokes, but close enough that the parallel burns like acid in your throat. It’s close enough that you can keep your eyes shut and pretend again.

This time there’s no softness to be found. There’s just Jeongguk’s mouth pressed to yours, barely letting you breathe, not wanting anyone to hear. There’s just the sink digging into your back. Jeongguk’s hands gripping at your waist, pulling at the hem of your skirt. There’s the frustration and desperation of two people who love each other but will never, ever get it right.

There’s Jeongguk asking, as he spits into his hand and slicks you up, if you’re going to tell her.

There’s you, already too far gone, saying you don’t know.

There’s Jeongguk asking, as you’re clenching around him and dragging him with you to the edge, if you’d come back to him if he asked you to.

There’s you, already knowing the answer to this, too, saying you would.

But this isn’t that and Jeongguk doesn’t ask. When it’s over, he tosses the condom and does a half-assed job of helping you clean up and he doesn’t ask. He splashes water on his face and fixes his hair and he doesn’t ask. He tucks his cock back into his briefs and zips his jeans and he doesn’t ask.

Jeongguk has one hand on the doorknob and he doesn’t ask you to come back. Instead, he asks, “How long are you gonna keep doing this?”

For once, you don’t have an answer.

[ the third. ] You go even farther away for grad school.

You try to put more distance between you and Jeongguk, more distance between you and all the skeletons in your closet, but you just pack them up in different boxes and bring them with you.

You spend New Year’s Eve chain-smoking in your parents’ back yard—that same brand of clove cigarettes, because hearts are easy to break but some habits are not. Sometimes it’s a comfort to hurt yourself in the same way you hurt others, so you chain-smoke and you don’t go to to Taehyung’s birthday party because you weren’t invited and it doesn’t sting in the same way that it doesn’t sting that Jimin doesn’t call you once you’re home because he hasn’t spoken to you in a year.

The clock ticks down to midnight. Someone sets off fireworks. Absolutely nothing changes.

There are no half-baked resolutions. There’s no hope that this is going to be the year you get your shit together. There’s just you and the bed you’ve made for yourself; the autopilot you can’t—won’t—turn off, because you don’t know where you’re going anyway so you might as well just go wherever it’s taking you. There’s guilt and there’s shame and there’s baggage, but they’re all old friends. Those are old scars.

The sweatshirt you’re wearing doesn’t belong to you, and it does little to protect you from the bitter cold that bites at your skin. Jeongguk doesn’t belong to you, either, but he keeps coming back to you like he does.

“Mind if I sit down?”

You shrug, gesturing to the empty chair beside you. The small fire you’d built is down to its last embers, and it’s what you focus on, because you can’t focus on Jeongguk anymore.

“You weren’t at Tae’s.”

“Wasn’t invited.”

“Oh,” he breathes. “Sorry, I didn’t know. I would’ve—”

“It’s fine. I wouldn’t have gone anyway.”

He seems to hear what you don’t say. I wouldn’t have gone because I can’t be around you anymore. I wouldn’t have gone because I don’t trust myself with you. I wouldn’t have gone because I’ve burned down every good thing in my life trying to keep you. “Oh. Yeah, that—that makes sense.”

He’d texted you. Asked if he could see you. Just wanted to talk, and you’ve never cared much for symbolism, but nearing midnight on New Year’s Eve had seemed as good a time as any to let it go, so you’d said yes. Now, when there isn’t much to say, all of Jeongguk’s flimsy excuses are laid bare. Transparent.

“Was Jimin there?”

Jeongguk nods. “You didn’t know?”

You shake your head. Feels like it’s made of concrete. “No. We haven’t talked since last winter break.”

“Because of—”

How cruel, that you’d confessed to Jimin instead of the one person who deserved to know. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

You shrug again. “It’s okay. I don’t think it’s permanent, just until I can get my shit together, I guess. Wasn’t fair to drag him into my mess anyway.”

“It’s not that easy,” Jeongguk says, and it sounds like something he wants to be true. It sounds like something he’s said countless times in defense of himself. “We’d—I’d do it if I could.”

“Yeah,” you agree, “of course.”

Silence creeps up again, so you dig another cigarette out of the pack and offer one to Jeongguk that he waves away. “Cloves? That’s a weird choice.”

“Just something I picked up along the way.”

He hears you again: They’re what she used to smoke. It helps me heal to hurt myself with something that reminds me of her. Sometimes I chain-smoke clove cigarettes and I don’t wash the smell from my hands, my clothes, my hair, because it makes me feel less alone.

So he asks, “Was it real?”

“Doesn’t matter,” you answer, flicking the wheel of your lighter, words spoken around the cigarette stuck between your lips. “It never had a chance. Not a real one, anyway.”

“Do your parents know?”

“Know what? That I went away to college and started fucking women?” Jeongguk shrugs. Has the audacity to look embarrassed. “What are you trying to ask me? You wanna know if I keep coming back to you because I’m scared to come out to my parents?”

“No. I don’t know. I just—”

The laugh that escapes you is scorched and bitter. Sounds the way the tobacco tastes. “No, Jeongguk. I keep coming back to you because I keep hoping you’ll ask me to.” I keep hoping you still want me.

“I almost did,” he admits, and you can hear how he swallows around the lump in his throat. “The first time.”

“When you were a dick about me sleeping with someone else? Yeah, okay. You didn’t want me back, you just didn’t want me to be with anyone else.”

He huffs. “How the fuck do you know what I want? You’ve never bothered to ask.”

“Because it doesn’t matter,” comes your response, stilted and practiced. “It doesn’t matter what we want, because we’re just going to keep hurting one another trying to get it right.” You suck in a breath, wipe furiously at the tears on your cheeks. “And we’re never going to.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Then ask.” Jeongguk startles, looks at you with wide eyes. “Ask me to come back for real, Jeongguk, and I will.”

A beat of silence.

Two, three, four.

Someone sets off another round of fireworks. A dog barks. It’s so cold that you can see Jeongguk’s breath each time he exhales, each time he breathes out instead of speaking. All the words he isn’t saying. And it’s exactly how you knew it would go, but it does nothing to tamp down the devastation in your chest.

You’d confessed your transgressions to Jimin and thought your silence to your ex-girlfriend was a gift, that it was sparing her the pain of what you’d done. Now you understand that someone’s silence can be the most vicious thing of all.

[ the last. ] Graduation looms. It’s the last winter break you’re spending at home.

Your therapist suspects you get your compartmentalism from your parents.

They don’t mention it. They see the stack of boxes and your bare bedroom walls and they don’t say a word about any of it. They watch you pack everything in your car and don���t offer to help. They process their grief silently, and when you can’t stand it anymore, you say, “I dated a woman my senior year of undergrad, you know.”

They don’t say anything to that, either, but it feels good to tell them. Feels a little like freedom and reclamation, like you can be who you are in front of others.

When you leave for good, you don’t want to repackage all those same skeletons.

So you meet Jimin for lunch and you take it in stride that everything is weird, that there’s nearly two years of silence to fill. You don’t ask for forgiveness and he doesn’t demand it of you, just asks if you’re doing better. “I’m doing the best I can,” you answer, and it’s human and honest enough that he accepts it with a warm smile.

Jeongguk is more difficult.

There’s no way to neatly box up that kind of baggage.

You’d intended to stop by his apartment to talk, tell him you aren’t coming back anymore. There’s nothing left here for you, you’d told him, and there was a flash of something. A there’s me, isn’t there? that had gone unsaid, destined for the same fate as a million other unspoken words between you.

Because there is him, but there’s also the way you’re desperately trying to claw back into something resembling normalcy. You’d lost yourself when you also lost Jeongguk, and you need to figure out who you are without him. You need to know who you are once you stop running and let your demons catch up with you. You need to hear what they have to say.

Maybe Jeongguk had said it best last year—“It’s not that easy. I’d do it if I could.”—because you’re nothing if not predictable and self-destructive.

You’re nothing if not naked and on your back beneath him, your fingers threaded through his hair as he rocks his hips into you, more tender than you deserve. His lips are ghosting along your skin and every press feels like a brand. Feels like he’s both making a mockery of you and declaring you ruined for anyone who might come after him. Feels like you’ll love him until you die.

(Some version of you must exist outside of Jeongguk’s grasp—outside of his orbit, his bed—but right now, as he twines your fingers together and pins them above your head, you can’t figure out who she might be.)

Eight months had been a long time to think of all the things you wanted to say, and four years is worse. Four years, and you still can’t bring yourself to ask him to try again, but there’s nothing after this, nothing to lose, so your voice is hoarse and raw when you say, “Jeongguk,” and he groans a little, nips at the column of your throat because he loves the way you say his name. “Jeongguk,” you repeat, because he senses the urgency, hears what you aren’t saying.

“Yeah, baby, say it. Whatever it is, tell me.”

He rolls his hips faster. Before, he would’ve tried to prolong the ending, but he’s hurtling towards it now. There’s nothing after this, you know, but you need the confirmation. You need to finally put all of this to rest. “I want to—” His cock strokes someplace that whites out your vision. “Fuck, want to—want you to come with me.”

He laughs, full of himself, probably smirking out the side of his mouth. “Keep squeezing me like that and I will soon.”

“No,” you insist, shocked at the conviction in your voice, “when I leave. Come with me.”

Everything slows. Jeongguk pulls back, moves his hands to cover himself, and there’s nothing but cold confusion in his absence. “What?”

“I didn’t ask you before. Last year. I just—I left it up to you, and you’re right, I didn’t ask what you wanted, but I didn’t tell you what I wanted, either. But I’m telling you now. I’m asking—”

There was never going to be anything after this.

Jeongguk’s silence says it all.

The way he pulls out and rolls you onto your stomach. The way he fucks as fast and as hard as he can. The way he used to love you openly and honestly and now holds whatever’s left close to his chest like it’s something to be ashamed of.

Someone’s silence can always be the most vicious thing of all.

Roll credits.

thank you so much for reading, and an additional thank you in advance if you decide to reblog my work. as always, my inbox is always open for any feedback! ♡

[ssweetiebop]

Things I would like to see written more, or would write about if I could write featuring Disco Elysium:

- Harrier Du bois is a Innocence ! It would start out very subtly, with Kim catching Harry just seemingly not breathing, of course his first concussion would be that Harry’s heart must’ve just stopped, que panicked moments where Kim shakes Harry awake or semi freaks out whenever he sees Harry napping at work or just sleeping in general, because Harry is just not breathing. (Because it’s stated in game that apparently Innocence’s are said to not even breathe, they just eternal like that.) or maybe Harry just makes one too many predictions that are scarily accurate which really fucks with Kim as he entertains the idea of Harry being an Innocence, like he doesn’t believe it, but it’s a entertaining thought to ponder until Harry’s lungs suddenly glow out of nowhere, maybe Harry doesn’t notice himself or Kim convinced himself it was a trick of the light… just alot of second guesses and whatnot!

- Harry dating (and it’s not Kim) Harry, after finding out about his sexuality and finally coming to terms to it — decides it’s time to head back into the dating scene! Maybe Harry just ASSUMES Kim is taken already because I mean… it’s Kim! Kim is so cool! Of course he has a partner! (He doesn’t.) and Kim is just like wow my lungs are burning with hurt right now. Kim painstakingly supporting Harry but also dying inside hearing about all of Harry’s dates and partner(s). I just want jealous Kim honestly. Or even possessive Kim teehee… like Kim overhearing Harry has a date tonight and before Harry himself can tell him Kim abruptly asks if Harry wants to hang out tonight, wanting Harry to choose him over his date, even sweetening the deal by saying he has alot of plans of *insert literally all of Harry’s favourite activities and also maybe Kim confessing or being willing to let Harry do XYZ for once* Harry of course just blurts out ‘YEAH ILL HANG OHT WITH YOU!!’ Without thinking and is like oh shit I have a date tonight. Oh god. Do I blow my date off or Kim?? Kim realllyy smug when Harry chooses him all while acting innocent. Even “scolding” Harry when Harry admits he choose Kim over his date. Just small moments where Kim feels guilty for sabotaging his dates but also just can’t help it, he keeps purposefully somehow ruining the relationship. Of course he feels really guilty but Harry will forgive him because it led to them finally dating. Maybe Kim takes it too far or EVEM GETS CAUGHT ACTIVELY TRYING TO RUIN HARRY’S DATES and for the smallest second Harry sees Kim as some sort of jerk (sorta rightfully so!) and gets mad at Kim until later he thinks about WHY Kim was doing that.

- Body swap au ! I know there’s already some of body swaps out there, but I want more! Like the idea of Kim hearing Harry’s skills and being like ‘This is what Harry is forced to hear all the time? It’s so noisy…’ and then Harry being like ‘wow it’s so… quiet… I don’t like it! I miss my friends!’ BUT ALSO!!! BUT ALSO!!! People always do Harry and Kim! I want to see some more variety! Hell even just adding Jean to the mix sounds so fun! Jean waking up at Harry and just being absolutely mortified. I think it would be funny if the skills know right away that the person in Harry’s body right now isn’t Harry, and are deathly quiet during those first few minutes when Jean first wakes up Harry’s body, until… let’s say perspective or reaction speed helps Jean stop a mug from falling and Jean goes very still at the sound of their voices. Harry in jeans body… or maybe KIM in Jean’s?! Oh Kim would be absolutely checking himself out in the mirror (and delighted at how he can SEE!!! WITHOUT GLASSES!) before catching himself and scolding himself to be more respectful. And I think we all know how Harry would be in Kim’s body…

- Furry Elysium ! Look… here me out. we all agreed that Harry and Kim have a very dog + cat dynamic — or at the very least it’s fun to draw them as animals! But alas… I have seen almost ZERO fanfics about them as actual animals/animal-like features! I want to explore a world like disco elysium filled with animal hydrids! … do you think Jean would be a horse? Or a bird like his name suggests? Would Harry actually be a dog or would he be something else? I feel like Kim being a cat or cat-like is perfect BUT if you think of another animal Kim would fit lmk!

- THEM AS KIDS !!! BUT, BUT… I want them to turn into kids! How? Idk! The pale did it maybe?! It doesn’t have to make logical sense. Maybe they remember their adults self maybe they don’t. I just want someone to hold Harry when he’s a toddler… he deserves some soft parental love… or Jean waking up as a teenager and being absolutely pissed because of it… MAYBE they all are different ages, Harry a toddler, Kim a little boy, Jean a teenager. Or just the classic one-person-magically-turns-into-a-toddler-and-then-the-remaining-adults-have-to-come-together-to-take-care-of-said-toddler.

- Kid fic OR parent fic I know I just mention kids but this time I want one of them to HAVE a kid. Of course Kim would likely be excluded from this biological wise but adoption works too! I just like the idea of of Harry being a father or Jean awkwardly holding a youngster or Kim looking around to see if he’s alone before cooing at a cute little kid. Harry would have a blast dressing the baby up. Also imagine just Harry walking into work with a baby strapped to him on day and Jean just spits out his coffee like WHAT is HARRY doing with a baby?? And Harry is just like ‘this is my baby! And you’re the godfather… kinda rude of you to not know!’ I read some kid fics and they were so, SO sweet.

- MAGICALLY TURNING INTO AN ANIMAL ! Yes. We are pulling out ALL the classics. It doesn’t have to be a cat but I WILL be using a kitty here. I’m so sorry this one is the longest. I wanted a fic like this for so long so please allow me to ramble my ass off:

They can’t change back… or maybe when they do change back to being a human it’s not their choice! Think of ‘A Whisker Away’ type of situation. Kim waking up as a kitty absolutely terrified and thinking the one person who would be able to tell it’s him would likely be Harry, right?! Like he gets premonition and predictions and insights all the time! Surely Harry will immediately know it’s Kim! …. Harry does not know or find out actually. Harry just immediately scooping Kitty-Kim once he ‘gains it’s trust’ (but really it’s just Kim stuck between indecisiveness of just running back home or not and trying to figure this out on his own because he already trusts Harry!) and Kim allowing himself for ONCE in his life to be held and loved and pampered and cooed at without shame. BUT I also love the idea of this happening to the others too, like Harry immediately using this to get to know what Kim is like behind closed doors, feeling guilty but also just can’t help but still go and try to get adopted by Kim (newsflash, it takes FOREVER for Kim to finally let Kitty-Harry inside his apartment, and even LONGER for Kim to officially adopt Kitty-Harry, (bonus points if Kim is still in/at precinct 57) but then ! Kim wants to introduce Harry to his cat! uh-oh! Kitty-Harry also kinda afraid of Jean’s reaction to Kitty-Harry but going to be nosy anyways and turns out — Jean is a big animal lover! It barely takes any convincing for Jean to decide to adopt Harry. Harry feeling jealous that he doesn’t get this soft side of Jean but also gives Harry a new perspective on Jean overall. Que Kitty-Harry awkwardly being owned by two of his friends and THEN also imagine them both talking about the cat they own and finding out it’s the same kitty and they both feel sorta backstabbed(?) or are like ‘wow my/our cat isn’t loyal…’ Jean as a Kitty sounds very amusing… just hissing and very annoyed that they don’t clock it right away that it’s him! Knocking over mugs to get their attention and whatnot, getting scolded and put in kitty jail.. :( !

- SWAP AU! Do I really have to go into detail here? I love the idea of a ‘very, very sane’ Harrier du bois and just an absolutely pathetic failure of Kim Kitsuragi in the swap au… shout out to @/Danielcalmdown0 on Twitter for the new perspective/dynamic on this au!! Kim doesn’t own the kineema in this au because they gave it to a more dedicated officer and Kim is just… absolutely heartbroken over it, but also a bit petty and jealous like ‘I WOULDVE TAKEN CARE OF IT THE BESTEST!’ I wish people discussed Jean and Harry’s relationship in this au more though! I like to think in this particular au they would have a bit of a more father-son dynamic?? MAYBE? not necessarily father-son, but something close for sure, just older figure Jean looks up too… (Maybe Harry baby’s or coddles Jean too much in this au and it PISSES Jean off.) would he still be his brooding self?! Let’s just say yes. I think Jean would have a bit of a crush on this Harry, of course he denies it to himself but it’s there, until Kim joins the picture then its pathetic loser vs pathetic loser and Harry wanting them to be friends but it doesn’t really work to much at first… they figure it out later though. IDK! I have a lot of ideas! And a lot of them contradict eachother!

I have alot more ideas. But I been typing for far too long so I’m gonna call it wraps. If you read the entirety of this I love you. AND if you’re a writer… and you get inspired by ANY of these and if you write it?? Please let me know! I would love to read it!

[fixing-bad-posts]

I looked around and didn't see anything about this on your blog but I apologize if I missed it.

I was wondering, what does doing the work behind this blog...feel like? I guess what I'm asking is if it does anything to you. Like, I had a thought. For a flash, I imagined you as Butters from South Park in that episode where he is tasked with filtering out all the negative comments on Cartman's social media. It ended up really messing with Butters, what with him having to see all that negativity.

You're definitely not being affected to that extreme, I assume, but I wonder if you would have anything to say about the process of finding these negative posts and reading them several times to edit them. Has it exposed you to unpleasantness that you wouldn't have otherwise seen? Or is there perhaps a kind of catharsis in editing such filth?

I'm making a lot of assumptions here. Maybe I'm also asking about your process. I just think what you're doing is neat and would love to hear about your experience with it.

Thanks for reading and I hope you have plenty of reasons to feel joy <3

oh boy, i love talking about myself haha—so thank you for giving me an excuse to do so! i have answered similar questions in the past, though never at length. every once in a while, someone pops into the inbox to ask about my mental health (which, rest assured, is just fine—i don’t put this blog’s operation above anything; it’s honestly pretty low on my list of life-priorities), and it’s always quite sweet. having a mob of strangers following one’s sideblog has its perks: one being that sometimes parasociality results in some well wishes, kind thoughts, and general goodwill. which is very nice, and probably an unearned vanity-boost for my ego.

what does the work behind this blog feel like? in turns: mundane, challenging, vindicating, annoying, amusing… and probably other things that i’m forgetting. most of the work i do on this blog is actually me procrastinating! i am a certified adult with a job™, and i’m definitely guilty of slacking off at work sometimes to queue posts submissions from my inbox, which is more fun than like… proofreading financial documents and making spreadsheets. other times, i’m sitting in a café with my partner, and allegedly i’m “writing” fanfiction. but, uh, if you know any writers, you know that sometimes “writing” means, ‘looking at a blinking cursor’. so it’s in those moments that i open up tumblr and start writing image descriptions and adding tags to prep posts for my queue. that’s mainly when the blog feels mundane.

something that i think helps me avoid negative doomscroll-spirals is that i don’t actively seek out bad posts for this blog. being a citizen of the internet delivers fodder to me naturally. that, and running a semi-popular sideblog on tumblr. when i see a bad post in the wild, that’s when the feeling is annoying/challenging. challenging, because ever since starting this sideblog, hateful posts don’t feel as vicious to me. once i see them, they stop being posts and turn into word-puzzles. and i love word puzzles!

solving the word puzzle is amusing for me, as is getting to look at my resulting “blackout poem.” it makes me laugh, it stretches my brain. when i started, i used to have to read a post several times to find the ‘good post within the bad post’ so to speak. these days, i’m so used to it, i barely read the bad posts more than a handful of times. but as i was saying to my partner, one of the reasons i love found poetry (erasure poetry, and cut-up poetry) is that it uses the same part of my brain that loves scrabble (the board game). then, of course, it's vindicating to see my posts get so many notes, sometimes surpassing the original bad post. that's more of my own vanity, i'm sure.

as for the last part of your message: yes, i have plenty of reasons to feel joy. i work with people who respect me, i live walking distance from a bubble tea café, and have friends and family whom i love. i have the good fortune to be safely out as a queer person. i’m a fanbinder. i’m currently working on a long fanfiction which is getting some very nice comments on ao3. and i’ve recently decided to become a poet (like, for real).

i must admit, i’m fascinated by how you imagine me. i often wonder how i am perceived, especially because i keep many cards close to my chest here on my sideblog.

anyhow, thank you for this excuse to ramble about myself and the process of running this blog. i hope you also have plenty of reasons to feel joy 💛

[dangans-ur-ronpas]

Chapter 20

alright guys hit the showers. or the bathhouse. wait hold on i left my computer boy in there. guys wait don't open that

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

wow i wrote 10 pages for chapter 19 but i better take it easy so i dont burn out (writes 11 pages for chapter 20) anyway guess who's taking a break after this chapter

this is the one with togiri development but they're extremely not normal about it so it's almost blink-and-you-miss-it

@digitaldollsworld <- betapilled readmaxxer

Content warning tags: mild violence and injury description (non-graphic), description of depression symptoms and nausea, mild mention of eating disorder

< previous - from start - next >

He’s not sure how long he sleeps for, only that he wakes up still-dressed and laid out across his bed, his mouth dry and head groggy, the bedroom lights still on. As he checks his handbook’s clock, he finds he’s entirely missed Monokuma’s morning announcement, which is a good thing; he had no desire to listen to that bear’s irritating voice, especially not today.

But, he doesn’t have much desire to do anything else either. The library no longer feels like the safe haven it used to be, and he had no interest in going anywhere else and running into anyone else, when the atmosphere was still thick with the deaths of two people, and pity that Byakuya didn’t want. Much less, the possibility of encountering Makoto, who was the last person he wanted to see, so to speak.

He lies in bed a moment longer, unwilling to move. Everything feels sluggish, like he’s moving underwater; even his head feels stuffed full with cotton and wool. It's a strange, unfamiliar feeling, and unpleasant, too.

Grief. He thinks blearily at first, before rolling his own eyes at the thought, and pushing himself up with a grunt. Such dramatics didn’t suit him. He wasn't the kind of person to spare such theatrics, regardless of his circumstances.

He showers, brushes his teeth, and half-debates whether to try his hand at shaving before ultimately deciding against it (it didn’t feel like his stubble should be that noticeable, yet). He forgoes changing into a clean uniform in favor of his pajamas, and collapses back into bed with a sigh, hand searching immediately for his handbook - but finding nothing but empty sheets.

“Hello, there!”

He jerks upright immediately. Standing in the foot of his bed is Monokuma, rocking back and forth and looking as innocent as could be. Or, would be, if not for the handbook clutched in its paw.

Byakuya dives for it without thinking, but his perception is off, and he crashes to the carpet instead with a grunt. Monokuma sidesteps him casually with a laugh. “Whoa, there! Easy partner, don’t wanna hurt yourself!” It dances around his head, infuriatingly out of reach. “Didja miss me that bad? If you wanna hug, you can just say so!”

“Give it back,” He snarls, as he picks himself up. He’s in no mood for its jokes. “Give me back my handbook!”

“Your handbook? My my, but these were all mine first, weren’t they?” It shakes a paw disapprovingly in his face. “I just need to check it real quick, after all. I didn’t expect Mister Fujisaki to go and Macgyver anything onto here, so if it’s anything malicious, I’ll have to do a quick wipey-wipe!” Byakuya makes another lunge, and it juggles the handbook out of his reach, hopping backwards with a mad cackle. “After all, if it’s anything naughty, there’s no way I can let it fall in the hands of my precious students!”

“You miserable little-” Byakuya tries to rise to his feet quickly, but he hasn’t eaten since yesterday, and a bout of dizziness crashes into him like a wave. He sways and braces himself against the mattress, one arm still reaching out clumsily to try and grab at Monokuma.

But the bear has already flipped it open, scrolling so quickly through the screens that the little automated voice can’t keep up, the words blurring together. “Schoo-Stu-App-Day-”

“Whoops, too far.” It scrolls back. “Applications, that’s what we wanna see. And, what’s this?”

Byakuya feels his blood run cold. There was only one application there, the one Chihiro had downloaded for him. Alter Ego. The app was inconspicuously named ‘Test_App’ in the interface itself, but if Monokuma opened it-

“Well well well. Let’s take a look-see!” It crows, and Byakuya’s protest is frozen in his throat. He shuts his eyes, expecting to hear Chihiro’s voice-

“Black to E5.”

He opens his eyes again. What?

Monokuma also seems confused, tilting its head as it stares at the little screen. “What’s this? A chessboard?”

“Black to E5,” Alter Ego repeats, so digitized and monotone it was nearly unrecognizable. “Would you like to review the board?”

“Is this all it is? A chess game?” Monokuma sounds almost disappointed. Byakuya, seeing his chance, surges forward, snatching the handbook back and snapping it closed. He presses it to his chest, feeling his heart thud beneath it.

“Is that a problem?” He demands, and Monokuma shrugs, shaking its head.

“I guess not, but I thought it’d be something spicy, y’know? You’re a growing boy, after all!” It reaches out to pat Byakuya’s knee, and he steps backwards just in time, lip curling in disgust. “Aw, don’t act so mean to your headmaster, you’ll give me a complex!”

“Get out.” He hisses. “You got what you came here for. Leave.”

“Oh, alright…you sure know how to make a bear feel glum...” It sighs, kicking at the carpet, before it makes its way to the door. “Take care, now! Make sure you eat something, y’hear? I don’t want any hunger strikes in this house! And-”

No sooner had Monokuma crossed the threshold, had Byakuya jumped up, and sped forward to slam the door with a resounding bang. He takes a moment to breathe, leaning against the wall, legs suddenly weak.

How the hell did that thing get inside my room? He was sure he had locked the door - or he should have locked it, at least. Looking back, he actually can’t remember, but he double and triple-checks now, suddenly paranoid. He also flips off the light for good measure, leaving the room in complete darkness before he crawls back into bed.

Beneath the covers, he opens his handbook, and squints until he can make out the pale green shape of Alter Ego’s face on the screen.

“Is he gone?” Alter Ego asks, and Byakuya relaxes, the tension flooding out of his shoulders.

“Yes.” He whispers back.

Alter Ego makes a sound like a sigh of relief. “I’m glad. I got so scared when he grabbed me.” And its voice sounds so much like Chihiro's that Byakuya feels a strange pressure behind his eyes.

“How did you know?” He asks. “That Monokuma was there?”

“I could hear it. Through the microphone.” He reaches up and touches the tiny pinprick grid of the speaker, and feels the buzz of Alter Ego’s voice against his fingertips. “I didn’t want you to get in trouble.”

“Don’t worry about me. I think he would’ve just deleted you as punishment for me anyway.” He sighs. And then frowns, as a thought comes to mind. “If you could eavesdrop from the microphone this whole time, then you already know…?”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. But he doesn’t need to. Alter Ego makes a quiet noise like a sigh. “Yes, I know.”

“I’m sorry.” And he’s surprised to find that he means it genuinely, and almost laughs at himself. Heartfelt apologies were rare for him, and here he was offering one to an AI, of all things.

“It’s okay. He knew it might happen,” Alter Ego replies, and he imagines it might be smiling, a sad, helpless smile. “There’s nothing we can do about it now.”

“No, I suppose not.”

They’re quiet for a moment. In the darkness, Byakuya can almost pretend that he’s normal - unable to see in the dark as everyone else is. But it’s also the middle of the day, and he’s too restless to sleep, too uneasy to go outside. Too tired to mourn. Too mournful to do anything else.

“Can you really play chess?” He asks instead.

“I can, along with checkers, shogi, and backgammon and more.” 

“Play a round of chess with me, then. I’m bored.”

“Okay!” Immediately, the pale blot of their face on the screen is replaced by a square. “I’ll play black. What’s your first move?”

He smiles to himself. “E2, pawn to E4.”

—

Hours pass like that. He plays chess with Alter Ego (three wins, four losses, and seven draws), and a few rounds of shogi (one win, one loss, and two draws) for good measure. And then, huddled over his desk with his back facing the camera, he pores over lines of Dostoevsky and Nietzsche until he feels too sick from staring at the letters to even hear Alter Ego’s voice, reciting the words aloud beneath a dim ringing in his ears.

By the time he’s pulled out of his concentration by the sound of a knocking at his door, he’s too nauseous to feel hungry, but his throat is stinging from lack of water and there’s a slight pulsing in his head. His immediate first reaction is to ignore it, but that proves to be impossible; whoever was on the other side was clearly, very persistent, and had nothing better to do.

Even so, he lasts a full five minutes until he finally gets up to answer, irritated beyond measure. If it was Makoto, he was going to slam it closed again, reasons be damned. He didn’t even want to think about the other boy, lest he get pointlessly enraged about it.

But instead of brown hair, he’s met with pale white. Kirigiri stands at his threshold, hand partially raised, halfway through knocking, and they stare at each for a moment in silence, as if both surprised to find the other person there.

And then he slams the door shut in her face. Or tries to - instead of the satisfying bang of wood meeting wood, there’s a sickly crunch, and then she’s wrenching the door open, heedless of the way her fingers had just been crushed in the jamb. He almost winces in sympathy, but she’s too busy pushing her way in to offer much room for condolences.

“What is wrong with you?!” He demands, trying not to be too obviously perturbed by her lack of reaction; he doesn’t think he even heard her wince. She ignores him for a moment, attention focused on her hand, as she experimentally clenches and unclenches her fingers. Apparently they’re not broken, or maybe, she just had high pain tolerance. Or she was more insane than he thought.

“We’re calling a group meeting,” She replies, without so much as a waver. “Come to the bathhouse.”

“And why should I?”

“It’s important. I can drag you there if I have to.” It doesn’t sound like an empty threat either. Somehow, she seems impatient, though he’s not sure how he can tell; and it wasn’t just because she shoved her hand into the door in order to deliver the message.

He weighs his options - on one hand, he has no desire to speak with anyone, much less Makoto, who was bound to be there. On the other hand, he didn’t exactly have anything in the way of provisions in his room, and though he was still a little too light-headed to consider eating, it’d be embarrassing to collapse from dehydration at this point. That, and it seemed that Kirigiri had no intention of letting him refuse.

“...I’m going to get dressed first.” He says shortly. If he’s going to have to meet them, it will not be while he’s still in his pajamas.

“Hurry up.”

She makes no move to leave, and he realizes with no small amount of annoyance that she was making sure he wouldn’t be able to run or shut her out again. Somewhat affronted by this, and now wanting to go even less, he grabs a clean set of clothes from his dresser and goes to the bathroom.

Routine carries his hands through the motions, so he manages it relatively quick, but it’s only after he’s applying the finishing touches, that he nearly pokes himself in the eye as he reaches to adjust his glasses. It’s a strange sensation, feeling the bridge of his nose and finding nothing, and even though his original prescription was low and they were more an accessory than anything, he feels a little like he’s lost a limb.

She’s still there when he emerges, though now standing over his desk, bent over the books he has open. She looks up as he approaches, one hand halfway through turning a page.

“What?” He asks, chin turned up in challenge.

“Nothing. Just looking.” She closes the book, and he realizes, scandalized, that it was the one he was reading earlier. It was going to take him ages to find that page again. “You have predictable tastes.”

“Shut up. Are we going or not?”

He follows her out, his hands twitching all the while, smoothing down his shirt, his lapels, his sleeves. Making sure his buttons were lined up, that his shirt was tucked; he hadn’t had the time to put on garters or even try a hand at his tie, and he feels underdressed.

“You’re fine.” Kirigiri says suddenly, and he freezes, one hand resting on the button of a shirt cuff. “Stop fidgeting.”

He scowls. He was walking behind her, so what would she know. “I’m not fidgeting.”

“I can hear you fidgeting. Your buttons are fine.”

“Oh, can you hear my buttons now too?”

It’s a petty, childish remark, one that he can’t stop himself from muttering before he can even reconsider it. She stops at that, halting so suddenly in the middle of the hallway that he almost walks right into her, and turns around to face him, her head moving in a slow tilt from up to down - scanning me, he realizes - before she says: “You look fine. Are you quite done?”

She was checking for me. He’s not sure if he should feel grateful for the courtesy or irritated by her lack of grace. “Did the sound bother you that much?” He asks instead, patting down the front of his shirt one last time.

“...It wasn’t the sound.” Is all she says, with a sort of finality that indicated that no other questions would be answered on the topic.

They enter the bathhouse, and find everyone else there, gathered in a sort of semi-circle around the wall of lockers. Asahina and Ogami, predictably, are huddled close together on one of the benches. Celeste and Yamada sit on another bench, one fidgeting uneasily, the other sitting regally with legs crossed and hands folded. Hagakure is standing next to Owada, who doesn’t even stir when they walk in, and who Byakuya ignores in turn, gaze sliding past him uncomfortably. Fukawa hangs near the back of the group, and twitches when she sees him, though makes no move to approach.

Makoto is leaning against the lockers with hands tucked in his pockets. He looks up as they enter, and stands up straight immediately. “Ah-”

“We’re all here?” Kirigiri cuts him off, casting a glance around the room. “Good. Can you catch him up, Hina?”

“R-right,” Asahina looks between Kirigiri and Byakuya, then at Makoto, and seems to hesitate for a moment. “Um, so…last night, I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d go to the kitchen to get food. But on the way there, I heard something coming from the bathhouse - like, a weird, machine-y kind of sound? - and when I went in…”

She peters off. He raises an eyebrow, “And?”

“Uh, it’s going to sound a little ridiculous...”

“You act like nothing else is ridiculous about this situation. Get on with it.”

Her face flushes dark, embarrassed. He gets the feeling that Ogami is glaring at him, but since he can’t see it - and has no reason to act like he can see it, anyways - he ignores it easily.

“Right. I saw a ghost - I know it was a ghost,” She adds defensively, as Byakuya was preparing to scoff and roll his eyes. “It was glowing green and floating in front of the lockers, and…and it had Chihiro’s face.”

“That’s-” not a ghost, he’s about to say, but he stops, suddenly uncertain. The bathhouse had no cameras, but he wasn’t sure if Alter Ego’s existence should be revealed here, now, to everyone, especially given some of the individuals present. His hand reaches into his jacket pocket, where his handbook was. “That’s…and you’re sure it was Chihiro?”

She seems taken aback by how seriously he asks that, and nods quickly. “I know it was Chihiro! It was his face and everything!” She points in front of her, at a locker less than two meters away from her eye level. The exact locker, Byakuya thinks, where Chihiro was keeping his laptop.

He wonders if Makoto was thinking this too.

“...I highly doubt the existence of ghosts,” He sighs. There was no point trying to hide it with Kirigiri around, and better to do it now than later. “Instead of being in front of the locker, I think the thing you saw was inside it.”

He turns to the locker Asahina had indicated, and moves to unlock it - before realizing he doesn’t know how. If it was unlocked by key, he didn’t have it, and if by code it was even more impossible. But Kirigiri steps forward, nudging his arm out of the way, and the locker door clicks open under her hand.

Sitting inside is the laptop, its screen dark. After a moment, it hums to life, flickering green. A round, pale shape forms, and behind him, Byakuya hears someone gasp.

“Hello,” Alter Ego says, and their voice is clearer through the computer than through Byakuya’s handbook, and sounds so similar to Chihiro’s that it’s almost jarring. “It’s nice to meet everyone!”

Hagakure shrieks, arms thrown up in fear. “A g-g-gh-!”

“It’s not a ghost,” Byakuya cuts him off sharply. “It’s a program.”

“Yes, and it looks like something Chihiro made.” Kirigiri touches the keys lightly. “This computer was the broken one from the library. And the fact that it was placed here, out of sight of the mastermind, means that it was meant for us.”

“So, this is what I saw last night…” Asahina’s tone doesn’t sound uneasy anymore, but wondering, and she raises a tentative hand as the little Chihiro in the screen waves at her. “But, what is it?”

“You just asked, ‘what is it,’ right?” Alter Ego says, almost teasingly, making her and several others jump. “The short answer is, I’m an AI program based on as much of Chihiro Fujisaki’s personality, memories, and thoughts as he managed to transcribe into data…um, but if it’s easier for you, you can call me Alter Ego. I was made to try and break through the firewall around the school’s network and to analyze the files on this computer, but it’s been taking a long time. I’m only about 25% done.”

25%? That was already more than Byakuya expected, and he feels a thin, inexplicable strum of pride.

“Crazy…hey, isn’t this crazy?” Yamada is up from his seat, and sitting as close as he can, crouching on his heels to be eye-level with the screen. “This is so- so totally sci-fi, right? Isn’t the genre wrong?” He sounds excited, overly so, and his breath is a little fevered and fast. “Hey, Chihiro! Can you hear us?”

Alter Ego doesn’t respond. Byakuya suddenly remembers the night that Chihiro was installing the application on his handbook and how Alter Ego only ever responded after the sound of keystrokes. “You have to type what you want to say in order for it to respond.”

“Move.” Yamada scurries out of Kirigiri’s way, as she drops to a crouch in front of the open locker. There’s the sound of fingers clicking over keys, and then -

“It will take me a while longer to finish analyzing everything,” Alter Ego says aloud, a little sheepishly. “I can definitely finish it though! Actually, progress is moving faster than originally predicted, so you can leave it to me!”

“My, how dependable.” Celeste remarks. “It seems that Chihiro has left us an invaluable gift, does it not?”

“It’s…pretty crazy,” Hagakure agrees, scratching his head. “Wait, uh - can Alter Ego get online? Like can we call for help from outside?”

“Hmm, probably not.” Asahina hums in thought, crossing her arms. “We’re in a bathhouse after all.”

“Then, if we take it outside of here-”

“No.” Kirigiri says flatly. “We can’t take any risks. Taking it outside might mean that the mastermind will discover it.”

“Yeah, but, I think it’s better to get help sooner than later. You know…” He pauses for a moment, tilting his head pointedly towards Owada. Throughout this whole time, the Ultimate Biker Gang Leader had been as still as a mouse, face turned downwards towards the floor. Hagakure clears his throat awkwardly. “Can’t we try it?”

There’s a sharp tap as Celeste laces her fingers, rings clicking together. “As stated earlier. We cannot take unnecessary risks. And we are not in the position to be pointlessly altruistic.” Her tone is casual, but Hagakure seems to shrink away from her, defeated.

“I…okay. Fine, sure.” He scratches at his head, then pauses. “Ah, wait a minute. Does Alter Ego, like, know…?

His question peters off, but the implication hangs over them like a heavy fog. Byakuya watches them cast uneasy glances at each other, then back to Alter Ego, as if trying to figure out who should break the news.

“It already knows.” He mutters. He’s not trying to be loud, but in the silence everyone could hear it anyways.

“...Not to say you’re lying or anything, Byakuya, but how do you…?”

Instead of answering Hagakure out loud, he reaches into his jacket pocket and withdraws the handbook, flipping it open and holding it up, screen facing them. Someone gasps.

“Yes,” Alter Ego confirms their unspoken question, and its voice echoes uncannily, doubled between the laptop and his handbook. “Master made it so I can be accessed through Byakuya’s handbook, so I could assist him with his visual impairment. I can also access the microphone function on this device, so I was able…I was able to overhear what happened”

The little, buzzing voice trails off sadly, and Byakuya suddenly feels uncomfortable, as the room grows all the more dreary. He clicks the handbook closed, suddenly irritated.

“That should explain it.“ He sighs. “Chihiro built Alter Ego to try and help find a way out of here, and at the same time gave me access so I could be self-sufficient. That’s the extent of my knowledge about it.”

He looks up and finds nearly all of them with their faces tilted towards him, and shifts, disconcerted. “What?”

“Nothing…it’s just kinda sweet that you’re, like, telling us this yourself.” Hagakure, ridiculously, sounds almost happy about this. “You never really talked to us about yourself before.”

“There’s no point in being secretive about it. Not when I was already forced to reveal it during the trial.” He sniffs. Immediately, Hagakure looks away, chagrined. From Byakuya’s periphery, he can see Makoto still facing away, his ears turning pink.

Kirigiri clears her throat. “...For the time being, it’s clear that we need to ensure Alter Ego remains a secret from the mastermind.” She says, and Byakuya watches as she types something out, a thick line of black characters. Every few keystrokes, she stops, and deletes the last word in a series of light clicks; listening closer, the sound was awkward and irregular, each press slurring into the next key. With a slight twinge of guilt, he realizes that the cause of it was her left hand - the one he had practically crushed.

After a moment’s consideration, weighing his conscience with what was at stake, he nudges her slightly with his knee. “Move. You type too slow.”

“And how would you know that?”

“I can hear it.” He replies flatly. “You type like you’re all thumbs. Move over.”

He half-expects her to stay where she is, to ignore him and continue, but to his surprise she actually complies, standing up and stepping aside. He crouches into the space she had just abandoned, sliding his hands over the keyboard until his index fingers find the tiny, tell-tale grooves of the position keys. The size and dimensions are different from his computer at home, but for a moment the feeling is so familiar that he’s almost nostalgic.

“What did you want to ask again?”

“If it has any contingency measures in place for if Monokuma - or the mastermind, or anyone suspicious - happens to find it.”

His fingers skim over the keys, clicking fluidly. A thin line of black appears at the bottom of the screen in time to his movements, but he can’t confirm if the output is accurate; judging by the way Makoto gasps behind him, and the way Hagakure whistles, he can guess that it’s more or less correct.

“Impressive,” Celeste says, in an appreciative tone. “I suppose being such an esteemed heir means you have many talents.”

He can’t tell if she’s mocking him, so he decides to ignore her, though he allows himself a small amount of smugness. He finishes typing: “Is this what you wanted to ask?”

Instead of replying, Kirigiri leans over his shoulder and clicks the ‘enter’ button. After a moment’s pause:

“Hm, to be honest, so far I’ve just been trying to be reeeally careful with when I’m active…though I guess that backfired last night, with me scaring Aoi.” Alter Ego hums in thought. “But, I do have a secret plan! If anyone comes around who I don’t recognize on my webcam…I’ll scream super loud!”

“That’s so basic!” Asahina blurts out, shocked by the simple nature of it.

“Yes, and it’s not likely to work at night.” Ogami grumbles. “The bedrooms are soundproofed.”

“Maybe we can try taking turns staying up?” Makoto suggests. “I can take the first night, I don’t mind…”

“I think such a sudden change in our patterns is likely to draw suspicion from the mastermind. Which would be rather counterproductive.” Celeste says, and Makoto ducks his head immediately. “Though, your thoughtfulness is appreciated.”

“Then it can’t be helped.” Kirigiri sighs. “I’ll leave my door open. I’m at the end of the hallway anyways, so if anything happens, I should be able to react the quickest.”

What a crazy woman. “You’d leave yourself vulnerable?” He scoffs. After all the precautions he’s seen her take, it’s hard to imagine her sacrificing herself to any degree.

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take. Besides, I’m not so helpless. I have no intention of going down without a fight.” She pauses, mouth open like she’s about to say more, before she decides against it. “Anyways. We should avoid any mention or contact with Alter Ego as much as possible, to draw as little attention as we can.”

She claps her hands sharply, a sound that makes more than one person jump, and makes Byakuya almost flinch. “For the time being…let’s disperse.”

< previous - from start - next >

[andreafmn]

So I am OBSESSED with your Carlisle fics.

I was hoping I would request an imagine with a female reader who is asexual and afraid Carlisle won't want her, but of course, he is totally loving and accepting of her.

Thank you and I hope you're well.

Word Count: 2.7K

Paring: Carlisle Cullen x Female!Reader

Story Description: Rejection after rejection was the way (Y/N) went through life because of her sexuality, or rather lack thereof. But when she meets Carlisle Cullen, as in love with him as she is, she can't help but let the fear of her past keep her from telling him that she is asexual.

A/N: Loved writing this request and I hope I did it justice. 😊😊 My content will always be free, but if you’re feeling particularly generous, you can leave a tip on any of my posts to support me and my love of writing or buy me a coffee

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As You Are

Delving into a relationship is no easy task. It’s allowing someone to know every part of you, every moment and secret that has made you who you are, and hoping they accept it without an exception. It’s one of the most vulnerable and exposed anyone could be. 

But there was a rather daunting sense of defenselessness that came from admiring your sexuality. Especially to a world that might not understand. The same world that valued love in the same standing as intercourse. 

(Y/N) had always felt like maybe there was something wrong with the way she loved. That whatever it was she was missing from the checklist society had written for her would be completed by the next person she fell for. Because maybe, just maybe, someone else had what she needed. 

But, as time went by, and partners came and went, nothing magically sparked inside her. And she feared that it never would. 

Until she met Clara. Well, @clara1986x on an internet blog site. 

(Y/N) needed to understand what she was feeling –not feeling. She did what any teenager with an avid curiosity, a life-changing question, and no answers would do. She turned to the internet. For hours she sat in front of a blank search bar, scared of what lived behind the screen. There were no expectations, but there was that underlying fear that there was something wrong with her.  

But, pushing it off wouldn’t change whatever results would pop up. With shaking hands, she typed slowly as she took deep breaths to calm her racing heart. It pitter-pattered against her chest as it hammered in her ears. There was no turning back once she hit the enter key. 

I do not feel sexually attracted to anyone… is there something wrong with me?

The first thing that popped up on the results page made her eyes fill with tears. There is nothing wrong with you, the page was titled. Could it be true? That whatever she was feeling was normal?  

She clicked on the webpage and a personal blog loaded on her screen. 

There Is Nothing Wrong With You

If this page showed up in your results there’s a huge chance you may think that you’re lacking something in your romantic life. News flash! There isn’t. 

Let me guess, you think if you’re not sexually attracted to your partner then it means you don’t really love them. Well, that couldn’t be farther from the truth. There are many ways to love and be in love with someone without adding sex to the mix — it also never has to be added for some. 

Have you ever heard of the term asexual? “The word asexual combines the prefix a-, meaning “not” or “without,” and sexual, referring to sex. Asexual is first recorded in the late 1700s, originally used in biology to refer to organisms, especially plants, that had no sex organs.” [That’s from the dictionary]

In the simple (and broadest) of terms, an asexual person is someone that doesn’t feel sexual attraction toward others or low to no desire for sexual relations. But since we know that sexuality is a spectrum [even if so many people don’t want to agree] this might mean something different to everyone that reads this. 

So, why am I focusing only on the most basic form of asexuality if there is such a big spectrum? 

Because I used to think there was something wrong with me. I used to search in partners for something I was lacking and no one could tell me why I didn’t feel like most people did. I didn’t want to have sex, with guys or girls. I never felt the need to establish a relationship with sex to admit I loved that person. And before you ask, yes, I have tried sex before; no, I don’t need to find the right person for it; and no, I’m not missing out. 

Being asexual doesn’t mean I don’t want to fall in love, or have a partner, or be with someone for the rest of my life. It simply means that I don’t need sex to “seal the deal.” I want the romance and the giddiness, I want the hand-holding and the kisses, I want everything that comes with being in love, I just don’t want sex.

Hi, I’m Claudia and I am asexual.

“Hi, Claudia,” (Y/N) cried as she finished reading the post, a smile spreading across her face. “I’m (Y/N), and I think that so am I.” 

It was the first time in her life that she had heard of the term, let alone found someone that felt exactly the same way she did. For the longest time, she thought she had been an anomaly in the population. That something had been wired differently inside her and she needed to be fixed. 

There was nothing wrong with what she didn’t want. Love had never had to equal sex, and she could be in love with someone without adding it to the equation. She did not need it to feel complete.

But that didn’t mean that everyone else understood what it meant. 

As she left high school and entered college, her dating pool expanded. But their mentality did not. It seemed she was stuck in a vicious cycle that she simply could not break. (Y/N) would meet someone new, they would go out on a few wonderful dates, and form a connection. Yet, when the time came to speak about the dreaded s-word, they all seemed to be taken aback. With some it was a quick rejection, sex was too much of a deal breaker to not have. With others, it was a slowly dying fire that, at the end of the day, always died out.

Whether it was that they didn’t want a relationship without sex or they didn’t want her without the promise of sex, she had not met someone that could accept her as she was and all that she would not offer. 

Until Carlisle Cullen.

After an unlucky slip on ice on her way to visit her mom’s new home, (Y/N) found herself in Forks Community Hospital with a twisted ankle. Thankfully, her condition wasn’t dire and her head could focus on the Adonis-like statue that had been caring for her that afternoon. 

She had heard of the handsome doctor from her mother a few too many times. No one in town understood why an accomplished doctor like him could end up in a small town like Forks. Much less the fact that he was a single man with adopted teenage kids. There was a peculiarity to that family that no one got but rarely questioned out loud.  

No comment from her mother could have ever prepared her for the man that stood before her. A man carved out of perfection by the very hands of whatever god was real. A vision of blonde hair and unnatural amber eyes. 

“Well, Miss (Y/L/N), I think as long as you stay clear of any slush in the street, you’ll be good,” he smiled. “Just make sure to ice that ankle every couple of hours and you should be okay.”

“I’m just staying the rest of the month in Forks. I’ve got a job lined up in Seattle, but my mom recently moved here,” she said. “So, hopefully, no more mishaps.”

“That’s a shame,” he responded. A grin so mischievous on his face she could not help the flutter in her chest. “That it wasn’t you that moved here, that is.” 

“And why is that?” Her curiosity peaked. Was the doctor flirting with her?

“If you were new in town I could offer to show you around under the guise of it being a date,” he started. “I could take you out to dinner, show you how beautiful the woods are during winter –when you’re not falling on ice–, maybe end the night with a kiss.” 

“Do you usually hit on your patients like this, Dr. Cullen?” (Y/N) played along, a sense of confidence overtaking her senses. “I’m pretty sure there’s a rule against that.” 

“That would only apply if you were my patient after you left through those doors,” he smirked. “But that could only happen if you were staying. What a pity.”

“Nothing’s stopping you from doing it for the time being,” she teased. “Better than to always wonder what if.” 

“You make quite a valid point.” 

“Then, do it,” she smirked. “Pretend I just moved here and ask to show me around. I might just say yes.”

A hearty chuckle left Carlisle’s throat, his eyes glittering with the fluorescent light of the hospital room. “Alright then, Miss (Y/L/N),” he smiled. “Since you’re new here, it would be an honor to show you around town. Would that be something you would like to do?”

“That sounds perfect, Doctor Cullen.”

And the rest was history. 

Weeks turned into months, her office job turned into a local administrative assistant in the hospital, and her apartment turned into a room at her mom’s house. It wasn’t anything like what she expected her life to turn like, but something about Carlisle told her he was worth the change. 

Yet, as perfect as their relationship seemed, there was always something lingering in the darkness. To (Y/N), everything felt too good to be true, but she had yearned for so long for a relationship that felt right. She carried with her every rejection, every disappearance, every weird look. She didn’t want things with Carlisle to end because of what they would never have. 

Not even when he confessed to himself and his family being vampires did the pressure of speaking about her sexuality –or lack thereof- alleviate. It felt easier for her to accept the fact that supernatural beings roamed the earth than for her partner to understand that she did not feel sexual attraction. 

It was a backward way of thinking, she knew that. But she couldn’t help and remember all the times she trusted someone enough to tell them about being asexual. Every repudiation toward her because of her sexuality had left an irrevocable mark on her heart, a pain that remained quietly festering deep within her soul. 

But Carlisle could tell there was something wrong. He always could. As someone that was used to harboring big secrets, it was an easy task to know that (Y/N) had a big one weighing on her heart. 

He didn’t want to push her. Her secrets were hers to tell and he had never wanted her to reveal anything she did not feel comfortable saying. It did hurt, he could not lie. Carlisle had tried his best to let her know he was a person she could trust, that nothing she could have said, done, or felt would ever be able to push him away. 

The worst part, he knew Edward knew what her secret was, and so did Alice. But they had both said it was something that only (Y/N) could tell him, on her own time. The only thing they could say to appease his mind was that it was not a bad confession, but it was hard for her to talk about. 

Still, even if he had agreed to allow (Y/N) to speak her truths on her own time, it pained him to know the worry she carried with her whenever she was around. She deserved to feel calm and loved when they were together, and that was what he wanted the most. 

“How’re you feeling, darling?” Carlisle asked one day. “I brought you a blanket.”

(Y/N) was standing on the back deck of his home, staring at the setting sun on the horizon. Her hair was slightly drenched from the rain that had fallen, but she did not seem bothered by it. She allowed the man to drape the blanket over her shoulders, sighing as the warm fabric embraced her body. 

“I’m okay,” she smiled softly. “Just thinking.” 

“What about?” 

She took a deep breath, knowing she had put off the conversation for too long. There was no reason to keep hiding it. He had trusted her with the biggest secret he had, and she needed to trust him enough to share hers. Whatever happened after was something she could not control. She just had to be brave enough to face whichever outcome happened. 

“There’s actually something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” she started before leading him to join her on the white couch. “It’s not anything bad, but it’s something that’s very important. And I’m just scared of how you will react.”  

“Darling, you can tell me anything,” he smiled, taking her hands in his. “There’s nothing you could say that would ever push me away from you. I hope you know that.”

“I know you’re a different man, a completely different person than anyone from my past. But I can’t help being scared to talk about this when everyone I’ve told this before left once I told them this,” she sniffled. “There’s been this festering fear inside me for the longest time because I’m scared that it’ll make you look at me differently and reject me. I don’t know if I could take another one.” 

“(Y/N), you know I love you and you can trust me with anything.” 

“I know that, Carlisle, and I love you too. And that’s the reason why I’ve been so afraid to tell you this, because I really don’t want to lose you.” 

“You will never lose me, (Y/N). But, please, tell me what it is. I don’t want you to have to keep carrying this in your heart.”

(Y/N) knew the moment had come. Regardless of all her fears and concerns, they had gotten to the point where she couldn’t hold back anymore. 

“Carlisle, I’m asexual,” she breathed. “Which means I don’t feel sexual attraction to anyone and I have no desire to engage in any type of sexual activity. It doesn’t mean that I’m not in love with you or that I don’t want to have any type of intimacy. It’s just that I want everything that comes with being in love and in a relationship just not the sex part.” 

Carlisle took her in his arms, embracing her tightly as she cried onto his chest. He brushed her hair softly, kissing the top of her head comfortingly. All he felt at that moment was how much he loved her. 

“Thank you for telling me, darling,” he spoke softly, his hands caressing her cheeks as he stared into her eyes. “I know how hard it must have been for you to tell me that and I’m so grateful that you trusted me enough to tell me. And I want you to know that I love you completely and utterly as you are. I don’t need physical intimacy to know that I want forever with you.

You are more than just a body, (Y/N). I love you because you are a smart, caring, kind, and wonderful woman. You accepted me —my family— as I am, supernatural being and all. I’ve gone centuries without sex and I can go centuries more without it as long as you are by my side.” 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear those words,” she cried happily. “I wish I hadn’t been so afraid to tell you sooner, but I’m just so glad that I did. I love you, Carlisle, and I want forever with you. Just as you are.”

(Y/N) couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. Even as Carlisle kissed her tenderly, it never faltered. 

She had gone her whole life searching for the person that would accept her for who she was without the expectation that her sexuality would change. It had made every rejection, every broken heart worth it because they had brought her to him. 

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[halliescomut]

Rant in defense(?) of Step by Step

Okay, so I watched episode 5 of Step by Step yesterday, and then helped my sister deep clean our kitchen so I missed basically all of the online discourse about it. So now I'm waking up to people being mad and Dee Hup and Mandee releasing statements. And like...I wanna talk about it.

So if you're not up to speed, general breakdown is that in the show they are producing a series (*correction it's a marketing campaign, see new comments at the end), some of the characters are business side and some are production/acting side. At a meeting they discuss possible BL acting pairs that they could cast and they show a couple of well known ones. It's not clear to me if the fake series in the show is going to be a BL or if they are just hoping to use a BL pair because they have pretty committed fanbases.

Most memorably they show Zee and Nunew. Because the creatives are dealing with executives there's a moment where they have to explain fanservice to one of them, and they do explain in very basically.

A lot of people thought or read this as a direct attack on Zee and Nunew specifically, an assumption that all of their behavior is fanservice. I personally think that they chose Zee and Nunew to allow for this sort of inside baseball joke that they are very expensive and very busy. I honestly thought that was the only direct comment that applied to them, and it was made in response to Jaab being asked who he thought best suited the project.

One of the other options, they make a point of saying they aren't really being shipped, which if the series they are working on is not a BL, could be a selling point because peripheral or surface level knowledge of them wouldn't be directly related to their ship. So you wouldn't have people who see them cast in the show and only know them as BL actors and write off the show as a whole because they are not BL fans or are actively homophobic. *See edit/correction at end.

The final comment many people seem to have the most issue with (for a couple different reasons) is this one:

The reason for the issue differs, some people are saying this is a direct attack on Zee and Nunew and how they present themselves at appearances and on social media. Now whether everything fans see of Zee and Nunew is fanservice or not, IDK and IDC. It's not my business. If it is fanservice and they feel comfortable doing it, I have no problem. If it's not fanservice and they are essentially using that belief as a cover to be able to be affectionate publicly in a country where that can be dangerous and also would likely damage their career opportunities...I also have no problem there. You gotta do what you gotta do sometimes.

The second reason that people are upset about this comment is that this is literally a BL show profiting off of the LGBTQ community, so isn't it hypocritical?? And I just didn't read it that way. Watching the show, Pat is a gay man, he's at the very least out in his personal life, at work there's not much that we see that would confirm one way or the other, but I would imagine his level of out-ness at work is at the very least a case-by-case basis. Pat, as someone in a country where his identity is not protected or validated, could be understandably frustrated by the BL industry and the fanservice that is a very prevalent part of it. Seeing the 'performance' of gayness being accepted and even rewarded when, like most gay people, he's probably encountered more than one homophobic person, or had to second guess holding his partners hand in public would be so frustrating.

IDK...I just feel like it's meant to be a statement showing that they are aware of the sentiment. And the reaction of complete silence is it's own condemnation of the system, because you can see that the executives in the room are stunned by the comment, and that the creatives are all kind of thinking 'Pat you said the quiet part out loud'.

Is it a situation that is handled perfectly in the show? Not necessarily. But I do think it's valid commentary of the BL industry. It's literally commentary that you see repeated over and over again on the internet. Like, we're coming up on Pride month and seeing Pride collections released by almost every major company. And the number one thing that any queer person will tell you is to actively look into what those companies are doing to support the queer community before you hand them any of your hard-earned dollarbucks. Are they donating to charities that actively support queer people? Are they employing queer people at all levels? Are they using queer people in their advertising? Are they seeking out queer artists to help design some of the items and paying them appropriately for that work?

You can use that same energy and process with BL companies. Are they actively supporting their openly out creatives? Are they type casting openly queer actors? If they are a company that also produces mainstream (i.e. not gay) content, are BL actors also present in that content? Is there queer representation in their mainstream content at all? Are you asking these questions when you are looking into BL shows? Are you actively looking into shows at all or are you just watching stuff based on how hot the actors are? There's nothing necessarily wrong with that, as long as you aren't then proceeding to actively attack actors, companies, or shows for perceived wrongdoings, if you've done no research at all.

*Correction: What they are doing is a marketing campaign, so commercials, print ads, social media campaigns, etc. Since it's going to be likely similar to what we see IRL, maybe sponsored posts or appearances as well. This does bring different context to the scene as it actively emphasises the profit part. Because BLs/fanservice do profit off of the 2SLGBTQIA+ community, but that can be more abstract/peripheral. Like queer people watch a queer show and they pay the subscription fee to a service, and maybe they buy a product being advertised, but the money that makes into the hands of the production company or the actors would be small in comparison to using BL acting pairs in a marketing campaign, where the company would very directly profit from appearances or purchases of that product.

This does however strengthen my previously made point about rainbow capitalism, which in addition to pride merch is something in the western world we've seen more recently addressed with situations like the Bud Light-Dylan Mulvaney ad, as well as regular outrages for Nike using queer athletes, or Starbucks creating a commercial based around a trans customer, or period products being market to include transmen, mother's day and father's day ads that feature same sex couples... there's a whole list. It's nice to see that representation in ads, but if those companies are not also actively working to minimize discrimination inside their company, or actively working with and donating to non-profits that help support different people int he queer community... then that representation is merely performative activism and nothing else.

[xiaq]

(this can be answered publicly) Hey X, pardon me if you’ve answered this before, but I was just curious on how you ended up transitioning from academia to tech and what role you started with in tech? Also, so you have any advice for someone looking to break into tech from a non-STEM background? Thank you!

Hey! I haven't answered it publicly but it's a popular question, so I will now (warning, long answer is long).

So I was so fed up with academia for sundry reasons I won't get into here but I wanted a career that would allow me to A. retire some day (something that paid generally well), B. would allow me some measure of work/life balance without high stress, and C. Would ideally let me use my communication/writing/speaking/presenting skills in some way.

My parents and my partner all work in tech and were like, "did you know that we desperately need people with your skillsets in the tech world?" and my partner, who works in technical sales was like, "You would kill at my job, I am not lying." And I was like, every job listing in technical sales that I see requires either a degree I don't have or past experience I don't have, or both, and my mother was like "Do you know how many mediocre resumes from unqualified men come across my desk? Apply for the damn positions anyway." So I reworked my resume to focus on applicable skills/experiences and wrote a cover letter for each position I applied to saying "hey, I know I'm an odd candidate but let me tell you why that's a good thing." And I got a lot of positive responses!

I was interviewing at 2 different tech places when I accepted the offer for my job now. I had an initial screening call interview with HR, then a zoom interview with the hiring manager, and then I was given access to a limited demo environment and had a week to teach myself the software and put together a demo for a fake customer which I did for the hiring manager (my future boss), one of my current peers, and the VP of the org. I was offered the job the same night I did my fake demo. So in total it was a 2 week interview process, and I started working 2 weeks later. **

I'm a pre-sales solutions consultant, which basically means I'm paired with a sales guy who does all the money and business value talk with customers, while I get to learn about a customer's data problems and then demo for them how our products can address those problems.

The learning curve was (and still is) steep. But it was basically like going back to school, and I've always loved learning new things. The job is super fun. It fulfills all of my wants I listed above with the added bonus of being completely remote (aside from occasional travel to meet with customers for in-person demos). The people I work with are supportive, management is communicative and constantly giving me feedback/talking about my trajectory. I've won internal awards, already received two raises and one promotion and I haven't even been there a year. I'm making more than double what I did as a professor and the concept of retirement doesn't feel like a laughable pipe dream anymore. I miss teaching a lot, but I'm healthier, happier, and better prepared for the future now. And my work is genuinely fulfiling because I'm showing people how they can fix problems. Also, playing with data management software and putting together custom demos is neat. It's like all the best parts of a college project--research, making a preso, knocking everyone's socks off while giving the preso, but I'm getting paid for it. I'm glad I followed my mom's advice.

So I guess my advice is the same as hers: even if you're not "qualified," apply for the position anyway. Make custom cover letters for each position and if there's not a way to include the letter with the app, do some googling and find the hiring manager on LinkedIn and message/email them. The person who hired me said that my cover letter was what got me the initial interview. So that shit works. If you have friends or family working somewhere with open positions, use those connections. Having an internal referral will go a long way to getting your resume looked at. I know we're all like, boo nepo babies, but networking is a huge part of any industry. Use it to your advantage if you have the advantage (no, I'm not working for my parent's companies, but if there'd been an open position I was interested in, I would have applied for it. No shame).

**I also, on the side, applied for the Austin Fire Department because why not. After a whole lot of mental and physical prep, I was accepted to the academy (in the first class, no less, holla) right before I was offered my current job. But I had to be realistic and say that probably wasn't a good long-term career option for someone who is 110lbs and was barely meeting the physical testing requirements who also has issues with getting overwhelmed in high-input sensory situations. So. Into the tech world I went. This side note just to say, I was keeping my options very open and there's nothing wrong with that either, lol.

I hope this helps!

[aprillikesthings]

I am still a little obsessed with this

I had an idea for a Catradora fic like a year ago and ugggh I'd need to rewatch the whole show to do it any justice and I dunno if I have the patience

Anyway have some barely-edited info-dumping I did last March in a tiny discord server for a completely different cartoon ship*:

The other night when I couldn't sleep it occurred to me that there could/should be a very realistic fic out there of catra and adora, after the events of the last season, having a very passionate but over-dramatic relationship for a couple of years, then breaking up and getting back together multiple times before one or both of them decides Actually, we have to break up, for real, we are slowly killing each other over this; and one of them moves away and they both get therapy of some kind and both try dating other people but it just isn't working out (I can absolutely see Adora in a relationship that's perfectly fine and healthy but also boring as fuck, and her just thinking: huh, I guess normal people are supposed to feel like this? but it just feels like it's missing something, but the thing it's missing might just be a lot of arguing and crying and make-up sex, so like, I should just. stop missing that. probably. And Catra ending up in a bunch of short-term things where all of them end with either the other person going dude you are in love with someone else and I can tell or her feeling guilty and breaking it off bc the other person is obviously more into her than vice-versa)

And anyway after like ten years or something they see each other but one or both is still dating someone else and it's like ha ha our younger days were SOMETHING ELSE weren't they, oh did you get therapy oh good me too, I'm glad you're doing well, nice to bump into you :) but they're both internally screaming because yeah those feelings are Still There, fuck fuck fuck

The current partner of whichever of them dumps them bc "you're still in love with your ex" but neither of them say why the dump happened and the dumped one doesn't say anything to the other, which means they hear about it through the grapevine, and their heart goes YOOOOO and their brain goes "I thought we were actually done with this and being Good about it fuck fuck fuck" and theyre both :) still normal to each other :) all the time :)

PINING I love pining hhh lol

But yeah there's, I dunno. A party? with a lot of people? maybe they each have one (1) drink, not even enough to impair them, and the next thing you know they're making out in a closet or something somewhere, and then one or both of them is crying hysterically, and after a lot of talking they're like, I want to try again. But as actual adults who've had time to grow up and have a lot of therapy. So they do, and it's good, and all their friends are like Oh thank god you two are both the stupidest motherfuckers on earth.

Halfway through the first post I realized I am half re-writing one of my fave Sherlock fics but putting it on top of She-Ra characters and adapting it to spop's plot but it'S JUST A GOOD STORy and honestly how it would actually happen

Because they were SO YOUNG in the show and neither of them had ever seen a healthy relationship modeled, ever, by anyone; and they're both heavily traumatized on top of it. And love isn't always be enough to deal with all of that. It's just not.

Me: this would make a good romance novel if we could file off the serial numbers

Also me: it's only interesting to me because it's THESE CHARACTERS like how the fuck would you include the backstory lolol

My dumb brain is like, "look I know spop ended three years ago and also, this is obviously the kind of story that AN ACTUAL ADULT writes, generally speaking; so nobody would read it, but what if you spent a year writing this"

But also half the plot feels like it's lifted from The Speed of Objects in Motion by holyfant (linked above) which is still, easily, one of my top-two Sherlock fics of all time, bc it's just so painfully realistic--they do end up together again at the end, but there's a lot off off-again/on-again and arguing and then a few years they're not together in the meantime

Anyway, re: spop: Fate and destiny are great but real happily ever afters would be so hard with everything that lead up to the end of the series

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

>:( at myself for being like "oh it would take a year to write this" bc if I had actually done it I would be done by now pfffffft

(*Amedot)

[alwaysteveswife]

Snow Ball | Steve Harrington x Fem! Reader.

a/n: This is a moderately short piece of writing I found in my notes 😃 it's one of the first ones I wrote in general like with Steve, so it's not as amazing as others, still I'm fond of it, hope you like it <3

It happens in the finale of the second season, on the same night as the winter formal. In this version Steve was going to attend the ball.

Warnings: Nothing, maybe a little bit of dislike towards Nancy, but only that (in my defense, I was very angry with her after what she did to Steve 😞).

Number of characters: 4,533

"Are you sure you don't want to go? We still have time to go to your house and find something you can wear" Steve muttered, looking at Y/N.

"I already told you I'm not going, Steve" she laughed, finishing adjusting the collar of his shirt, "The idea of going to a dance is dancing, and doing that with a broken foot doesn't sound like fun to me at all" she picked up the tie, ready to start adjusting it, "Besides, Nancy's going to the party, and I don't feel like seeing her tonight.

"I still don't understand why you hate her so much" He grabbed the car keys and hugged Y/N's waist to start down the stairs.

"I don't hate her, it's just that if given a choice between being with her or a wild tiger, I'd definitely choose the tiger."

"That sounds like you hate her to me" He opened the car door once they were outside, helping her into the passenger seat.

"We're going to go get Dustin, right?" She changed the subject quickly once he got in the car, she didn't feel like talking about Wheeler right now.

"That's right, after I pick him up I'll drop you off at your house" Steve started the engine and put the car in gear.

She nodded softly, opening the window to get some fresh air. The ride was silent, neither had a topic to talk about, and Y/N didn't want to distract him while driving either, so she preferred to stay quiet as they made their way to Dustin's house.

Unfortunately, Dustin had never been good at keeping quiet.

"Hi, Steve" The boy greeted as he got into the car with a big smile on his face, "Hi, Y/N."

"Hi, Dustin!" Y/N turned quickly to give him a high five.

"Are you ready to party, kiddo?" Steve started the car again, this time smiling big.

"Sure am!" He rested both hands on the seat backs, leaning out to look at them both "Are you going dressed like that, Y/N?"

"Oh, I'm not going" she lifted her leg as best she could, pointing at it with her hand "Fracture."

"Right, I forgot" he turned to look at Steve "Does that mean you don't have a date for the dance?"

"No, I might ask some other girl to be my partner for tonight, I'm not too worried about that."

"Dustin, keep a close eye on Steve, there's never a shortage of girls after the one with the girlfriend" Y/N joked, laughing under her breath.

"Roger that, Miss Y/L/N" He nodded proudly.

Steve just laughed as he parked the car in front of her house. She wasn't in the mood to spend the night watching Nightmare on Elm Street and eating whatever knick-knacks her parents had left behind before heading off to Grandma and Grandpa's house, but she didn't have a choice either.

"Well, gentlemen, I guess this is goodbye" she unbuckled her belt and opened the door, ready to have a 'spectacular' night "By the way, the suit looks great on you, Dustin."

The boy smiled at her, showing her his new teeth. She got out of the car and walked to the door, pulling out his keys to unlock it.

He turned to look at them one last time to wave goodbye.

Once inside her house she sighed heavily. She was exhausted by everything that had happened these past few days and couldn't understand how those guys had the energy to go to a party after the hell they went through.

Just as Y/N had predicted, today was nightmare on Elm Street, which meant spending an hour and a half watching youngsters being chased by a psychopath appearing in their dreams, while she enjoyed a nice jar of chips and a glass of booze.

She was getting to the part where Freddy was taking his first victim and, just then, her doorbell rang. Her paranoid side came out. She stood up, gripping the TV remote tightly in defense. Y/N turned the knob, ready to strike whoever was on the other end.

"Hello again."

It was Steve. He was no longer wearing his suit jacket, just his shirt and untucked tie.

"What are you doing here?" a sense of relief and happiness washed over her.

"I didn't feel comfortable being at a party while you were here, alone, so I decided to keep you company" he smiled as he held up his hands full of bags "And I brought burgers."

"God, you're the best non-boyfriend in the world" Y/N stepped back from the doorway so he could walk through, smiling big.

"What do you mean, not-boyfriend?" he asked teasingly, sitting down on the couch and setting the burgers on the little table.

"It's the term I put on our relationship, it will be that way until one of us takes the final step" she sat down next to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

After all, the night didn't turn out to be as boring as I thought it would be.

Masterlist

[ingravinoveritas]

Crowley and Aziraphale always came off as romantic to me; both in the book and in the show. They have so much more chemistry than anyone else. And I always second guess me reading their relationship as romantic when I see the general public's takes. So then I go back over like, okay, if this was a man and a woman, how would this read. They do couple things all the time. They use pet names. The show leans more into pining but in the book it feels like they're already married. Both the narrator and other characters refer to them as a couple and its never contradicted. Is that subtext or just plain text. I wouldn't call it queerbaiting, but queercoding or representation doesn't feel quite right either. Are we reading too much into it or is media literacy dead.

Hi there! Thank you for sharing these thoughts in response to my post from the other day. What you've mentioned here (how this would read if it was a man and a woman) is something I have thought about as well--both in terms of Aziraphale/Crowley and Michael/David, as I have shipped them outside of the show for some time now, and especially given the increasingly fuzzy line between them and the characters (which both Michael and David themselves have talked about in multiple interviews).

I think what we're seeing is neither queerbaiting nor queercoding/representation, but instead a sort of incongruity between what was put on the printed page when Good Omens was first published and what was brought to life on screen when it came to TV. What I mean by that is I often see a lot of people point to the line "gayer than a treeful of monkeys on nitrous oxide" as proof (almost typed "poof" there--hello, Freudian slip...) that Neil/Terry meant for the characters (specifically Aziraphale) to be gay. But from what Neil has said, the main intention here was for this to be a play on words--so, "gay" as in homosexual, but also "gay" as in happy, which was the original meaning of the term. I'm then led to think that in the minds of two cishet men in the late 1980s, "gayness" conjured a particular, unserious image, which they then brought into the writing.

Fast-forward to thirty years later, and you have Good Omens finally becoming a television show. Terry Pratchett (Gnu) had sadly left us, and so the task fell to Neil to write the screenplay and honor Terry's last wish by faithfully adapting the story. And while Neil wisely decided to cast Michael for his goodness and angelic-like nature, what I think he didn't count on was Michael's long-held beliefs and ideas about the character of Aziraphale and how he would portray him, or his profound penchant for playing numerous queer characters over the last several decades. The gayness of Aziraphale on the written page was something that Neil could control, but he couldn't control the gayness of Aziraphale as interpreted by Michael.

So that led to Neil having to address some things that I don't think he was quite prepared to address, both about the show and inside himself. Mainly, that if we are to extrapolate that what we see in season 1 is a reflection (to some degree, anyway) of Neil's views on relationships, a straight couple with little to no chemistry can jump into bed together without any hesitation, but a gay couple with tremendous chemistry and who share a deep and profound connection can't express that, either physically or by simply saying "I love you."

Much discussion has been made about how it's not necessary for someone to say "I love you" to convey such a sentiment. But what I've noticed missing from this discourse is the age/experience of anyone who has been in a relationship where that wasn't said (or conveyed) by one partner and how painful that was for the other partner. And as I mentioned in my other post, even once gay/queer people started to exist in media, they still weren't allowed to fall in love. (The phrase "the love that dare not speak its name" even came into being because of this taboo, for crying out loud.)

So when we then look at the countless tweets from Neil about how Good Omens is a love story while considering the vastly different ways in which that love is regarded when it's straight vs. when it's gay, his words start to ring somewhat hollow. And if he repeatedly has to emphasize that something is a love story, then maybe it isn't coming across as a love story in the way he thinks it is. Maybe Neil being more comfortable with casual, meaningless sex than a deep commitment speaks to a larger issue on his part. Or maybe Neil was fine with the abstract idea of a gay love story, but suddenly less comfortable with the concrete, three-dimensional reality of it.

If I had to use a word to describe it, then, from a media/cultural standpoint, I think I would call it "queerplaying," which I would define as roleplaying queerness on a surface level without actually delving into the complexity and messiness of what it actually means to be a queer/non-cishet human being. (To be clear, I am applying this to the writing/the original GO text, not to what Michael and David ultimately brought to the roles as actors.)

I hope this all makes sense. Again, the second season could come out tomorrow/Friday and prove me completely wrong about everything I've just said here, which would be wonderful. But I'm glad that other people have felt similarly about what we saw (or didn't see) in the first season, and the disconnect between the perceptions of fans/the perception of the public vs. Neil's authorial intent. Thanks for writing in! x

[fragments-of-despair]

I know we’ll probably get confirmation on this later down the line, but I get the feeling that who everyone woke up with is going to play a significant role in Project: Eden’s Garden. Problem is, we don’t know for sure who everyone woke up with outside of a few instances. But I think we got some clues that can help us figure it out. 

So this is going to be my general guesses on who woke up with who. I’ll be basing this off of everyone’s interactions during introductions as well as my attempts to extrapolate based on what we know. 

Keep in mind, this is just my general guesses. Might end up being wrong. We’ll just have to wait and see. 

Spoilers ahead.

So first, let’s get the canon ones out of the way.  These are the only ones that we have 100% confirmed.

Damon & Eva - saw them wake up together

Grace & Wolfgang - confirmed by the two of them

Desmond & Jean - confirmed by Desmond

And that’s it for canon. That’s 6 out of the 16 done so far, made into three pairs. Looking good.

Now onto my speculations. I’ll provide my reasoning for each pair and why I think it they woke up together. 

Diana & Kai - Mostly based on their conversation. What little we got implied that they’d been discussing their talents together. Add on top of that the fact that their introductions are tied together, I think it’s safe to assume they were partnered together. 

Mark & Jett - Another case of introductions being paired together. We also have Jett continually trying to get Mark to open up, which would make sense if the two woke up together. There’s also the fact that Jett seems to continually stay close to Mark in a few instances, such as when they were on the train or after the trial. So I think it’s safe to assume they were paired up when they woke up. 

Toshiko & Ulysses - Toshiko confirmed that she woke up with a “frustrating boy” whose manners are lacking when we first meet her. The closest frustrating boys remaining at the time we’re in the courtyard are Mark (who is very closed off), Ulysses (doesn’t remember our names without writing them down in his book for later) and Kai (who is an influencer). I don’t include Desmond here because he confirmed he and Jean were paired up. Between the paired intros of Kai with Diana and Mark with Jett, that leaves Ulysses, who is all but confirmed based on our intro with him and Toshiko’s reaction to him needing to look through his book to even remember her name and treating her as a “mundane” part of his daily happenings. 

Cassidy & Eloise - This one might be controversial, but hear me out. I don’t think Cassidy is the type to run after someone who clearly ran away in the manner Eloise did. Add to that how she reacted when she “detected the rancid stench of a morally bankrupt billionaire”, I don’t think she and Wenona had a proper introduction yet. If they had, I don’t think Cassidy would miss the chance to pick a fight with Wenona. Add on top Ingrid’s sweet personality, I think Cassidy and her would have gotten along pretty well if they’d been paired, which would have lead to them having a joint introduction. So that just leaves Eloise, who ran away from her partner in a panic. 

Wenona & Ingrid - Wenona confirmed that she did wake up with someone, but that she herself was the one to walk away because “she was weird”. This confirms that she woke up with one of the girls and that said girl is somewhat “weird”. Given how normal Diana seems to be in comparison to the others and our prior confirmations, that leaves Eloise, Ingrid, and Cassidy as Wenona’s potential partners. I don’t think she woke up with Eloise, since Eloise confirmed that she ran away from her own partner, and Wenona left hers. It wouldn’t make sense if they were paired up based on how they separated from their pairing. And with everything I said about Cassidy prior, I think it’s safe to assume that Wenona and Cassidy didn’t wake up paired together (I really doubt they wouldn’t have been at each other’s throats if they had). As for Ingrid, she seems too motherly and caring to let someone like Eloise be if she was panicking and running away in fright (unless she’s the type to give someone space for a bit before checking on them, but even then, she probably would have brought it up in conversation or left on her own to look for Eloise based on talking to her). And if she woke up with Cassidy, I feel like they’d have gotten along and stuck together (tell me that a pro gamer like Cassidy wouldn’t be interested in talking to Ingrid about making replicas of weapons from games I dare you). Ingrid also falls into that “weird” zone rather comfortably, so I think it’s most likely that Wenona and Ingrid woke up together and split up rather amicably all things considered. 

And that’s 10 students into 5 pairs. 16 students total into 8 pairs. 

I have no idea if this will be 100% accurate, but it’s the pair up that makes the most sense to me. Who knows? Maybe I’m off a few. Only way to find out is to wait until the next chapter comes out. 

But yeah. Those are my theories on who I think woke up with who in the prologue. Let me know what your thoughts are. I’d love to hear everyone’s reasonings. 

[somedayonbroadway]

ive had jathrine bouncing around my head for a while but with trans masc Jack and Pulitzer being like please don't give me any grandkids with the last name Kelly as Jack is dying of laughter or just general trans masc Jack Kelly thoughts

I absolutely love that.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Jack asked, his hands shoved in his pockets and they walked onto Central Park West. “Like, ain’t your dad super traditional an’—“

“And?” Katherine asked. “All he knows is I’m being my boyfriend home and that I love you very much, that’s it. He doesn’t know about… anything else,” she insisted, looking over at Jack reassuringly.

Jack sighed. “Okay,” he whispered. “But you better not leave me alone in a room with him.”

The young woman snorted and knocked on a door that was opened immediately by someone who was not related to Katherine. “Welcome home, miss Katherine,” the young maid smiled, ushering the couple inside and taking their coats. Jack was immediately uncomfortable.

“This place is huge,” Jack whispered.

“Don’t steal anything,” Katherine teased, only rewarded with a sarcastic laugh from her partner. Then she saw her father coming down the stairs. “Father,” she greeted, walking calmly to her dad and letting him embrace her.

“Katherine, my love,” the old man chuckled.

Everything in this place was practically made out of solid gold in place compared to where Jack grew up. He rubbed at the back of his neck, suddenly feeling underdressed in a t-shirt and some old jeans. Katherine’s father was wearing a suit and Katherine looked dressed up whenever she went out, Jack was just so used to it that he didn’t even think twice but now he was about to meet his girlfriend’s father and he was dressed like some bum off the street.

When the old man looked up at him, Jack trembled back only slightly. “Mr. Pulitzer,” he said, awkwardly waving his hand. “Nice to meet you…”

Pulitzer smirked and pulled away from his daughter to offer Jack a handshake which Jack took immediately. The man nodded and hummed in approval. “Firm handshake,” he commented. “All good men have firm handshakes.”

With a small, nervous smile, Jack nodded. “Thank you,” he said. “I-I’m Jack.”

“Jack,” Pulitzer repeated. “So you’re the boy that has my daughter wanting to write all these political pieces, huh?” Pulitzer asked.

And the pleasantries were over. Jack once again rubbed at the back of his neck. “Uh… I-I guess so?” he whispered.

Pulitzer sighed and shook his head. “Listen, she gets ideas in her head and they can’t get out, I get it, just don’t you ever bring her home to tell me I’ll be having baby Kelly's running around in this house,” he said gruffly, just to be protective.

Jack stared for a long moment before a small snort escaped him, only turning into a large, full laughing fit. He was so nervous and out of place that that one comment just set him off. He looked at Katherine. “You hear that, Kat? I’m not allowed to get you pregnant,” he insisted, unable to stop falling into hysteria.

Katherine chuckled along with him. “Don’t worry, Dad, I don’t think that’s something you’re gonna have to worry about,” she assured, walking to Jack and hugging him. Jack kissed her cheek. “I’m gonna go see what’s cooking.”

Jack shook his head. “No, you said, don’t you dare—“ he tried, but Katherine just walked away from him, winking at him as Jack cleared his throat and glanced up at her father.

“You and I, we’re not the same, Mr. Kelly. I can only imagine the differences between us,” Pulitzer began.

Jack bit his lip and looked down with a small smile on his face. “Oh, sir, you have no idea…”

[id-rather-be-home]

Hiii I’m the a/b/o biology girl. I love that you mentioned female alphas bc in that same fic Nancy was an alpha and Jonathan an omega and all the fic really mentioned was a claiming ceremony where Nancy bit Jonathan along with them not wanting to have kids atm but I’ve always wondered what if they did, would both of them essentially be intersex and that’s how Nancy would get Jonathan pregnant but besides that the questions I mentioned about the anatomy chart I seen were mostly abt how if the male has a uterus basically behind their sex organs and connected to their rectum could you be able to see that before they ever know they’re an omega through like an x-ray which would mean you could also somewhat determine who’s an alphas/beta or would it be a thing that like it magically appears during puberty and if so I was wondering abt the biology behind all that of basically your body growing an entirely new organ/how on a cellular level that would happen and how the endocrine system among other systems must play a role in it those are just my initial thoughts if you have any please tell me so I can ponder over them also like I said before combining real life biology with fantasy is so fun I’ve even thought abt the concept/pregnancy of vampires in twilight and werewolf genetics in teen wolf in order to better understand and pass my biomed class 😅 if you ever want to hear my in depth but very likely improbable thoughts on those as well at any point

oh my gosh i ADORE alpha nancy and omega jonathan!!!! the more i learn about this fic the more upset i become that i missed out on it lmfao

for female alphas i always imagined that they are also intersex the way male omegas are but would likely have a harder time getting pregnant compared to male and female omegas, and female betas. so female alphas that are with another female partner or a male omega typically wouldn't be the one to carry the baby - it would probably only happen in cases where they really want to or it's a happy accident. female alphas' biology is essentially hardwired to breed, not get bred so i can definitely see jonathan being the one to carry their pups! especially with how driven nancy is career-wise, it'd make since that jonathan is the biological mother since they have that option

as for the anatomy and how it develops!

i know that there are a lot of authors who write a/b/o sex characteristics in a way so that they manifest over time with later onsets of puberty (usually ages 13-18ish with 18 being a late bloomer) while betas simply never present. and that makes sense if there isn't intersex anatomy in the universe, but i've always preferred it so that male omegas and female alphas are intersex with different secondary sex characteristics (aka alpha versus omega instincts)

i kind of doubt that an entire sex organ would develop outside of the womb (i feel like that would take entirely too much energy from the body), so it's more like some of those hormones are just more dormant for a period of time until the omega or alpha is in their sexual prime (aka when their heats and ruts start)

if we're going off the picture that you saw with the birth canal being connected to the rectum (which isn't my favorite interpretation, but i guess it'd be the equivalent to a cloaca) then parents wouldn't know the status of their child until presentation or if they get an x-ray done to see the organs

i'm thinking that most families wouldn't do this since they wouldn't particularly care, but the ones that have bias against male omegas (and omegas in general let's be honest) might. lonnie would be the type of person who would insist on getting the x-rays done for both jonathan and will when they're little and then bitching about them being omegas and blames joyce for making them that way cuz he's a piece of shit

[mermaidsirennikita]

You have any recommendations where the hero hates everyone except her? 💕 Historical’s included if any.

Hmm...

Managed by Kristen Callihan. An all-time favorite contemporary romance. Hero is the uptight, strict manager of a rock band. He does love the guys as they're his longtime friends, but he's very snappy and standoffishness by nature. He hires the heroine as the band's photographer/social media manager, but he has insomnia and can only sleep when she's in the bed with him. So they become platonic nap partners. Naturally. Has a particularly incredible scene when he jacks off while smelling her dirty underwear and dodging her question from the other side of the door, before handwashing said underwear and hiding them underneath his mattress.

Hotel of Secrets by Diana Biller. Historical. The hero is less about hating people and more about being an extreme loner who doesn't want to get close to people. He's an American spy on a case, the heroine is this social butterfly who's trying to save this Viennese hotel her family has owned for generations. He saves her life, like, thrice. Also, he's a big ol' virgin and she is... not. SO good.

The Truth About Cads and Dukes by Elisa Braden. Historical. Again, he's more standoffish and he does love his siblings, just is exceptionally bad at expressing his feelings. The hero marries the heroine after his brother ruins her (in a non-sexual manner) and it's really largely your standard marriage of convenience book, but done very well with an excellent love confession. Heroine is plus size, which is nice. Maybe my favorite Rescued from Ruin book? I really like all the times his lust cannot be contained and he just tackles her.

How to Marry a Marquess by Stacy Reid. Historical. BIG this vibe. The hero is kind of ostracized by society because he claimed his illegitimate daughter and is raising her without shame. He's very FUCK ALL Y'ALL about it, but the heroine, who is this very proper miss type, is his longtime friend and he adores her. She's been in love with him for forever, but he doesn't think she can deal with being an outcast so he won't make a move. Which is why she asks him for lessons in seducing some TOTALLY RANDOM GUY she's FOR SURE IN LOVE WITH. Very hot, and leads to some fabulous angst towards the end.

What I Did for a Duke by Julie Anne Long. Historical. Super this. Hero is a jaded snappish duke pushing 40 who finds a local rake in bed with his fiance. He decides to exact revenge by seducing said rake's innocent, virginal sister (who's like, half his age). She's super smart, so she catches on immediately, but she wants her friend who she's into to make a move, so she kind of allows him to court her... But then he becomes genuinely fond of her and it gets real.

After Dark with the Duke by Julie Anne Long. Begins as light ETL, becomes more like this. 40-something war hero duke is staying at the same boarding house as 20-something scandalous opera singer while he's writing his memoirs. She bugs him, he offends her, in penance he offers to teach her Italian to help with her singing, and they develop a very sweet friendship that quickly shifts into major sexual tension.

Marrying Winterborne by Lisa Kleypas. Historical. Rhys Winterborne definitely has like, FRIENDS, but he's also kind of super grumpy and sort of socially awkward, lol. He adores Helen and would move heaven and earth for her, even if he's bad at giving flowers. Benefits from reading Cold-Hearted Rake first, as they begin as a secondary romance in that one. People will tell you Chasing Cassandra is this even more, and I guess it is, but... Idk, maybe I should reread that one because it didn't super do it for me, and I think Tom Severin would've been better off with a different heroine.

Dreaming of You by Lisa Kleypas. Historical. I think this absolutely counts, lol. Like, does Derek have one friend who isn't under his employ? Yes. But they're not as tight by the time the book begins because reasons, and he meets Sara Fielding when she shoots some guy to save him, and while he tries to be grumpy to her, he's quickly like "I've known Sara Fielding for five minutes and if anything happens to her I'll kill everyone in this room including myself".

My Darling Duke by Stacy Reid. Historical. Heroine pretends she's being courted by a recluse duke in order to help her sisters find husbands, but then recluse duke shows up in society for the first time in years to be like "and exactly what is happening rn". He's a recluse because he was super injured years back and is now a wheelchair user; he's very bitter about his disability. He makes the heroine continue the charade for a minute for his own reasons, but falls for her. I really liked how this book explored sexual dysfunction and like, having sex in a way that isn't the standard romance novel HE TOOK HER CONQUERINGLY manner.

Sworn to the Shadow God by Ruby Dixon. Fantasy. Gamer girl gets teleported to this fantasy world and becomes the sorta servant to the literal God of Death. Everyone hates him so he hates everyone. It's honestly very funny and sweet. He has this thing going on with him wherein he can't like... tell the truth... so everything he says is the opposite of what he means. This girl gives him head fairly on in the book and he's like "YOU'RE TERRIBLE AT THAT" (translation: you're great at that) during, and I think she bites his dick? He has a lot to work through after that. She thinks he hates her, but he actually adores her.

The Taming of a Highlander by Elisa Braden. Historical. Another, "he technically loves his family" guy. The hero was considered the golden boy of the family, but he was tortured and lost an eye after being wrongfully imprisoned for months, so he's not doing great. The heroine catches him attacking one of the people responsible for what happened to him, so she offers to marry him to keep from having to testify against him.

Shadowheart by Laura Kinsale. Historical. Hero is a total villain and persona non grata throughout Italy; heroine does initially dislike him, but quickly falls in love and she's like his treasured possession. Soft noncon in the beginning. The sex scenes are otherwise are super great, very femdom.

[natasha-in-space]

Hello hello! I've picked a couple of numbers off that ask list that I wanted to tell you, so here they are!

6. Something I remember vividly from reading one of your fics: The confusion and fear Natasha feels in Mint Eye, particularly in the timeline of Fractured Heart. Something about that fic really stuck with me, the way you described all her conflicting feelings coming together and only serving to hurt her more. In general, the way you write about being a believer in Mint Eye is so gripping, I'm always left wanting to know more.

4. The best ship you've written for: I really enjoy reading your Saeran/Natasha fics. I'm not a Saeran MC, so it's always interesting to see how people write about a relationship between him and his partner, especially through the difficult times in Mint Eye. They've known each other through their worst times and they've made it through those times together. That's a bond that lasts. I also really like this pairing in particular because through each Saeran variant there's a new side of Natasha I get to see.

15. A question I have about one of your fics: More generally, about your Rika fics. How did you manage to get such a good grasp on her character? The fics you write about her are so well thought-out and are so considerate towards her, it leaves me wanting to read more.

Wah! So much kind words concerning my cmc works of all things? Excuse me while I just... print out this ask and hang it on my wall 🤭💕

I'm humbled you enjoy Fractured Heart, and what it has to offer! It's one of the darkest timelines I have up my sleeve, which makes writing for it a challenging and very fascinating process. The Natasha you see in that story in particular is very difficult from the usual person you see in other works, since Unknown does not hesitate to cleanse her completely. She's actually loyal to the Mint Eye ideology, thus making it very challenging to ally with her. Saeyoung wouldn't have any problems with Natasha from Another Story! Still, no matter how loyal you are, what do you do when you see harm being caused for no other reason than to cause harm? Does that make you, or the people you're devoted to - bad people? Or is it justified, since Luciel is supposedly a very disgusting human being? But, what do you do when his behavior states the opposite? Exploring such frustrating contradictions is what's fun about writing for her in that timeline. Will I write more installments for it? Yeah, I'm sure I will. When, though, I have no idea :D

As for Natasha's relationship with Saeran, if I would get asked to describe it in one word it would be... complicated. Their relationship is very layered and complex, and while this helps strengthen their bond, this also brings many problems that can get missed out on at first. That's not mentioning that her individual relationships with Ray, Suit, GE, VAE, and Unknown/SE are unique in their own ways. They're coworkers, they're friends, and they're partners. I oftentimes write their relationship as ambiguous in nature, a weird blurred line between a platonic and romantic affection that they're both are not sure about. That's not to say that they don't love each other. They love each other deeply, but that exact attachment can complicate things. When you're always together, it can get hard to distinguish the line. They don't even think much about the line in the first place, until somebody else points it out. I am excited to bring more of their many stories to the public!

It's such a huge compliment to hear that my Rika fics compell you so much >< As for your question: I honestly don't know??? I'm guessing it's sheer practice, to be honest. See, there are just some characters I've been writing with for years, and I have no problem at all picturing their mannerisms and actions in my head as I write them. Rika, the Choi twins, Jihyun, Vanderwood and my cmc's are those characters specifically. This is the group I use most often. And, I'll say, when I look back at my first creations, I **hated** writing Rika, because it was so damn difficult to get her right. She's a complicated character to say the least. You can't just make her a villain and be done with it most of the times. It also depends on **which** character you're writing for. From Natasha's point of view, she'll be written as an antagonistic figure. From Chaewon's, she's in the right. And all the grey area in-between, depending on who your main character is. That's not to mention that I use unreliable narrators a whole lot in my storytelling. I mischaracterized her a whole lot at first, but this concerns every character I worked with. I never posted my early writings, just continuing to have fun and get to know these characters in many different settings. It came with time and a lot of practice, but I'm at a place where I'm confident in my characterization! I know how she talks, how she moves, how she thinks. That's why I always tell young writers to just create whatever they want! My early creations are terrible, but you know what? If I didn't write those terrible out of character stories, I'd never strengthen my skill level. You don't have to post everything you create! Have fun and explore even the most outlandish ideas ☆