#but in different enough executions that it wasn’t too repetitive

[daydreamerdrew]

Spicy Tales (1988) #17, reprinting a story from the October 1938 issue of Spicy Adventure

[duckiemimi]

My favorite explanation for the "off screen" nature of the attack that killed Gojo is that on a meta level, it works to show Sukuna has been raised even above the narrative itself.

I enjoyed the fight, but it is less a fight to save the Megumi and the world and more of an almost playful meeting between two isolated figures who are seen as gods and how they relate and respond to the other, which I understand frustrates many people who wanted the former. I probably enjoy the technical side of the jjk's battle system more than you do too.

I agree that Gojo's character has plot threads unresolved though, especially with Megumi. I think there are potential ways for them to be addressed - with the worst case scenario being another afterlife meeting...

oh i would’ve loved that interpretation had it been well-executed 😭 i wish gege put more effort into any of the different interpretations i’ve seen going around, because god, is readability important. while you have to assume your readers are smart, you can’t leave everything so vague for us to try to make sense of everything by ourselves :’) not enough information for readers and an open-ended ending are two very different things

it’s true! i enjoy the narrative more than the technical side of stories! perhaps it’s because throughout the whole fight, each chapter was published weekly, and i think that definitely affects how readers perceive the pacing. if i read it back in one go, maybe i’d enjoy it more! though, the shibuya and the culling game arcs were longer and i had no problem following along, and even the pacing seemed fine to me…this arc warrants another read-through, definitely.

i think my main problem with the fight wasn’t it’s length (or repetitiveness), but rather how it served the bigger picture? i think the fight was needed! idk about how it played out in the grand scheme of the plot.

but yea, idrk what gege’s doing with gojo’s character (i mean, i know he hates him in an underlying, self-deprecating kind of way). and god, i’m swearing off talking about afterlives. that word is bad luck in jjk 😭

[tearsofcloud]

I’ve only played two games by Cybird, ー Ikemen Sengoku and Ikemen Vampire ー but the issue with their games is clear. They launch a new interesting game, decently designed characters and artwork, famous voice actors, cute dressing options and fun storyline. It’s no secret i’ve enjoyed the games a lot, but after they’ve milked their fanbase the quality of the game simply declines with time. Either more characters are released to bring up hype and attention back to the game or the game is left neglected of the quality it once was present. 

Ikemen Sengoku had many characters being released when the number was already high to start with, so new character routes lacked the old characters making appearances-   because there wasn’t enough time in the route for it.  Things went down by a new level when Kennyo’s route was released. In the western fanbase the route didn’t have a good reaction to spoilers and translations of the original version of a particular chapter where the main character has it’s clothes torn and is groped by the male interest. 

I never liked the character and already had issues with the drop of quality in the game by then so I did not bother to play it. 

Things didn’t get any better with the release of new characters and a new route, because they used the same recipe as before. Motonari’s character is mean to be the type of character that only wishes to see the world burn, and this is not exactly a bad troupe, but it is very badly executed. To me his character is despicable, but not written good enough in a way that would render me interested in it. 

In addition his route is more of the same where the fetish of being humiliated and mistreated is used to attract the audience. While Kennyo’s actions in his route were meet with disgust, the formula seemed to work very well within Motonari’s route and was well received by many in the english speaking fanbase. I’m not here to judge anyone’s fetishes but back then I had not expected the game to take this route and being so honest about it.

Along with it came the tirelessly repetition of the same events. The stories barely different from each other, with the same couple words being repeated to the main character by the suitors. 

The very, very bad work they did with the translations. The extremely annoying unnecessary amount of sassiness coming out from the main character’s mouth and thoughts, many which are then immediately contradicted by the actions of which the original story was written. 

Basically changing her thoughts for English localization but maintaining her actions because they are not allowed to write or change the original storyline. This makes the heroine appear to be either hypocrite or straight up stupid.  And in routes as well as events this was an issue along with the addition of unnecessary english-centric references and short-lived internet memes and jokes inserted in it, which just age very badly. 

Ikemen Vampire seems to be an excellent game that also declined in quality with time and even with routes still being released, each year that passes there is less and less players. I’ll leave Ikevamp for another post since this one is too long already. 

[lesbiansanemi]

If I’m to be frank… I think RGU just wasn’t your taste and that’s valid. But I don’t think it was executed sloppily or had bad writing. I think it’s worth seeing why many people find RGU great and/or impactful, because while it wasn’t for you, I don’t think that it’s nice to imply that other people’s tastes are questionable because they love RGU.

Hope this doesn’t come off as rude. You were rambling, but RGU means a lot to me so… I wanted to give a response.

So.... I do fully acknowledge that quite a few of my complaints with RGU do stem from certain choices/storytelling techniques that just aren't my personal taste (as I mentioned in the original post) however... I also fully stand by my opinion that it did have some poor execution and sloppy writing in certain aspects. I like to think I have decent enough media comprehension to tell the difference between just not liking something personally vs it being poorly technically done

I went into the series really, really wanting to enjoy it, and it was pretty much within the first episode or two that I realized no matter what, I wasn't going to. Part of this had to do with the heavy emphasis on the "slice of life" aspect (as this is not something I enjoy), as well as the storytelling techniques that were being used (heavy emphasis on repetition, extremely overt visual metaphors. etc). I do acknowledge that's all personal taste though, and has nothing to do with a series being good or bad. Regardless, I was a bit disappointed by that, but I did my best to keep good faith while watching because I know it's a series a lot of people really enjoy and think is good, and I wanted to understand why.

Unfortunately, I was pretty consistently let down. For starters, I think the series made the mistake of leaning far too heavily into the aforementioned storytelling techniques that it ended up with bad pacing. It was so focused on its patterns of repetition that it lost itself (and audience attention).

Beyond that, my main two complaints are the imbalanced way it tried to integrate anime-typical slice of life shenanigans and.... literally everything else it was trying to do, and, one of my least favorite things a piece of media can do, lean far too heavily into its own subjectivity to the point that it hindered itself.

I see what the series was trying to do in both those regards, but again, I don't think it did it as well as it could have, or even... that well in general. It's late for me and I have work in the morning, so I don't have time to write up everything I would like to say about this (hopefully I'll manage it in the next couple of days, as well as talk about the aspects of it I did actually enjoy) but that's the gist of my complaints.

Finally... So like, I get the series means a lot to you, and you don't have to agree with me, but I also don't have to agree with you. Just because a lot of people like the series or think it's impactful and put together well doesn't mean it fundamentally is. It definitely doesn't mean I have to think that.

My snarky comment of "I don't trust your media tastes if you tell me this is perfect high art" is a bit of an unfair generalized blanket statement that obviously has more nuance than that. I could have phrased that better, but tbf I wasn't expecting many ppl to read the rambling tags on an untagged post

However... sorry.... but a part of me is standing by that. I disliked the series, and did not think it was nearly technically as good as I've seen people tout it. Therefore, if I see someone very confidently talking about how much they like it and how good it is... It's safe to assume we have very different media preferences and criteria for what makes something technically good. That's fine, but I'm not going to trust a lot of other opinions about media from them, because we're likely to continue disagreeing. That feels like... a fairly logical conclusion to me but idk

I'm not the end all be all of media criticism. I'm not saying you have to agree with me, but I'm sticking by what I said. Sometimes people say/imply media I enjoy is bad, and therefore if I like it, that means I have bad taste and opinions on media. It happens when you're talking about media, especially on the internet. With something so subjective, there is never going to be a piece of media that everyone comes to the same conclusion on, and you kinda just have to learn to accept that.

Idk, I also hope this doesn't come across as too asshole-ish, I'm just saying I don't agree, and I don't think I have to acknowledge that "RGU is that good actually, I just didn't like it personally" if I want to criticize it because I don't think that

[scribblestash]

April 4th, 2023

Dear Journal - 

Day 4 of April. Mental health continues to be an issue. The feeling of being alone and lonely, rejection, and not being good enough is weighing heavily on me. It’s another one of those days where I just want to crawl into a ball in bed and just disappear. The motivation is low, but I’m proud of myself for getting my butt into the gym and actually getting in a decent workout. How did I get here?

Not good enough. Well, that’s how it feels. I made the executive decision last week to stay platonic friends with (C). I’m perfectly okay with this, I really am, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed. It’s rough when you start to actually develop feelings for someone and they’re not reciprocated. However, since I made that call, things have been different. I don’t hear from him unless I reach out. When we did hang out, he barely said much of anything to me. This is telling me that we were in a situationship. A relationship where one person either intentionally or unintentionally strings another person along as if they’re dating or more than friends with no intention of making it solid. This is really why I’m disappointed and feeling like I’m not good enough. It doesn’t help that I’m just not feeling good enough to begin with as a person. At the end of the day, this not good enough feeling about this situation isn’t necessary but it’s how I feel. And honestly, he even said that he always thought of us as friends and anything else was just gravy. Which to me says that he was fine with friends-with-benefits. To be clear, I would have been okay with that too, but I need a definition. I need a line in the sand. I need a boundary. Without it, I cannot mentally function.

The other piece is that I’m not feeling like a very good friend. Or rather, I could be a better friend. And at the same time, I’m doing what I can as a friend and I’m just not being met with the same enthusiasm in return. I try and make a plan to hang out with friends every week. Even if it’s repetitive, I’m at least trying, so when I hear about others getting together and not including me, it hurts. Now, I know that people can have other friends and do things without me!!! I know that!!! To be crystal clear, I’m not mad or irritated or anything with anyone.

As I’m writing this, I’m noticing a common theme: I keep picking people who don’t pick me. It hurts and I think it hurts more in my 30′s than it ever did in my 20′s or before. I’m 36. I’m just over the BS of people. 

Message to the world: Say what you mean. Mean what you say. And stop being so afraid of the outcome. JUST SAY IT!!! Trust me, things are better when you do. My whole life is one giant example of that. 

The only thing I can control is me, my reactions, and my attitude. So I’m going to try and adopt a better attitude today. Focus on me. Focus on the things I can control and do my absolute best to let go of the things I can't control. All I can do is try so try I might.

Until later, Adam

[where-is-francis]

Shang-Chi x male reader fluff where they try to find ways to have fun during the pandemic.

Pronouns: None/Not Specified

Prompt: Finding fun things to do with your boyfriend

A/N: I’m literally so excited to post this I love him so much just. Look at him. Also might be kinda dry bc I haven’t watched the movie in a while but oh well. Not pandemic specific, this could also be read as you two just finding new hobbies. Switching between using his birth name and “American” name bc yannow I feel like it’s important to acknowledge both.

TW: None!

Something you and your boyfriend had noticed in the recent years was that time had a unique way of passing

So fast, but simultaneously dragging on

Very early on you noticed you needed some new hobbies

In reality, it took you and Shaun a week to get burnt out on nearly every video game you owned

Smash Bros? Got repetitive. Animal Crossing? Creator block. Minecraft? After you threatened to break the Xbox (you were blown up by a creeper after just finding diamonds), he decided it was best to hide the controls.

Which led to you sitting in the kitchen in the middle of the night, eating some leftover pizza

“What do we do now?”

“Beats me.”

Cue the brainstorming session

The two of you paced around the small apartment, trying to think of new things to try

“What about cooking?”

You tried that

The emphasis on tried

Let me get this straight though: Shang-Chi can absolutely cook. The issue is more of whether he wants to or not.

The next morning, you two were ready to (safely!) get ingredients at the farmer’s market

You kept asking him what he was planning on making, but he wouldn’t tell you

It was cute, though, to see him excited about something

He had it all planned out in his head, and hoped the execution would go well

Your lovely boyfriend was going to prepare one of his favorite meals that his mom made when he was young

Then, you two would go to the park and have a bit of time to do yoga

To say it shocked you was an understatement

He ended up taking the food to the park and having a bit of a picnic after stretching. The weather couldn’t have been more perfect; the temperature was amazing, with the hint of a breeze

No matter how mundane the rest of the world seemed, nature remained untouched. Flowers were blooming, leaves in all shades of green, and the wildlife positively buzzing

Yoga was tranquil and relaxing — until the breeze picked up too much and made you lose your balance

The sight of Shaun with his hand out had you at a loss for words. “Wow, falling for me that hard?”

You could’ve stayed in that moment forever. It was quiet in the park, but even if it wasn’t, that wouldn’t have mattered. The lush green leaves danced in the background almost pointing you towards the face of your beloved.

For the first time in ages, he just looked… peaceful. Looking at you had earned that reaction.

Soft beams of light danced over your skin, highlighting the color and (freckles/imperfections/etc). The color of your eyes a brightened hue but still full of life — a great contrast to how everything felt lately.

The moment felt gentle, and fragile. Like something that could shatter if you moved on too quickly. Everything around you began to blur until it dissipated completely, leaving the two of you in the pure white energy.

His face leaned in closer, enough for you to practically feel his smile.

“I think we should really hop on the ‘plant gay’ bandwagon, don’t you think?”

“Shang-Chi, you’re lucky I love you. Because you just completely butchered our moment.”

He was right, though. Afterwards, your shared space became full with different plants. All colors, shapes, and shades.

An homage to your love and — hopefully — more days in the park.

Comments/reblogs are greatly appreciated! Check out my blog for more gender neutral/male reader content!

[0risha]

RECOGNITION

series m.list

PAIRING : sukuna x fem!reader

SUMMARY : when an exchange student comes to jujutsu tech, Itadori is set on finding out why the King of curses is so interested in you.

TAGS : fluff, the tiniest bit of angst, jjk anime spoilers, some curse words, reader is described as a black female

NOTES : i’ve read a couple of works where sukuna meets his reincarnated lover so I wanted to try it out too, hope you enjoy. was supposed to make progress with my wips but I was in a sukuna mood. (◕ᴗ◕✿)

Sukuna feels your presence before he sees you. It’s one of those cliché moments where time puts its hand up to signal a standstill. Yuuji can feel it too when you pass by, your long braids swishing with each step.

He’s sure that he’s never seen you before but his shared body buzzes in remembrance. All the while, his emotions are overtaken by the unbridled feeling of wanting. 

After that, Itadori never took it upon himself to ask Sukuna about the matter because the curse didn’t seem to want to.

Sukuna had become more and more suppressed, his usual pop-ups were a rare occurrence, even when Megumi was around. However, for the whole month you’d been at Jujutsu Tech, the King of curses had been intent on observing from his throne of woven carcasses, body hunched over to just watch.

You’re an exchange student, Itadori recalls Gojo’s past conversation about a new second-year that would be coming from the states. You’re strong — at first, Itadori couldn’t help but think that this revelation was the reason for Sukuna’s interest —your cursed energy being perfect sediment for close combat and dealing precise blows, all the same, Itadori could feel a grappling hook of something that seemed to be festering.

It’s dark and brooding and it stirs every time you come into contact with him. And Yuuji thinks he might go crazy because he wants to know your connection with Sukuna and it’s not like he can ask you because your aura screams — unapproachable.

His chance comes when all the first-years are assigned to a mission, you're there for extra measure. Gojo’s shaman instincts telling him that this mission was far too exceeding for him, Nobara, and Megumi.

Though just as Gojo predicted, it goes terribly wrong and Itadori keels over with an empty hollow where his heart should be.

His last thoughts are consumed with a screeching mantra of his late grandfather’s words. In the crevice of his flickering mind, they're big bold letters that drip with poisoned regret.

Before his vision goes black, the last thing he sees is a heart-broken Megumi and your face which is flooded with guilt.

When Itadori comes face to face with the King of curses, the stench of rotting death overpowering his senses, he mulls over the terms laid out by Sukuna to come back, alive.

To be reunited with his friends and become some type of savior —sukuna's words, not his— he'd give up the reigns of his body so Sukuna could talk to you whenever he chose.

For the exchange of his life, the rules weren’t bad, a part of him knows that this selfish override could cause problems for you in the future, but he still agrees.

When he wakes up to a pure white ceiling and the smell of bleach he doesn’t expect to see you towering over him. Moving up to a sitting position, his cheeks nearly bleed red because he’s naked. His eyes frantically flit over to Gojo who’s sitting in the corner of the room, watching the exchange. The white-haired sorcerer shrugs in a ridiculed manner —silently telling Itadori that it wasn’t his problem.

“You called me,” your voice filters through the bright room. His eyebrows crinkle in confusion. Sukuna must've did something.

When his eyes flit back to you, he’s met with your monotone expression, your cascade of braids framing your face. And for the third time in his life, he’s scared. 

Your cursed energy, which for your level should leave little to no residual, is flaring with onyx undertones. Its sharpened jaws nearing closer and closer to Itadori in a beckoning manner. He's not sure why it's visible in the first place.

Gojo stays silent.

Brat, let me out. Sukuna, for the first time in weeks, pops up with a wide mouth on the palm of his hand. Without a second thought, Itadori allows him. 

Whilst wading in his domain of subconsciousness, he watches the exchange. Your expression stays the same as you study Sukuna’s marked face. 

“So hostile,” Sukuna bares, his powerful aura sifting through the room. You roll your eyes and crack a smile. Seamlessly ignoring the other man in the room— who you know Sukuna has a grudge with. 

“Am I not supposed to be?” you cross your arms and ask. “Being friendly would get me in trouble.”

“You remember me?” The King of curses cuts straight to the point, the question being so unexpected that Gojo shuffles in his seat, his spine rigid with anticipation. 

You nod stiffly. "I didn’t at first, not fully at least, but after coming into contact a few times, yeah.”

“It’s a shame I don’t have control over this body,” Sukuna presses a palm to your cheek, no doubt a loving caress. His deep baritone voice causing your skin to erupt into a turnpike for goosebumps to situate. “Do you remember how we parted last?”

“A sorcerer killed me or something,” you scratch the back of your neck under his intense stare. “Right through here,” you confess, pointing to the middle of your sternum.

“And you’ve become one?” Sukuna quirks an eyebrow, shoulders stiff with anger. 

“I didn’t even know I knew you until a month ago, calm down,” you wave in dismissal. Itadori takes note in the way Sukuna visibly relaxes, your words washing him in a bucket of warmth. “Is that all? I’ve got a mission in thirty minutes.” 

“I’m coming with you.” Sukuna jumps off the steel table, his bare feet touching the cool ground. You turn your eyes away from the bottom half of his body, ears growing hot in embarrassment.

“Eh? Is that allowed?” You turn to Gojo who’s still analyzing the situation beforehand and he shrugs with complacency. “Don’t let anyone see him,” Gojo warns, his stare serious even under his blindfold. You're not exactly sure what Gojo's thinking but you grasp the opportunity.

When you leave the autopsy room with a naked Sukuna by your side, careful to avoid any areas where Sukuna’s aura might be felt, you make it to Itadori’s dorm.

“Here.” You throw him Yuuji’s formal uniform and a pair of brown boots you find in the corner of his room. “I’m not wearing this,” Sukuna interjects.

“Huh?” Your upper lip curls up in confusion. “Then you’re not coming with me.” You turn to leave but he catches your arm in a tight grip.

“Fine, since you’re so damn adamant.” He releases his grip on your arm to slip into Yuuji’s clothes, when he finishes he turns to you with a glare.

“Good boy,” you praise, patting his tattooed cheek.

Internally, Itadori’s too bewildered to tease the curse. In all of his time spent with Sukuna in his body, he’s never seen the King of curses voluntarily listen to somebody else’s demands. The murky water he stands in ripples as he sits to observe everything that’s transpiring. 

When you both reach the site you were assigned to, you sigh in annoyance. “What is it?” Sukuna asks, hands in pockets as he studies your face.

“I was hoping to have an easy day, they’re not dangerous or anything but there’s more than a dozen in there.” You point to the abandoned building, its steel beams bending with age.

“I’ll exorcise them for you.”  

This is going completely against this guy’s morals, Yuuji thinks. 

Your eyebrows fly to your forehead as you grow giddy with happiness. “Really?” You exclaim clambering up to wrap him in a hug.

“If you don’t let go, I won’t.” He grumbles, head in your neck while inhaling your sweet scent. 

“Okayyy,” you inhale, trailing off, Sukuna not too far behind. 

The exorcism is completed in fifteen seconds, tops. You stare in amazement at his lithe movements. His sharp fingers extinguishing cores with precise stabs— the same way he did his vessel. When he’s done he turns to you with an eyebrow raised, his hands wet with unspoken substance. You turn away with a humph. 

“Was it not fast enough?” He walks towards you, concern written all over his expression.

“It was too fast,” you proclaim.

“Huh?” 

“You’re a show-off,” you turn to exit the building, your braids whizzing past his face. You hear his roaring laughter behind you as you make it outside.

The smell of freshly churned earth enters your nostrils as you walk down a fenced sidewalk with bent daffodils. “Where are we going?”

“A ramen shop.” His gaze flicks over to study your face which is softened with what seems to be tranquility. His heart tides over with pride once he realizes that you feel content with him, a 1000-year-old curse.

However, he knows it’s the result of your memories that tie in with his; shared massacres and intertwined fates. Multiple restarts of what seemed to be a never-ending cycle of mingled hearts. But this time jump was different than the others. 

You being a sorcerer is not the only obstacle, at all.

“Sukuna? Hey– you’re spacing out.” You wave a hand in front of his face to grab his attention. 

“We’re here.” He looks up to see a small ramen shop, its logo old with age. As he enters the shop, he somehow finds contentment in being in a place that you like. 

—

“You know you’re probably attracting sorcerers and curses alike as we speak?” You inquire, grabbing your ramen bowl from the waiter who nervously glances at Sukuna. His tattooed face also attracting unwanted attention. 

“Mhm, I’ll just kill them if they interfere.” You whip your head to turn to the waiter who you’re relieved to see, had already left.

“I knew you’d say that,” you stuff your face with a handful of steaming noodles. 

“Sukuna?”

“Mhm?” 

“What’s gonna happen between us?” You flick your index finger back and forth. “It’s not like the other times, I’m a dedicated sorcerer.”

“So?” 

“You’re the King of curses, I’m a sorcerer.” You repeat, dropping your wooden chopsticks to place your head on your propped fist. 

“Already made a deal with the brat, I can talk to you whenever and wherever I want,” he pulls his face closer to yours. 

“Yeah? What happens when they execute Itadori?” You curl your hands into balled fists, an unfamiliar emotion welling up in your throat. Somehow, it doesn't fit. It crosses your veins in a parasitic manner and your eyes glaze over.

“I’ll just come back.” He states matter of factly, voice coated with arrogance.

“You promise?” You whisper, holding out your pinky finger. You nearly scoff at your own action.

Ignoring the finger you bare out, he presses his lips against yours. It’s the same as he can remember, centuries ago. His body elates with a hum of electricity. And it's as if his body's creating a second space of void in which he feels his every sense being sharpened; the smooth curve of your full lips and the salty taste of previous ramen.

But before the kiss can go any further, you're pulling back.

“That was uh…” You blink once, twice, trying desperately to collect your thoughts. When you look back to Sukuna, you instead are met with Itadori’s clear face.

“The hell are you doing, brat?” Sukuna bares his teeth on the right side of Itadori’s cheek. ”I- I’m sorry just got a little uh.. flustered.” 

“The fuck are you getting flustered for?” Sukuna growls. 

“I- uh..” 

“It’s okay Yuuji, you can switch again another time,” you sympathize with the boy. His cheeks are coated in red.

“It’s getting late, eat some ramen so we can go.” You chuckle. Itadori nods as his hand reaches towards a pair of chopsticks.

“Touch my ramen and I’ll kill you again, you damn brat.”

back to m.list

[juniorgman187]

About Time (Reid Fic)

Summary: Reader’s offer to help Morgan renovate one of his properties makes Spencer jealous enough to confess what he never could before. 

A/N: I try to avoid specific Reid eras in my works so that it can be up to you how you imagine him, but please just imagine seasons 1 or 2 Spencer - I’m telling you it’ll make the experience richer. Also, I might improve this fic in the near future bc I’m not entirely happy with it. Category: Drabble, Fluff Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Content Warning: None Word Count: 2.5k Playlist: Would You Be So Kind by Dodie

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

Clink … Clink … Clink … 

The repetitive noise was barely discernible at first, then it became all that I could focus on. 

In an attempt to find the source, I looked up from my paperwork and scanned the room. It only took me half a second to discover that Morgan was the culprit. 

From across the round table, I watched as Derek absentmindedly stirred his coffee and sugar together, making a ‘clink’ noise each time his spoon hit the rim of the cup. This wouldn’t have been bothersome had it not persisted for more than 10 minutes which, by all accounts, is plenty of time for the sugar to dissolve.

“Derek… ” I sort of sang, trying to capture his attention as nicely as possible. 

“Derek.” I repeated, this time a little less quietly and a little more sharply. Still, my voice did nothing to stop the noisy stirring of his coffee. I stayed silent for a second, just in case he finally noticed I was speaking to him, but when he didn’t, I gave a concerned look to Spencer beside me as if to ask if he was seeing what I was and he returned just the same expression of confusion. 

That’s when I knew something was wrong. 

“Derek!” I said even louder, finally catching his attention. 

His head snapped in my direction, his ghost-like countenance falling away after looking directly at me. I was relieved to see proof of life had been regained behind his eyes. The abrupt reaction made me squint harder in his direction to decipher what was truly going on. “Is everything okay? You were kind of zoning out just now.” 

He sighed while rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “It’s nothing. I just had a late night last night and I didn’t go to bed till three this morning.” 

“Oh?” I asked coyly. “And what was her name?” I brought my mug to my lips to hide my growing smirk behind the rim. 

He didn’t catch on right away, which to me was more than enough evidence that he wasn’t well. He was usually the first to be aware of an innuendo, maybe even the one to be making it. “Whose name?”

“The girl that kept you up till three this morning.” I mimicked his voice in crude yet playful imitation.

To this, he shook his head and rolled his eyes with a grin. “Alright, get your pretty lil’ head out of the gutter, Kitten. I was busy fixing up a property I got down in Emporia. Lost track of time. That’s all.”

Whether or not he was hiding something more, I didn’t care anymore. He’d piqued my interest in this new topic. “Emporia? That’s like 2 or 3 hours away.” 

His eyebrows lifted in agreement. “Yeah, like I said - late night.” 

Not even trying to tempt him with my words, I simply remarked, “But I mean it can’t be that hard though, right? Fixing up the house?” 

There was no verbal response from him, only a mirthless chuckle.

I was less careful with my words than I should’ve been, letting them flow through my mouth without filtering them first. “I’m just saying, I worked with Habitat For Humanity for years. We built thousands of houses from scratch, each of them within a matter of days.” 

He sat up in his seat and leaned forward to assert himself. It was nearly the same mannerisms he would display in an interview when he wanted to maintain dominance. “Well, that’s because you got how many people working on one house?” 

When I didn’t answer, he simply tapped the table and leaned back comfortably in his seat, prematurely relishing in a self-proclaimed victory. “Yeah, exactly. Whereas, it’s just little ol’ me fixing up these properties.”

“Okay, then I’ll help you.” 

He only snickered in response, lending way for me to believe he didn’t trust that I’d provide any sort of productive assistance. 

“I will!” I insisted. “Since you’re so convinced those houses were only built as fast as they were because it was a group effort, I want to prove to you that it’s actually because I’m just a fast worker.” 

“It’s not a race, Kitten. All I said was it took me a while to fix up the house. I don’t need you to help. And I wouldn’t be paying you even if you did, by the way.”

“Oh, I’m not doing this for money,” I reasserted. “I’m doing this for pride. I know I’m right, and I want you to know it, too.” 

It’s worth mentioning that Derek and I made these kinds of bets all the time. Our friendship was practically built on the foundation of competition. The first interaction I ever had with him was when he came up to me while I was arranging my desk to ask what I thought the odds were that he could toss his paper ball into the trashcan across the bullpen. 

Years Ago . . .

“What are the chances I’ll make the shot?” I heard a deep, unfamiliar voice inquire from behind me.

“You’re aiming for the trashcan all the way over there? No way.” This voice I knew was Elle’s. She’d been the second person to introduce herself to me and if I had to guess, the deeper voice belonged to the guy I recalled sitting diagonally from her. I made eye contact with him when I initially walked in, but he hadn’t taken the time to introduce himself to me, nor I to him. He seemed a little preoccupied … making a paper ball and all. 

“Actually, if Morgan’s throw had specific arc, the trajectory of the ball would -”

“He’s not making it, Reid.” Elle cut off the small, almost mousy voice promptly, shutting down any ‘pro-Morgan-making-the-shot’ argument he was about to make. 

You could get a lot from just listening. Some might call it eavesdropping, but I like to call it being observant, and from what I’d observed 

A) The one throwing the ball was Morgan. 

B) The smart-sounding one was Reid. 

C) Reid was a proponent of Morgan, so I could assume they were close friends. 

D) There were three very distinct, very different personalities in this general vicinity of desks alone. 

“O’ ye of little faith! Gimme a break, Elle. You’re just busting my balls ‘cause Reid came to me about Lila before he came to you.” 

“That has nothing to do with the fact that I’m right.”

“No, but it means you have bias.” Derek retorted.

“Fine then. If it means that much to you to have an unbiased opinion, let’s ask someone impartial - like Anderson.”

“Actually, I have a better idea,” The deep voice said as soon as I’d placed the last item on my desk - a stack of sticky notes in the shape of a cat’s face that’d been gifted to me the moment I exited the elevator by Penelope Garcia. 

“Excuse me, Kitten,” The deep voice purred. “You think I could get this ball into that trash bin right over there?” 

It took me a second to register that he was addressing me until I realized where the nickname originated from and that it had belonged to me - I could thank Penelope for that.

“Oh, um …” I looked around the room like somehow it would have my answer. In some ways, it did. 

I made contact with Reid first. He smiled weakly at me with tender awkwardness that melted my heart a little bit. Meanwhile, Elle’s eyes were luring me to join her on the dark side and say he wouldn’t make it. To be fair, riling him up seemed like fun. I’d be on Elle’s good side, gain her approval, and if I executed my jest playfully enough, I’d be on Morgan’s good side, too.

“No shot in hell, big guy.” 

Present Time . . .

That’s how it all started - this sibling-like rivalry. Ever since then, we’ve been challenging each other like our lives depended on it. And if I had to make it my life’s mission to win this most recent bet, then so be it. 

“Alright, kitten, I’ll take you up on that offer. I’ll pick you up at 9 on Saturday.” 

We sealed the deal with a cross-table handshake, and at that moment, I hadn’t realized it - only when I thought back to it, did I notice - Reid had been watching the entire interaction unfold. Misinterpreting every painstaking second of it. 

_ _ _

Sticking true to his word, Derek had taken up my offer in spades. Not the least bit shy in delegating me each and every duty there could possibly be. 

I’ll admit, he used my pride to his advantage. Because while I was practically doing all the handy-work imaginable inside the property, he was resting on his laurels outside, probably taking up the view of rolling green hills that went on forever just beyond the front yard. 

It just so happened that that would be our maintained, respective locations for the unexpected arrival of Derek’s very first (very unhappy) guest.

I was inside painting when I heard the placid squeak of Derek getting up from his Adirondack chair on the wraparound porch. I remember peeking my head out of the doorway for a second to see if he was finally going to come inside and help me, but lo and behold, I caught him walking further away from the entrance. While I might’ve given an eye roll of annoyance at the action, I thought nothing of it. Not until I heard Derek speaking to an eerily familiar secondary voice. 

“What are you doing here?” I could hear Derek ask. My ears had perked up like a dog on high alert. 

“Don’t play dumb. You’re trying to … to -” The second voice stammered. 

“Spit it out, kid!” 

“You’re trying to steal my girl!” Whoever it was, was desperate to speak with conviction, maybe even malice, to prove some level of strength that could match Derek’s, but they tried and failed. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Steal your girl? What the hell are you talking about, man?” 

“You know I like her! And yet you’re just hanging out with her alone now? On one of your desolate properties? Can’t you see how suspicious that looks? You’re supposed to be my friend.” 

I’d stopped painting completely at this point so I could take asylum behind the closed door. I could place that voice anywhere, and I needed to press my ear against the only thing separating it from me to confirm what I already knew. 

“Reid, I am your friend,” And there it was. Reid? “And as your friend, I’m telling you: lower your voice unless you want her to hear you.”

“Don’t patronize me. Just tell me,” Spencer, if anything, spoke louder. Perhaps he did want me to hear him, or he simply wanted to defy Derek. “Why do you flirt with her?”

“Flirt?” Derek seemed appalled at the word. It would’ve been offensive that he was disgusted at the thought of engaging with me in that manner had I not felt the same way. What we were doing was not flirting - by any stretch of the imagination. 

“You know what I’m talking about. You call her ‘Kitten,’ you both make sexual innuendos that you think fly over my head, you invite her to come over.” 

“Slow your roll, Pretty Boy. First of all, ‘Kitten’ is just a nickname I gave her the first time we met because I didn’t know what her actual name was. You know that - you were there. Second, the sexual innuendos are just playful jabs at the fact that I sleep around. Low hanging-fruit. Third, inviting her to come over might seem suspicious, but if you walk in there right now, you’ll see that nothing is going on between us. She’s just here to help.”

I wanted any excuse to walk out there myself and announce my nearby presence. Confront Spencer and tell him I heard everything. Ask him where any of this was coming from. How he could think, for even a second, that there was something between me and Morgan. 

Turns out, I didn’t need an excuse. I had already walked out. 

Spencer gulped hard when he saw me. And for that I felt sorry for him. He looked so unlike himself. His hair was disheveled like he’d ran his fingers through it a million times out of stress. His outfit was strangely untidy, the buttons of his cuff unclasped. “Could you ... did you-”

“I heard everything,” I clarified to the dumbfounded shell of a man standing at the base of Morgan’s stairs.

It was a triangle of stares between us all. Exchanging quizzical glances in a battle of wills to see who would fold first. I was looking at Reid, Reid was looking at me, then he looked at Morgan, who looked back at him, then at me. Like I said, a triangle of stares. 

“Um ... I’ll leave you two to talk. I’ll just be inside.” 

I suppose there were worse ways to finally get Morgan off his ass and working. 

Reid trailed Morgan with his eyes, while I simply waited for the sound of the door shutting behind me. It took a few more seconds until one of us had the gall to speak.

“Did you mean what you said? About liking me?” This question that I posed went unanswered for what felt like minutes. Looking at Reid, I could tell he wanted to say something, he just didn’t know what. 

The soul was willing, but the flesh was weak. 

“If you’re not ready to admit it, that’s okay. But then why did you really come here, Spencer? To yell at Morgan for possibly making a move on me? Because now’s your chance. Make your move, Spence.” I descended the stairs, stopping to stand on the very last step so I’d hover a mere inch above him. “Make a move.” 

Make a move, he did.

Warm, clammy hands that were disproportionately bigger than the rest of his body caught my face so that unbelievably, inconceivably soft lips could make their fierce attack with no resistance. His fingers laced through my hair until his hand found the nape of my neck. He used that as leverage to pull me impossibly closer. 

When he was just one step away from sucking my soul out of me, I laid my palm on his chest and pushed him slightly backward. I think I heard him laughing when I did this, probably to hide the shame of letting himself commit so fully to the moment that he forgot just how intense his passion was. 

His eyes fluttered open and his lips were still contorted in a pucker. It took him a second, but it finally came. 

“I meant what I said,” He confessed ever so nonchalantly as though it were the easiest thing in the world to him, despite being unable to come even close to admitting it just minutes before. “I like you. A lot.” 

It was me who laughed then, both from the sheer elation hearing him say that brought me and the distant, exasperated comment that came from within the house. 

“Well, finally! It’s about damn time!” 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

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[chainofclovers]

Ted Lasso 2x7 Thoughts

“Headspace” is a very apt name for this episode, in which we learned almost no new information about the characters in Ted Lasso but learned a great deal about the way many characters’ brains work.

Most of the episodes this season have been so full of new information (if you wanna know something about how my brain works, the critique that early s2 episodes lack conflict does not compute), so full of dramatic irony (Sam and Rebecca don’t realize they’re messaging each other on Bantr! Rebecca’s voicemail to Ted doesn’t actually indicate that she spent a significant portion of time panicking and looking for him!), and misunderstandings that it was really nice to spend a bit over thirty minutes on an episode with very easily mappable plotlines.

Ted and Sharon and Therapy

Ordinarily in my little recaps I talk about the characters as real people making their own decisions, because every character on this show feels very real. But I have to take a minute to just, like, celebrate the acting in these scenes. Sarah Niles and Jason Sudeikis brought the perfect energy to each of their three scenes in Dr. Sharon’s office.

The drinking bird toy! The way he switches from nodding along with it to shaking his head no while the bird continues to shake its head yes, just like Ted shook his head no while saying yes, they should hire a sports psychologist! The way he finally stills the bird in the final therapy scene in the episode...but performatively throws the tissue box.

(Someone is going to need those tissues, Ted. It might be you.)

I also LOVE that this is the first time we see Sharon in an extended scene that takes place in a session. We’ve seen her rapport with the players, we’ve seen the results, and we’ve seen the things she does to make someone feel comfortable at the start of a session, and that’s all the information WE need to know to feel confident in her excellence as a psychologist. But because Ted hasn’t been able to fully appreciate those things, it’s so fitting that his sessions are a time for us to learn more about Sharon’s approach along with him.

It’s just...such good acting. The way she tells him he doesn’t need to worry. The kind of charming (but not performatively charming, just...charming) smile on his face when he claims he knows he doesn’t need to worry. And the way his voice changes a little as the conversations progress—deeper, less controlled, with some very genuine Midwestern “ma’am”s.

Sam and Rebecca and Awkwardness

Sam and Rebecca were so awkward when talking to each other in the hallway! If I had been in that hallway I would have been physically unable to stop myself from doing something even more awkward and diverting to make it stop. (I say this as someone who is neither disgusted by or delighted by the direction of the Bantr storyline. This is a good story about two good people who are in very different places in their lives existing in both a manufactured connection and the real, and very different, connection they have when they aren’t glued to their phones. This story is supposed to be awkward and uncomfortable.)

I did like the parallels of their friends sort of urging them on/coaching them through the inherent panic of the three dots that appear and disappear—a source of panic whether you’re the one creating the dots on the other screen or watching them and feeling at their mercy.

I like that in this episode both Ted and Rebecca are loudly broadcasting “I AM NOT IN THE RIGHT HEADSPACE FOR A ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIP”—Ted with his rueful awareness that Michelle would be upset if she heard him still referring to her as his wife, Rebecca with her insistence that relationships are doomed and awful even though she’s talking to two people (Keeley and Higgins) in committed relationships.

Roy and Keeley and Space

This plot was a really wonderful...counterpoint? complement? to the places both Ted and Rebecca are in as Ted starts to come to terms with the fact that he’s going to have to deal with his past and the losses he’s suffered (including the loss of his marriage) and as Rebecca questions whether she’s really going to embark on the next phase of a relationship with someone whose identity she does not know.

Because Ted and Rebecca are stuck apart, it was great to see Keeley struggle with needing space from Roy without worrying for a second about whether or not this challenge was a threat to their relationship. (Keeley and Roy aren’t used to long haul relationships, so they both see it as a threat, but the audience doesn’t have to.)

There was so much going on in that boot room. I love the coexisting realities there—Rebecca and Keeley and Higgins treating the boot room as their personal room for secret smoking, but as the crowd grows all these other unspoken dynamics emerge (it’s been two days since the panic attack and this is the first time we see Ted and Rebecca in the same room and there’s no evidence that they’ve talked about what happened with the panic attack or Rebecca’s parents or any of the big stuff).

Everything about Keeley’s plotline this episode reminded me of how Ted and Keeley are so similar (and, to a lesser extent, Rebecca and Roy are so similar). Rebecca and Roy both tend to write things off (Rebecca is so certain any relationship she has will be doomed, but it’s just because of how hurt she already is; Roy wanted to convince himself he was happier as a pundit than as a coach, but it’s just because he was scared of how much he wanted to be back on on the pitch), only able to deal with things when a safe person like Ted or Keeley sort of startles growth out of them. (We talk a lot about how Rebecca should be in therapy, but Roy should too.) And Ted and Keeley! Everything’s great, everything’s sunny, but look at how Keeley stands on her couch and screams in sadness and anger when she blows up at Roy and he leaves.

This time, things work out between Roy and Keeley because he figures out what Keeley was trying to communicate and respects what she needs, but in the future she’s going to have to figure out how to articulate herself more clearly. (And so will Ted...not only in therapy with Sharon, but as everything with the other coaches and the team and Will and basically everyone in his life come to light.)

Nate and Beard and Twitter-Insecurity-Rage

Ahhhhhhhhh.

This plotline made me feel almost as nervous for Ted (the things he doesn’t know) and Beard (the things he knows) as it did for Nate and Colin and Will and everyone.

At first I was really bothered by the repetition of Nate checking Twitter. We know! He’s on Twitter a lot now that he’s semi-famous! He’s obsessed! But then it occurred to me that it’s extremely perfect that Nate checking Twitter becomes this silent refrain building him up or tearing him down based on the latest 280-character compliment or take-down. Because this is how the internet works! You get obsessed with something on it and then check it a million times per day until you feel sick. It could be a dating app, or a trending story, or almost anything. If you check it often enough, the internet won’t even have anything truly new for you...it just feels like it does. So the repetition of Nate scrolling Twitter wasn’t meant to deliver us new information, but rather to mimic the old information coming through again and again.

I feel so deeply for Nate, who’s brilliant about football but unfit to coach because the power dynamics of coaching are a totally foreign concept to someone like him, who relies entirely on external inputs to take his actions. Ted and Beard and Roy all go and learn things and bring them back to the pitch, but none of them have had the capacity to teach Nate how to do this. Even Nate’s private thoughts, which he wrote down during s1, only come to light when Ted prompts him. And when your external inputs are coming from social media and an unappreciative father and a hyper-awareness of insult after years spent on the receiving end of bullying...it’s very dangerous. Maybe even literally physically dangerous.

I also feel so deeply for everyone who interacts with Nate right now, particularly Will.

Some Bonus but Never Extraneous Trent Crimm

Trent in the pub made me NERVOUS. Seeing him in this new place where Ted goes to wind down, almost coaching Ted through lying to him about having had food poisoning?! When they both clearly know that isn’t what happened?!?

It felt very fitting that this uncomfortable yet kind-of-mercifully-executed lie takes place towards the end of an episode full of such positive and negative growth for the characters. Such movement. It felt all wrong (in a good way), like covering something new and smooth and precious with spackle because maybe you actually wanna paint something else after all even though it won’t serve you in the long run to do it. To paraphrase Dr. Sharon, the truth will set you free but first it will piss you off, and Ted’s conversation with Trent is a reminder of all the layers there are to cut through on the way to the truth.

If Apple TV could simply release 2x8 - 2x12 this week, I would bargain with something crazy and miserable like giving up caffeine until October 8, the air date for the season finale. I continue to love this season and to feel the serenity of watching excellent actors execute on excellent scripts...but we’re getting to the point where the momentum’s built up and is heading to ever-scarier places, and I neeeeeeeeeed to knoooooooow.

[ethernetchord]

lets talk: popular iwwv criticism

(disclaimer: i know criticism is subjective and thats why im doing this, i wanna look at some common points made against iwwv and dissect them just a little bit in the opposite direction. also none of this is directed at any individual- it’s all based on the general talking points i’ve seen surrounding the book.)

SPOILER WARNING !!

lack of exploration into james and oliver (+ gay characters feel performative)

i’ve seen loads of people say that oliver and james’ relationship felt very performative, a way of including the queer romnce which clearly is very important to the plot but not actually giving it any space in the novel, nor developing it to the same extent which meredith/oliver was.

oliver and meredith had a very strictly physical relationship and while he did love her, he wasn’t in love with her the way he was with james. the juxtaposition in the way that oliver/james is delivered and the way meredith/oliver is delivered is, i believe, far too repetitive to not be intentional. i actually realised upon re-reading how much focus there really is on meredith’s sexuality, even in subtleties in the book. meredith and oliver get more blatant sex scenes, get more physical parts because oliver was (to an extent) using his attraction to meredith to distract himself from his infatuation with james.

we also have to remember that oliver and james didn’t get their real moment of honesty about their relationship till extremely late into the book. i’d honestly see it as more ‘performative’ to then after or in the middle of kind lear throwing in some wild sex scene between the two. it wouldn't have fit.

“why didn’t james and oliver get together earlier then >:(((“ because the slow burn between them, the subtext, the subtle-ness, the yearning, they were all crucial to the decision which oliver made at the end. the fact that they burned so bright for each other but (oliver particularly) were so desperately repressed, that was what made this such a tragic romance. yes its tiring to read stories about queer people being repressed, yes its tiring to see the bury your gays trope. but like oliver says, it goes beyond gender.

if oliver’s second love interest was a girl, and treated this way, we’d be a lot more on board with these tropes- but the fact that james is a man, and this therefor becomes a queer relationship, makes it feel performative. i can’t convince you of anything- but i like to believe that their relationship being treated like this not only makes it so much more “heart wrenching because why! why couldn’t it work out, why couldn’t it be better!” - not because its a queer relationship but because they were soulmates.

alexander wasn’t performative. not in the slightest, rio just didn’t make being gay his entire identity. same goes for colin. just because they’re queer doesn’t mean it needs to be the only thing about them. this isn’t a lgbt novel- characters dont have to be gay just for plot. they can just be gay.

i’ve also seen people complain about not just making oliver bisexual. guys. did you read the book? he was bisexual. he was emotionally and physically attracted to both meredith and james. guys that’s literally what bisexual means.

i'm totally on board with the coming out scenes! and realisation of feelings and all that stuff- but again, not an lgbt centric novel and also- these were things oliver probably did and realised far before this book. remember that its set in 4th year, at an art school. he knew he was fruity ok. not every queer character in every queer book have to have these grandious coming out scenes or realisations. the lack there of doesn’t equal performance.

the ending was rushed and bad

believe what you will, but i don’t think james is dead. there’s a little too much ambiguity in that ending, in the extract he leaves oliver, in the “his body was never found.” so if your main quarrel with the ending is that “bury your gays” situation- please know there’s a chance- and that giving it that chance opens up so much more discussion and reader response.

yes, the ending is sad. but it’s not rushed. “but that is how a tragedy like ours or king lears breaks your heart- by making you believe the ending might still be happy until the very last second.” doing king lear, doing macbeth, doing romeo and juliet, the plays are chosen not only for reader convenience (they’re plays readers will most likely be familiar with) but also because they all, so very deeply, foreshadow a “bad” ending. killing james, makes sense. as much as people don’t want to hear it, from an authorial perspective- from the reader’s perspective and as a human being it makes sense. why do keep arguing that he “should’ve stayed alive for oliver” or that “if he really loved oliver he wouldn’t have done it” - why are we limiting a character’s entire existence down to their love interest. yes, they were best friends, yes they were set up as lovers but that doesn’t mean that that would be enough to keep james around. james was a fragile character- he was always checking with oliver if he had upset him, he was always worried, overthinking, james wasn’t strong minded- and he was suffering. the only person he had left to depend on was in prison, he was plagued with the guilt of causing the death of a classmate and letting oliver take the blame, if he did kill himself, it sure as hell doesn’t have any reason to sound forced.

“its not nearly as good as the secret history!!!!”

to be honest here buds, why the fuck do we keep comparing them so insistently. they are not the same book. iwwv wasn’t trying to be tsh 2.0, yes there are similarities because hey! guess what! books in similar genres tend to do that! always comparing it tsh when they have different motives, different plots and vastly different execution makes no sense. the only reason that they are compared is because tumblrtm dark academics like to group the two together. and yea- makes sense, but stop trying to belittle iwwv because it isn't as grandiose as tsh, because it’s a little more literal, because it’s not as intertextual as tsh. half the people saying iwwv isn’t as good as tsh are practically just subtly going “shakespeare isn’t as complicated as ancient greek huehue” stop forcing the two together and let them be separately appreciated.

the characters were flat/archetypes/etc

sigh. okay.

these characters are actors. this book shows us their transition from themselves entirely into a conjunction of the roles they’ve played and the stereotypes they’ve portrayed.

“we were so easily manipulated - confusion made a masterpiece of us.”

“for us, everything was a performance”

“imagine having all your own thoughts and feelings tangled up with all the thoughts and feelings of a whole other person. it can be hard, sometimes, to sort out which is which.”

“far too many times i had asked myself whether art was imitating life or if it was the other way around”

“it’s easier now to be romeo, or macbeth, or brutus, or edmund. someone else.”

are you seeing it now? this focus on their archetypes, this focus on the character they are; the way they see themselves not merely as human but as a walking concoction of every character they have turned into and out of. they depend on their archetypes to give them meaning. rio uses these archetypes to remind us of the submersion of her characters. they weren’t flat, their intentional lack of dimension due to their pasts is what makes them so intricate. furthermore, there's an evident subversion- the tyrant becomes a victim, the hero becomes a villain (they all become villains really), the ingenue becomes corrupted. like mentioned before, i think we forget ourselves easily reading this book but there is a great deal of emphasis on this being their last year- which is so important. the damage has been done and a lot of the issues people have with the content (or lack thereof) in this book has to do with the fact that it’s all things that would have occurred in books focusing on previous years at delletcher.

“it didn't live up to expectation” (also leading on from read tsh to this and being ‘disappointed’)

i cant argue this because its entirely subjective. whatever expectation was created for you, i cannot know that and appropriately respond however- if you liked the secret history and understood the secret history then there's a good chance you also liked and understood this book- even if not to the same extent but you must be able to recognize the authorial approach and its significance. i think a lot of ppl read iwwv (and a lot of “dark academia” texts and films) and hope to be able to romanticize the aesthetic or the concepts and then are disappointed when they are presented with mildly unlikeable and overwhelmingly human characters who aren’t easy to romanticize.

a great majority of these books are criticisms of the very culture you’re trying to romanticize, and the only time you’re willing to admit that is when boasting about the ‘self-awareness’ of the people indulging in them, and then a moment later complain about those same qualities because they don’t serve this idealized expectation.

bad rep for arts/liberal arts/ humanities students as being pretentious/cultish

as a humanities student with a great love for eng lit- all of these things are indeed pretentious and cultish. not all the time and not always and not every person- but it is a common theme. academia is overwhelmingly obsessive and extremely white-washed. people become so fast to believe that they are indulging in finer arts and are therefore a higher standard of person. academia is problematic. and the recent influx of people interested in it is good, very good because hopefully, we’ll be more diverse, more open-minded, more accepting. that's what i hope at least. if you know, as an individual, that you’re not a pretentious academic who places themselves above non-academics then that's wonderful- but there are dangers and negative sides to academia that need to be understood so that we can see to not perpetuating them.

i cant refute all points, mostly because there's a lot of good and well-explained criticism because no book is perfect. and my intentions are not to belittle anyone's opinion. these are merely opposing arguments, food for thought and to be fair- a critical look into why not everything is always going to be what we expect of it and why every ‘problem’ can be assessed.

[nytech]

Teaching Entrepreneurship with Shaun Johnson

This interview is part of our “Getting to Know You” series, featuring brilliant entrepreneurs from the NY Tech community.

Shaun Johnson is an experienced entrepreneur who has worked across the fields of technology acceleration, early-stage investment, and ecosystem development. He lives in New York City and teaches entrepreneurship at Fordham University & Parsons School of Design. Shaun is also a Board Member of the NY Tech Alliance. He agreed to speak with us about his career journey, the lessons learned along the way, his take on diversity in tech, and what makes a successful entrepreneur.

“One piece of advice I’ve been given and still sticks with me in a perplexing way would be to say that perception equals reality. Even though this isn’t always a universal truth, I often wonder if it’s true, untrue, or sometimes true — as there are times one can influence the other, and other times, not at all.”

Tell us about yourself

I like to describe myself as a helper of people, and that has taken a lot of different shapes and forms. I actually started my career in the federal government, then as a management consultant, and finally transitioned into the world startups as an early employee at Techstars, where I ended up spinning out a company called Startup Institute — a career accelerator aiming to equip people with the network skills and mindset to be immediately impactful in the startups that they join.

You teach entrepreneurship ー according to you, what are the skills one must develop to become a successful entrepreneur?

In teaching entrepreneurship, there are a lot of things that are important, especially at the university level because there’s always this tension between “can entrepreneurship be taught?” or “should you just go out and do it?”

The mentality of doing and learning through action is definitely a skill worth acquiring, whether in the field or the classroom.

There will always be a lot of little failures along the way, and that’s actually a good thing, but it can be counterintuitive for folks who aren’t used to accepting failure on their way to success. Grit is also another important factor. And then the last one, just because I want to leave it at three, is empathy. To have a deep understanding of your customer, the mission that you have, and the people that you’re building around helps you to build exceptional teams, exceptional products, and ultimately, address your market in an exceptional way.

What’s your favorite thing about teaching entrepreneurship?

The people. Students are always so different. People come from multiple backgrounds, different parts of the world, different industries, and with different perspectives. Even if you are teaching one specific course on entrepreneurship, it’ll never look the same because it’s always dependent on the people who are there. Everyone brings their unique personality, and the diversity and plurality come together to create a unique experience.

My desire and appreciation for plurality reflect my sentiments about New York City itself. The city is made of 8 million people coming from different backgrounds and places, who all have unique personalities, desires, hopes, and dreams.

We all have to interact with each other and try to build a better future. Whether it’s through entrepreneurship or just our own coexistence, I think that there’s something productive and meaningful about that.

How do you think the tech industry can become more diverse?

I think one of the challenges is that we tend to take one shade or one arc of diversity, drill in on that and assume that we’ve done our job. For example, one aspect of diversity can be ensuring your company hires people of color, or getting women into the tech ecosystem and make sure that there’s equal pay and that gender rights are respected.

But can you actually look at this kaleidoscope and not just say, ‘Hey today we want to focus on, like, LGBTQ rights?’ Or ‘today we want to focus on Black people or women.’ But instead, the dialogue has to answer the question of: “How can we actually approach inclusion and value creation that is accessible to all?”

Rather than trying to identify a specific group on its own, let’s actually think about how we can lift everyone up together while also valuing their uniqueness.

Is this part of the reason or the reason why you wanted to become involved with the NY Tech Alliance?

I’ve been a huge fan of the NY Tech Alliance since my career in startups has begun. Before I was living in New York City, I would take a bus from out of state to attend NY Tech Meetups, to see that the energy in the room with so many different people there.

It just felt like a panorama of what the startup ecosystem has to offer. It was a great entry point for me. And the NYTA still serves in that capacity for others and provides a jumping-off point, an entry point, and a point of connection, learning and motivation for people.

When given the opportunity to serve on the board, it was something that I couldn’t pass up.

Which trends do you think will emerge in the tech industry in the near future?

You know, I never pretended to be a fortune teller, but I think the year we just survived showed us that despite quarantine and isolation, we still need to connect with each other and be productive. It has been great for Zoom but so many people are zoomed out and looking for different ways of connecting with people that may not just be from the shoulders up.

You’re also seeing some trends around climate tech. The conversation is now rightly shifted from climate change to the climate crisis, and it is attracting a lot of bright minds and big dollars. And I think that’s great because it’s imperative for our survival as human beings.

How has a past failure set you up for success?

I mean, I guess I’m always failing at something. If you’re not failing, you’re probably not trying hard enough. I think the little failures along the way are indicative of trying to do something audacious or something that you’re unsure of. I couldn’t point to one specific failure because there’s just a butterfly effect of one thing leading to the next thing. But overall, the lesson in failure is really to process it and move on to the next thing, ideally in an upward fashion.

As New Yorkers, there may not always be the time or space to do that. You know, we move so fast. We break things, we execute, and there’s so much going on that we can forget to stop and reflect for a minute, look objectively at failure and ask “What could I have done better? What did I learn here? What would I do next?”

It’s important to reflect in a way that builds off of that failure rather than just repetitively coming right back at the same scenario, which is likely to lead to the same outcome.

What was the biggest challenge that you faced in your career?

Walking away from something that just wasn’t for me at the time. With an early career as a management consultant, a lot of things about that job were great: the prestige, the nice fancy suits, the travel.

But then you start to just understand what your calling is, what motivates you or what nourishes you. Changing your career to pursue your calling can be risky, but it ultimately is good for the soul. At the time, I didn’t know exactly what my calling was going to be. And it took courage and conviction to just say “Ok, all these things are good and everyone else loves them for me. But I just don’t love them as much, and I’m willing to look out into the abyss and seek out something that actually is more aligned with who I am and who I want to be.”

It was really scary and that’s one of the biggest moves I’ve made. That’s the advice I give to my students. Do what you love. Life’s too short!

What was the best advice you’ve ever been given?

One piece of advice I’ve been given and still sticks with me in a perplexing way would be to say that perception equals reality. Even though this isn’t always a universal truth, I often wonder if it’s true, untrue, or sometimes true — as there are times one can influence the other, and other times, not at all.

I apply that saying as a prompt for a lot of different things, from looking at analytics and wondering what’s going on with your company, checking in with your mental health and wondering if all of this anxiety or depression is actually real or if your perception influences what you’re feeling. And it’s also a way to keep yourself grounded.

Any final words?

Yeah. If Alicia (interviewer) says or types anything that makes me sound stupid, that was her edit. Everything that I said was brilliant (laugh). And she’ll make sure that it comes across!

To connect with Shaun on LinkedIn, click here.

To learn more valuable lessons from Founders, watch our NYTA Founder Spotlight series on YouTube.

[nocek]

Don't spare us the long rant! We want to hear your thoughts!

Oh you are going to regret this ;P

So here goes my loooooooong angry rant about Taskmaster and also the Black Widow movie in general.

Let's start with my point of comparison. Captain America the Winter Soldier was a good movie. It's still in my top 3 Marvel movies as I'm sure is for many people. And statistically speaking everybody likes Bucky. He is like the most beloved side character right after Loki. I guess.

Anyway. My point is that Taskmaster and Winter Soldier have bit for bit the exact same building blocks: hypercompetent antagonist that is a serious threat to our hero who just can't win with in one on one combat. But then plot twist: our antagonist was just a victim and puppet without free will in hands of actual villain who is bland bureaucrat.

So why did Winter Soldier worked really really well and Taskmaster was just ehh.. ok?

Well the short answer is that catws was a much tighter movie that had clearer goal (and also that goal/theme was singular: good things get corrupted with time and sometimes you get to start over) compared to black widow which had to jump through too many hoops and still somehow managed it but it wasn't as graceful as it would be if they (as in executives) resigned from one or two hoops and flips and explosions.

And I'm omitting a BIG disadvantage of making a prequel movie about a character that they killed off in shitty way. Though that created one of extra hoops for them to jump through: quickly build up Yelena as a character.

And character build they did. Because srsly Yelena is awesome and I love her. BUT. That came at a price.

Lets compare to catws. The new character there is Sam (and kiiiiiiiinda also Natasha a bit but that's a topic for a different rant) who is nowhere near as well build as Yelena. At the beginning. Because he had time to be fleshed out and naturally grow in few different movies and then we got a deep dive in the Falcon and the Winter Soldier.

But Marvel can't give Yelena few movies because she will appear in Hawkguy an Hawkeye series and also Marvel is generally dividing their assets into: outer spaaaace, down to earth heros and magic stuff (aliens, androids and wizards ;P). But also they can only create so many things in a year.

So yeah. Yelena offtopic can be summarized that I love that we have her as we have her but it came at a cost of air time of the movie.

So comparing the movies again:

Catws had the theme of good things being corrupted with time. And the theme was underlined 3 times through Peggy, Bucky and then Shield/Hydra. Which are interconnected and also make nice scale from inner conflict of the main character to the outer conflict of the movie.

In Black Widow there is the topic of the past evil that never went away and is still taking away free will from people. And again we have it shown through 3 outlets: Yelena, Taskmaster and Black Widows. But there is also whole family subplot attached to Yelena and there is Red Room attached to Black Widows. So as you can see things are getting crowded. Which in turn make the theme a bit blurry.

I mean, sure, the Red Room should be the Shield equivalent. Even it could take smaller space because good Shield turns out to be evil Hydra is generally more time consuming to explain than Red Room bad. But still combining Red Room and Black Widows make things a bit crowded.

(There is a reason why the surprise subplot of there is more Winter Soldiers was in separate movie and was kinda handwaved and cut to minimum. But they couldn't do that here).

But it's time to stop my ranting about whole Black Widow movie and focus on comparing Taskmaster and Winter Soldier.

Because to be honest both are bare bones of character and more of an carte blanche in the movie. Both have barely any screen time yet there are colossal difference which stems out of:

first introduction: as I mentioned they are hypercompetent and unstoppable threat that you can't win with, you can only hope to run away (both done equally well)

programmable killing machine:

For Taskmaster we just get a scene with her watching other heroes fighting at the screen. For the sake of building up the mystery of character we think that "he" is just watching. Maybe learning or more likely just being creepy. The information about the chip and literal programming is given to us much later in the movie which makes this scene lose the power. idk how it will work on rewatch? Maybe better? Hopefully. right now there is too many new movies in cinemas to go for a rewatch and disney+ still isn't available here -.-

For Bucky we have literal torture scene. You just can't be more blunt than that. It also hammered the next point in.

there is human behind the mask:

Winter Soldier is introduced with full face mask which he gradually loses and then we have the big reveal of not only: that's a human but also that's a human our main hero cares about deeply.

With Taskmaster they fucked up it for chap plot twist. We are learning quite late that oh snap that's Antonia (that we don't really care about) and our main hero kinda feels guilty about her.

I think the big difference is what kind of character Steve and Nat are and also the way they reveal this secret. Steve actively recognizes Bucky by himself and is very openly shocked. Nat is passively told and shown that hey, this is Antonia. And there is no time in the movie for Nat (and for us) to be shocked because that's the 3rd act and we need time for explosions and stuff.

Besides, the problem is that all the big plot twist reveals are boring on rewatch (stil big props for Pacific Rim and giving us the monster reveal in like second minute of the movie, I will never not appreciate that).

Also on related shitty note. We the audience. Bucky is handsome and vulnerable and we can drool all over him (and oh man, we the fandom did a fair share of drooling). Antonia is disfigured and not sexualized in any way. Which I'm actually grateful for but there is no pretending that doesn't make a hell lot of difference. But that's a whole different, ugly and big topic I'm not remotely qualified to write about. I'm just angry ranting here.

they don't have free will:

For Winter Soldier we have amnesia + torture tropes which to be honest have been done over and over again and it shouldn't have worked as well as it worked. Bit it did. In context of Black Widow movie it worked because it was just one guy that actively broke through brainwashing with active help of the hero.

In Black Widow there is a lot of characters that are pasively "woken up" out of mind control over and over again by active protagonist. Unfortunately the repetition kinda cheapens it. Especially in comparison to main gut punch right in the feels scene in the other movie. Which is why it's not fair to compare the two.

So lets talk about lack of free will aspect itself. To be honest the mind control aspect in Black Widow was done really great from story perspective. Evil scientists perfected it to the point it being (bit handwavey but) completely impersonal but also completely dehumanizing to the subject. So I'm buying that it can be completely switched off in equally efficient and impersonal way. Even the way they explained it with Alexei the pig was great and terrifying... to a point. Because then kicked the main problem with this movie. Clearly some execs came and saw it and went whoa... that's too dark for pg13 blockbuster. Let's put some cheap jokes here. And it happens over and over again in this movie :S

humanizing flashback scene that ties them to main hero:

For Bucky, sure we had Captain America First Avenger but a movie needs to stand on it's own legs. That's why we have the flashback scene which shows us that Bucky cared about Steve. Leaving it at the narration in Smithsonian of "best friends since childhood" would be just telling us. And we needed to be shown and we needed a space for the "till the end of line" so it could come back and stab us right in the feels.

Also because we are ignoring previous movie Russos cleverly made us care about Winter Soldier because Steve cares about Winter Soldier. And we already know and like Steve so building up our main character gives us more mileage out of new bare bones character (because let's be honest, Winter Soldier is just that). Two birds one stone thing.

In Black Widow there is no such thing which IMHO is the main reason Taskmaster doesn't work. We just get information about cardboard cutout: insert cute little girl here (only told, not even shown actual cardboard) and all of the emotional connection to Natasha is: I know that my boss that I hate has a daughter, she got in the crossfire. Which means nobody cares.

All it would take is adding a short flashback scene. idk Dreykov is an asshole and doesn't care about Antonia but she is she cutest and most adorable little girl. She treats the Black Widows as older sisters. Hell if you want to make it more horrorish copy of the idea of Thor wanting to be a Valkyrie when he grows up or T'challa wanting to be a Dora Milaje. Little Antonia wants to be Black Widow when she grows up because they are badass and they are nice to her (and are also slightly confused by her) because she is nice to them and is only person that treats them as humans. Hell we could have short interaction between her and Nat. Just a smile between them would be enough.

You could get a lot of character buildup mileage out of such a short scene.

But it couldn't happen partially because the movie didn't have time for that but we didn't get that mostly because it would show us instead of telling that Nat killed a cute little innocent girl for her own personal gain. (well she thought she was destroying Red Room but mostly wanted to get away - vide she didn't check on Yelena or other widows. But I wouldn't hold that against her. It was put your oxygen mask first kind of situation. But still it would make her look bad)

Besides, that would take guts to actually show.

And technically they could have afforded to have that guts. That was last movie with Nat anyway. It would actually make this plotline about her feeling guilty about Dreykov's daughter and red in her ledger work. But well... It was last movie so they wanted to leave us with the most goodest and bleeding hartest and heartwarming mary sue version of Nat with just telling us without showing hey, she got dark past.

On the other hand if we had the rumored Endgame plotline of Nat running an orphanage. Damn that would tie to this plotline so well. We could tie the loose widows also. Dam we were robbed here I tell ya >.<

Ok I'm overdoing offtopic about Nat. Sorry

design

So yeah. Design wise Winter Soldier is like great. For Taskmaster, she sure looks cool but also kinda generic? If in 10 years you'd show me her and say it's antagonist from GI Joe or something I'll believe you :S (not touching the debate that in comics something something because unfortunately I don't know Taskmaster from comics. Although I hear that few recent ones were quite good so I'll check them out sooner or later)

snapping out of mind control

I mentioned before. It would be unfair and there is no point comparing main emotional scene of the movie versus means to an end that were repeated several times through a movie.

Natasha freeing Antonia even if she thought that Antonia will kill her because that would fair was great. What I'm annoyed is a cheap fakeout that went with that. It was just after the bombastic finale with explosions and all the cgi shit. Even without looking at the movie runtime it was obvious there will be no extra fight scene.

In catws it worked because the cgi pew pew extravaganza was a background noise and was part of a continuous fight. In BW helicarriers fell already, there was a second of dust settling and then Nat throws away the shield (uses that capsule). Tension just fell from highest place in a movie (quite literally lol), trying to rise it again for such a short moment just doesn't work.

But that's the general problem with Marvel movies. Bombastic CGI fest as grand finale that probably is "outsourced" and then actual director comes back and needs to end movie super quickly.

disappearing act at the end

So in catws there is mystery of what will Bucky do. We are given some hope since he dragged Steve out of river and visited the museum but thats all. I mean there is this annoying Marvel thing of skipping over the interesting ending of last movie and starting with next plot point. We were hoping for the grand roadtrip/hunt for Bucky but nope. We must run ahead with all the plotlines (same way I'm sure that the Spiderman is Peter Parker and he killed a guy thing will be already dealt with in the beginning of the next movie -.-) But that's bonus mini rant.

In BW they needed to wrap up to many plot lines too quickly so Antonia wakes up and that's all. We don't get a suggestion what she may do. The problem of the chip she still has installed is omitted. There is nothing. She just fucks off to lalaland with other Black Widows the end. Because we needed ending for Nat's actual family which was ok but also kinda rushed.

As I mentioned waaaay before (god, this rant is pretty long) too many hoops to jump through.

Which really sucks because if they added that one flashback scene just for Antonia and spared few more minutes for the overall ending it would work so much more better.

And I even know where they could have saved few minutes (besides the explosions thingies). The supply guy. One extra character in a movie with too many characters. In catws the supply problem (with wings) was solved with nbd shrug. If you wanted to show that Nat has her own web of contacts it should be more than one guy. IDK in Budapest there could be 10 second scene with neighbor saying hi nice to see you again we reinforced the walls after last time. In Norway we could see her visiting some special secret supply stash run by some rando before getting to the mobile home.

But oh she was on the run so that would be too many people. Then cut the people entirely. The shitty helicopter can be worked around with joke that I'm not on speaking terms with Stark rn and that's the best we can have on short notice.

Eh.. side rant again. Sorry.

So to wrap it up. I actually really would love to see what will happen with the loose Black Widows and Antonia because here they were really underdeveloped. And while widows were more of a group hero and we have Yelena as a representative so in a way it balances out but Taskmaster needed so little extra care to make her character so much better and I'm a tiiiiiiny bit salty about it.

[moonlit-han]

these scars for you ↠ han jisung

genre: boxer!jisung au, friends to lovers, college au, almost action? pairing: han jisung x femme reader word count: 5.2k fic warnings: description of fighting, blood, injuries, and mild concussion, suggestive, swearing, mention of assault (no description), alcohol consumption by characters of age, mild angst, oh and lots of pining and fluff request: yes a/n: well, here it is—the eagerly awaited han jisung boxer au. i hope the time jumps make sense—the whole piece goes roughly chronologically, if that’s any help. enjoy! a/n.2: found a couple typos and fixed them. sorry about that!

✧ masterlist & tag list info in bio ✧

some boxing terminology (thanks, wikipedia~)

- jab: a punch in which the boxer extends their arm straight out with their palm facing the ground - uppercut: a punch thrown from below with a little swing to it—best for hitting the chin/jaw from below - hook: a punch in which the boxer holds their arm in an L  or 90o angle and rotates their body so as to land the punch while their arm comes across their body - upper-hook: a cross between an uppercut and a hook - short straight-punch: a punch executed at short range, most easily with the fist coming from the waist - knockout: when a boxer touches the mat in the ring with any other part of the body besides the feet—the referee counts to ten to give time for the boxer to stand again. if the boxer is unable to do so before the referee reaches ten, the round is ended by knockout (KO) (even if the boxer isn’t unconscious) - technical knockout: the referee or other qualified personnel decides that the boxer is not fit to safely continue due to injuries or lack of defense. also, the “three-knockdown rule”—if a boxer is knocked down thrice in a round, that is counted as a technical knockout - round: a boxing match consists of up to 12 3-minute rounds. I’ve chosen varying numbers for the matches portrayed in this fic.

↠↞

Y/N and Jisung, Jisung and Y/N. That’s how it had always been and that’s how it would always be. Jisung was sure of that much.

You were a year older than Jisung, but that hadn’t stopped you from becoming friends within fifteen minutes of meeting each other. A mere six months later, you were so close that people often thought you were siblings. As the older one, you felt well within your rights to tease Jisung as much as you wanted. You’d called him a squirrel enough times that it became a nickname for him.

You were fiercely independent and threw yourself into potentially dangerous situations with no hesitation, which Jisung thought was totally badass. And yet, Jisung insisted, absolutely insisted, on defending your honor against the wiles of other boys and then other men, saying he’d fight them. You just pushed him, saying, “I don’t need protecting, especially from a stick like you!”

The first time Jisung watched you challenge someone to a fight was in second grade (you were in third) when the most pressing issue was whether or not peanut butter should be spread on the righthand piece of bread or the lefthand piece of bread in a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He’d managed to convince you that it wasn’t worth starting a fight over—“It was a duel, Jisung”—but that hadn’t stopped you from brashly challenging anyone with whom you had an issue for many years to come.

In 8th grade, you decided that you wanted to go explore a stretch of the forest behind Jisung’s grandparents’ house. For three weekends in a row, you’d shown up at his house with an overeager smile and an insatiable desire to discover whatever treasures laid in wait amongst the trees. Jisung had agreed to go with you, if only to watch your back. By now, he was used to being the sense of safety that you seemed to lack. When you’d lost your balance for a moment while crossing a stream on a fallen tree, Jisung had nearly had a heart attack. He hadn’t thought once about his own safety, just yours. Always yours.

High school was a trial for the two of you, since your parents decided to move and, consequently, you’d gone to a different school from the one Jisung would attend a year later. As he listened to you talk about how difficult the transition was and how much you missed him, Jisung soon learned that it wasn’t just physical pain he wanted to shield you from. In the middle of your senior year, your significant other had broken up with you, saying that it wouldn’t last when you both went to college. Jisung had held you as you cried, and it was then that he knew that he would do anything in his power to prevent you from crying that much ever again. 

That was also the first time he realized that he loved you.

↠↞

“Hey, Y/N!” someone called from behind you. 

You turned round just in time to register a volleyball sailing down through the air, coming straight for your head. The next thing you knew, you were laying on the ground with the wind knocked out of you and your head throbbing. Closing your eyes for a moment, you enjoyed the relief the darkness offered.

A hand shook your shoulder and you heard distantly, as if through water or layers and layers of wool, the sound of a voice calling your name. You knew that voice—it was . . . it was . . . 

You struggled to latch onto the sound and push through the darkness that threatened to pull you down.

“Y/N! Come on, wake up. Please,” the voice begged and you felt familiar arms wrap around you.

You slowly opened your eyes and looked up into the face of you knew better than your own. Jisung had a split lip and a black eye, with blood running down his chin. It looked like he was about to cry.

Jisung sighed and pulled you to his chest when he saw that you were, indeed, awake. You were a bit startled, but he held you so gently, cradling your tender head, that you didn’t mind. 

“Oh, thank god,” Jisung breathed. “You’re okay.”

You searched for words for a moment, then said groggily, “Coursemokay.” Despite what you wanted it to do, your head lolled backward—it was a bit disturbing to have your body slightly out of your control. Jisung immediately supported your head, shaking his own as if in disbelief. After a moment, he seemed to gather himself.

“Y/N, you idiot,” Jisung grumbled. “Why did you do that? You knew he’d come after you! Seriously, don’t scare me like that.” Jisung almost seemed to be begging.

“I had to—he was bothering Lily,” you managed to say, glad to be regaining the ability to speak. Had you been knocked out?

“But you didn’t have to go punch that fucker!”

“Yeah, but he stopped bothering Lily,” you said, clearly finding some comfort in the repetition of her name. You tried to sit up, but Jisung just held you partially reclined against his chest. “Is she still okay?”

“She’s fine, but you’re not.” Jisung raked a hand through his hair. “Fucking hell, Y/N, he intentionally knocked you out. The monitor’s furious—I wouldn’t be surprised if he gets expelled. It would serve him right, after what he tried to do,” he finished darkly.

You just stared up at Jisung for a long time, taking in the familiar lines of his face that were now more pronounced than when he was younger. It was as if the world had hardened him somehow, but it made him look sleek like marble instead of weathered.

“But how did you get a split lip?”

“Don’t worry about,” Jisung tried laughed, but it sounded forced to you.

“Jisung.”

“What else was I supposed to do?” he exclaimed and tears began to run down his face. “I have to protect you. You’re all I’ve got!”

You didn’t know what to say. It was as if time had stopped but you were still spinning through space, a comet destined for impact on a new planet of understanding. You felt wetness on your face and realized that Jisung’s tears were falling onto your cheeks, as if you were crying, too. 

You’re all I’ve got. What did he . . . 

Just then, the field monitor came over and all thoughts fled your mind. 

“What happened here?” he said sternly as he approached. “Why is L/N on the ground? Han, explain.”

Jisung gulped and then launched into a rambling explanation of the events that led to that moment. The monitor looked shocked when Jisung accused the boys’ volleyball team captain of attempted assault on a member of the girls’ volleyball team. Of course, Jisung was proud when you’d confronted the guy, threatening him with physical violence yourself and the prospect of exposure. Granted, Jisung had been worried when you told him that you’d punched someone nearly twice your size (but not too worried). The important thing was that you’d defended someone and saved them from harm.

When Jisung said that the captain had then thrown a ball directly at your head from close range, the monitor almost screeched.

“You’re telling me that another student deliberately sought and succeeded in harming Miss L/N?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly it. What’s so unclear about it?” Jisung was incredulous. You tried to move to lightly shove him, but your coordination was still suspect. Jisung smoothed your hair with shaking hands, and helped you sit up a bit.

After taking a deep breath, the monitor knelt. “You’re right, Han, there’s nothing unclear about this situation.”

The captain of the boys’ volleyball team was expelled shortly thereafter.

The very next week, at the young age of seventeen, Han Jisung decided to learn how to box so he could better protect you from anything that came your way.

↠↞

The roar of the crowd was like nothing else Jisung had ever experienced. People screamed encouragement, jeers, threats, and love confessions from the bleachers surrounding the boxing ring in which he and his opponent would soon face off. He’d known it would be loud, but not this loud. This was Jisung’s first official match outside of practice, and even though he knew he was more than prepared with Changbin as his teacher, Jisung still felt a little nervous. After all, he was only eighteen years old. 

“You’ve got this, Ji,” Changbin said, patting Jisung’s shoulder as they waited for the referee’s signal to mount the platform. “Just remember what we planned. You’re quick and smaller than him, which gives you something to work with. You can come in under his reach more easily. You’re gonna be fine, I promise.”

“Yeah, okay,” Jisung muttered, trying to tear his eyes away from the man who’d just walked over to the other side of the ring. His opponent had on the customary red shorts to mark him as a higher rank than Jisung, who wore blue. The guy had even dyed his hair red, as if to say that no one was better than him.

“Just breathe—it’s only going to be eight rounds,” Changbin continued. “You’ve gone fifteen with Dan and still won, so this guy’s nothing to worry about. Plus, you’ve got Felix as your second.”

He was about to respond, but the referee motioned to both boxers to enter the ring. Jisung made sure the straps on his gloves were secure, set his shoulders, and took a deep breath. And, he thought of you. After all, you were everything he was fighting for.

↠↞

Jisung collapsed back onto the couch in your apartment, absolutely exhausted. You were in the other room getting your books to study, and all Jisung wanted was to rest. It was a Thursday, after all, and he didn’t have classes on Fridays. His phone vibrated with a text.

bro: hey, great job at practice today! make sure to ice and let me know if you need anything before tomorrow’s match jisung: thanks. i’ll be fine changbin. gotta go—i’m at y/n’s rn bro: have fun 😉

Jisung ignored that last text, since Changbin knew full well that there could never be anything between him and you. Ever since you’d gone off to college, you’d made it clear that there was only one man for you, and his name was Lee Minho. Damn, that bastard. Jisung just really wanted to punch him. 

That didn’t stop Jisung from harboring tender feelings for you, though. Now that Jisung was also in college, and at the same one as you, he’d been determined to stick to your side like a burr. Minho had commented on this just once before you’d shut him down, explaining that Jisung was like a brother to you and that Minho had nothing to worry about. Minho, though, was not convinced and watched Jisung like a hawk anytime he was around.

“Fuck this!” you yelled, coming out of your bedroom. “I’m done, so done.”

“You good, Y/N?” Jisung said warily.

You flopped down on the couch next to him. “I’ll be fine,” you grumbled. “I just can’t study tonight.”

Jisung perked up at that. “So,” he drawled, “movie night?”

“God, please,” you begged, holding your head in your hands. “I just need something mindless. Were you just at the gym?” You’d clearly noticed that Jisung’s hair was wet and he was wearing his usual I-can’t-be-bothered-to-pick-out-an-outfit outfit of jeans and a sleeveless shirt. Since when did your little squirrel have biceps that nice?

“Yeah.” He ruffled your hair as he stood up. “Do you still have that cider I brought over last weekend?” Jisung called, heading into the kitchen. 

“It’s in the fridge, right where you left it. Get me some popcorn, too!”

Jisung rummaged in the refrigerator as you, presumably, began to scroll through your choices of shows and movies. A few minutes later, Jisung came back with popcorn, water, and the hard cider. 

“Are you okay with watching a sappy drama?” you asked as he sat down again. 

“Depends on which one,” Jisung answered, looking suspiciously over at you.

“Soooo, does that mean we can watch Miss Panda and Mr. Hedgehog?”

“Oh god, no. No, no!!” Jisung exclaimed, taking the remote from your hands. “It’s too sappy! Plus, I’ll just crave more sweets after watching it.”

“I mean, they’re baking in it, so it makes sense,” you said, reaching across his chest to grab for the remote. “Are you sure we can’t watch it?”

Jisung just held the remote out of your reach above his head. “Nope.”

“Pleeeeease.” You were whining now, not caring if you sounded like a five year-old. Jisung leaned away from you, still holding the remote out of reach. You stood up, pushed the coffee table back, and put your hands on your hips. “Han Jisung, could you please give me the remote?”

“Eh,” Jisung said, grinning, “don’t think so. This is more fun.”

You lunged forward then, and Jisung had to lean backward out of the way. With his arm thrown back over his shoulder and you standing in front of him, there wasn’t much he could do. Plus, he was trying not to notice the neckline of your tank top as it was directly in front of his face. He tried lightly kicking your ankles, but you didn’t move. You grabbed at the remote, still leaning over him, but Jisung managed to pass it back and forth between his hands. Finally, you stood back, crossing your arms. Jisung let out a sigh of relief—that had been a tense few moments. 

“Jisung,” you wheedled, “please? I just want to relax!”

“I do, too!” Jisung wasn’t quite annoyed, but he was getting there. He rested his arms behind his head, waving the remote lazily from side to side. “Let’s just watch something a little less fluffy than Miss Panda and Mr. Hedgehog, okay?”

You pouted. Jisung pouted right back at you, making you giggle. Ah, victory. 

Then, you lunged forward again and caught both of his wrists. Holding them together above his head, you shook his hands so he’d let go of the remote. Jisung decided to give in, even though he could have easily broken your hold. 

“Damn, Y/N. I wouldn’t want to fight you. You’re pretty feisty,” he said, as if he didn’t already know that from years of bailing you out of fights. He looked up into your face—your cheeks were a little flushed.

You just glared down at him, still holding his wrists above his head. “I’ll make you a deal,” you said. “I’ll watch whatever you want to if we can watch three episodes of Miss Panda and Mr. Hedgehog.”

“Sure,” Jisung said, realizing belatedly that his breath was coming a bit faster than normal.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

You let go of his wrists, which his shook a little for effect, then went to retrieve the remote from behind the sofa. 

Is it weird that was a total turn on? Jisung thought, running a hand through his hair. Fucking hell.

↠↞

“Minho, really. What the hell?” you demanded of your boyfriend.

“Y/N, if you’re going to moon over Jisung at every opportunity, I don’t think we should date anymore,” Minho said flatly.

“I don’t moon! He’s my best friend!”

“Whatever, Y/N, you do. I think you should reevaluate your feelings and priorities. In the meantime, I’m going. You’re wonderful and I loved you, but I can’t stay anymore. I wish you the best, Y/N.” 

With that, Lee Minho walked out the door of your apartment, closing it carefully behind himself. You stood there, staring blankly at the door.

Reevaluate my feelings and priorities? you thought. What exactly—

A knock on your apartment door jolted you out of your reverie. “Come in,” you called, knowing it was probably Jisung. It was.

“Where was Minho going?” he asked immediately. “He didn’t look happy. Did you two have a fight?”

“He just broke up with me, Jisung,” you said, unable to muster any emotion. You’d had a feeling that your relationship was coming to an end, but you hadn’t expected Minho to just walk out like that. You sighed.

“What?” Jisung burst out. “He just straight-up left you? What the fuck?”

“He said I needed to reevaluate my feelings and priorities. That was it.”

Jisung strode forward and enveloped you in a hug, ignoring your protests and wiggling. Finally, you stopped and put your arms around your best friend, leaning your head on his chest. You could hear his heart pounding. And then, it was like something inside you broke at the feeling of warm, protective arms around you. 

You started to cry. Jisung just held you, gently rubbing your back and telling you that everything would okay. Eventually, when you’d cried yourself into hiccups, Jisung let go of you. 

“Y/N,” he began, his voice low. “Don’t think about Minho. You had a good time while it lasted, but it’s done now. I don’t think he’ll be coming back.” He wiped the last remaining tears from your face, and, like an annoyed cat, you wrinkled your nose at being touched. “Let’s go get some dinner and then watch whatever sappy drama you’re into now, okay?”

You nodded your head as Jisung guided you to the couch to sit down. “Here,” he said gently, “let me get you some water and then we’ll go.”

As you sat there, sniffing occasionally, you thought of just how lucky you were to have Jisung in your life. Even though you teased him and had, when you were younger, pushed him around, he really was ever-present in your life. And, he’d always protected you and stood up for you. Why couldn’t have Minho been like that?

↠↞

A month later, you stopped by Jisung and Felix’s apartment for your usual gaming and movie night. Felix let you in, sunny as ever, and you made a beeline for the bathroom. You’d been there so many times that you didn’t exactly need to observe the usual niceties.

Taking out your earbuds, you opened the door and—

There before your eyes was Jisung. But this was not Jisung as you usually saw him. 

No, this was a very wet and very naked Han Jisung getting out of the shower.

Holy fuck.

You hurriedly slammed the door, but not before he realized that you’d seen him.

Your face beet-red, you practically sprinted back down the hall to the living room and Felix. “Why didn’t you tell me he was in the shower?” you all but yelled. 

“I didn’t know!” Felix said. Seeing your face, he burst out laughing. “You walked in on him, didn’t you.”

“Fucking hell, Felix. What do you think?”

Felix just continued to laugh.

With your mind racing faster than a bullet train, you sat down on the familiar couch. 

Well, you thought, I now know more about Jisung than I ever thought I would. Not that you were complaining, though. The mental picture of your best friend flashed—and stuck—before your eyes: abs for days, toned pecs, muscular legs, biceps that looked like ripe peaches, and . . . yeah. Nice. All very . . . nice. You hoped your mental math was correct.

But what about all those bruises on his chest and stomach? you wondered. They aren’t hickeys, that’s for sure. And were those scars? How the hell did he get those? You couldn’t figure it out.

After a few minutes, Jisung came out of his bedroom, toweling his hair dry. You tried not to stare at his arms. What the hell was going on? Get it together, Y/N, you told yourself.

“J— Jisung?” you began, stammering in your embarrassment.

“Yeah?” he said, completely casual as he leaned back in a chair. 

“Um, sorry I walked in on you. But, what were all those bruises? And the scars?”

In the kitchen, Felix stopped what he was doing to listen.

Jisung sighed and let the front legs of his chair fall to the ground again. He looked like what he was about to say would be, somehow, painful. “Don’t bite my head off, Y/N, okay?” he said.

“Why would I—” you began, but Jisung interrupted you.

“You’ll understand.” He took a deep breath. “I’m a boxer. I’ve been boxing since senior year of high school, with Changbin teaching me, and now I’m even in tournaments. I’ve even won a few. Remember when you got hit in the head by that volleyball? I started right after that. I started because I wanted to be able to protect you.

“All I’ve ever wanted to do is protect you, Y/N. It also happened to be fun. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to laugh at me or tell me to stop because you thought you could stand up for yourself with no problem. I know you can, but I wanted to be able to be there for you, too. So, here I am: a boxer.”

You stared at Jisung. A boxer? You weren’t quite sure what to say, but Jisung gave you a minute to process. You could see him trying to read your expression.

“So, when will you take me to a match?” you said eventually.

Jisung spluttered. “What? No! Hell no, Y/N. It’s loud and some of the fans are kind of crazy, and I just don’t think you’d like it.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” you said firmly. “When’s your next match?”

↠↞

You walked into the gymnasium in which the boxing matches were held and were immediately surprised. High in the seats, someone had a banner with J.One written on it. Jisung had told you that was what he went by in the boxing world. You looked around, following Felix to just behind where he and the rest of Jisung’s group would sit side-ring. Taking a seat, you noticed the first aid stations, the ropes, everything.

After what seemed like forever, the crowd roared as Jisung and his opponent for the night, Luke, came into the venue. You cheered along with everyone else, and were surprised that your best friend had this much of a following. He was pretty cool in his red shorts. Yet again, you found yourself trying not to stare at his muscles, but it was so hard not to when they were just there for all to see.

The match was to be a full twelve rounds. At the start of the first round, you leaned forward in your seat, trying to catch exactly what Jisung was doing and planning. Round after round went on, flying by quicker than you could’ve imagined. By Round Seven, you were on your feet, hands over your mouth. It was a close match.

↠↞

Jisung climbed the three stairs up to the platform and ducked under the ropes. This was it. His first match with you watching. He could do you and Changbin proud.

The bell rang and Jisung squared off against his opponent. He’d read up on the man, and knew that he should be okay if he kept moving. Jisung darted around the ring for the first minute, occasionally landing a punch here and there. His opponent jeered, calling him “milksop” and “green bastard,” but Jisung didn’t let that phase him. He was young but he’s wasn’t green anymore. By minute three, the other man was tiring from always being on the offensive, his obvious cockiness and, perhaps, anger getting the better of him. One arm was even drooping. How was this guy even any good? Jisung thought. 

Then, Jisung circled round to the side and took his opponent’s momentary lapse in readiness as an opportunity to land two blows on the man’s exposed shoulder, jarring the muscles. This would slow the man down even more. However, Jisung misjudged the strength the man had and, seconds later, ended up on the ground with the referee beginning the count of ten. He’d received two quick punches to the gut and one to chin—how he hadn’t been able to defend himself, he couldn’t guess—and was now quite unable to stand. 

“Knockout! End of round,” the referee shouted, and the crowd cheered. 

After a moment, Jisung struggled to his feet, cursing himself for a fool. He’d been tricked by one of the oldest ploys in the book: act weak and come out strong. As he hung on the ropes, Changbin passed water up to him and Jisung took a few sips, wiping his brow.

“So,” Changbin said casually, “did you figure out what went wrong?”

“Fuck, Changbin, of course I did. He got me when I thought he wasn’t strong enough to.”

“Just because Y/N’s here, doesn’t mean you can’t lose, Jisung. Focus. Don’t misjudge your opponent—there’s almost always a little something you don’t know, even if you’ve studied everything you can about them.” The beep signaling thirty seconds until Round Two sounded, and Changbin took back the water bottle. “Don’t worry about it—everyone goes down hard sometimes, you know that. Now go out there and prove you’re the damn good boxer I know you are.”

Jisung donned his gloves again, then stepped into his corner of the ring. His opponent leered at him. Did this guy never let up?

Still bobbing and weaving when necessary, he waited. The bell rang to signal the end of Round Five with both men still standing. They’d traded blows back and forth and Jisung was one round behind his opponent.

The bell rang for the start of the twelfth and final round, and Jisung tried to watch the other man with new eyes. Was he slower on his right side that his left? Was that just a birthmark or an old bruise? Could he really not bounce off the ropes as well as expected?

Yes. Jisung was certain of it all now.

His opponent went to jab, but Jisung blocked the punch and executed an uppercut to the other man’s chin. While he was still in close, Jisung followed this up with a short straight-punch to the ribs, where a bad bruise was clearly fading, and a hook to the side of the jaw. The other man was now disoriented and Jisung easily landed punch after punch, ending Round Twelve with a strong upper-hook. The referee counted ten as the bragging, red-haired man lay on the ground, Jisung watching from his corner of the ring. 

“Knockout! End of round!” 

Jisung slumped against the ropes, catching his breath. Blood ran down his chin from what was probably a tooth knocked out. His ribs hurt like fire, too. Taking another deep breath, he made his way off the platform. Changbin was there immediately with a towel and water.

“I think you’ve won, man!” he said excitedly. “You landed more accurate punches than that punch-out.”

“We’ll see,” Jisung conceded. Then, he tried laugh but his ribs hurt too much. “Turns out he could talk better than he could punch.”

Changbin smiled, patting Jisung on the back, and led him over to a chair. The fight doctor came over and started to examine Jisung. The judges deliberated for a few minutes, then came to their decision. Changbin had been right. Jisung managed to land more accurate punches than his opponent, which meant that, even though he’d been knocked out in the first round, he still had more points to his name. 

Jisung had won. He grinned, and turned round to face you.

↠↞

Jisung turned his blood-covered face up to you when the judges announced his victory. Changbin and Felix were motioning for you to come down to the floor, too. You were beaming, not daring to believe the excitement and flutters of your heart.

You reached your best friend and, completely disregarding the orders of the fight doctor, swung you up into his arms. In no way did you care that your clothes were now covered in sweat, water, and blood because you were Jisung, and that’s all that mattered. You carefully hugged Jisung back, then he drew back slightly and smirked. 

“See? I can fight,” he said. 

“Yeah? Hmm, I guess you’re all right,” you laughed. 

“Good,” Jisung murmured, then leaned in and caught your lips with his. You froze for a moment. When your mind caught up with reality, you kissed him back. You felt your insides fill with elation and what felt like sunlight, even as you tasted the faint traces of blood on Jisung’s lip. All of this felt right: you, Jisung, and some sort of fight happening. But now, you could add kisses to that list—a necessary addition, you thought with a smile. After all, you and Jisung against all odds was how it’d always been and always would be. 

[minecraftsz]

i’m a simple man i see technoblade and i pog. but after scrolling through most of the takes on the dash i wanna share my thoughts :) kinda long lol

i really liked it! it was a pretty fun stream! i think it dragged and got a bit repetitive during the whole “we’re going to stop you! oh - oh...” thing at the end tho because like the main gist of that was just. the egg is more powerful than any of these guys, which probably could have been established faster? like the two with the most impact were hannah switching sides + telling the eggpire abt the armor and foolish trying and failing to smite the egg, because that led to him taking eret’s place. it was ridiculous though, which was fun enough to make it pretty much a non-issue.

i think q coming in was cool, and i see a lot of people being bummed abt skeppy not being mentioned at all. which i kinda agree with. but i think this was really impactful (as long as you know bbh) just because through quackity’s repetition that the egg CLEARLY isn’t giving him anything it’s made obvious to the audience that EVERYONE knows this - like, bad would know if he wasn’t gaining anything (he’s not stupid!), so there must be some motivation the other characters aren’t aware of. which we know! it’s skeppy! it’s so obviously skeppy! bad is with the egg because of skeppy, which makes it frustrating - for us and for him - for quackity and everyone else to just not see that, and to not even try to see that. it reinforces this conflict between them and garners sympathy for bad, and i think it creates this really interesting character dynamic precisely because it seems like q really does care about bad! (like, if you care about him so much, why aren’t you trying to see his side?)

however. we’ve seen an interaction like this two or three times now - it doesn’t develop much, it just reinforces what was already there. it would have been really cool if bad spoke up and told quackity why he was still with the egg (and for q to actually listen), or if skeppy appeared - or honestly if anything changed? but most of these characters came into the banquet with the same amount of knowledge they had leaving it. it’s still us v them, with little sympathy from either side.

as for techno. i cant speak bad of him so sorry if this is biased. but i thought him allying with q did one really important thing: it showed just how much of a threat the egg was. for techno to get involved with the guy that used state violence to execute him? it shows how dangerous people think it is! and that probably puts a little too much focus on techno Within the egg arc - like, if THIS guy cares enough, well then it’s ACTUALLY a threat! - and tbh idk if im a huge fan of that. i am like a designated technoblade stan though so i wont lie and say that i didn’t get really excited when he showed up, and honestly i do hope he gets more involved just from a syndicate perspective? like, the egg is a massive, oppressive threat, and it would be weird if the Anarchist Book Club didn’t do anything about it. i wish hed have brought weapons for niki. theyre allies :( i just hope that if techno does get involved it’s a little more balanced, which might be difficult considering how different their rp styles are (campy vs nonchalant).

(omg tho. bad after the banquet reconsidering everything was such a good moment)

ok overall i am sad the eggpire lost! i wish they had a big win now that would necessitate someone else coming in like q and techno did later. maybe if they killed some more people. maybe if the smp members shed a little more skin. you know. i was hoping for this to be the coin drop dream was talking abt a little while ago but i guess not T_T it was a fun stream! but i wish more happened

[sluttyten]

This Dance

summary: you’re a trainee close to debut under SM, Ten is a very helpful sunbae who helps teach you how to dance better, becomes your best friend, and becomes a lot more.

words: 12,373

tags: idol!verse, friends to lovers, secret relationship (kinda), face riding, oral sex, loss of virginity, etc.

Ten was there to witness your great breakdown. Stress and many sleepless nights, a lacking diet, and your personal failure to do seemingly anything right brought on a bought of hyperventilation and tears and an aching chest, so you stole quickly from the practice room before the other trainees or your trainer could see.

The hallway wasn’t nearly enough of a private place to deal with the panic coursing through you, so you ducked away, wiping at your tears, barely able to see or breathe, so you definitely had no idea where you were going.

And then you bumped right into Ten as he was coming out of one of the other practice rooms.

“Oh, hey.” He caught you before you could fall. 

A few other boys gathered in the doorway behind them, and feeling all of them gazing at you, all of them judging you and your tears only made everything worse for you. So you just dropped down into a crouch, trying to fit your head between your knees so you could maybe finally breathe.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Ten knelt down in front of you, clearly somewhat uncomfortable as well with your display of emotions. He hesitated to touch you, but when you gave a great wheeze, he took hold of both of your wrists, and you looked up at him. “Breathe with me.”

Ten took a deep breath, held it, and then let it flow out slowly. You tried your best to match it, but it was difficult, and it took a few repetitions before you could manage your shaky breaths in time with his. His thumbs stroked the soft skin of your wrists, his eyes locked with yours as he helped you regulate your breathing. 

At some point you noticed that it was just the two of you. The other members of WayV had left. Just Ten holding your wrists, helping you breathe, and when that was under control, you fell back onto your bum.

“What’s wrong?” Ten asks again, his voice so gentle. Tears still drip from your eyes, trailing down your cheeks, from the tip of your nose and chin. Ten carefully reaches over, cautiously swipes the pad of his thumb under your eyes, and then he pinches his sleeve between his fingers to dab at your tears. “Is it the training?”

You nod, choking down a breath, blinking away the tears as best you can. “It’s just a lot. But I don’t need to tell you that, you’ve been through it too.”

“Every experience is different for everyone.” Ten’s sleeves are warm against your cheeks, dry and comforting. You want to lean into him, but at the same time you are brutally aware of the impropriety of this interaction. He’s your senior in the company, a debuted famous idol, and you’re just a trainee who is failing.

“i’m just so bad at everything.” You sigh, sniffling a bit. “Jihye keeps telling me that my timing is off with the song. I know I’m messing up the choreo. And she keep telling me to lose weight, but I’m already--”

Ten shakes his head. “You don’t need to lose weight. You look perfect just the way you are. Well, you’re a little too damp right now, but once your cheeks dry a bit more, you’re perfectly perfect.”

Your face feels like it catches fire at the compliments. They’re certainly nothing that you ever expected to hear from Ten. 

“And as for the choreo, I could help you out with that a little, if you’d like. I’m actually, miraculously not too busy right now.” Ten slips his phone out of his pocket and glances down at it, then looks back at you. 

“Are you serious? Why would you help me? I’m just a trainee, and not even a very good one. Why help me?” 

“I’ve been there.” Ten nods. “Stressed and feeling inadequate. It’s shitty. And I’ve seen you and the others training. You’re good, I promise, but you do need just a little bit of work, and I’d like to help because I think I can and stuff.”

His and stuff seems like a bit of a weak answer, but as your tears dry sticky on your face, you don’t mind the weakness of his answer because you want it. You want Ten to help you train, to help you improve to the standard you need to be at to debut.

“I want to say yes.” You tell him, “But I think right now I should get back in there before they notice and I get in trouble. Hanna and Heeyoung unnie definitely saw me leaving.”

“Of course, but if you still want, just let me know.” Ten rises to his feet.

You sit down there for a second longer, looking up at him. 

“I’ll be around, so don’t give up on all this. Next time you’re feeling a bit--” He makes a face and kinda wiggles his fingers in a way like static coming from his head. “--frazzled, come find me. I’ll help you out.”

So you return to the practice room with a bit more confidence, and also the hope that soon you’ll be able to take Ten up on that offer.

That opportunity comes a week later. 

You’re surviving the day on exactly one hour and fourteen minutes of sleep, several bottles of water, a handful of vitamins, and pure will to remain as a trainee in this company. While several of the other girls, especially the younger ones, have headed home for the night, you decided to hang back with Miyeon, your closest friend among the trainees.

But she’s currently dozing off in the corner while you drip sweat in the middle of the room, staring down your reflection to analyze your every move as the song plays on repeat from the speakers. 

“Can we go home yet?” Miyeon groans. “I’m tired, it’s getting late. We’ll be back here tomorrow. Let’s just go rest.”

But you can’t rest, no matter how much your body begs you for a break. You have to perfect this. 

“You go.” You tell her, taking a few seconds to catch your breath, gulp down some water to quiet the hungry rumbles of your belly. “

“I’m not going to leave you here to work yourself to the bone, dummy. And also, knowing you, you’re going to actually work at this until you pass out or hurt yourself in some way. I’m here to supervise.” 

You wipe at the sweat under your chin. “You’re falling asleep over there, so you’re not doing a very good job of supervision, Miyeon.”

She frowns at you, but stands up, grabs her bag from beside her, and slips into her jacket. “Fine, I’m leaving, but if I wake up in the morning and you’re not in that bed across from mine, I’m going to beat your ass, okay?”

“Yeah, I’ve got it.” You stretch your arms over your head. “I’ll just be here for a little bit longer, then I’ll be safe and asleep in the dorm. Swear.”

Miyeon holds you to that promise when she stretches out her pinky to you and waits for you to wrap your pinky finger around hers. You stamp your thumbs together to seal the promise.

She’s been gone for maybe a song and a half when you hear the door open behind you. You spin around, ready to tell her off, when you notice that it’s not Miyeon standing in the doorway watching, but Ten instead.

“Your shoulders are too tense. That’s why that move looks weird.” Ten tells you then he walks forward, leaving the doorway behind to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with you. “Watch.”

And then he perfectly executes the choreography you’ve been struggling with for the past few days. 

“That’s not fair!” You groan, collapsing onto the floor with your legs folded in front of you. “How are you just going to come in here and do it that easily on the first try?”

“Loosen up. You’re thinking about it too much, you just need to feel the music, let it move you.” He takes a deep breath, holds it, then lets it out. You mimic the motion, but Ten shakes his head. “You’re still tense. Stand up again.” Ten offers his hand down to you, and you place your hand in his, let him help you to your feet. 

When Ten smiles, his eyes shimmer.

“Now, I want you to shake out the tension with me.” 

He holds out his arms and starts moving them, shaking them, whipping his head around, bouncing on his feet. He looks silly, but relaxed and happy. You feel silly when you start doing it too. Like Ten just looks so loose and everything, and now that you’re doing this, you feel how tense you are, the stiffness in your arms. But as you shake it out with Ten, a laugh bubbles its way up to your lips, and when it breaks free, Ten laughs too, looking up at you as you both shake out the tension, your body growing looser.

“Now dance!” Ten laughs, stopping the silly moves and sliding right into the choreography to match with the music that’s been playing all this time in the background.

You hear the music, feel it like a thread slipping through your ear, streaming down into your body, and you move. You watch yourself in the mirror and you watch Ten beside you, and for the first time you feel like you’re doing it right. You feel the difference in before and now, the ease with which you let the moves move you. 

As the song ends, Ten turns to you. “Perfect!” 

You laugh and wrap your arms around him, dragging him into a tight and happy hug. “Thank you. I know it’s silly, but that really did help.” 

Ten’s arm curls around your waist. “Happy to help.” His breath is warm on your cheek, his heartbeat pounds against yours, and all at once you’re reminded that he’s your senior, you’re a trainee, and you’ve been practicing like this for hours and you’re drenched in sweat.

You step back quickly.

A few more hours pass, Ten helping you with choreography, but mostly it’s just the two of you goofing around, dancing to whatever songs he plays. It’s getting late--or maybe getting early--so finally you call it quits. 

“I have to get back to the dorm. I swore to Miyeon I’d actually get some sleep tonight.” You press your back to the mirror, sink down to the floor. “Though, I am half-tempted to just stay right here and fall asleep.”

“Don’t do that. Come on.” Ten offers you his hand again, and you take it to let him pull you to your feet. “Don’t let Miyeon down. And if you’re just reluctant to leave my wonderful company, don’t worry. I’ll be back.”

Every night for the next week, when the other trainees leave, and it’s only you left in the practice room, Ten arrives. You spend hours together dancing and laughing. Ten gets you to take breaks to just relax for a few minutes watching funny videos or just talking, sometimes he convinces you to eat with him, sometimes he sings, sometimes he convinces you to perform for him too.

Before long you realize that Ten’s more than just mentoring you. He’s not just helping you through this training period, he’s become a friend. You look forward to seeing him, and in those rare moments when you’re in your bed at the dorm scrolling through your phone, you sometimes see things that you know Ten would like to see. So sometimes you send them to him. He always replies. Sometimes he sends you funny things as well. 

And then one morning, after a practice that ran nearly all night, Jihye hangs around later than normal to perfect her facial expressions while performing the choreography, and just as she’s walking toward the door to leave, Ten walks in looking freshly scrubbed, wide awake even though the world outside is only just waking.

“Oh?” He looks at her and then looks at you. “Hello.”

She greets him respectfully, throws a curious look back at you, and then cocks her head slightly to the side, but she says nothing. She just excuses herself and leaves you and Ten alone in the room. 

You turn away from the mirrors, grab your phone and your bag, and then you face him with a wide smile breaking across your face. “Ten! I wanted to tell you . . .” Before you can say anything else, you yawn.

“Tired?” Ten asks.

You shake your head, but the yawn that immediately follows the first betrays your lie. “Okay, I’m a little tired. I definitely can’t do any more practice with you this morning.”

Ten shakes his head. “I wouldn’t expect you to. But do you want to get breakfast instead? My treat?”

“Oh, well, if you’re paying, then of course I want some.” You bounce toward him. “I need some coffee and probably something delicious to eat. What do you think?”

Ten buries his hands in the pockets of his black jacket, shrugs his shoulders, and tells you, “I thought we’d just see where the morning takes us.”

You’re actually not sure where the morning takes you.

The city is still half asleep as you walk out of the building and start down the street. Ten sticks close to your side, warm in the chilly dawn light, and when you shiver he makes you stop so he can give you the hoodie he wears under his jacket. 

“What were you thinking not having a jacket in this weather?” He clucks at you, and you never took Ten for a mother hen sort, but he chastises you even as he hands you the hoodie still warm from his body, smelling like his body wash. You try your best to not make it obvious that you’re trying to inhale the scent of him from the fabric.

Ten leads you along streets, wandering with you until the sun begins to peer over the city, painting the sides of buildings golden, turning shadows blue, and when the sweet, delicious scent of freshly brewed coffee greets your noses, you duck inside a cafe.

It seems a magical little shop with a wall of french windows looking out onto a garden. Cute tables fill the shop, shelves line the walls, old bulbs hang from the ceiling and drape along the walls, and flowers decorate each table. You find a cushiony rounded booth in a corner of the place, and you sink into it while Ten orders something to drink for both of you. 

You’re not falling asleep, but you are zoning out by the time that Ten arrives at the table with two steaming drinks. He slides in beside you, his shoulder against yours. You lift the drink to your face, inhale deeply the aroma of coffee and cream, and you take a sip before sitting it back down on the table.

Ten laughs quietly, and when you look over at him, he reaches up to wipe his thumb right above your top lip. His thumb comes away with some foam, and you watch as he brings his thumb to his own mouth. You stare as he sucks his thumb clean, and even once he lowers his hand, you can’t look away from his mouth until he clears his throat and turns back to his drink on the table.

You sigh, turning to the side as you sink against the back of the booth, resting your chin on the soft cushioniness of it. “I think I’m really sleepy. The coffee’s not working.”

“Do you want me to help you to your dorm?” Ten asks. 

“Not yet.” You shake your head. “I wanted to tell you something earlier.”

Ten takes a sip from his mug. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You sit up as you stifle another yawn. “We got the news while we were practicing earlier. We get to debut. All five of us.”

There’s a loud clang as he sits his mug down hard on the little saucer. “That’s amazing! Do you know anything else yet?”

You smile, unable to fight it. You’re so excited, and it’s all thanks to Ten, you feel like. Without his help, there’s no way that you would’ve been able to improve as much as you have over the last few weeks, and there’s no way that you would have been good enough that SM would want to debut you. 

“All we know is that we’re debuting, and we’re not going to be put into NCT.” You laugh, fighting back another yawn. You drop your head onto his shoulder. “It’s all thanks to you, Ten. Thank you.”

“What did I do?” His voice is soft.

You know you should probably sit up, stop using his shoulder as a pillow, but he’s comfy and you’re tired and you don’t want to. So you leave your head there as you tell him, “You encouraged me to not give up. All these nights of practicing with you, you’ve really helped me. Without you, I wouldn’t have been able to do this.”

“I think you’re underestimating yourself. And what would Heeyoung noona think if you didn’t attribute anything to her? I know for a fact that she’s been trying to help you too.”

You push at his arm then, and sit up. “Just take my thanks, Ten. Thank you for being wonderful, for being kind and helpful. Thank you for the coffee. Thank you for wiping my tears that day and supporting me ever since then.”

He ducks his head, but still you see the way his cheeks flush pink. “Just drink your coffee, so I can get you home. And I hope you enjoy it because the next time we get coffee you’re going to be the one paying, in the best new girl group in the industry.”

Leading up to and after debut, you don’t get the chance to see Ten nearly as much. For one thing, you’re constantly busy, and he’s pretty busy as well. 

Heeyoung, Jihye, Miyeon, and Hanna are all pretty good company as well as your other staff members, but you miss Ten. Even though you message each other whenever you can, it’s not enough. It’s only occasional messages, usually with long lulls in between responses.

There’s a show that the five of you are invited to where the hosts play a song and you have to dance along to the song. Everyone had expected that Jihye and Miyeon were going to be the aces of the game, but you surprised everyone. Those many nights practicing with Ten had given you an extensive knowledge of dances for a lot of the more popular songs. 

When the five of you did a VLive the day after that episode aired, several fans were asking questions to just get to know you better. Some asked questions about how close you were with other artists in the company.

“You’re really close with WayV’s Ten, aren’t you?” Jihye asks, nudging you. 

You look at her for a few seconds, wondering why she’s decided to say that. If people misconstrue that, it won’t be good for you. The last thing you need as a rookie is to be in a scandalous rumored relationship with Ten. Why couldn’t she have mentioned that you and her are actually quite close with Yeri as well, and Taeyong was close to all of you, kind of like an older brother.

“Yeah,” You shrug at the camera. “Ten’s a good friend, a good dancer. When we were trainees he helped me practice my dancing. Taeyong oppa is really wonderful too. And Yeri, like we just had dinner with her the other night.”

Luckily, the other girls leap onto that bit, gushing to the fans about dinner with Yeri and all the fun it had been. You sit there and pray that everyone will skip over the part about Ten.

Of course they don’t. Shortly after the live is over, you’re online and you see many fans talking about Jihye’s comment, talking about you and Ten and your friendship that they really know nothing about. You even see screenshots and clips and gifs of you talking about him, fans suddenly shipping you together which - okay, weird, but even weirder the way it makes you feel kinda fluttery inside but also gross and watched and judged - and then you see that Ten did an Instalive where fans asked him about you which only fed their fire.

But you don’t get the chance to talk to him or see him until a few weeks later. It’s late and you’re at the practice room to perfect the choreo you and the girls are practicing for a performance you have coming up.

Hanna begs for a break so she can go pee, and as she runs from the room, you see a shape lingering outside the door, looking in.

Ten.

The other girls are gathered around your choreographer, not paying you any attention, so you slip unnoticed from the room.

“Ten!”

“Hey,” He smiles. “I heard you were practicing, so I just wanted to come watch for a minute.”

You sink back to lean against the wall. “And? What did you think?”

“You’re good.” Ten smiles an adorable yet cocky thing. “You must’ve had a good teacher.”

With a laugh, you push at his shoulder, and tease him, “Miyeon and Jihye have taught me so well. Just them, no one else.”

“Oh, really? Because I’ve heard it a little different. And I remember it a little different.” He steps closer to you as Hanna comes bolting back past to squeeze through the door of the practice room. “I remember late nights, just us dancing until you physically couldn’t dance anymore.”

“I miss those nights,” You admit quietly, looking him in the eye as you say, “I miss hanging out with you, both of us sweaty and exhausted and honestly pretty gross, but those were the best times.”

Ten smiles and makes a little face like he can’t believe you would admit to something so cheesy as missing him. And then he softly says, “Me too. You should probably get back in there.” He nods toward the door, and when you look, you see Hanna and Miyeon staring through the glass pane at you and Ten. “I’ll text you later.”

No sooner have you entered the practice room again than the girls all begin teasing you, and no amount of you insisting that “It’s not like that!” they don’t stop until you’re feeling positively flushed, your stomach fluttery and funny, and the thought clings to the back of your mind, is it like that?

The next time you get to see Ten you’re on the verge of another breakdown.

You’ve not had a proper sleep for a week, nor a proper meal in nearly as long. Your group has wholly been a success, and because of that, your schedule as you prepare for this comeback has been extremely taxing on you mentally and physically. Your emotions are a wreck, your body aches and feels heavy. You’re fatigued, but there’s no opportunity for rest. They’ve been working the five of you relentlessly, and finally young Hanna slips, falls, and knocks her head against the practice room’s floor.

While your manager takes her to the hospital just to get her checked out, you and the other three are told to just continue practicing. To perfect yourselves.

The staff member who stays to observe is one that you don’t like. She’s mean, she’s rude, she’s just an intolerable person, in your opinion.

All it takes is a few sharp comments from her on top of you worrying about Hanna, being sleep-deprived and hungry, and then also worrying about the reception of this comeback by the fans. You feel the panic begin to seep into your, dark and cloying, thick like ink running through your veins, constricting your chest, and darkening the edges of your vision.

You walk out and don’t look back.

When you call Ten, he answers on the third ring, sounding sleepy and it’s then that you remember that it’s actually late.

“Ten?” You say his name as soon as you hear him answer. 

The panic you’re feeling must come through in your voice, because immediately Ten sounds more alert. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry, you were probably sleeping. I just--I’m kind of freaking out, there’s just... everything, and right now I just can’t--Hanna’s on her way to the hospital because she hit her head, and Soyeon unnie is a bitch, and I’m just freaking out about it all, Ten. I walked out of practice and now I’m sitting right outside the building and....” Your chest aches and it’s kinda hard to breathe and you realize that you’ve been crying and why is there not enough air in the world right now?

“Hey,” Ten’s voice is soft, the same way it was that first day, the last time he saw you like this. “Hey, I’m actually right around the corner. I’ll be there in a minute, just breathe for me, okay? Come on, I know you know how. In.” You hear him inhaling deeply. Holds it. And then releases it slowly. “Out.”

You try to do it, but for some reason your lungs won’t cooperate, only sucking in jagged breaths that don’t seem to fill your chest at all before you’re exhaling, and tears pour out of you and a disgusting snotty sob sounds, and all the while you hear Ten’s voice in your ear and everything is just so much, so overwhelming, so everywhere.

And then he’s in front of you, crouched down before you with gentle hands on your wrists. He pries your phone out of your hands, takes your hands away from your face, and the way he’s looking at you makes things worse because he looks at you so tenderly and pitying, and you’re sure you look a mess right now after hours of practice and now your tears and snot and all that.

He says your name, quietly at first, and then when you don’t respond he says it more sharply.

You meet his eyes. 

“Breathe with me. I’ve got you.” 

And slowly but surely it works. Your breathing is still a bit shaky, and you still feel about one second away from bursting into tears, but Ten holds your hand and keeps talking to you, and for the first time you really feel a surge of love for him. Friendly love and romantic love and just appreciation for this godsend of a human being in front of you.

You collapse against him, resting your head on his shoulder, and Ten takes it with a little laugh, his arms wrapping around you. 

“Thanks for coming.” Your murmur into the softness of his hoodie. “What were you doing around here anyway?”

Ten squeezes you a little bit, and says, “The rest of the group’s in China to film something, but I have another schedule so I’m here alone for a few days. There’s this place around the corner that I was craving since we get it delivered sometimes while we’re training. I was about to head in when you called.”

“Sorry to make you miss your food.” You sit back, wipe the backs of your hands over your cheeks, under your nose. “And I probably look like a mess, don’t I? I should head home. There’s no way I’m heading back in there; I already know Heeyoung unnie’s gonna bitch me out for walking out like that.”

“Let Heeyoung noona be mad at you. Come eat with me.” He stands, tugging on your hand still tangled with his. “Come on.”

So Ten holds your hand, wipes at your cheeks again, and together you walk the few streets over to the small restaurant he’d been craving. It’s a tiny place, and they look as if they’re about to close, which you tell him as he starts to open the door, but Ten shakes his head. “They love me here, just watch.”

He pushes the door open and immediately the older woman behind the counter cheers, grinning from ear to ear as she says Ten’s name. They are about to close for the night, it turns out, but that just means that they’ve got some unsold food that they need to get rid of, and they just pile it all into Ten’s arms and send the pair of you off with more than enough food.

“Well,” Ten sighs, shifting the weight in his arms. “Do you want to come back to the dorm and eat with me?”

You think of Heeyoung, of Miyeon and Jihye all leaving practice and returning to the dorm to find you’re not there. Maybe you’ll text them and tell you where you are. . . . But they’ll tease you about Ten, make this into more than it really is. You could just part ways with Ten right here, go back to your own dorm and wait for your members to return, though you’ll get an earful from your leader, and Miyeon’s inevitably going to worm the information out of you about how you’d disappeared with Ten to calm down.

You spend so long deliberating that Ten makes the decision for you. He passes one of the bags over to you, and then another, and when you’ve got bags of food in each hand, Ten starts walking in the direction of WayV’s dorm. You follow quickly behind.

The dorm is dark and quiet when Ten forces the door open. He slips off his shoes, drops his keys in a basket by the door, and trots on into the darkness. You hesitate, suddenly aware of how you’re alone with Ten and no one else knows where you are. Not that you think he’d, like, murder you or anything like that, it’s just an instinctive kind of paranoia you’d feel if it were any man leading you into a situation like this.

“Are you coming inside?” Ten calls, and a second later the lights flip on, illuminating the entry way and the rows and rows of shoes beside the door. You let your shoes join the ranks, and you slide across the floor in your socks, stepping into the open area of the living room and kitchenette. 

Off to the left is the living room area: a wide bay of windows looking out to the street with vertical blinds slightly hindering the view. There’s a rather comfy looking sofa, a beanbag chair, a large TV, and various video game consoles. 

Directly to your right is the kitchenette, just a fridge and a stove, a microwave, a toaster, and a blender. Ten’s shoving some of his load of leftover food into the fridge, and you sit yours carefully on the limited counterspace. It doesn’t stay there for long. Ten unpacks it and the pair of you move across the room to the sofa (which is just as comfy as it had looked), and he turns on Netflix. You eat and watch, and finally when the last of the food is gone it’s very late and you’re very full.

Ten takes the take out containers as one episode ends, and you wonder if this is the moment when you should tell him that you should leave, head back to your dorm. But a large part of you doesn’t want to leave. You’re really comfortable on this sofa, with Ten, watching this interesting show. 

“Are you feeling better now?” Ten asks, falling back down beside you, he lifts his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them. 

“Mmm, but now I’m stuffed.” You sigh. “I don’t think I can even move.”

“So don’t,” Ten says, “Text your members and tell them where you are so they don’t worry. Stay. We can finish bingeing this.”

You excuse yourself to the bathroom for a few moments to collect your thoughts, and while you’re in there you rinse your face and stare at your reflection. Then you pull out your phone and text your members that you’re staying at a friend’s place tonight.

Come tomorrow, you know you might have a few regrets. You might regret all that food you’d just eaten when you wake up feeling bloated. You might regret walking out of practice earlier. You might regret not sleeping in your own bed for an attempt at a good night’s sleep. 

But as you rejoin Ten on the sofa, you somehow don’t think you’ll regret this. 

He produced a large, fluffy blanket from somewhere and as you scoot closer to him, he drapes it over you and you huddle together side by side. Not that the dorm is really cold or anything, it just feels so nice to be so close to each other, sharing body heat under the blanket.

At some point, the day’s stresses finally hit you. Your eyelids droop, your head nods, and you barely even feel when Ten guides your head to his shoulder. 

You dream of a stage, performing up there all alone, a single blazing spotlight focused on you and only you. You can hear the murmurs of the audience as you dance, every sound magnified in the odd quietness of the crowd; every squeak of your shoes on the stage, your breathing thunderous, even the sound of your hair flying loosely around your face has sound. It’s such an odd and mildly terrifying experience, to be so alone and so observed.

You wake with a start.

The TV shut off at some point, and the room is built out of slate gray and black shadows except for the muted blue glow coming from the clock on the microwave across the room. You’re on your side, the blanket still draped over you, and then you hear the quiet of Ten’s breath, feel the flutter of it against your skin, the warmth of his against your back, his legs tangled with yours.

You don’t know how exactly you got like this, to be spooning with Ten on the sofa. But you’re not mad or perturbed or anything other than comfortable and content. 

He shifts a little in his sleep, makes the quietest whispery murmur that could almost be a word, though in what language you’re not sure. You press back against him, sink into his warmth, and you fall back asleep.

It doesn’t seem much later when you wake again.

Your phone is vibrating loudly on the floor, chiming quietly as well. Blearily you reach for it, and through the haze of your half-lidded eyes, you read that it’s your manager calling. 

“Turn it off.” Ten mumbles, reaching over you to try to lower your phone. When he misses, he doesn’t pull the arm back, just curls it over your waist, dragging you more firmly back against him. You let the phone fall back to the floor because you know you’re not going to answer your manager.

For one thing, it’s quarter past five in the morning. You crave sleep and relaxation, and you know that as of yesterday, your schedule for today was empty until after noon. 

For a second thing, Ten’s scent and heat encompasses you, drawing you back into him, and as you sink against him, you feel him pressing back against you.

You roll over carefully to face him, not that it really helps the situation. You can still feel Ten--a hard rigid line in his pants--pressing against your hip. And when you lift a hand to touch Ten’s chest, he stirs, eyes only opening a crack, but it’s enough for him to see you so close and he covers your hand with his, laying your palm flat over his heartbeat.

You make the next first move, lifting your hand toward his jaw. Ten’s fingertips burn against the back of your hand, following you to caress his face with your fingers, admiring the shadows of his face. He watches you carefully, and when you lean closer, lifting your mouth to his, he doesn’t flinch but lets his eyelids flutter closed.

The first press is gentle, soft, not more than a peck.

Ten sighs as you pull back just an inch, and then you dip back in for more and he opens his mouth to let you in. The taste of his mouth is so sweet, but there’s a bitterness to it as well like the take out you’d eaten together hours ago, but you crave more of him, press closer.

Slowly, Ten pulls you over him, your legs slotting together, your chest laid against his. You absentmindedly grind down against him until he moans and drops his head back to swear, “Fuck, what are you doing to me?”

You push your fingers into his hair, and Ten looks up at you as if he’s beholding the entirety of the universe above him. You squirm, pushing your hips down against his thigh, grinding against his bulge again, and Ten’s hands grasp at your waist. You bite your lip, toy with his hair, and Ten swears again and the sound of it is so unrestrained and hungry that you feel a burst of heat in your belly, a gush of wetness where his leg presses between your legs.

This all feels very sudden, but also long overdue. 

You think of all the late nights alone together practicing and laughing and talking. Imagine what it would have been like if you’d just kissed him one of those nights. Not that you would have at first. For the first few weeks you made sure to not say or do anything that he would think was you coming onto him in anyway because for those first few weeks you definitely believed that Ten was probably gay. 

He’d done little to dissuade you from that notion until a night when you mentioned dating in the industry, and Ten said, “I’ve never had the guts to bring anyone I liked into this. Fans can be so hateful towards girlfriends, I’ve seen it with like Kai hyung. I wouldn’t want to bring a girl I liked under criticism like that.” To which you’d asked, “A girl you liked?” And Ten had nodded, not really noting your ever-so-slight tone of surprise then, and he said, “Yeah, right now there’s not really anyone,” he gave you a sideways look and a smile, “But maybe someday I’ll find a girl who I just won’t be able to get out of my head or my life.”

And now here you are, straddling his thigh on his sofa in his otherwise empty dorm. Are you a girl that he likes enough to not be able to get you out of his head?

His fingertips dip under your shirt, warm on your bare skin as they push just inside your waistband, holding there.

“I was dreaming about you,” Ten tells you. “It all felt so real. The heat of you on me, your perfume and shampoo. How soft you are.” His fingers sink a bit deeper under your clothes, and you want them even deeper, touching you where you need him. Your breath hitches when he does push the waistband of your pants down a little more, the cooler air of the dorm meeting your heated skin. You feel Ten’s heartbeat thundering against yours where your chests are pressed together.

When his fingers skim over the curve of your ass, your breath stutters out of you, and you drop your head to his shoulder with a whimper.

“Is this okay?” He asks, turning his lips to touch your hair. You nod, but Ten waits until you murmur a “yes” before he continues. 

You lift your hips to help as he pushes your pants and panties down your legs, and when your hips sink down again, you feel the fabric of his jeans against your bare wet pussy. And a moment later, his nimble fingers brush against your heat. You bite back another sound, tucking your face against his neck.

“Have you done this before?” Ten asks.

“I fumbled around with a boy when I was in high school.” Your lips touch his throat with each word. “But he was the only one. It’s been a while. You?”

Ten only gives you a “Yeah,” and doesn’t elaborate with any details.

You grind down against his thigh, attempt to push back to get his fingers to touch you more, but Ten’s hands return to your hips, holding you still. You sit up to look down at him, and his eyes fall down your body to where your shirt ends and your bareness begins. Heat flushes through you, embarrassment a bit, but Ten’s eyes show nothing but appreciation as he takes in the sight of your pussy against his thigh.

He clears his throat.

“Can I eat you out?” 

By this point, the morning light is starting to turn the room from darkness into pale blueness. So there is absolutely no mistaking the hungry way he looks at you. No mistaking the way he licks his lips, the way that his hands flex against your hips and his dick twitches within the confines of his pants against your thigh. 

“Please?” Ten asks, and his hold on you has you shifting up his body slightly. Your pussy throbs when you look at his lips again, at his whole pretty face, imagining that tucked between your thighs, his tongue working magic on you. 

Ten shifts and wiggles until he’s more comfortable, and to accommodate for that, you shift as well so you’re straddling his hips instead of just the one thigh, and now you sit fully against his bulge. You feel him pulse against your wet heat, divided only by a couple layers of cloth. He feels a decent size, and you wish you could just have him inside you, but Ten once again licks his lips and pleads a soft, “Please sit on my face.”

Hearing him beg for you like that is like nothing else you’ve ever experienced. You go immediately, letting him shift you up his body until your knees rest on the cushion on either side of his head. Ten looks up at you, his thumbs stroking your hips, gentle circles with his fingers, his breath warm and wet.

And at the first touch of his mouth on your needy pussy, you moan for him.

His eyes are half-lidded, his tongue pleasant and warm as he tastes you, and the first beams of morning sunlight break into the room. 

You squirm and wiggle and Ten laps at your juices, you grind down against his tongue. He moans, hands grasping at you, pulling you down harder against his face. You press your fingers into his hair, sighing his name as he sucks on your clit, and when he twists his head to the side to nip at your thighs, you swear quietly, but Ten quickly buries his face back against you again, licking and sucking and drinking your wetness.

Your thighs shake on either side of his head as you get closer, and you can feel him smiling against your, loving how he’s getting you to fall apart for him. 

You rub yourself against his tongue, grinding against his face, and Ten pushes a hand up the front of your shirt to get at your breasts, massaging his palm against your chest. 

Sunlight spills into the room, the full golden warming glow of it breaks over your body just as Ten pulls your orgasm from you. You twist your fingers in his hair, whining and moaning and shaking, squeezing his head with your thighs, and yet he just keeps licking at you sweetly.

Dismounting his face is easier said than done. Your legs quiver, and Ten laughs at your wobbly movement as you attempt to balance on one knee. He slides onto his side, his back against the sofa’s back and you just collapse back in front of him and push at his chest, hiding your face in embarrassment.

Ten’s fingers brush over your forehead, fixing a few strands of hair. His other hand pulls your leg up to his waist, fingers tapping a rhythm against your thigh. “Was that good for you?”

“What a stupid question.” You mumble, tucking your face against his chest. “Did I cum that hard and not feel good?” 

“I don’t know, should I do it for you again and see how it compares?” Ten asks, his voice light and amused as his fingers skim up your thigh toward your pussy again. You squirm and whine, and he stops, just massaging your thigh instead. You can still feel his erection against you, but he doesn’t seem in any rush to take care of it. 

Instead he kisses your cheek, nuzzles into your hair, holds you against him like that. He pulls a blanket from the back of the sofa to cover you, and you cling tighter to him and ignore the persistent rising of the sun outside, the passing of time. You don’t want to leave. You want to stay cuddled together on this sofa instead of leaving, returning to your dorm with your group members. 

You slip your arm around his waist, your leg still hoisted up to his hip where he’d brought it, and though Ten makes no effort to do anything about his erection, you still feel it hard against you, and the longer you do, you wonder why he’s not making a move. So you do.

Ten makes an inquisitive sound when you slip your hand inside his pants, but that sound quickly becomes a moan when you curl your hand around him. His tip is wet, his length warm and achingly hard, and when you ease his cock out of his pants, Ten shivers. Especially when you shift and guide him toward your entrance.

“This bit,” You whisper to him, “This bit I’ve not done.”

Ten pauses, holding back even as you try to get him inside you. “You’re still a virgin?” 

You meet his eyes and shrug. “In some ways. Not in others.”

“But in this way?”

“Right.” You nod. You’d only ever messed around with the one guy before. You’d done pretty much everything except have his dick inside you. And then you’d come to SM, became a trainee and you were too focused on perfecting yourself for debut. You’d not had time to waste on dumb boys who you were just going to have to dump before debut anyway. 

But Ten is so much more than just a dumb boy. He’s one of your best friends. A mentor, a friend, someone who you’ve got feelings for, someone who’s in this industry too.

Ten kisses you now, still holding back but his bare cock slides against your wetness. You’re so ready for this, you just want him inside you, but he rolls you onto your back and leans over you.

“Ten.” You whine and grip his shoulder. 

He kisses the corner of your mouth and then your jaw, your neck, down toward your collarbones. And then he sits up, and you watch as he tucks his cock back into his pants.

“What are you doing?” You pout, reaching for his waistband, but Ten gently pushes your hands away. “Don’t you want me?”

“I want to make sure you’re ready for this. And also, I don’t have any condoms. I was just getting carried away. We can’t right now.” Ten explains, slumping back onto the other end of the sofa, running his hands over his hair. He looks at you there like this, looking flushed and wet and ready, your legs spread open so he can see your pretty pussy. 

He swallows hard.

“I want you so much, trust me.” Ten tears his gaze away from between your legs. “But not now. Not like this.”

You sit up, tug your shirt down and yank the blanket back up to cover you. “What’s it going to take? How does it have to be?”

Ten shakes his head a little, like he’s clearing his thoughts. “When we’re more ready. When you weren’t just sobbing and having a panic attack a few hours ago. When I’ve got condoms and an empty dorm again. I want you, I really do, but I don’t think we should risk all of this. Unprotected sex is never a good idea. Plus, it’s going to be your first time, I don’t want you to rush into this.”

“I’m not rushing! I’ve had months to think on this, to think about how much I want you, Ten! You’re handsome and kind and smart and wonderful. You’re gentle and strong, and all of those nights you spent teaching me how to dance better, watching you like that made me want you. I love the way you move, and how you’ve taught me to move like that. So teach me how to fuck, teach me this dance.”

He smiles and reaches for you, and you crawl down the sofa toward him, let him draw you into his lap, and then in for another kiss, sufficiently distracting you for a handful of minutes.

But then he still pulls away from you, strokes your hair back from your face. “Don’t you have a schedule today?”

You pout and sit back on your heels, drop your hand to palm at him (he’s still hard, and you don’t understand how he can be so focused on not getting his own pleasure), and you tell him, “Yes, but not for a few hours. Let’s run out and get some condoms.”

“You’re so horny.” Ten laughs, giving you a nose-wrinkled smile. “Honestly, I’m fine--”

But you don’t care to hear what else he was going to say, you drop down, flatten yourself on the sofa between his stretched out legs, and bring his erection back out into the morning sunlight. 

He moans out loud when you take him into your mouth, lips wrapped gently around his tip, tongue warm against the underside of it. Ten’s hands fly to the back of your head, and he doesn’t pull you off or push you down, he just rests them there as a comforting presence when you start bobbing your head and sucking. 

You find you like the taste of him, the weight of him, on your tongue. You like the way his legs twitch when you push down until you choke around him. You like his moans when you get a hand down to massage his balls. Ten bucks up into your mouth, choking you on his length again, and you love it even more when he gasps your name and swears and babbles in all the different languages he knows and you wish you understood them all too.

“I’m close,” he warns you moments before he spurts over your tongue, his hold in your hair keeping you there as you swallow around him, trying not to choke on his load, just swallowing it down. 

You’ve not even finished and neither has he when he pulls you up. Semen is still dripping from your lips when Ten crushes your mouth to his, and he kisses you with his own cum still on your tongue. He kisses you until your lips feel raw and the cum has dried tacky on your chin and hands and his dick, but then Ten still tries to wipe up with the blanket.

When that fails, he suggests, “Want to wash off?”

He throws the blanket in their laundry machine, and then he fills their shower-tub combo with warm water that fills the room with heat and a light floral scent when he drops in some petals. It’s soft and pretty, much like him and the pretty blush that spreads across his cheeks when you tell him that.

Ten kisses you again for that.

Each of you take your own clothes off, and you spend the whole time checking Ten out, watching every inch of newly exposed skin like you’re ravenous for the sight of him. 

He self-consciously covers his dick, although you’ve already seen that part of him. You appreciate the rest of him, the sight of his bare chest, his thighs, the soft tone of his stomach. You feel his eyes on you too, but you don’t care to cover yourself; you want him to see you.

Ten sinks into the bathwater, and after a moment you follow him in.

“This is nice.” Ten’s words echo around the bathroom. You lean back comfortably against his chest, his heartbeat thumps against your back and you rest your cheek against his shoulder. In a softer voice, he admits to you, “I don’t want to move.”

“We don’t have to. Let your members find us like this. Let mine come looking for me here.” You like this casual intimacy, being naked with each other, bathing together. If he won’t have sex with you just yet, then at least there’s this. His hand finds yours in the water, and he twists his fingers with yours. “We can stay here until we’re fully pruned, Ten-ah.”

There were days when you wished that you had truly never left that bathtub with Ten; when you wished that you wouldn’t have so easily let him talk you out of having sex. The bliss of that morning had lasted only a few more hours before your phone’s insistent ringing had drawn you out of the tub to finally answer your manager’s call. 

You were in trouble.

And now, weeks and weeks later, you were still in trouble, still on lockdown basically. It sucked.

You weren’t allowed to go anywhere without one of the other members or your manager knowing. You weren’t allowed your phone hardly at all. You were only allowed to see Ten if you ran into each other on company premises. Your manager insisted on supervising those interactions, which drove both you and Ten wild. 

You wanted to kiss him. You missed his lips on yours. Just that one morning had made you an addict to his kiss, his touch. 

You couldn’t even text or call him, which made everything worse. 

So you missed him. Terribly. 

But it made sense to you why you were in trouble. You’d not answered any of your manager’s calls for hours that day. You’d run off the night before. Even once you had answered the call, you hadn’t come back to the dorm as commanded for a few more hours. And to top it all off, someone (likely a sasaeng of either yourself or Ten) had taken photos of you and Ten together that night, just walking together along the street.

Representatives from the company had assured the masses that you and Ten were not dating, and now you were being totally kept apart from each other.

Well, until the day of the big SMTown concert. 

You were buzzing around backstage, the adrenaline of performing pumping through your veins as well as the opportunity to see Ten. 

“Unnie, calm down just a bit.” Hanna suggested as you were sitting beside her getting your makeup done, but your leg was bouncing so intensely that you were shaking your whole body, making it difficult for your stylist. 

“Sorry. I’m trying. I’m just so pumped for the show.” You said.

Hanna rolled her eyes and caught Miyeon’s eyes in the mirror too. You watched your two groupmates share a look.

“What?”

Miyeon rolled her eyes too. “We all know that you’re excited to see Ten.” 

You’d confessed to Miyeon, as your best friend in the group, about what had happened that night and morning with Ten. The others didn’t know all of the details exactly, but they knew that you were with Ten and that you were actually really good friends and probably more.

“Their dressing room’s just down the hall. I’m sure you could accidentally walk in there,” Hanna suggested. “Or I could, and you could come looking for me. I’m still not too good at reading Korean as a foreigner, you know.” She made an innocent expression that was totally bullshit. She was fantastic at Korean, though she often played it up to the fans that she wasn’t just so she would seem cuter. “And maybe while we’re in there I’ll get a look at Jaemin.” 

“You’re drooling, Hanna.” Heeyoung came over to stand behind you. “But she’s right. They’re just down the hall, spread out through like three different dressing rooms, so you’d have to pick the right one at the right time to get them both in the same room at the same time. Better to just wait until we’re all on stage.” 

And you know she’s right.

But that doesn’t mean that you don’t peek your head out the door of your dressing room once you’re fully ready to go up on stage. 

You can spot several of the NCT members wandering around outside their dressing rooms, but you don’t spot Ten. Though you do see Jaemin and he stares down your direction when Hanna passes by you so she can go down to Red Velvet’s dressing room to hang out with Yeri.

And finally, you see Ten come out of one of those doorways. His arm is slung around Kun’s shoulders and he’s laughing, then he sees you and he just smiles and waves. You would go approach him, but at that moment, your manager appears and pulls you back into your own dressing room for you to film a little clip to be posted later.

When you and your members are taken to the stage for your turn to perform, you pour your heart and soul into it, but a good portion of your mind is still on Ten, wondering if he’s watching your performance, if he’s been as excited to see you today as you’ve been to see him. You wonder if after the show today you might be able to sneak away.

The performance goes without a hitch. The rest of the concert passes by splendidly, and then at last it’s time for the closing stage with the whole SMTown family on stage.  It’s crowded with all of the artists milling around the stage, smiling, waving, greeting each other and fans, singing and dancing around. 

You almost bump into Ten.

He catches your arm, and though you know there are hundreds of fans around, virtually even more watching, you stand there with Ten and you smile at him, feeling the heat of his hand trailing away from your arm. 

“Hey!” You call loud enough that he can hear you, though with the volume of the place, it’s nearly impossible to hear unless you’re speaking directly into each other’s ears. So when he tries to speak to you, you don’t make out very much of what he says at all.

You lean closer, trying to hear him, and when you do he shakes his head, and shouts louder, “Dance with me!” 

His hand circles your wrist, and he lifts your arms into the air, swaying along to the music. It barely counts as dancing, but you don’t care. 

You smile and wave with your free hand at the audience in front of you, but you hold onto Ten’s hand and sway to the music. Someone says something over one of the microphones, and you and Ten turn to where most everyone’s walking back to the main stage.

Letting go of his hand is the last thing you want to do, but you must. He stays by your side though, still waving at fans, though his smile is more often than not turned to you. You talk nonsense with him, unable to tell him in front of this whole audience that you want him to fuck you, so instead you compliment him on his performance.

You take the final bow beside each other, holding onto his hand with one, onto Miyeon’s with the other. 

The moment you’re offstage, out of sight of fans, you turn and look for him again. Your members move by you, the Shinee members run by, and then you see some of the NCT members coming by, and finally Ten.

You grab his arm and he wraps his around you, squeezing you in a tight hug, his cheek against yours. “I miss you.” You tell him, “I want you.”

Ten looks around, notices that the other artist slipping by aren’t paying either of you any attention. He presses his lips to yours in a relatively chaste kiss. It’s not enough and you both know it. You fist your hands in his shirt, bring his mouth crashing back onto yours. 

You have no plans the following day. Your flight back to Seoul isn’t until the following day, and then several of the girls are going home to visit their families since you’ve got the whole week off. You know Ten’s schedule’s clear the following day too because you’d bribed your manager to find out his flight information and he’d relented, maybe finally taking pity on you in this whole situation.

“Not here.” Ten tells you even as he continues kissing you. “Can you meet me at the hotel gym? At midnight?”

“The gym? Tonight?” 

Ten nods, kisses you again, and then disappears down the hallway, and you have to navigate your way back to your dressing room alone. 

Life seems to always get in your way.

Your manager insists that if you’re going to go down to the hotel gym at this hour alone, then you can’t go. But if he accompanies you, then you can go. “It’s too late, and you definitely shouldn’t be down there working out alone.”

“It’s not even that late?” You direct his attention to the nearest clock, showing that it’s only almost ten o’clock at night.

He shakes his head. “You can’t go alone.”

“But--!” 

He shakes his head sharply. “No. And why do you even want to go work out? You just finished performing. You should rest tonight. I already know you’re going to be complaining for the next few weeks that you’re tired and never get enough rest. Well, take this chance to take a rest. You have a whole week off. If you really want to work out, go then. But tonight, stay in and relax.”

You can see that there’s no way that he’s going to let you leave your hotel room. So you sigh, “Can I at least have my phone back? It’s been weeks. I’ve been good. Followed all of your stupid rules and restrictions. And I’m an adult, oppa. Stop treating me like a kid by taking my phone away.”

“You’re right.” He makes a face. “Every time you act up we should tell you we’re going to restrict your Ten access. Stay right here.”

He leaves your room for a few moments, and when he reappears, he’s got your phone. “Behave, okay? You’ve got your phone. You got to see and talk to and touch Ten earlier. Please, don’t cause me any more trouble. Jihye and Hanna are doing a VLive in their room. Miyeon and Heeyoung are right next to you. My door is right across the hall, remember, so if you try to go down there tonight, I’ll know.”

“I won’t leave my room, oppa. Good night.” You hurry him out, and as soon as he’s gone you lock the door and leap onto your bed, rejoicing that you got the lucky draw for the single room. And then you call Ten.

His phone rings. And it rings and rings and rings. 

Right before it sends you to voicemail, he answers, speaking your name breathlessly into the phone. “You’ve got your phone back?”

“Yes, and my manager won’t let me leave my room to come down to the gym.” You sigh and stare up at the ceiling. “But he never said anything about anyone coming here. I have my room all to myself.”

Ten’s end of the call is silent for a moment, just crackling static, and then, “What’s your room number?”

He’s at your door fifteen minutes later, softly knocking, and you quietly open the door to let him slip inside, then you close it just as quietly.

Ten slides his arms around your waist, and you spin in his arms to face him, cling to his shoulders and let him press you back against the door as he kisses you breathless, until your belly is in knots.

You untangle yourself from him, taking one of his hands from your waist, you begin to lead him away from the door, toward the bed instead. And that’s when Ten spots your bluetooth speaker. “I’m gonna play some music,” he tells you, pulling out his phone from his pocket, and when he does, a whole string of condoms falls out. 

You stoop to pick them up, toss them over onto the bed. Ten quickly taps through his phone, and soon music is playing through the speaker, and he drops his phone to put his hands on you again. 

You start by pushing his jacket from his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor, and you lift his sweatshirt over his head, groan when you see the tshirt he’s wearing beneath that. “How many layers have you got on?” You whine, dipping your fingers underneath to push it up his chest, getting him naked from the waist up. Ten laughs, his hands moving to strip you too, a much easier feat as you’re only wearing a tshirt and a sleeveless top beneath, which he pushes down to your waist before unfastening your bra.

He touches you lightly, his hands skimming up your side, cupping your breasts, a thumb teasing over each nipple as they harden under his attention. “You’re so beautiful,” Ten tells you, backing you toward the bed, kissing you once before you turn away, pushing your pants and panties down and slinking back onto the mattress.

As you look at Ten there at the foot of the bed, carefully stripping out of his pants, you’re filled with an overwhelming want and need for him. You’re wet and hot, and when you slide a hand down to touch yourself, Ten groans, and his cock appears in his hand as he moves onto the bed too. 

You sigh his name, reaching for his hip, drawing him closer.

The music flows through the room, filling the silences, masking any of the sounds you might be making that would otherwise be audible to the rooms on either side of yours. 

Ten watches as you play with yourself, your wetness glistening in the room’s lighting. You’re about to actually get a finger inside yourself when Ten’s hand touches your wrist. “I want to do that. Let me do that for you.”

As if you would tell him no?

Ten sinks over you, and his fingers dip between your legs, touching your clit, slipping through your wetness, and then at last, he presses one finger inside you. You squirm and whimper softly, touching his shoulders and his chest, tangling your fingers around the back of his neck to pull his mouth down against yours.

“So pretty,” Ten coos, kissing you once before he moves his kisses to your neck. “Watching you perform earlier tonight, all I could think of was how pretty you are, how talented. How much you deserve to be happy and feel good. Like this.” He slowly pumps his finger inside you, but you want more, and when you buck your hips and whine about it, he gets the message and fits another finger in beside the first. 

He fingers you gently, taking his time in getting you nice and wet, stretched for his cock. He kisses you, whispering praises that make you wetter and needier, until you’re certain that you’re dripping onto the bed, creating a puddle on the sheets, but Ten doesn’t let up. He uses his thumb on your clit, swirling it in circles while he presses three fingers inside you, massaging that spongy pleasurous spot inside you.

“Ten, please.” You beg. “Please let me cum.”

He nods, kisses your throat where he can feel your heartbeat. “Cum for me.”

His fingers curl, his thumb rubs your clit just right, and you close your legs around his hand, twist your fingers in his hair, and keen his name. Your orgasm pulses through you in waves as Ten keeps fucking you on his fingers. He even kisses down your throat to your chest and leaves little love bites on your breasts.

And you feel satisfied, but still hungrier for him.

No sooner has he pulled his fingers out, wiping them on the bedsheets, than he’s moving forward, reaching for the string of condoms you’d tossed aside earlier.

Ten tears one open, and you watch as he rolls it down his length, and then you reach for him, pulling him in between your legs where you’re warm and wet and needy. “Fuck me, Ten. I need to feel you fill me up. Please.”

You’re ready for him. Never been readier.

His tip pushes inside you, a strange feeling but not painful or uncomfortable really. And then the rest of him follows slowly. He eases into you, gazing down at you and the way that you bite your lip to keep from moaning, the way you turn your head to the side so you don’t have to look at him looking at you feeling embarrassed about your body and the way that he’s inside you. It feels so strange and intimate and good and sweet and right to be doing this with Ten.

“You okay?” He asks once he’s fully inside you. You breathe shortly feeling odd with something as long and wide around as a penis inside of you. It’s much different than fingers or a tampon. “Alright?”

You nod. “Fine. How are you?”

“I’m good,” Ten laughs. “Just chilling inside a beautiful girl.”

You lift your hips slightly, and something in Ten’s expression changes. He pulls back just a bit and then pushes into you again, sucks his bottom lip into his mouth until you reach up, drag your thumb just under his bottom lip and then lean up to kiss him.

You find very quickly that the rhythm of his hips moving against yours, his cock thrusting inside you, it’s a rhythm that you can follow with your own movements, the rise and fall of your chests against each other, lifting your hips to meet his thrusts. It’s all just a dance. A very, very intimate dance, but a dance nonetheless.

Ten soon is moaning for you, burying his face against your shoulder to kiss and bite at the sensitive skin there. Marking you, but in a place where no one will see. He pushes one of your legs higher, giving himself a different angle to thrust in at, and you drag your nails down his back and cry out his name.

When he cums, it’s sudden. His teeth drag against your skin, his breath hot and fast as he moans, bucking into you and filling the condom, though you do wish that you could feel him cumming inside you. His heartbeat races, you can feel it where your hand rests against his back, thundering under your palm.

And you’re not sure what comes over you then, what confidence it is that convinces you to push him over onto his back, and you sit upon him, and ride his cock. 

Ten lifts a hand to your breasts, watching you with warm, sensual eyes as you seek your own orgasm. His thumb of his other hand finds your clit again, rubbing circles on the sensitive nub until you feel a pressure building low in your belly, the sweet build up that tingles from your belly to your toes and in your fingers, and Ten sits up, wraps an arm around your waist, his lips dance over your shoulder again, his thumb still building your pleasure, and you cry out, moaning and swearing and your orgasm overflows through you, and it grows more intense and then you hear Ten swear and you can feel your orgasm literally spilling from you as you squirt on his cock.

But it feels so good even as you’re overwhelmed with embarrassment. It takes you a moment to come down, wrapped around his softening erection, your belly and his sticky from your essence.

“That’s embarrassing,” you mumble when you’ve somewhat recovered. 

Ten laughs. “No, it’s cute. I promise. Very cute.” He dips forward to kiss you. “You’re the cutest. I wish you could’ve seen yourself just then. So sexy and cute, pretty and wet and warm around me. Never wanna let you out of my arms again.”

He wrapped his arms tight around you and rolled you under him once more, showering your face in kisses until you’re laughing with him still inside you, a stranger sensation than anything yet.

After a while, Ten does pull out of you, leaving you to dispose of the condom. You go pee and get a glass of water, and then the pair of you crawl back into the big bed, drawn together under the covers like magnets, and you fall asleep tangled together like that.

In the morning, you’re woken by your manager knocking on the door, telling you that it’s already late, and you should be awake by now. You hear Miyeon’s voice as well, calling that she wants to go exploring, and she wants you to come with her.

But Ten’s still beside you in bed, looking sleepy and soft. You want to spend the morning with him, wrap yourself around him and draw pleasure from each other again, but Ten kisses your shoulder and climbs from the bed. “You should go. I’ll see you back in Seoul.”

You dress quickly, brushing your hair into a messy bun, and before you walk out the door, you snag Ten’s sweatshirt from the pile of his clothes on the floor and put it on. 

If Miyeon or your manager notices the love bites peeking out from the collar of a sweatshirt that’s not yours, neither of them says a thing.

The End

a/n: this was not the story I originally intended. like I was going to write a bakery friends to lovers au with ten, but it became this instead oops. anyway I hope you enjoyed it! please let me know what you thought, like and reblogs are appreciated!

[tundrainafrica]

Title: Passion Project (3/4)

Summary:

“Ignoring Hange Zoe had become a little passion project he allowed himself to indulge in, in between expeditions and quietly mourning unnecessary deaths in the battlefield.”

Levi tries to ignore Hange but it never seems to last. A ficlet detailing the development of Levi and Hange’s relationship before canon.

Link to cross-postings: AO3

Link to other chapters: 1 2 4

Despite having recovered enough, Levi wasn’t permitted to join their next expedition outside the walls.

For assurance. Keith had said.

One day you might just be humanity’s hope. Erwin had added. We don’t want you worsening any of your recent injuries.

Levi had no problem with putting weight on his left ankle nor did he even have trouble, tightening his ribs as he bent forward. He experimented on those old injuries more than enough times to be sure. In fact, when he was all alone in the barracks, he found himself looking for a forest to practice with the ODM gear.

Shift your weight a little forward so you won’t use too much gas.

When you dash, make sure to tense your back. Try to curl it a bit as you move forward.

Only after the initial dash can you relax.

She had been right. By just changing where he shifted his weight, how he positioned his back and by just keeping in mind at which moments up he should tense up or relax, he was able to make the whole process of sailing through the air in ODM gear a little easier. He could not tell then, but he might have even been going faster.

The scenery changed too fast around him as he zipped through the trees. Contours around him quickly blurred into hazy afterimages so quickly and so unfamiliarly Levi could easily pretend he was elsewhere. He could pretend he wasn’t letting out pent up frustration at his inability to do much for the survey corps but watch from the crowds as the gates of Wall Rose opened up to Wall Maria territory and then outside Wall Maria, titan territory and as his fellow soldiers disappeared outside the walls.

The exercises in the forest only acted as a temporal reprieve. Levi could have been practicing for almost a whole day by the time the cannister lightened to an almost dangerous weight.

Levi hurriedly landed before gravity did the job for him. At the same moment, his senses started to get used to the mundane surroundings of the forest once again, Levi started to welcome, albeit unwillingly, the pent up frustrations, the tensions and something else.

Hange was out on the expedition as well and Levi reminded himself only a while ago that she was still there in the small pieces of advice that lingered in his mind as he dashed from tree to tree.

She wouldn’t die that easily. Levi assured himself. She was the one after all who had given that same advice which had him so freely zipping through even the most aberrant trees.

Probably won't be able to maneuver as well as you though.

Levi’s stomach dropped as he recalled that passing comment from Hange. It brought to light once again the stark reality of being part of the survey corps. Any one of them can die anytime and Hange was no exception.

He found himself grateful to the black tea she had given and the past self that had given in to her incessant pleas for some extra one-on-one training. For the first time, he found himself grateful for her having taken the initiative to approach him every single time.

He didn’t believe in any god. Regardless, in the middle of the dark forest, he leaned on one of the wider tree trunks, looked to the starry sky and prayed. He prayed that somehow, every training session he had given her would amount to something.

God knows she might just need it.

                                Passion Project

For almost a few hours, Levi actually believed Hange could have been dead.

Word recently reached the barracks that the survey corps had just come back from their mission. Soon after that, chaos ensued, so much chaos that that had been his first conclusion. It was as if his mind just wanted to rationalize the worst case scenario which came with the unpredictable and almost unintelligible chain of events.

It turned out his worst case scenario wasn’t actually the worst case scenario that the chaos had brought with it.

Wall Maria had fallen and refugees were coming into Wall Rose by the hundreds of thousands. The barracks were deeper into Wall Rose though and word had only come to Levi when the deed had already been done. Hundreds of thousands had been killed. The culprits have disappeared and the crown made the executive decision to surrender Wall Maria to the titans.

Levi did not see the refugees first hand until a day after he received the news. He had gotten a bit curious though and went to the main road one day to see hopeless faces in carts en route to Wall Sina, possibly the underground city.

No. Definitely the underground city. None of the higher ups from Wall Sina would have let refugees live above ground there after all.

Soon after he caught wind on the outrageous turn of events and when his mind finally came to terms with the unfathomable disaster that had just occurred, the survey corps finally arrived from their mission and had settled into the barracks.

They had apparently gotten caught in one of the refugee camps in the outer districts of Wall Rose which delayed their homecoming.

To Levi’s relief despite the overwhelming chaos he had found himself caught up in, Hange came back home alive, uninjured and safe. He didn’t even have the mental or emotional space to be relieved for too long though. The topsy-turvydom that came with the fall of Wall Maria set up with it, a chain of events even within the survey corps that left Levi unable to consider Hange’s state.

At least, for a while.

                                     Passion Project

Within the next month, the Survey Corps underwent some major restructuring as the sector assigned with the almost impossible task of taking back the wall. Levi was transferred to a mainly combat role as soon as his injuries were deemed healed and suddenly Hange was not around as much anymore.

It should have been a comfortable reprieve from the loud brunette.

It never felt like one though, and Levi found himself wondering what she was doing during his own downtimes having busied himself with training and eventually having to train new recruits. After a few months though, the repetitive ODM training of the other members assigned to combat started to bore him and Levi spent what was supposed to be his training time, doing his own research on where Hange may have been assigned.

He was aware he could have easily asked Erwin or Mike. God forbid anyone thought I actually cared about that four eyes. Levi thought to himself as he instead decided to classify that research as part of the passion project, he had abandoned months ago.

He couldn't teach her about real life if he couldn't get to meet her right? He wouldn’t be able to teach her about ODM gear tricks he learned. Soon he even found out, he hadn’t even caught up with her on the latest improvements he had made to his own fighting style thanks to her feedback.

Unbelievably, he was starting to get a bit interested in what had gotten her so occupied. She had done a complete 180. Months ago she probably would have been the one to take the initiative.

A new role? A new passion project? A lover? He did remember she mentioned having proposals sent off to Erwin. He found himself threatening no one in particular, thinking to himself that the research better be worth something if she had so willingly changed her personality for it.

His own personal research on the whereabouts of Hange turned out to be a little unnecessary though because soon enough, Erwin was named the new commander of the Survey corps. Levi quickly rose to the rank of Captain and he was begrudgingly happy to find out that Hange had also recently been promoted to the squad leader for research and logistics.

Leadership meetings and strategy meetings every week meant that once again, the two soldiers were seeing each other on a regular basis. That also meant, Hange had gotten back into the habit of enthusing about some new combat strategy or some new invention she was developing with a conveniently placed yet a seemingly disinterested Levi.

Levi noticed as well that with her rise to a higher position, Hange started to open up a bit. A whole team had become an object and an audience to her rants. He only started to notice then that outside of the both of them, she had made some good bonds outside of what they shared.

There was one blonde in particular who followed her everywhere more often and it turned out he was her second in command, Moblit. Hange had pointed out that she had been friends with Moblit for longer than that.

Then why did he only notice Moblit now? Why was his mind suddenly racing in so many different directions at once, analyzing Hange’s warm interactions with her new found family and her second-in-command in particular?

She was taking care of her team and she was asking them the same questions with that same enthusiasm she had given him over tea so many times before. He couldn’t help but conclude that there was an inflation of kindness on her end, a Hange-flation. She was suddenly friendly to everyone, suddenly a parental figure to the recruits under her. Levi started to wonder of their long nights over had been anything special or if they were just a little convenience Hange had indulged herself in

And that’s how it’s supposed to be. Levi was supposed to be celebrating that development if he did care about her. He decided to let that green-eyed monster keep him company for a while longer though because it was just that much easier than letting it go.

At least the titans never had that problem Levi thought to himself that one night as he pondered the changes of their relationship.

During meetings, when she did alternate between enthusing about it with Moblit or him, he would notice her eyes never glimmered or sparkled at any one of them in particular. Her eyes were constantly smiling, her face was constantly turned up. It was at the mention of that one word which peppered all their conversations though where the sparkle in her eyes had been most apparent.

Titans.

At three in the morning, unable to sleep, Levi found himself envying those mindless eating giants for having such a lasting effect on Hange. And that envy actually had him more than eager to cut each and every single one of their napes during missions.

And eventually, those conflicting feelings brought him back to her. Within a year’s worth of expedition, Levi was deemed their strongest and fastest soldier and at Erwin’s orders ended up cooperating with Hange to test whatever new invention her squad came up with.

Did that type of metal pierce into titan skin?

Can the flash bomb made with this material actually blind titans?

Can the sound grenade deafen the titans?

The first of what was said to be many experiments consisted of Levi jumping down from on top of Wall Rose pelting titans with whatever latest invention they had while Hange’s assistants took notes.

Seven titans had swarmed that area of the wall and despite being surrounded by all of them, Levi did not feel at all that his life was in danger. In fact, he had actually felt a little more pressure from hearing Hange’s excited screams more than anything else.

“Can you check if this new material over here makes it easier to slice a titan’s nape?”

How the hell was he even supposed to test that? “Yeah I guess?” Levi answered. He killed two titans for that experiment and the movement had been too quick and too routine for Levi to consider such a subtle nuance in the titan killing process.

Even from more than ten feet below, as he held on to the wall by the cables of his ODM gear and the balls of his feet lightly planted on the surface, he recognized her disappointment when he answered in the way she narrowed her eyes and the way she kept silent for a few more seconds, a stark contrast to the excitable tone she maintained as they made their journey to the walls on Trost District.

I’ll try this myself next time then. Her voice was notably softer when she said it. Her voice though had a low timbre to it which made it recognizable and easy to listen to even a few feet down below. When he overheard it, he was also on his way back up to drop the proto-type blades Hange had wanted checked.

“Give me the rest of the fucking weapons you want to test.”

Testing the sound grenade and the flash grenade were easy. In fact, the hardest part for Levi had been making sure the titans stayed alive to witness both. Killing all of them on the spot had been the easier and more tempting option.

As soon as the smoke cleared at least and Levi scaled back up the walls, he heard the howls of excitement from Hange and he was sure he hadn’t disappointed then at least.

“Great job Levi! It looks like we might be able to use the sound grenade by our next mission,” Hange said, reaching out to high five Levi as he reached the top of the wall.

Levi ignored that. Go high five a titan instead. He wouldn’t have dared say that out loud though. For fear that Hange might just take that comment seriously.

Instead, he willed himself to avoid her gaze which he felt followed him and could even confirm from his peripherals as he sat back down on the wall a little exhausted having tested their three inventions of the night.

As he listened to the carefree way she rattled off observations and exchanged ideas with Moblit and her other squad members, he thought for a moment about the implications of humoring Hange and letting her indulge in her passion project. He quickly justified it though. It was Erwin their commander after all who had lightly suggested they cooperate in the development of new weapons given both their talents.

Orders are orders. Levi shrugged.

That night ended with them walking back to the Trost barracks with Hange next to him raving non-stop about Levi's skill then raving to Moblit about the improvements she would make.

That night, Hange served that same black tea, that same royal brand she had bribed him with their first tea night, a welcome sequel to other memories long ago.

And the routine of Levi and Hange from long ago had been revived, despite both their positions in the military. Although the experiments replaced their training sessions from their first years in the survey corps and most nights they were joined by Hange’s squad. Levi saw consistency in the black tea she served him after every single night of experiments without fail. He saw it as well in the later hours of the night when her team retires for the night.

During those short three hour long rests when it was just the two of them talking as if they were rookies again, Levi was at least reminded that she still saw value in interacting with him, even if he was probably second to the titans.

                                 Passion Project

Within a year or so, the survey corps had developed enough weapons and enough of a reputation.  Levi was given an opportunity to select team members for a special operations squad and his responsibilities only grew from there and his time for experiments dwindled.

He did miss the nights experimenting on titans with the research and development team and the nights spent just listening to the development team discuss the changes they were going to make for their weapon of the week.

The new developments within the survey corps and the new responsibilities Levi was given though had him distracted. There were even days that he did not think of Hange beyond the occasional collaboration work with the research and logistics squad

That establishment of the special squad gave Levi the opportunity to branch out from his confusing relationship with Hange. He slowly grew into the role of captain and started to care for each member of his team personally.

He couldn't help but notice something missing through the small details, particularly in the way they interacted with him. They called him "captain." They never forgot their please's and thank you's when talking to him. They never ordered anything from him.

They wouldn’t, I’m their captain. Oddly though, Levi started to miss Hange's ridiculous demands with little care for his time and convenience.

WIth Hange’s station so close to his, he had little excuse not to pay a visit every now and then. And he made sure to pay those visits.

Hange had busied herself with new titan research and the long nights with black tea had dwindled to a weekly or every-other-week occurrence. A much less frequent event from back when they were rookies. It was for good reason. They both had their own teams to manage after all.

Most of the conversations though started to shift to questions on titans then crackpot theories after. They were still as close as ever or that was at least what Levi wanted to believe. He couldn’t help but note though the wonder in her eyes and the way she would stare at nothing in particular, especially in those moments.

“Why do you like them so much?” Levi had asked one day, when the discussion of titans and her overly enthusiastic expression left him a little more self conscious than usual.

Hange locked eyes at him for a good few seconds before looking elsewhere, possibly trying to grasp for the right words. In the few seconds that she was looking at him, Levi at least caught it and had the time to appreciate it.

“Well… They’re interesting. They’re mysterious.”

The interestingness and the mysteriousness of titans was what grabbed Hange’s focus most days. When Levi showed up at her HQ or her research lab for their bimonthly tea dates, he would always have to pick her up in the lab. And that was one of the reasons why he had been the witness to the source of Hange’s passion

Some nights the passion had Hange a little obsessed, a little crazy and ignoring her basic needs. Moblit brought her dinner every night so he never had to worry about her food intake the days he did visit. One thing Moblit had trouble doing was taking her in for a bath.

And Levi made it his duty at least to make sure Hange had a weekly bath. Even if he had to knock her out to do it.

Even while in the bath, Hange continued to ramble on about titans. Some topics were rehashes others were new. Of course they’re mysterious and interesting. The fact that she could come up with a new topic every time was a testament to just that.

For some reason, Levi started to wonder whether or not he was interesting and mysterious too.

                                    Passion Project

One year into the formation of his new squad, Hange proposed a new plan.

"Let's capture a titan!"

It was a breath of fresh air to finally hear someone demand something while at the same time completely disregarding social norms and military standards. More importantly, it was a breath of fresh air that knocked some sense back to him, reminding him of his passion project that had been on hiatus for a long while.

Levi was the strongest soldier in the survey corps if not the strongest soldier humanity had to offer. Under him, he had a competent group of soldiers that would have been more than enough to capture the titans Hange would need for her research. His support would have also fast tracked the approvals from Erwin.

Levi was aware of all that and thus, completely understood why Hange was so insistent that he cooperate with her in the first place.

As an individual, he did want the excuse to spend more time with Hange. As a captain, while the plan was immature, he had to consider the welfare of his own squad. As a self-proclaimed close friend of Hange, did he really want to capture her a titan so he had more of an excuse to ignore him than what they already had? If he did capture her a titan, would he ever be able to see her again?

Outweighing the costs and the benefits, Levi went for ‘no’ which had won by a landslide in his mind.

That request, his new status and his musings all brought him back to his passion project of a few years ago. That project became his inspiration once again as he braced himself for the whining and begging he had almost missed.

For a while, Levi was worried that she would attempt to bribe him with black tea leaves.

Hange proved to be a soldier of honor though. It was as if they both silently understood and agreed, the lives of Levi's special squad and any soldier who would be involved in the capture process would not have been worth that black tea.

                                         Passion Project

Once again, she was talking to him like she hadn’t ignored him for her other research so many times the past few years.

Of course she’s talking to me. It’s for fucking titans.

The motivation behind the sudden regular messages she’s been sending through Moblit and the regular visits she made to his headquarters would have been a welcome sight any other day. He saw the reasons behind it though and any positive emotions that could have been felt from that were soured by his speculations on her motivations alone.

Scrambling for something more positive out of it, Levi went back to what his past self knew best. Ignore Hange. And just imagining that unwavering steady relationship she had with the titans made that all the easier. It was not like she would care anyway if he ignored her.

He had ended up tuning her out all the way until their next expedition with plans to ease the silent treatment by the start of the next expedition. He had hoped the excitement of starting the 49th expedition would have distracted her enough from her titan capturing plans.

It turned out to have only gotten worse.

"Hey Levi."

"I'm not doing it"

Levi did not need to look at her to know what she was going to ask. Processing Hange's many demands over the years had gotten him used to the way her tone modulates when she makes her ridiculous requests.

"I haven't even said anything."

"You wanted my help capturing a titan right?" Levi asked, not even bothering to look at her. Of course he wouldn't, he couldn't even tell what face he was making as he stared blankly at the gate. “I told you, I'm not gonna help you out with that hassle of a favor."

She soon moved on to asking Mike.

                                         Passion Project

At first Erwin had disapproved. Levi had his own reservations about it as well, especially after almost losing one of his squadmates in the process.

After having found the notebook chronicling an encounter of a former soldier and a titan, Hange had gotten the required approvals which overpowered whatever feedback Levi would have had about it, personal or non-personal and Levi and his squad eventually got roped into the titan capture mission.

Hange had done her fair share of the research and preparation and the capture was quick and Levi had at least braced himself already for the cold snap that was going to come between them as Hange closed the long distance relationship she had with the love of her life.

He could hang out with Petra, Eld, Oluo and Gunther anyway.

Within a few weeks after that capture mission, Levi's squad ended up roped into another titan subjugation mission. It was within the walls when Hange’s titan got loose in the barracks.

Levi’s Special Operations Squad were staying back at the old survey corps headquarters when it happened. Erwin had sent a messenger to them demanding their help within an hour of the incident. With the amount of time it took to prepare their weapons and close the distance between those two locations, by the time, the five of them did arrive, the whole lab of Hange and the nearby rooms had been trashed.

Fortunately, most of the people present when the incident happened were battle hardened soldiers and they had kept casualties to the minimum of zero. With zero casualties, Levi at least then had the luxury to hyper fixate on more superficial things.

Like the mess the survey corps headquarters had turned into. The titan had been kept outdoors but it did look like the titan had gotten far. The entrance to the actual barracks was destroyed. The large door had been torn off its hinges, the door frames and some of the support on the ceiling had fallen over. The wallpaper towards the entrance had been peeled off in some areas and the floor was covered with sawdust.

Levi found himself having to remove his cravat and put it over his face just to comfortably pass through. There were broken glasswares on the floor, broken beakers and he traced them all back to Hange’s indoor lab.

A familiar stench lingered in the air, one he had smelled too many times on horseback, in open air during expeditions. Indoors, it was stronger and even with his cravat pressed close to his nose, he considered it far worse than what he would have encountered right next to its source.

The dissolution of a dead titan cut at its nape.

Levi heard the soft clatter of glass on wood before he saw Hange who was slowly organizing some broken glass on the center table of her room.

Hange’s research lab has always been messy and overtime, Levi had gotten used to it and had managed at least to muster the self discipline to curtail whatever natural impulse he had to clean it. It messed with her thinking process apparently.

The room he had walked into was much messier than he could have ever imagined messiness to look like. Many of the corners of the room had records, chemicals, test subjects, all damaged beyond recognition. Levi kept silent, only feeling the rage boil in his stomach as he saw it. He had tried to distract himself by looking through the room for any signs of at least some order.

“Squad leader, what... happened?” It was Petra who had broken the silence, asking what Levi had wanted to ask if he hadn’t been a little too focused on trying to keep his cool.

“We didn’t really have time to prepare the ODM gear so we had to be a little creative,” Hange explained. No one wore ODM gear inside the walls unless they were training so of course, they couldn’t prepare.

“I led the titan here, so it would be easier to capture him. Then I had him take the sleeping draught then my squad ambushed him from behind. We managed to minimize casualties so I’d still call it a success.” Hange let out a small laugh. “Thanks for still coming.”

Hange only continued from there as everyone else in the room listened in silence. Levi noticed it then. The crack in her voice and the twinge of sadness in her tone.

“But really… I didn’t want to kill him. The sleeping draught I used though is in a prototype stage so Erwin didn’t want to take any risks transporting him back to the tent we set up outside. It was a shame really. I was getting to know Cody already.”

Cody? The titan had a fucking name? Levi stood in silence, wanting the anger to wash through him before he talked to her. The implication of the name and the sardonic tone of Hange had him impatient.

“Condolences… Squad leader,” Oluo said, a little too awkwardly.

Hange let out a long and deep sigh. “I guess we’re going to have to capture a new one huh? Then I’m going to have to build this bond all over again from scratch.”

It was a combination of the message of her last few words and the crack in her voice that made Levi look up. It was the red in her face, her tear stained cheeks and the swollen eyes behind her glasses that made him set aside all attempts at a more peaceful confrontation. Before he could stop himself, Levi had looked up at Hange and approached her, taking strides much larger than he ever had before.

Levi grabbed Hange by the collar and held her close. “Stop taking advantage of this war against titans for your superficial desires. Stop roping the whole damn survey corp into your petty plans. Fucking hell Hange, one day you’re gonna get someone killed over your stupid little passion project!”

Hange’s face was so close to his at that moment, yet it was still far enough for Levi to see the split second shift from surprise to a mixture of befuddlement and possibly anger. "A passion project? You think this search for the secret behind titans to a passion project?"

“It’s a fucking passion project. All you’re doing with this petty obsession of yours is risking lives. It hadn’t gotten you anywhere and you’re not even getting anywhere substantial anytime soon.”

Levi was certain he was right about that first part. Hange hasn't made much progress besides figuring out the weaknesses of titans. The research on weaknesses has proven to be useful on the battlefield. With the capturing of titans, Levi knew Hange had been delving into the more complex and more mysterious origin of titans.

From the intel he had gotten, casually asking Moblit about Hange or nonchalantly visiting the research lab on his two off days a month, he knew Hange was still on square one. And how long since the capture mission? A month? If there was something worth finding beyond the dead soldier's notebook, Hange would have found it already.

Hange’s gripped Levi’s wrist. “Maybe if you didn’t kill the abnormal titan back then, we would have made a breakthrough.”

“They’re all the same mindless fucking giants ready to kill every single one of us.” With his brain muddled, Levi was scrambling for an argument. Why was he suddenly feeling guilty over killing a titan?

“They’re all the same? Really Levi? What do you know? All you did was kill them. I ate with Cody. I talked to him. I slept with him. I bathed him…" Hange's grip on his wrist was only getting tighter as she talked, and with it, the knot in his chest. "Cody was different."

Cody was a titan. He had to remind himself while at the same time, resisting the sharp pain on his wrist as Hange grip harder.

He locked eyes with her, attempting to trace the tears down all the way until her cheeks. Had she ever cried for someone like that? Had she ever mourned a death like that? He found himself stuck on her eyes though. The wonder in them was gone, replaced by a sort of wildness. It felt like he was talking to a different person.

Hange had always been eccentric. She had always been unpredictable. Levi ended up having to scold himself for being so invested in the phantom man the name Cody had manifested, and that petty annoyance that conjured up inside him at the details of Hange’s mini affair with a titan.

Is that what passion is? Or is that obsession? Levi started to wonder if his own eyes had ever looked that wild. If he had ever done something so stupid as to clandestinely or openly micromanage someone’s life, overthink the details down to miniscules, seeing the hope for truth in theories and hypotheses.

Or did Hange just have a little screw loose up there? Either way, Levi felt pathetic. It could have been from first hand embarrassment or second hand embarrassment. He could feel the blood rushing through his cheeks though and he felt the need to just suddenly vacate the room and be alone.

If Levi didn't look away quickly enough, he probably would have forgotten to breathe. "I'm not talking to you anymore. Go figure this out for yourself.”

“I'm not letting any of my men get killed over this,” He added a little later, a pathetic attempt to add some professionalism to the conversation between captain and squad leader.

For the first time as he walked away, there were no annoying protests or arguments from an overexcitable Hange Zoe. And for the first time after so many times before, Levi wasn’t hoping she’d follow him.