#dates‚ however‚ are fucking lost on him. cannot for the life of him remember at what point on planet the day starts and ends

[neurotypical-sonic]

sonic can alway tell about what time it is in the mystic ruins. he doesn't really do the whole time thing, he doesn't have a consistent sleeping schedule because his circadian rhythm is permanently fucked due to him constantly travelling all around globe. time zones mean nothing to him now. but he can always estimate when abouts in the day mystic ruins is in. he will get a text from tails, and depsite it being midday for sonic, he'll immediately go "hey. isnt it like. 3am there. what are you doing up." and tails will grumble about it's not THAT late, it's only 2am. sonic's internal mystic ruins clock does not take daylight savings into account

[ohhcalamxty]

hello. its been a while? 5 years actually. what a place this is! what a trip down memory lane of many emotions.

a quick tldr: im 25 now, im engaged and live with my amazing partner and 2 cats. i am ed free (for the most part - i still struggle to love my body sometimes), clean, and i am in therapy! a place i never would have thought id be.

i didnt think id come back here like. ever. but ive been having nightmares of sam recently. its odd isnt it, how the brain works? i havent seen sam in 7 years? since the 2nd june 2018 to be exact, and yet he haunts me. why?

this is an odd correlation but recently i got into taylor swift. her music has been wonderfully cathartic and whilst i never assumed id be one of those girls who screams breakup songs and curses them at my exes....here we are.

TTPD (and most of taylors sad songs) unhealed me, so to speak, or at least awoke something in me. i wouldn't ever proclaim i have had bad relationships. i am always grateful for the time myself and owen spent together, and i am extremely happy with josh (I'd say 2/4 of my relationships being good is pretty huge) but here I am screaming and crying over break up songs at the eras tour and tearing up in the shower because they resonate with a point in my life and put my feelings into words in a way I've never been able to do.

elliot was interesting but i try not to curse his name so much as we were 14 and maybe he didn't mean what he did because he didn't understand consent, or maybe i am naive and too nice - i guess we'll never know because he quite literally dropped off the face of the earth! (Also, minor shoutout for him delaying dumping me because my grandma died! i do appreciate that at least!)

sam however....oh where do I begin with sam!

"Were you sent by someone who wanted me dead?"

I think I spent a lot of my teen years reflecting on sam, because well, he fucked me up so much. i mean how emotionally spent must I be to have nightmares of someone who I spent less than 12 months with at the age of 16, and then collided with again for a single night at the age of 19. Clearly we're fucked here.

I cannot find the words to describe you, and I'm unsure what i did to deserve a love like this. You had a girlfriend that you loved and were with for years, and then I (your close friend at the time) got dumped, and you make your move. We hang out a lot, cool, fine, nothing new as we were friends anyway. My mind is hazy on how it started or when we went from friends to whatever we were but it haunts me so much lmao.

The constant talks of i was the one, and that yes I will leave her for you. I fear nobody ever talks about being the other woman because its so odd - it isnt a flex, it isnt cool or sexy. it fucking sucks and it fucked me up but i liked sam so much i believed it. I mean picture this: you're 16, just lost your grandma, heavily depressed, self harming, riddled with an ed and have been dumped but low and behold your best friend tells you he loves you and plays with your hair and holds you. we go on dates and have sleepovers with friends (he still had a gf btw) hes fucked up too but he worries and cares about you more than anyone else, but at the cost of if you try to pull away he hurts himself, and threatens suicide (and believe me he'd do it) - stuck between a rock and a hard place aye.

"And the God's honest truth is that the pain was heaven And now that I'm grown, I'm scared of ghosts - Memories feel like weapons"

Less than a year of back and forth, misery and stringing along. I can't remember how or why it ended but I know it took a lot of attempts of pulling away (and him pulling me back) to get away. A lot of bits are hazy but I can assume it must have been around the time when I met owen? There are old screenshots on here of sam talking to me and they make me feel unwell (not an exaggeration) - his words (even after it all ended) and how he tried to act like he cared makes me feel like a pit inside (even now). I do however find it funny that my posts from 2015 and 2016 about him claiming hes ruined my life don't seem that dramatic now that im 25 and having nightmares about him.

"Oh, God rest my soul, I miss who I used to be The tomb won't close, stained glass windows in my mind - I regret you all the time"

I think I would have been ok if this was it. I don't think I would be grieving my past self, my girlhood, my naivety if this was all - i very much had support through my other relationships to help the sam trauma which i do appreciate. But it doesnt end here does it? Nah thats too easy.

"Cause it wasn't sexy once it wasn't forbidden"

2nd June 2018: Me and Josh had briefly split up. It was Karlies birthday and we went out in HTC (dire) and I guess because Hinckley is a tiny place and everyone goes to the same places we ran into a lot of people (some good some bad) - including Sam.

Ima be honest idk where he came from or who he was out with but there he was, buying me drinks, talking to me, I dont remember much but I can assume I was happy. I do however remember him leading me away, telling me we're heading to the next bar because that's where everyone else was going but we actually were heading in the complete opposite direction haha. god knows where we were going but on the walk we sat on a bench, i cried, i told him off, told him he ruined my life, he told me he'd missed me so much, he held me, i cried more, i hated him and then we just rinsed and repeated as he pootled me up castle street to wherever he was taking me. My friend rang me, I told them I was with sam, people came running (guess they all know hes bad news) and they (including josh, who was my ex at the time and ig technically hated me) beefed him until he left and that was that. I haven't seen him since - i still dont know where he was taking me or what his plan was. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I didnt answer the phone, sometimes I wish I hadn't and that maybe I deserved whatever would happen. Maybe I'm blowing it out of proportion, being dramatic, but the trauma of the emotions that 16 year old me feels is still there. It haunts me.

"Don't call me "kid", Don't call me "baby" Look at this godforsaken mess that you made me"

So here we are. I guess I'm bringing this up at therapy in a few weeks because these feelings won't disappear (and Honestly I'm not sure why they reappeared other than being repressed emotions). I wonder though, has this affected you as much as it as me? Do you feel bad about what you did? Are you suffering? Do you think about me? Do you feel bad that you had such control over me or did you enjoy it? Claiming you've lost sleep over me and that you want to protect and help me? Was any of it true I wonder.

"And did the twin flame bruise paint you blue? Just between us, did the love affair maim you too?"

I suppose I'll never know, but I can only hope that memories of me haunt you as much as they haunt me. I hope you get everything you deserve, and I hope I can heal. My skin is no longer the skin you touched, I no longer physically feel you, and I hope one day my memories of you will be hazy and faded, and I don't need to jump at ghosts anymore.

And my therapist wonders why I really dislike men huh.

[screwhope]

BASICS.

IS YOUR MUSE TALL / SHORT / AVERAGE ? 5’5”. tall for a girl. made her feel 'other' as a teenager. ARE THEY OKAY WITH THEIR HEIGHT ? yeah , she doesn't care. WHAT’S THEIR HAIR LIKE ? though naturally brown if she wasn't gifted with light magic, emma's hair is golden blonde &* naturally forms "princess curls" no matter how little effort she puts into it. ( this is a 'straight hair emma' hater zone. getting rid of her curls was a hatecrime against me specifically. ) DO THEY SPEND A LOT OF TIME ON THEIR HAIR / GROOMING ? nope. she rolls out of bed &* gets outta there. sometimes, when she's going on a date -- mostly for the bail bondsperson jobs -- she does herself up really nice so the person is captivated. DOES YOUR MUSE CARE ABOUT THEIR APPEARANCE / WHAT OTHERS THINK ? not really. she only cares that she does her job. otherwise, she prefers to be comfy &* practical. she obv wants her partners to find her attractive, but ??

PREFERENCES.

INDOORS OR OUTDOORS ?  out. she doesn't like being caged up. RAIN OR SUNSHINE ?  sunshine. FOREST OR BEACH ?  both ? she didn't get to go to the beach as a kid so it's weird to her. she's not much for swimming. PRECIOUS METALS OR GEMS ?  metals ? she likes silver a lot. she's never had anyone get her like anything expensive tho. FLOWERS OR PERFUMES ?  flowers. for sure. she can't keep them alive, though. PERSONALITY OR APPEARANCE ?  personality. she loves a charmer, even if she won't admit it. BEING ALONE OR BEING IN A CROWD ?  she's been alone her whole life so that is comfortable for her, but once she's exposed to the big system that is storybrooke, she prefers that. ORDER OR ANARCHY ?  order. she hates things being chaotic. PAINFUL TRUTHS OR WHITE LIES ?  painful truths. she'd much rather you be honest with her than hide shit from her. SCIENCE OR MAGIC ?  science. she doesn't come around to magic even when she HAS it. she's still like this is stupid &* i don't understand it. PEACE OR CONFLICT ? peace. obviously as the savior conflict clings to her &* always finds her, but she fights it to achieve peace every time. however, were her life perfectly peaceful, i think she'd get bored after so long in fight or flight. NIGHT OR DAY ?  day! night is for sleepies &* smooches. DUSK OR DAWN ?   dawn ? i don't know. she doesn't clock me as a morning girlie. WARMTH OR COLD ?  warm! very warm. she hates being cold. catch her bundled up in 5 layers at all times. MANY ACQUAINTANCES OR A FEW CLOSE FRIENDS ?   again, she's been alone her whole life. she valued having close friends but they all fucked her over, so she's wary. but she grows to love it &* need it. READING OR PLAYING A GAME ? hi i'm emma i'm 19 &* i never learned how to fucking read. ( she knows how. she just hates it. )

QUESTIONNAIRE.

WHAT ARE SOME OF YOUR MUSE’S BAD HABITS ? prone to shutting people out or blowing up. she can't keep her car clean -- there's fast food &* protein bars all over the place. she can't feed herself -- she lives off of grilled cheeses &* cereal. she likes to take apart things when she's angry or anxious but she cannot put them back together -- rip to mary margaret's toaster. she is overly sarcastic &* catty, often pushing people away before they have the chance to get close. she can't trust for shit. HAS YOUR MUSE LOST ANYONE CLOSE ? HOW HAS IT AFFECTED THEM ?  so, her first friend (&* girlfriend) was lily, who 'betrayed' her &* left. then you have ingrid (her adoptive mother) who technically erased her memories of her so emma doesn't directly remember that, but she still has the feelings of loss. you have neal, who she pictured forever with, who left her with a baby. henry was her choice to give up, but no mother does that easily. you have cleo, who she wasn't close to persay, but did teach her a lot -- this was emma's first death. you get around to storybrooke, she loses graham. she loses neal right after getting him back again. she loses henry momentarily &* that fucks her up. she loses hook for a bit. she loses august. you have the overarching loss of her parents &* childhood. basically, emma has lost everyone in her life that was ever important to her. loss has fucked her up so significantly that she cannot let people in, for fear that they will leave or damage her even more beyond repair. WHAT ARE SOME FOND MEMORIES YOUR MUSE HAS ?  i think her time with neal &* lily are genuinely her best memories as a kid. as an adult, her life is not 'memorable' until storybrooke. any moment she has with henry is engrained in her from there. in particular, she holds on to learning new things about him that remind her of neal or herself. that moment in neverland where neal admits he loves her &* she can open up &* say she never stopped loving him was so cathartic for her. IS IT EASY FOR YOUR MUSE TO KILL ? god, no. she only kills 1 person in the show &* that was by accident &* it fucked her up. WHAT’S IT LIKE WHEN YOUR MUSE BREAKS DOWN ?  really fucking sad. she just exudes her emotions in waves bc of how often she's choking things down. so when she's upset, you can feel it in your bones. she sobs &* yells &* lashes out. she has to be physically restrained if she's angry or crushed in a hug if she's losing it. IS YOUR MUSE CAPABLE OF TRUSTING SOMEONE WITH THEIR LIFE ? ' the only person who saves me is me. ' but she will make sure everyone knows she'd jump on a grenade for them. WHAT’S YOUR MUSE LIKE WHEN THEY’RE IN LOVE ? dedicated. i think when emma falls in love ( great song by the way. very emma coded. ) she is very ... zoned in ? like. she doesn't see other people. i personally write emma as having BPD so she is very scared of being in love -- knows its the easiest way to lose someone. but she is endlessly compassionate &* loyal &* will protect them with her life. she is also very sensual ? that's not specific to love persay, but it like ... triples ? when she loves someone. very touchy -- &* not just like sexually. she just wants to touch you &* lay her head on you.

[shouldaspunastory]

The Muses: Eshalineva "Neva" Lavellan

A rather impulsive, and headstrong child from birth, Eshalineva never quite recovered from the perceived slight of not being chosen as the clan's First. Though, quite happy at first to get away for a while to spy on the goings on at the Conclave, she could never have expected that doing so would forever change her life.

Game decisions/deviations

Prologue: Rejects the idea of being the Herald of Andraste, outspoken about atheism amongst companions. Dislikes but accepts the necessity of the title for the Inquisition's political gain/manuevering. Declares an Elf will stand for Thedas.

In Hushed Whispers: Went to Redcliffe, allied with the mages

Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts: Celene dies, Brialla rules through Gaspard

Here Lies the Abyss: Wardens exhiled, left Stroud in the Fade

What Pride Had Wrought: Neva drinks from the Well of Sorrows.

Divine: Leliana (Hardened)

Companions & Advisors

Blackwall: (neutral) Blackwall freed & committed to Wardens

Cassandra:(mild rivalry) Found book of secrets, convinced Varric to write new chapter

Cole:(friends) Cole remained a spirit

Cullen: (neutral) Convinced him to stop taking Lyrium

Varric: (neutral) Found source of Red Lyrium, convinced him to write next Swords & Shields for Cassandra

Dorian: (neutral) Stayed with Inquisition, met but didn't reconcile with father

The Iron Bull: (friends) Saved the Chargers, Tal-Vashoth

Josephine: (neutral) Had Leliana use assasins to deal with the Du Paraquettes

Leliana: (friends) Hardened

Sera: (mild rivalry) Harmond alive & working for Inquisition

Solas: (lovers) Freed friend, Cole remained a spirit

Vivienne (neutral) Found lost Circle books, Gave her snowy wyvern heart

Basic Information

Full name: Eshalineva 'Neva' Lavellan Pronouns: She/Her Nicknames: Neva (because she doesn't trust the Shems to pronounce her name properly), Vhenan (Solas), Flurry (Varric) Title: Herald of Andraste, Inquisitor Occupation: Inquisitor Date of Birth: 16th of Firstfall, 22 at the start of DA:I Orientation: Bisexual Libido: High Religion: Atheist Threat level: 10/10. Not to be fucked with, and all too happy to tell you so. An incredibly strong mage to begin with, Neva is very emotionally-driven and will therefore throw everything she has into a fight if it is somehow made personal. With enough rage and when afforded the opportunity she may even make sure her oponent's deaths are particularly slow and/or painful.

Physical Information

Face claim: Katheryn Winnick Height: 5 ft, 6 in Eye color: Lilac Hair color + style: White, most often kept short, or in an asymetrical bob Dominant hand: left Distinguishing features: Mythal vallaslin, freckled bridge of nose & forehead Accent + intensity: Dalish/Free Marcher, heavy Tattoos: Mythal vallaslin across her cheekbokes Scar(s): A lattice of smaller scratches up both arms Piercing(s): No Glasses: No

Background Information

Hometown: Free Marches (wherever Clan Lavellan made camp) Current residence: Skyhold Language(s): Elvhen (Dalish), King's Tongue Social class: lower, honorary member of upper-class mostly because of her title as Herald of Andraste/Inquisitor Education: Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan was largely in charge of her education, teaching her magic and her people's history while training her to be her successor. Her decision to make her other protege her first, lead to resentment and a rift between her and Neva, however. Parents: Unknown, Neva was given to Clan Lavellan when she first showed signs of magic. She cannot remember her parents. Siblings: None (that she knows of, she was given to Clan Lavellan as a child) Adopted?: By Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan

Personality Information

Jung type: "The Entrepeur/Dynamo" Archetype: The Doppelgänger Enneatype: Romantic Moral alignment: Chaotic neutral Temperment: Brash/impulsive Angered by: Airs of superiority, religious fanatics, racism Intelligence type: Existential Neurodivergence(s): N/A At risk: Prone to following emotional impulses before fully considering the consequences

Vices & Habits

Smokes? No Drinks? Yes Drugs? Has tried some, doesn't use any regularly though Violent? Very Addicition(s)? Self-Destructive? Often Hobbies: Hiking, ice dancing, singing Likes: Exploring, traditionally feared predators (wolves, dracolisks, etc), music, learning new things, the cats of Skyhold Dislikes: Being corrected/told what to do Tic(s): Builds up small static electrical charge beneath fingers when irritated/angry

Miscellaneous Information

Zodiac: Servani Vice: Prideful Virtue: Passionate Element: Ice Mythological creature: Siren Animal: Wolves Mutation: Anchor on left hand

[arecipeforfeels]

Got high and decided I’m watching ca:tws so be ready for incoherence:

Marvel movies used to MEAN SOMETHING

They did however always live in the pocket of the military

I don’t care I would eat this movie if I could

They were so insane for it and they had to do civil war as the worlds worst no homo ever

HE DOESNT HAVE ANYONE AROUND THAT SHARES HIS EXPERIENCE COS HES LOST IN TIME

THE WHOLE MOVIE IS HIM BEING UNSUCCESSFULLY SET UP ON DATES

I hate everything

I also am not immune to an action sequence and some fun music….

Also it is very impressive how violent they can make these movies and completely get away with it if there’s no blood splatter

Bad guys r French, more at 10

I took a kickboxing class in like 2013 bc I thought black widow was hot and wanted to also be hot

(Sidenote, I also played basketball for five years bc of high school musical. I have never had an original thought in my life)

FIGHT SCENE NUMBER TWOOOOO

This is an iconic one cos it’s the one where he puts his shield on his back to fight for Even Footing (and also ON VA VOIR U WILL ALWAYS B FAMOUS)

people went so bonkers for that

Tag urself Im the giant harddrive

Okay goofiest admission ever: in this movie there’s a bunch of time spent in this one big building that’s supposedly located in dc. But it’s got this big giant atrium with a huge high steel and glass ceiling, and at some point during this movie someone hits it or crashes through it or shoots it. And every time I hear the words “glass ceiling” I think of this fuckin movie

CHEKHOVS ELEVATOR

“Wow yayyyyyyy war machiiiiiiime!! For sEcUriTy”

US Army wet dream while still trying to keep Cap there as a voice of reason

It’s a fascinating dichotomy

Air and spase! Museum (great night at the museum 3 reference)

Also I cannot believe he goes to his own fuckin exhibit

...actually upon reflection I too would go to my own exhibit

The endgame revisionism of him going back in time is soooooo stupid she does not exist to me

It’s such character assassination of everyone involved

(I don’t care, I say caringly, as I care deeply)

I also had (had??) a massive crush on Hailey atwell

Robert Redford is here

Weird joke about Algerians and the French

THERE IS AN ACTUAL COMPELLING CONVERSATION ABOUT PTSD

This movie is also a Chevy ad

Also I remember seeing the big SUVs in this movie and being like “damn those are tanks” they are also nothing compared to what’s out there now

This movie also feels so much more grounded in actual life

Like we talk abt all the CGI coming in later movies, this one feels gritty in comparison, on simply a mechanical level

Speed tour of dc

We have reached the civilian casualty stage of the movie

I can’t imagine how much money Samuel L Jackson has made off these movies

THE CAR FLIP SHOT W BUCKY IIIIIIIIII (editors note: this is where the coherence begins to go downhill. You can sense the trend)

god this movie

THE SHIELD CATCH IM EATING MY SHOES

Elevator scene lets fuckin goooooooooo

Let’s GOOOOOOOO

the tension build is so good

Everyone say thank u Steve rogers for breaking the glass ceiling

This movie is also an apple ad…2014

GUY WHO FULLY HITS ON STEVE AT THE APPLE STORE

Look the fuckin Natasha Steve bromance in this is lovely

Buddy comedy

I will say this was such a moment for the MCU, the hydra reveal

Esp cos like agents of shield was in its heyday etc etc

2014 sure was a time

This man [Toby Jones] has been so comically typecast forever

OPERATION PAPERCLIP CASUAL NAMEDROP

god

This is so fascinating to me Bc it’s like “Here is how we revisionize the United States’ history of interfering in coups etc etc it was bad guys in the government doing it etc etc”

“What we need to to is get back to the good government”

Sam Wilson the man that you are

Bucky shows up at any time in this fucking movie and I start barking

I am also always thinking of the “we shot him in ze legs” vine

This is my Roman Empire

“I knew him” oooouuuuugggHHHH

RIP Stan Lee

Bucky yeets a guy into a jet engine and by god does he look good doing it

This stupid movie (editors’s note: caught in a miasma of 2014)

[the-acid-pear-ocs]

Okay I'm gonna run down the events recently happens in Stardew Valley talking of my thoughts and ideas and everything.

Okay so basic run of events: Damon goes to the mines and is nearly killed. He goes back home exhausted and at the verge of death. Due to blood loss he accidentally drops a bomb inside the shed and cannot react quickly enough to run away or put it out or whatever.

THAT'S the canon framework. Unofficial bc i reset the day but canon anyway. Very similar to how Mila lost her leg funnily enough. Considering they are my first and last saves and considering they both are dating Emily... It's sussy 👁️👁️

Anyway that aside. Let's point out some other facts.

1- Damon was already in bad fucking shape because he had died in the mines the day ago too. Going to the mines right after probably was a terrible idea. There's something to be said about his self preservation skills.

2- Because he was in the mines and because he's a fashion icon he was actually mildly well prepared!! He had the squire's helmet and "iridium" pants. Can't for the life of mine remember the t-shirt tho but... It probably wasn't as protective. So while severe brain damage and facial scars might've been avoided, just as severe damage to his legs, the same cannot be said about his torso and arms.

Now, let's go slightly over the happenings OUTSIDE of Damon's perspective! Because what about Emily and the baby huh??

Well i, i actually don't know if Emily was in the house? I assume she was. So: your husband comes back from all day out in the mines, you don't see the state he's in but you assume it's alright. An hour passes. Suddenly, deafening loud sound. Worried, you run outside. The shed next to your house, the shed your husband works at, destroyed. Burning, in fact. And in between the debris of the machinery that was blown up and the fire and the wood burning down you see the shine of the helmet, same helmet you saw yesterday when you went to bed, same helmet that made you chuckle because you couldn't believe someone would be comfortable sleeping with that but he reassured you it was fine. Your husband is below the wood and fire and debris.

Now i actually am not sure what one is supposed to do in this situation because i don't think these people own a fire extinguisher 😭 but maybe someone else on town would so despite it being 11 pm i think in the desperation Emily would run into town begging for help. Not like the explosion wouldn't have woken up many around already, of course.

I feel like the damage would've been severe enough for Harvey to not be able to help out alone, that is once and however Damon is pulled out. He definitely got his chest stabbed something and he might have a few broken bones. More than one limb got to be barely saved, very broken bones and at least one finger got lost.

He's cut he's burnt he's broken his lung is about to collapse and he's losing so much blood so they have to transfer his ass to a hospital in the city.

God, can you imagine the aftermath too? Having poor Emily be questioned by the authorities, everyone trying to figure out what the fuck happened... Honestly it would be actually embarrassing when discovered what DID truly happen.

By the way, i think the ghosts might've interfered. Y'know, AS much as a ghost can. But the sheer fact that Damon survived and didn't like, get all his limbs blown apart and shit, considering a MEGA BOMB BLEW UP RIGHT BESIDES HIM is a miracle on its own as the doctors would later agree.

Emily would've probably wished to be able to stay by his side on the hospital but she couldn't do that, having the newborn baby and the whole farm to take care of now... But i want to believe the other residents would take turns helping her. She would be so fucking heartbroken and stressed though...

Mr. Qi would probably interfere in some level with Damon's recovery tho, I'm sure. I mean, this was but a very unfortunate accident and he liked Damon! He was doing a good job!! It wasn't his time yet. So he might have mailed a little gift that might have helped speed up the recovery.....

I feel like Vynil would also visit him in the hospital. Somehow she would find out and that's how Emily had to learn her husband had a sibling he never mentioned 😭 she might even go ahead and help in the farm temporarily until Damon is well enough 😳

Most people probably couldn't go visit him but i feel like one or two close friends might've gone out of their way to check on him... Like Kent and Willy 🥺 the rest would probably still send gifts and letters tho <33

I don't want to even think about how this would've affected Emily mentally... Like her husband nearly killed himself by not knowing his fucking limit!!! She would be sooo pissed when learning the truth like what if the fire spread out what if the house burned what if he just fucking DIED what was gonna be of Verde then he can't be so selfish like this he's not alone anymore he has a family and and and !!!!!!

I doubt she would say that to Damon's face tho. Not like that at least.

Dw for Damon mentally tho, he would just be upset at the time wasted and... Maybe a little self conscious about the left over scars on his body but hey, they look kinda sick actually! Like battle scars. He would probably be most upset about the money though which would ironically make him try to work harder again which, would make Emily get grey hairs.

Although who knows maybe the whole shed was rebuilt as a little gift for him!! That would be nice of the town, to give ever so little back to the man who gave them so much...

I will try to think his wounds and similar thru later. And do a lil arts of it . . .

[lazaruspiss]

!!! ok first of all thank u for the food, nom nom eating this post up rn

Second of all i hope u dont me adding a handful of notes as i reread this a few times bc it is Gold

BiB. my absolute beloved.

Jason: Wow! My bestest big brother killed someone who deserved it, so now I (the person he's rejecting only because I kill people who deserved it) have a real chance at being his family again!! :D Hooray! :) Dickie-Bird why don't you look happy to see me? :) Dickie-Bird I went out of my way to get us matching outfits and stalked your work and killed people in your name so it's nice and easy to make room for me in your life! :) :) :)

HEY. HEY REMEMBER WHEN I WENT "oh shit im starting to think jason might remind dick of blockbuster" bc AUGH. JASON. 'i'm killing people in your name! why arent you happy!' JASON. head in hands. BiB was so soon after but just long enough that the dust has technically settled enough that dick isn't as vulnerable as he could've been after all that. (every time i read a nightwing story i have to sit back and wonder how dick hasn't completely lost the will to live yet. and then i remember he already has but just feels too guilty to leave. maybe i should add a depression scale to my nightwing notes.)

i've read all of jason's appearances in B&R (2009) bc i wanted to check on some things about his and dick's dynamic and i absolutely loved it, i even have a little mini theory about the pill helmet look (which was cute as hell, haters can bite me): it's much closer to joker's red hood costume than any of jason's typical costumes! it feels purposeful, that alongside dick becoming batman comes jason (trying) to be his joker, not bc he's trying to actually emulate joker in any real way but bc he's trying to put himself in the "loving arch enemy" position with dickbats. or maybe i just have some brainrot about them, lol.

i do give B&R dami a pass to be a mildly bigoted shit bc ive babysat plenty of kids and esp at his age a lot of them just Say Shit, when it was from him i found it funny and endearing bc his age just kind of lends itself to dami saying shit like that w/o any real awareness of it. the actual writing and depiction of fat people/mental illness/queerness is pretty frustrating though. if it was just a weird 10 y/o being mean then it would make total sense to me, but the story itself perpetuates some pretty nasty shit. that said i still havent read it all the way through bc pyg makes me um. Feel Things. in my- ok yeah, TMI. B&R isnt good, but it is right up my fucked up little alley.

The romantic side plot with Artemis is... odd. Either the author, Scott Lobdell, intended to write Jason as a desperate loser trying to date his uninterested lesbian friend who he co-parents with, or he accidentally wrote a romance so awkward and comp-het that I cannot wrap my head around reading it as reciprocated. This works for me because I have a lot of fun reading Jason as a desperate loser who's not even actually in love with her, he just is desperate to cling to the closest thing he's ever gotten to a nuclear family and in denial about being either aro/ace or gay.

haha. me too jason. <-(aro queer who tried so hard to date. embarrassing.)

and i'm actually pretty interested to see how they handle bizarro, even more so as someone who has needed accommodations myself for mental functionality reasons. (the plus side of knight terrors: nightwing #2 being as bad as it was is that now if i run into ableism in comics i can go "at least its not that" lol. However they handle biz is bound to be better, that issue lowered the bar farther than i thought was possible for me.)

My Jason Todd Rec List and Character Manifesto!

This is a fuckin mess my ghouls, but I got categories and I got opinions and who can stop me from typing em out? Certainly not @lazaruspiss who is the reason this thing got made!

The format is gonna be

title and page numbers (No #s if I'm recommending the whole title) picture Summary and general notes My estimate of how unhinged he is in this portrayal What his morals are like; note this isn't about whether he's a protagonist or antagonist

Since cream rises to the top, let us start with:

The Creme de la Creme

The best of the best. The most fun, the most compelling, the most interesting looks into his character.

Green Arrow (2001) #69 - #72

This one really does have it all. Jason runs rings around both Batman and Green Arrow at the same time, all the while going after a goal neither of them ever truly figures out in large part because this story wasn't afraid to let Bruce be either wrong or lying about Jason's motives. It also wonderfully leverages the ways in which the Bats and the Arrows are really good foils for each other. I think I'm going to be turning over the ways these interactions went down for a long ass time. I've been really wanting to go page by page for a comparison between the way Jason treats Mia in this and the way Jason treats Tim in the Titans Tower showdown. Bottom line for this one: It's just so good!

Jason's sanity level: Six out of Ten hinges affixed. He's got a solid grip on things, is reasonably level headed, only problem is he might have completely forgotten how to interact with other human beings outside of combat. Love him for that.

Jason's moral compass bearing: Sympathetic Villain. Decidedly willing to mow down some "brain donors", and his goals are pretty morally grey, but he clearly still has a strong code of ethics.

Joker: the Man Who Stopped Laughing

With Jason's return to being an antagonist after a long stint in the Hero bin comes his return to being really fucking dangerous and whip smart! My boy quotes serious philosophy that gives him a real point to make against non lethal vigilantes and cops! I also think the part where he lets himself be arrested just... it says so much and all of it is wonderfully interesting and feels fitting for his character. He's kept deeply human, and just all of this portrayal gels together really well.

At the time of writing, this comic hasn't even been properly published yet, so I'm going off of like 9 issues in which he appears less than the Joker, but what is there is phenomenal.

Also I like that he's friends with my favorite, Stephanie Brown :3

Jason's sanity level: Nine out of Ten hinges affixed. Level headed, calm, careful, really the only reason this isn't a 10/10 is cause he's obsessively focused, which like, honestly is pretty reasonable I think.

Jason's moral compass bearing: Clearly Justified Antihero. I almost put down Hero on this one, but ultimately he is just far enough over the line with how he treats the less threatening of the rogues like Killer Moth.

Batman (1940) #408 - #411 Jason's debut featuring Ma Gunn's School and his first ever outing as Robin fighting Two-Face

Just LOOK at this PRECIOUS BOY! I wanna pinch him on his cheeks and give him a handful of these bad boys

Jason has a ton of personality to him right out the gate. The first story has Ma Gunn as the villain and she's a lot of fun. The second story in here with Two-Face is also enlightening with regards to Jason's early personality, even if it's not quite as fun.

Jason's sanity level: Ten out of Ten hinges affixed.

Jason's moral compass bearing: Hero.

Under the Red Hood would be next if it wasn't already filed under ->

Foundational Texts

This is the shit that defines Jason as a character. Much is mutable in any given comic, but somehow, someway, all depictions of Jason are impacted and informed by these three stories. Enough has been said about all of them that I'm gonna keep it brief.

Red Hood: The Lost Days

Jason's sanity level: Eight out of Ten hinges affixed.

Jason's moral compass bearing: Antihero. He kills some incredibly nasty people, while also doing some genuinely heroic shit. The only places where his morals deteriorate are in the presence of Batman and the Joker.

Under the Red Hood

Jason's sanity level: Four out of Ten hinges affixed. Remember how his morals deteriorated in the face of Batman and the Joker? Yeah, that's mostly because he's way, way too personally invested to think straight about them. He's strategic as fuck, but this is not a stable man's strategy for dealing with his issues.

Jason's moral compass bearing: Sympathetic Villain. He is a revenant, a vengeful juggernaut, and breaks an awful lot of eggs making this brilliant disaster of an omelette.

Batman (1940) #426 - #429 A Death in the Family

Jason's sanity level: Ten out of Ten hinges affixed.

Jason's moral compass bearing: Hero.

Joker becoming an ambassador to Iran plotlines count: One too many.

Solid Storylines

These ain't the vaulted heights, but not everything has to be the Sistine Chapel. They're solid, and if you're wanting more Jason I do certainly recommend them.

Countdown Presents: The Search for Ray Palmer and Countdown to Infinite Crisis

Jason is in what I like to call his Purposeless Depression Era during this. It's after his plans in Under the Red Hood fail and he's really just got no place to go, no place to be, and in fact is keenly aware that on a cosmic level, he truly does not belong in this world anymore. He's supposed to be dead. There's something I find quite neat about this team up, with Donna Troy and Kyle Raynor and Bob, it's out of the ordinary for Jason, it's not bat related, and the ways he fits and doesn't fit with the other characters are just neat.

I especially recommend Gotham by Gaslight. The plot will be a lil hard to follow if you haven't read the others, but Jason by the end hopes to return to Victorian Era Steampunk Gotham and the moments of him hoping to literally leave his universe behind are both sweet and sorrowful.

Jason's sanity level: Ten out of Ten hinges affixed. He's just sad and lonely.

Jason's moral compass bearing: Hero. Even if only Donna is willing to tentatively try to see him that way.

Robin (1993) #177 and one page of #182 and the front half of #183

Despite how much Jason is known for it, I think this is the only time we see him trying to run organized crime outside of Under the Red Hood (and uh debatably Battle for the Cowl). Short lil string of appearances, but critical for understanding how he's seen by Tim during this era if you care about that, and it really cemented my understanding of Jason being strangely honest and forthright.

I think the major way other Bats fail to comprehend him is that they expect him to manipulate through lying, which just isn't his style. He doesn't lie about his motives; he doesn't obfuscate his tactics; he doesn't hide how he's feeling. Hell, he doesn't even try to lie his way out of prison! I could not tell you why this series of interactions gave me this impression but it is why I have such faith that when Jason says something, he probably just means it, even when characters like Dick or Tim assume otherwise.

Pity this was the lead up to Battle for the Cowl.

Jason's sanity level: Ten out of Ten hinges affixed. He's even attempting to pick himself up out of his Purposeless Depression Era slump at the start.

Jason's moral compass bearing: Antihero.

Nightwing (1996) #118 - #122 aka Brothers in Blood aka the One Where Jason Gets Tentacles

COWARDS and KNAVES will tell you "the tentacles are so icky and everyone is so OOC" or whatever but again they are KNAVES and COWARDS because bitch this shit is GREAT

Jason: Wow! My bestest big brother killed someone who deserved it, so now I (the person he's rejecting only because I kill people who deserved it) have a real chance at being his family again!! :D Hooray! :) Dickie-Bird why don't you look happy to see me? :) Dickie-Bird I went out of my way to get us matching outfits and stalked your work and killed people in your name so it's nice and easy to make room for me in your life! :) :) :)

Dick:

Jason's sanity level: Two out of Ten hinges affixed. My mans is off his rocker and I adore him like this. Frankly, the entire storyline is unhinged, and it only feels appropriate that Jason is similarly bonkers in yonkers.

Jason's moral compass bearing: Villain. You can sympathize with him, and he is still trying to carry out justice, but I have to call it for straight villain when he's threatening to bomb a building full of innocent people.

Batman and Robin (2009) #23 - #25

I don't have much to say about this one. It's good. The above page is pretty much the highlight.

Wait actually I do have something to say and it is that I would like to lick Jason's abs, pls & thx, because the other highlight is that Winick clearly believes in redeeming Jason's value as a villain through sex appeal and it is working lmao

Jason's sanity level: Ten out of Ten hinges affixed. Certifiably sane, he's passed all his psych exams!

Jason's moral compass bearing: Villain. He threatens to bomb a train station full of innocent people. While he does do that in service of freeing himself and Scarlet, thus making it not completely self centered, I still gotta put him firmly in Villain.

Nightwing (2016) 2021 Annual

In high contrast to the previous two in which Jason acts as a villain to Dick, this one has them working together and the tentative peace and cautious trust they've got going is interesting to me. This Team Z era Jason is interesting to me in general, though I don't know much about him.

Jason's sanity level: Nine out of Ten hinges affixed. He's quite chill, but there's just this little edge to him that says his relationship to violence is a little too casual a little too deep to really be fully hinged.

Jason's moral compass bearing: Edgy Hero.

Your Mileage May Vary

These stories I can't recommend without major caveats or warnings, but I still think are worth mentioning.

Batman: Three Jokers <- I read it while typing this up, so I got a lotta thoughts

Guh, this one is just fucking sad

So, I don't mind a story being blunt with its message as long as the message actually holds up. Unfortunately, this three parter's attempt at the cycle of violence lesson is... bad. Real bad.

Jason in it is neat! This is a good Jason portrayal somehow despite literally everything about the way this comic frames him! The narrative expects us to believe he is a danger to society on the cusp of becoming another Joker, because he *checks notes* shot the Joker dead, shot at a Joker loyal guy, and roughly interrogated an injured child abuser. At no point does he show signs of wanting to hurt innocent people. At no point does he show signs of doing any hurting without premeditation or a need to defend himself. I'm baffled by this.

My kingdom for a fucking CRUMB of nuance, I swear, smh...

I hear a lot of people hate his one sided romance towards Barbara. This is understandable as it squanders the opportunity to have a female character not be stuck as the narrative sponge for man emotions. I like it from the perspective of a Jason fan, and give condolences for the Barbara fans. It's not healthy, and good fucking job on the janitor sweeping away his letter to her so poor Babs doesn't have to deal with that shit, but I do like Jason's desperation to be loved by someone, anyone, who might show him compassion.

Jason's sanity level: Six out of Ten hinges affixed. He's sad, he's lonely, he needs some PTSD specific therapy, he's a bit creepy about his crush on Barbara, but quite frankly he has it together a lot more than the narrative would like us to believe. The way the other characters treat him like he's some kind of monster just waiting to snap and start maiming people indiscriminately makes me really uncomfortable.

Jason's moral compass bearing: Antihero. Quite frankly I'm tempted to say Hero out of spite.

Red Hood and the Outlaws (2016) #1 - #43

There are three transcendental character moments in this run that I think make it worth reading even if not all of it's your cup of tea. On the other hand though there are some big issues that could very easily be deal breakers. Oh and anything after #43 is a wasteland and #43 is included purely for the implication that being transgender made a woman immortal.

The narrative structure is really heavily dependent on rule of emotional impact/cool/allegorical usefulness. Many events will not make any fucking sense based on petty things like basic logic or the laws of physics, but they do work just fine in the area of what makes the story more fun or the emotional beats hit harder. Stronger than average suspension of disbelief is necessary for the reward of getting a lot of stuff that's, like, just really fuckin cool.

The romantic side plot with Artemis is... odd. Either the author, Scott Lobdell, intended to write Jason as a desperate loser trying to date his uninterested lesbian friend who he co-parents with, or he accidentally wrote a romance so awkward and comp-het that I cannot wrap my head around reading it as reciprocated. This works for me because I have a lot of fun reading Jason as a desperate loser who's not even actually in love with her, he just is desperate to cling to the closest thing he's ever gotten to a nuclear family and in denial about being either aro/ace or gay.

Now, lets explore a lil bit of the whole Jason is a loser angle, cause it's not the whole story, there are many points in which Jason gets to be a badass motherfucker, but he is much, much less of the hypercompetant, highly determined, murderous threat he used to be. Almost none of the newer renditions of Jason are. This Jason in particular though is very soft and cuddly, and fits the archetype of man trying to be the edgy bad boy but who secretly just wants a hug and a warm glass of milk.

If I were to describe my personal Jason in a few sentences I would say that he is someone who loves himself viciously. He feels he has been wronged and is willing to burn down the world to rectify that. He will hold your ass at gunpoint and demand the hugs and warm glasses of milk that he fucking well deserves!

This Jason is about as far away from that as you can possibly get. I still like him though, and I do not count him as being a different character, because when you start with emotional logic that goes like this:

It wasn't my fault + I deserve better = I get to burn the world down in order to get better

It becomes extremely difficult to ever stop burning the world without also deciding "It was my fault" or "I don't deserve better". Jason is meant to have changed a lot, and this is a plausible evolution of the Jason I prefer.

Finally, the handling of Bizarro, a mentally disabled character, is a sensitive enough topic that your mileage will vary, even if I can't think of a bad thing to say about it. Jason and Artemis are really pretty good about treating him with respect, giving him help where he needs it and autonomy where he's capable of taking it. They raise him, but don't control him, and he is literally three days old when they find him so this isn't infantilization. It takes the framing of Lenny from of Mice and Men and Flowers for Algernon and rejects them in a way that I am satisfied with. You'll just have to read it for yourself to see if you're satisfied as well.

Jason's sanity level: Ten out of Ten hinges affixed. I kinda wish he was more unhinged.

Jason's moral compass bearing: Hero. He even saves a puppy and gives them pats.

Knight Terrors: Robin

Have you ever been in the mood for a syrupy sweet hurt/comfort fanfiction in which Jason and Tim were magically forced to talk about how much they like each other in order to overcome their own insecurities? Do you wish that existed as a lavishly illustrated two issue comic?

If you answered yes to those two questions then congratulations! It does exist, this is it, go have fun!

If you think that sounds like ham fisted garbage turning what should be several long arcs of serious reconciliation and deeply meaningful character moments into two issue fan service schlock then condolences! I wish you all the best in denial, as all comic fans sail that river sooner or later and I shall join you upon it someday.

What category do I fall into? Well I think this is definitely ham fisted, but I won't kick a boar out of bed as long as they ain't a bore, and this little ditty is certainly entertaining.

Jason's sanity level: Ten out of Ten hinges affixed.

Jason't moral compass bearing: Hero.

Batman and Robin Eternal

This is a decent portrayal of Jason in his modern, much friendlier, and much more bat family integrated rendition. He has some fun moments in it, and I like his staby bracers.

I don't like this comic. It commits the most dire of writing sins: Being boring. I think about Jason every second of every minute of every day; if your comic that majory features a good portrayal of him cannot hold my attention, then something has gone very wrong. Hopefully one of you will like it more than I do.

Jason's sanity level: Ten out of Ten hinges affixed.

Jason's moral compass bearing: Hero.

A Hot Take

I bet you thought the tentacles were the hot take! HAH! MuahahaahhHAHAHAH - Prepare now, puny mortals, to witness me defend Pill Helmet Jason AND his fashion choices!

No, I am not talking about Winick's redo late in the game, we've already been over that one. I mean I will defend Grant Morrison's flop era, three foot head gear wearin, goofy ass, unwashed ass, "how to build ur brand" reading maniac

It's time to talk about Batman and Robin (2009) #1 - #6

The interpretation of one scene makes or breaks this Jason:

If you believe he is being insincere and manipulating her into putting all her emotional eggs in the basket of his crusade, ignoring her wellbeing in favor of his 'brand', then this is probably the worst mischaracterization of Jason ever written.

If you believe he is being sincere, genuinely comforting her in the only way that he's got to deal with his own trauma, giving her real affection and not pushing her to take either option with the mask because he trusts her to make that decision for herself, then this gets Jason very right.

No matter what Morrison might have intended, I choose to believe it's the latter. This is terrible advice to give a trauma victim, but it makes perfect sense for Jason to believe that about his own trauma, and thus to pass that maladaptive view along. He doesn't try to assure her that the mask can come off safely or that he'll get her a doctor because he really can't promise her either of those things. It would be cruel to her to pretend that he's got a solution. Jason can't undo the damage that was done to her any more than he can force a dead Bruce to kill the Joker.

Instead he offers her purpose, and reassurance that she's gonna look badass if she never does take it off, and protects her when she's in trouble.

You can claim this is just him acting out his chosen Hero role, but like, WHY would he have chosen to method act that role 24/7 if he wasn't trying to BE a Hero who protects people like Scarlet? There's nothing in it for Jason to fake this.

I also think if he was being written out of character as a manipulator we would have seen him use a romantic or sexual angle which he absolutely doesn't do.

Dickie, you are such a funny Batman, they never shoulda brought Bruce back tbh.

Instead, he seems to be taking a more parental role, in a near perfect reflection of how Bruce took him in when he was a kid. Just he's doing it his way, meaning that whenever Scarlet goes further with the violence than Jason seems to want to, he backs her up instead of chastising her.

Speaking of violence and morals, Let the Punishment Fit the Crime is a coherent moral position to take, even if you (understandably) disagree with it, or disagree with what punishments fit which crimes. It's basically the same moral position as every other version of Jason there's ever been! Like, is he even killing more people than he used to in stories like Under the Red Hood? No, I don't think he is.

The branding thing is weird, lil annoying too after a while, but ultimately it still makes sense. And brings me around to my promised defense of his fashion choices.

First of all the symbolic importance of the fact that he wears white cannot be overstated in my mind. Will I elaborate? No, this post is way too long already lmao! Second off, it's supposed to be silly. I believe the silliness was a conscious, calculated choice, and the right one to make.

Jason doesn't believe that fear works, he's not trying for pure intimidation, and he knows that he's going to have to appeal to people in his bid to be seen as a Hero. Making himself seem big but non-threatening, a bright patch in the night, makes real sense.

Take a look at this view of Jason from Scarlet's POV when he comes to rescue her from the cops after she kills her dad:

He's got a smoking gun in his hand and he just shot two people dead, yet we're hard fuckin pressed to find him intimidating aren't we?? Cornball dialogue, and the silliest fuckin hat in the universe, because he's not meant to be from this era, he's emulating the Golden and Silver age comics and all their goofiness. He's trying to be the older, happier, sillier batman that used to exist (at least in his head), while doing what he believes is right and necessary.

The costume makes sense dammit!

Also it just doesn't look bad, I can't provide an argument for this, it's just true!!

Also also every one of these fuckers should be wearing a helmet too, this is basic brain safety, if you're gonna go around antagonizing fuckers with guns you need to make your head at least nominally bulletproof, it's that simple!!!

Now... do I recommend you read this? Well, Jason shares panel space with such characters as:

The living embodiment of the F-slur

A sneer directed at fat and genderqueer people

And our main villain: Schizophrenia is Evil + Transes are Scary

I do have the sneaking suspicion that Jason isn't interested in Scarlet in part to imply that he's gay, and I think that mostly because of how consistently every other villain is made queer.

I cannot in good conscience recommend something this openly bigoted to the vast majority of people. It's also besides that just... not terribly good. The writing is B tier at best. Pyg is probably the most likable element other than Dick tbh. Scarlet is also pretty neat, I like her. Damian is... okay. Uhhhhh Jason is not likable. I will defend this as a valid rendition of his character, but he's not likable pretty much at all in this.

However.

There are some people I know who I would recommend this to. They're all other queer people who enjoy grotesque, violent, provocative presentations of queerness as much as I do.

Reading it did not ruin my day, and it does not stoop to the ultimate low of being boring. If I had to reread this or Batman and Robin Eternal, I would reread this in a heartbeat, no competition. If you can find enjoyment in stuff like the Silence of the Lambs' sequel and prequel movies, you can find enjoyment in this.

Jason's sanity level: One out of Ten hinges affixed. Obsessive, not taking care of himself, possessed of some really maladaptive trauma coping frameworks, completely unhinged. My condolences to his mental health, but I do love to see it.

Jason's moral compass bearing: Antihero. It's weird because this is undeniably a much darker comic, and Jason certainly feels darker, but in terms of what he actually does, and what the other characters do, his violence is honestly very tame.

So, cards on the table, here is the core of who Jason is to me:

He's got clear moral motives and a drive to help as well as harm.

When confronted he does not back down; he does not let himself be overshadowed or silenced. He is confident in his decisions and every bit of push back is already accounted for in his head.

Everything he does is premeditated. He is not impulsive whatsoever.

He is painfully sincere, the way fire is painfully hot.

He desperately desires love and connection, but it will take many years of constant rejection and fighting before he is willing to accept any kind of compromise to his ethics for the sake of civility.

Under all the hurt and combativeness, he's a pretty goofy guy! He's got a sense of fun and likes to be flamboyant and silly when he can!

He's a villain, a hero, a protagonist, an antagonist, and everything between the extremes. He exists as a powerful counter-thesis to Batman, and as such DC can't ever fully answer the question of what to do with him. He exists in this waffling limbo state as his morals are debated, stretched, refuted, turned on their head. I think that makes him a wonderfully fascinating character to love.

I hope you enjoyed this and, like, go have fun reading comics!

[queers-gambit]

Dating Eddie Munson HC [part two]

pairing: Eddie Munson x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Stranger Things

word count: 2.6k+

note: can't get this boy outta my head, so, here's a few other headcanons about boyfriend!Eddie Munson.

warnings: cursing, female descriptions / pronouns (i think), this one's pretty tame. still proceed with maturity.

• you cannot convince me this boy doesn't, like, do everything in his power to put a smile on your face. cracking a (bad) joke, pulling a funny face, or acting like a klutz just to see that smile on your face.

• Eddie writes poems for you. maybe not full songs (even though a few have been about you) but he likes to write you actual poetry. it was the one unit he excelled in during English because he had an array of poems at his disposal.

• some poems were left in a journal, some on scrap pieces of paper then taped on his dresser's mirror, others written to you and sent in a letter.

• this man is big on hand-written letters. you like to read? he likes to write? it fucking works for you!! he'll write you a letter for anything, too.

• bullies got him fucked up? he was writing a letter to you that he might not send for weeks because he's still adding to it. it's therapeutic. and it's not that he's not telling you when things happen but it's sometimes hard to verbalize everything. so, he writes and one day, he'll slip it to you, "you don't have to respond to it, but I want you to know these things."

• and later that evening after you've read the letter, you're at his trailer, and crawling into his lap. he might be sitting on the couch because Wayne's at work already, hands holding your thighs and up to your hips as your hands smooth his hair back, off his face.

• and you'd tell him, "I love it when you're open with me. and I want you to know, your feelings are safe with me, however you need to express them." and all sorts of reassuring things, because you didn't want to offer too much sympathy because he didn't want pity, but instead assurance that his feelings are valid, and safe.

• but he sends you letters for other reasons, too! he doesn't need much of a reason to pick up a pen.

• you save each one. i don't need to explain this, right?

• he gifts you a silver ring of your own; maybe gets you one for every year you're together. but that doesn't stop you from stealing his on the occasion, let's be clear on that.

• because in my head, Eddie doesn't do short-term. he's in it for the long term, so, he likes to go all out for anniversary's. hence the rings.

• and he loves seeing your style and his meshed together in your outfits, remember? seeing you in some ripped jeans, one of his shirts? hair done, make-up poppin', nails manicured, with - oh - what's those? shining silver rings he got you? he might swoon a little.

• and holding hands when you're wearing your rings isn't 100% comfortable at first but you both get used to it. and he even might start to fiddle with your rings sometimes, too; either when anxious or just lost in thought, he'll gently spin one of your rings around your finger.

• skin to skin contact is still a must, but laying face-to-face while gently petting over his face as if to map out his features is just soul-soothing for the both of you. "everything's quiet when I'm with you," you tell him softly, voice barely above a whisper.

• and he smiles lightly, "what do you mean, quiet, sweetheart?"

• "everything in my head, all the bullshit going on in the world," you sigh as you trace over his chest tattoo, "it's quiet when I'm with you. everything's just... so much better with you, baby."

• ah, man - he melts. you hear me? he melts. he can't help but bring you in closer to press an excited kiss to your lips. and when he pulls back, he takes only a nano-second before he's kissing you again, and again.

• because he's elated to hear those words. and you make note of that by making it a habit to reassure him of his place in your life. his insecurities run deep but he's making real progress on that because you take deep satisfaction in assuring him of your love.

• I know I said stoner!boyfriend Eddie lets you paint his nails, but can we agree that boyfriend!Eddie in general will do that? great - so, you like to paint your nails, right? and sometimes, you can't choose a color and Eddie thinks it's really cute when you get that concentrated look on your face while trying to get an even coat.

• so, he doesn't mind you painting his fingernails. he'll often have to decide the color for you because you "just can't!"

• he might try his hand out with painting your nails, too. look, Eddie can get a few tattoo sketches down, why can't he master nail art?

• don't tell anyone but he definitely has a shoe box full of photos of you guys. he got a polaroid camera when you started dating and he tries to take at least one photo every date. it's a nice homage to your relationship.

• he leaves the camera in his car so he doesn't forget it. plus, he has his own personal collection of pictures of you in his passenger seat, so, win-win. oh, there goes my heart.

• when he's missing you or after you guys have a fight, he looks through that photo box. and oh, look! he's writing you another letter! he's a simp and my mind can't be changed.

• your heart gets warm when he calls you sweetheart. you're used to him calling you baby, and don't get me wrong, it's adorable. but when he drops sweetheart in lieu of your name, you're the one melting a little.

• and you're both always holding hands or your arm's around the others shoulders. like, constantly. he's not overly adamant on PDA but that boy doesn't feel right if you're close by and he's not touching you.

• there's a height difference. and he likes to pick on you for that. he's lanky, so let's say he's taller than you; and he never, ever lets you forget it. you'll try to reach something in the cabinet above the stove while you're cooking at your house, and here comes Eddie!

• he'd let one hand move around your waist to squeeze you into his side while the other grabbed whatever you needed, "woah there, small fry, careful! you might knock yourself over stretchin' like that."

• "you think you're funny, don't you?"

• but he is funny, the little shit. his jokes are mostly corny but because you guys have history, there's a lot of inside jokes that make you both go lightheaded from laughter.

• Eddie has social anxiety that's hidden behind this macho bravado but you can tell when he's feeling uneasy.

• it's sometimes easier to just slid your hand into his and mutter quietly, "squeeze my hand if you wanna go."

• you were always quick to come up with some excuse for your abrupt departure the moment you felt him squeeze your hand. it ranged from some excuse over dinner with your mom, maybe you have a sibling that needs picked up somewhere, or there's some extended family member coming into town. no matter what, when he squeezes, you're getting him out of there.

• when the anxiety passes, he's realizing he's dating his best friend and silently thanks God because you both just read each other. you both just get it.

• he calls you his little problem solver because it doesn't matter what's going on or what he's feeling, he can turn to you. confide in you. and you know it goes both ways because he's there for you no matter what.

• when you're sick, good luck getting Eddie to go to school. you'll phone him early in the morning and tell him your symptoms before insisting you'd just stay in bed; but he's already packing a bag to hang with you for the day.

• he'd come over with snacks and Gatorade (or something) because your parents already left for work. he doesn't care if he'll get sick, too; he'll crawl in bed with you and gently massage your scalp.

• Eddie doesn't like going to school if you're not there, so, he doesn't mind playing hookie. and he gets you anything you need because he's a sweetheart like that.

• yeah, you like forehead kisses - but he likes kissing your forehead.

• mixtapes! mixtapes! mixtapes! Eddie makes you mixtapes! just imagine he's out somewhere and finds himself bobbing his head along to some song, specifically asks for the name, so later, he adds it to a mixtape 'cause he thinks you'll like it, too.

• look, sometimes his emotions get the better of him and he communicates through music.

• so, sometimes, after a fight, you'll find a cassette tape left in your mailbox when you collect the mail that day. you know it's from him without a signature, but there's usually a scribbled note on the front of the case.

• I'm sorry for what I said. I hope this can help?

• and you listen to it all night. he'll come to pick you up in the morning for school and feel anxious you wouldn't want to see him, but just as he comes to a halt, you're heading out your door.

• you spend the morning talking about whatever upset the both of you before telling him how the music made you feel. he'll tell you what the songs made him feel, and that's how you sort through your feelings over certain fights.

• we know he kills the spiders but let's face it - you probably kill the rest of the creepy crawlies. you just don't do spiders... so, he's brave for the both of you, so as long as you're brave the other times and handle other bugs.

• Eddie stops to pet dogs. (so, you both stop when you're together).

• you like to bake. and Eddie likes your creations, so, he sometimes lets you rope him into helping if you promise him the first few bites of baked goods. he can burn water but under your eye, he actually kinda likes being in the kitchen - but he likes making you sweat, so, he'll continue to give you a hard time.

• younger siblings adore him. they think Eddie's funny, and he does those goofy voices when playing with them or reading them some story. Eddie doesn't mind getting down in the dirt with them. they want him to sit next to them at dinner.

• older siblings don't approve at first but they come around because let's face it, he tries to charm them since he's intimidated by them. and they think his efforts are cute that they cut him some slack.

• does Eddie let you braid his hair? only after a joint.

• maybe you first meet 'cause you're looking for a dealer.

• maybe you meet in middle school.

• maybe you meet his first senior year.

• maybe because it's both of your favorite holiday, you meet at a halloween event wearing either accidental matching costumes (so you kinda have to hang out all night and get to know the cutie) or you're wearing perfectly opposite costumes. so, again, how can you not hang out with him all night? it was fate, you were sure of it.

• or maybe you meet because you used to babysit Mike and / or Dustin, promising to give them a ride home after Hellfire and there's Eddie, waiting to make sure the newest members get in their ride. looking too cool for school as he leans on the side of the building, and he's not as smooth talking as he wants to be but you think he's still endearing.

• look, how common was it for Eddie to find you in his hoodie? pretty freaking common. they smelled like him and he started using that fabric softener you told him about that made the material soft, so, he was used to you entering his room, dropping your belongings, and snuggling your way into a hoodie.

• Eddie is the type of boyfriend that when you pass by in the lunch room, he's wrapping his arms around your waist to tug you into his lap; greeting you with kisses on the cheek. no matter if he saw you that morning, or an hour ago, he's just happy to see you.

• all right, so, about his smell. Eddie is overly conscious about his smell - so, daily showers. and he uses that cologne you complimented because his clothes smell like cigarette and weed smoke, and together, you think it smells kinda like home. when your nose is pressed to his skin, you don't really notice the smoke smell.

• you like both coffee and tea, so, Eddie learns how to make your favorite of both. he's cute. very, very cute.

• okay, so, he likes scary movies. he jumps at all the jump scares but he laughs after. you don't mind scary movies because it's an excuse to sit in Eddie's lap and press your nose into his neck.

• man, throw a blanket across across you fools and you'll actually fall asleep during a horror movie.

• okay, when you go out to eat, you both take turns ordering something neither of you have tried before. it's a simple way for you both to try new things and push your comfort bounds.

• he goes with you when you get your first tattoo, too. holds your hand, reassures you that you're doing great, has an opened bottle of water for you, and takes peaks as the tattoo progresses. he'd make cute jokes to distract you when you'd wince in annoyed pain.

• oh, man, the dates are just cute. they're not always conventional but you both look for any excuse to hang out.

• he likes to pinch your jaw and lift your attention up to your eyes (that height difference, man). then he'd kiss you and mutter, "don't know what I did to deserve you, but good job me."

• and yeah, I mentioned it before, but he's close with your family. like, to the point when you need an extra team member for family game night, Eddie's rolling in with more flowers for your Mom and maybe a pack of candy for your sibling(s).

• let's just imagine Eddie at family meals please. he's offering to fill your plate when the peas come your way, refilling your Mom's wine glass, and teasingly taking your Dad's side during arguments.

• he'd be invited to the Christmas vacation! and he'd blush because wow - your family really accepts him. he has heart eyes the whole time.

• he's the type that takes whatever is in your hands to hold for you, too. backpack, binders, shopping bags, (sometimes) your purse, that one time he came into your job and saw you moving an inventory box - he swooped in and took it from you.

• "what're you doin' movin' something this heavy, princess? I got it, I got it."

• this boy melts when your nails rake over his back, shoulders, and obviously his scalp.

• and Eddie's the type to kiss you at any given opportunity. we know he reminds you he loves you constantly but he also looks for any opening to kiss you.

• when he gets angry, he worries that he's scared you. you never are, and you tell him as such, but he still knows that he can get intense. so, he'd take some time to just be in your presence (usually with his hands somewhere on you) before he's trying to explain why he had the kind of reaction he did.

• you appreciated the communication, so, you listened and tried to understand, empathize. your job isn't to judge him.

• he often uses his fingers to press into your cheeks. he likes to poke and hold them, sometimes squeezing to pucker your lips. oh, man, this boy is almost always touching you - it's so cute. damn it.

• Eddie's perfect, okay? cool.

requesting rules and masterlist

Stranger Things masterlist

[forestlingincorporated]

I wanna talk about Janet Drake

I’m not against exaggeratedly evil versions of Tim’s parents, tbh. It’s fanfiction, if we can depict an Exaggeratedly Good version of Bruce (which we can, and I do, and I love) then we can depict the Drakes as Exaggeratedly Bad. As someone who personally identifies with Tim, and his brand of complicated parental abuse in particular, I find it cathartic to uncomplicate that abuse and rescue him from the Obviously Evil Bad People. 

That said, since much of comics lore is passed down word of mouth, the oral tradition surrounding Tim has developed this idea of Janet as The Worse Parent between her and Jack that was never really present in the comics. We see much LESS of Janet, and we have 20 years worth of comics depicting Jack as a neglectful hotheaded idiot who ultimate does love his son. More importantly, Jack isn’t very much LIKE Tim, so there is a habit to attribute Tim’s traits to his mother... and, as someone who really really identifies with Tim, Tim has... some negative traits. Tim can be a bitch sometimes. He’s fiercely intelligent and sweet and kind, with a strong sense of justice, but he can be cold and judgmental and unthinking - he fights those traits, but he does have them. 

And it is perfectly fine to depict Janet that way. I’ve enjoyed depictions of Cold Calculating Janet Drake, but it’s not the ONLY option, and I want to challenge fans to consider different avenues. Tim could pick up these traits from anywhere: a nanny, Mrs. Mc Ilvaine (”Mrs. Mac”), a teacher, tv, Sherlock Holmes novels, Bruce Wayne himself. Tim is capable of not being like EITHER parent. 

So, what do we KNOW about Janet? (I’ll also touch on Jack, but only in scenes he appears with Janet.) 

When Janet was first introduced she was depicted as a gentle but “modern” woman. This was written in 1989, told by a 13 year old Tim, so this theoretically was meant to take place in 1979. I’m not here to give a lecture on the history of sex discrimination in the united states, but much of the legislation protecting women in the workforce or surrounding women’s bodily autonomy would have been very very new in this initial depiction. 

Here, Janet is shown to be encouraging, emotional, maternal, and projects her own feelings onto Tim. Jack is shown to be slightly sexist, possibly discouraging, but not overbearing. And the artist is shown not to know how to draw children. 

To insert some speculation, I think it’s important to note all the Drakes witnessed a terrible murder/accident that day. I point this out, because this is the last time Jack and Janet are depicted this way. It’s possible they changed as a result of this event specifically. 

However, this is also a story being told by Tim. It’s also possible these events aren’t really “real” at all, and Tim is misremembering what his parents were like as a three-year-old, possibly projecting a more palatable version of his parents into the narrative. This is entirely up to personal interpretation. 

In fact, the Drakes are shown in Legend of the Dark Knight attending Haly’s Circus, and the artist knows what a toddler looks like and they’re depicted as already having a slightly strained relationship. Jack is clearly on the defensive, and Janet seems to be passive-aggressive, though she could just be attempting to explain the situation to her toddler honestly. The intended tone isn’t especially clear. 

I do want to point out, in this depiction, Tim isn’t being carried like he was in the previous one. He’s walking ahead of his parents, which isn’t a terrible horrible crime, but could be dangerous in a crowded place like the circus. Might be a subtle hint to his parents overall neglect. 

Back to A Lonely Place of Dying, in Tim’s memories of the night he discovered Robin and Dick Grayson were the same person at nine-years-old, his parents are home, and watching TV together while Tim played... trucks, idk, in the living room with them. (This is semi-interesting, because you could say “oh, Tim liked vehicle toys as a kid” or you could extrapolate that this is another subtle indication of Jack’s sexism, providing Tim with appropriately “boy toys.” Either interpretation is valid. If Tim was assigned female at birth, would they have been given “girl toys,” or allowed to play with whatever they wanted?) 

This is, to my knowledge, the only panel of the Drakes when Tim is between ages 3 and 13. They’re all together, which might indicate that the Drakes were home more often when Tim was 9, only later going on business trips when Tim was “old enough” but... 

This is Tim’s boarding school when he’s 13. While most boarding schools in the US are for grades 9-12, Tim is clearly not a freshman at age 13; look how much younger the other kids in this panel are. In the US, the youngest you can attend most boarding schools is 7. 

That means Tim could have begun going to boarding school anytime between 7 and 13. He most likely spent all of middle school in boarding school, at least. There are an almost infinite number of possible ways the Drakes handled having a business that required lots of international travel, an archeology hobby, AND a very young child. Janet staying home until Tim was 7, 11, 13, is equally possible as the Drakes having a nanny until 7, 11, 13. Tim just doesn’t talk about that period of his life very much.

(”What about Mrs. Mac?” - it is unclear when Mrs. Mac begins working for the Drakes. We only see her when Jack comes out of his coma. She could either be a long standing staff member, or a recent hire.) 

Note: I’ve seen it said that it’s canon that “According to Tim, when his parents were home, they made a point to try and include him in their activities, bringing him along to events that were normally adults only.” I have never seen this panel, or I don’t remember it, so I cannot confirm, but I also cannot debunk this because... comics. 

By the time Tim is 13, Jack and Janet are away on business trips a lot, with limited communication, and no firm return date. If I’m feeling generous, I’d say it was harder to communicate internationally in 1990 than it is today. If I’m not feeling generous, I’d say the Drakes are extremely wealthy, and international communication was easier than ever before in the 80s and 90s. They’re not even going home to see Tim in a week or two, they’re going home and calling Tim at boarding school in a week or two.��

Even Bruce thinks its weird, though he doesn’t say so to Tim’s face. It’s written almost as if Tim’s parents’ neglect was meant to be a plot point that just got forgotten about. 

Tim’s parents are fighting at this point (their poor assistant), but Janet still goes with Jack on these business trips. And she’s clearly involved in the business, somehow, but the comics never SAY what Janet’s JOB is. We’re told Jack is the exec, but Janet is ONLY ever referred to as Jack’s wife, though they’re later described as the “heads” of the company, plural. 

Just to be clear, this is Jack’s business. There’s a perception that Jack is a bad business man because he and Janet fight over company decisions, and Jack looses the business after Janet dies, but Jack looses the company YEARS after Janet dies, and maintains it for about a year after No Man’s Land at that. We’re not told how Jack looses the business, but he’s got to be doing something right. Janet isn’t necessarily the “real brains” of Drake Industries. 

And I’m not... gonna... touch the... exploitation and racism because... I’m not qualified to do that. But, here’s the panel. The Drakes sure seem exploitative and racist in their business decisions. Someone else can... analyze that with more nuance. 

Regardless how how long they’ve been fighting, when their lives are in danger, the Drakes fall back into a loving husband and wife. Their marriage may be falling apart, but they do care about each other. 

I want to show these panels because it shows that Tim and Jack do have things in common. They’re both level headed in a crisis and can be somewhat cold in their practicality. Janet meanwhile and silent. Jack is later willing rant and rave at their captors, but Janet remains silent. 

That is, until they’re alone, and she finally lets herself fall apart. 

God, Jack can be obnoxious. Janet just looks miserable and resigned. I actually think Tim takes after his parents in this respect in equal measure. Tim can have a temper, but he can also be fairly melancholy and defeatist. 

Jack keeps reminding Janet to be strong and in control, which could be period typical sexism? But Jack seems so practiced and ready with the words of encouragement, and with Tim’s history with depression, I wonder if Janet has an inclination towards it as well. 

As the end approaches, when Jack brings up Tim, Janet seems to have a lot of regret. She talks about “wasting” the good things, and I don’t think it’s too big of a stretch to assume she’s talking about time spent with her only child. 

From this point on, Janet is at times spoken of, but not seen. Like here, when Jack says Janet wouldn’t approve of him and Tim being so “far apart.” He says this after he tells him he takes back his threat to send him back to boarding school, which might imply Janet was against the idea of boarding school? Though she obviously lost that argument when she was alive. 

Jack will of course renege on this later, but that’s Jack Drake for you. 

Or here in Tim’s illness induced dream, where he gets everything he wants. Though, since this is a fantasy of Tim’s, where his father and girlfriend are both more accepting and understanding than they are in real life, I would take this depiction of Janet with a grain of salt. 

After loosing Drake Industries, Jack thinks about Janet (though, they call her Catherine/Cathy for some fucking reason) during his depressive episode. And... uh... 

Hallucinates a Valkyrie???? Is this symbolic of suicidal thoughts, or is she... real? Or is he seriously hallucinating? 

Anyway, we’re not here to discuss Jack’s mental state, the fact that he forgot Tim’s birthday, or that concerning “I was going to knock some sense into you but you’re still bigger than me” statement from Tim, we’re here to talk about Janet. And even though this entire arc is about Jack mourning his first wife, they don’t SAY anything about Janet herself at all. I mean, they don’t even get her name right, so I guess what was I expecting. 

Then there’s Origins and Omens, which also doesn’t say anything about Janet, except that Tim’s memory of her is faulty - Janet was poisoned, her assistant Jeremy’s throat was slit on television, but Tim seems to have conflated the death he did see with the death he didn’t. 

The only piece of canon to suggest that Janet might be cold, is Tim compares her to Thalia. And even then, he’s really just saying Janet was protective of him. It’s kind of a scary look to make at your kid, but Bruce does the same thing, so. 

I do want to say... it’s not 100% clear if Tim is even talking about Janet. He could be talking about Dana. Dana was observably protective of Tim, though I don’t think he’s ever called her mom. He PROBABLY means Janet. 

And finally we have Tim visiting his mother’s grave (in a duel Christian/Jewish cemetery, make of that what you will), where Tim says she was “a little religious.”

And that’s it! That is all we know about Janet Drake in New Earth. Hardly the Mom From Hell, but she isn’t perfect. I’d be interested in seeing some alternate depictions of her within the fandom. 

I’m still gonna eat up Terrible Parents From Hell like a starving puppy dog, though. Just some food for creative thought. 

[sirthisisa-wendys]

Hanma Shuji as reader’s sugar daddy lmao

STOP I--

I CAN'T STOP WRITING FOR THIS MAN I--

The Arrangement: Shuji Hanma X Fem!Reader

wc: 1.4k

tw: a lil' NSFW at the end

masterlist

song recommendation: Pu$$y Talk - City Girls (Feat. Doja Cat)

Fluttering your lashes seems to do the trick every time for the men who come to the ritzy bar.

"A cognac?" Flutter them for emphasis when you ask a question. Purse your lips a little. Lean forward so they can see your cleavage.

It works every single time. Even on married men who are 100% dedicated to their wives... or mistresses. They're already half-drunk when you pull out your tricks, and their over-confidence leads to fatter tips in your pockets in hopes of scoring an hour with you. But even after all of the cajoling, the pursuing, the lusting... you turn them down and head back to your shared apartment, stuffing the money into your rent jar before taking a shower and heading to bed.

And the cycle begins anew the next day.

You don your slinky black dress, spray a tap of perfume on your wrists, and twirl your curls around your finger before leaving the apartment and driving to the place that hogs your evenings. And it's Friday evening, which means the work crowd and the wealthy crowd would come together in the glamorous bar.

"Y/n," Okina, your manager, calls out. "Big client in the VIP room upstairs. Think you can handle it?"

Big client? VIP room? Serving drinks at the private bar? "Fuck yeah," you answer, saluting the woman who just rolls her eyes, laughing.

"Don't drain them of all of their money, y/n," she replies and you nod, giving her a wink. You climb the stairs up to the private room and watch as servers make the wooden table nice and shiny for the guests coming. The VIP room has only been used four times in your entire seven years here, but every single time it was used for a big client who left amazing tips.

"Maybe I could use tonight's money to save up for a dog," you muse out loud, wiping down the bar and preparing your workstation carefully. The image of the Maltipoo you'd desired since childhood pops into your head, and you smile to yourself, coming up with a list of names as you work.

You're so lost in thought that you don't realize a good portion of the clientele has already come in, each one of them dressed to the nines and taking their seats.

Two snaps call you back to reality, and you look up at the man waiting for your assistance as you clean a bar glass.

"How can I help you, sir?"

The black and yellow-haired man looks at you with a bored expression, orange eyes roving over your appearance slowly. He adjusts his glasses, then states,

"Whiskey. Neat." You fulfill the request and place the drink in front of him with a napkin.

"Anything else, sir?"

"I'll be back shortly." He downs the drink all in one go, and you watch him walk off warily. The tattoos on his hands are enough to warn you that maybe this guy is bad news, but you shrug, taking the glass and putting it in the small sink against the wall. A few others come up to the bar for drinks, but the presentation and following discussion claims most of the men's attention.

Which is fine... sort of. It's really eating into your tips, to be honest.

"Another whiskey." You immediately offer it to the man in front of you, and he downs it, just like the one before.

"Anything else?" you murmur, and he crooks his finger at you. You lean a little closer, tilting your head just so and tucking your lip underneath your top row of teeth.

"You work here part-time? Full-time?"

"Full-time," you reply, fluttering your lashes. The earring in the man's ear shakes a little as he tilts his head a little, mimicking your stance.

"Do you enjoy it here? Make a lot of money?"

"Money is okay; I like working here," you answer, leaning forward to show off your cleavage as you grab his abandoned drink. He grabs your wrist, giving you a small smile before caressing your fingers.

"You know who I am, don't you, y/n?"

"No." The truth rolls off of your tongue with ease, but the man's face falls slightly as if he's disappointed that you don't know about his wealth and fame. "Should I?"

"Only if you want to." He raises a brow, blinking slowly. Did you want to? "Shuji Hanma." The man flips you a card, covered in gold foil and black, shiny cardstock. "If you're looking for some fun outside of work, you should give me a call."

_____________________________________________________________

If you're looking for some fun, you should give me a call.

You flip the card around in your hands, noting the numbers in gold foil and the lack of a name, a business, or anything else identifying. Yeah, Shuji Hanma is clearly someone who needed to be paid attention to. You consider dialing the number that night, but then you remember the lack of significant tips. Why bother with a man who wouldn't pay you for excellent service?

Even Onika thought it was odd that you hadn't received a cash flow...

You sigh, tossing the card aside and laying back on the bed, the dream of owning a Maltipoo slipping even further from your grasp.

"Curiosity killed the cat," your roommate warns day after day after day. But on the fifth day of having the card lay on your desk, you finally pick up your phone and call the number.

"And satisfaction brought it back," you muse, waiting for the line to pick up. It picks up on the second ring. "H-hello? Shuji Hanma?"

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the beautiful hostess from the bar. Thought about my offer?"

"Yes," you breathe, and Shuji hums softly.

"Meet me at Ocean Prime for dinner tonight. Say, at eight?"

"Eight is good."

"Do you want me to send a car for you?"

"No," you reply. "I'll drive."

_____________________________________________________________

You're sitting across from Shuji, who is dressed in a pinstripe suit and wearing the same glasses as before.

He is handsome, you think to yourself, but it doesn't stop the way you nervously interact with him as he peruses the menu, cuts his fish, or asks you about your life.

"Y/n, have you ever thought about... quitting your job?" You shake your head immediately, thinking about all of the bills that would need to be paid and how much debt you'd rack up on credit cards. "You see, I'm looking for someone who is willing to be... somewhat of a comfort to me. You know, in the mundane things, like being there when I come home after work and allowing me to take them out on dates, or being my plus one to events where I'll be forced to interact with others."

"A girlfriend?"

"No," Shuji shakes his fork at you. "That's a level of commitment I cannot allow for myself. More like a younger, prettier beneficiary. It would come with perks, like bills being taken care of, a new wardrobe, a work-free lifestyle, travel, et cetera."

"Wait." You swallow your water with a hard gulp. "Like..." You scan the room for people who may be tuning into your conversation nervously. "Like a sugar baby?"

"Sure," Shuji answers, shrugging. "I mean, it's a lot of work - attending to my needs, that is. But I'll make sure you're well compensated."

"I..."

"Take some time to think about it. Oh, and by the way," The man slides you a thick envelope. "For tonight, as well as the tips I had to extort from the others. Go ahead and count it." You look through the money and realize that the hundred dollar bills add up to about three thousand dollars.

"Shuji, this is..."

"Fifteen hundred for your time, and fifteen hundred for your tips." You can't say anything else as you hold the envelope in your hand. However, Shuji continues to eat his meal, sipping at his water carefully. "What're you thinking?"

"Even if I say no, this money is mine?"

"Of course," he smiles. "Though it would be nice to take you home tonight."

It's only as Shuji is eating you out that you realize that you can officially quit your job. Not even with a two-week notice. You could call today and quit.

"Give me two weeks," you whisper, and Shuji hums, looking up at you and ceasing his movements.

"Two weeks for what?"

"My job."

"Oh," he chirps, smiling. "I expect nothing less from you, pretty girl." He hoists your legs up around his shoulders and dives back into your cunt, removing his glasses and slurping up your juices eagerly. You tangle your hands into his hair and moan loudly as he sends you right into your first orgasm of this little arrangement.

[wincore]

atlas | kim dongyoung

pairing: doyoung x reader

words: 15.4k

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

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

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

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

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

song rec(s): playlist here !

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

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

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

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

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

“And then what?”

“Fuck.”

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

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

(Fun doesn’t.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” you yell back.

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

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

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

“Loser.”

“No, you.”

“How clever.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You furrow your brows, heaving a deep sigh.

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

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

“Yeah.”

And the deal’s done.

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

Well, sort of.

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

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

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

God forbid you find Doyoung attractive during daytime.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“In front of a wall?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Right,” he says, clearing his throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s even better when he’s annoyed.

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

Funny.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Three,” he answers, to your surprise.

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

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

“One.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’s a virgin?”

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

But Doyoung is a fucking fairytale.  

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

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

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

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

“Why not?”

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

He’s right.

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

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

“Well, of course it is. I had your—”

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

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

“Where were you last night?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How much lon—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No way.”

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

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

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

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

“You seem to like him though.”

“Who said that?”

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

“We’re not.”

“—or fucking—”

“Ten.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, we’re not.”

Ten shrugs. 

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

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

“No.”

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

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

“It’s neither, promise.”

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

“Oh, speaking of which, Hyungmin—”

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

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

“That sounds good to me.”

“Shut up. I’m not done speaking.”

You roll your eyes.

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

“What am I, your chemistry experiment now?”

“Well, you and Doyoung seem to be—”

“Don’t complete that sentence.”

“I was going to say something funny.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.”

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

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

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

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

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

“No. A little bit. Not enough.”

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

“I live here, idiot.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Linguistics,” he answers.

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

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

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

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

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

“Really now?”

“Yes,” you snap, looking away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No way. You’re lying.”

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

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

“Hurts my ego.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Ow,” he mutters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Doyoung’s out of breath.

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

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

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

“It was a gift,” Doyoung mutters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know,” Doyoung mutters.

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” he whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m busy,” he hisses. 

Something’s wrong.

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

Inviting him somewhere. 

Rather sensually.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Busy. Right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” you respond, checking your watch.

“Oh.”

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

“Then we can- uh- we can—”

“Fuck?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

“Tell me you drove here.” 

He holds up his car keys in response.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re disappointing. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why are we doing this?” you ask. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You feel something close to guilt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I guess you’re right.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink. “Fresher… girls?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You do that a lot,” he notes.

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

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

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

You look up at Doyoung amused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“As what, the start point?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“(name). Is something wrong?”

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

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

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

He reaches out his hand but you avoid it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know,” he whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm. Let’s see. Yes.”

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

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

“That’s it?” he asks.

You nod.

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

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

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

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

The knot in your chest makes you want to cry.

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

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

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

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

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

It’s hard to love the same way now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sigh in response, nodding. 

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

I’m here and I get it.

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

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

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

And now, this has gotten complicated.

An end.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ten!” he yells again. “Stop pacing!”

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

“Ten?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck happened?”

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

“Ten,” Doyoung snaps. “Cut the crap.”

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

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

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

“You set that up?”

“(name) slept with Hyungmin.” 

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

“So?”

Ten blinks. “You’re not upset?”

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

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

“Doyoung, you don’t have to—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s exactly what I did!” 

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

“It’s because of Doyoung, isn’t it?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wanted to tell you- I… I just—”

“That you’re fucking other people?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You bite down your lip. “What kind?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stare at your feet, unable to respond. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s December again. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“(name).”

You jump at Jaehyun’s voice from behind you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure,” he says, to your surprise.

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

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

You’d rather just stay quietly in his presence.

“You’re not smoking,” he notes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I loved you on purpose.”

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

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

You scan his face for signs of lying.

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

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

You let yourself crack a smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re warm,” he says.

He’s warmer.

“I want to kiss you,” he says.

You want to kiss him too.

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

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

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

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

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

The two of you laugh, and it gets warmer. 

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

“Oh? I wonder what it was.”

“Kind of a long story.”

“I’ve got all the time for you.”

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

[ginnyweasleymybeloved]

summer breezes / george weasley

hi crew :) idk why i wrote this but i was in a george mood so here we go ;)

summary: george acts like he hates you, he doesn’t really hate you. you act like you hate him, but you don’t really hate him. chaos ensues.

slight neville x reader for a second

word count: 6.9k

warnings: swearing, george being mean, lil angsty, fluffy at the end, reader’s house is not specified <3, mentions of food, kissing

let me know what you think ;)

“And what do you expect me to do? By the time I’d even realised I was falling I’d already landed face first on the proverbial concrete,” you groaned out in exasperation, while your best friend looked at you with so much distaste that anyone would’ve thought you’d murdered his family pet.

He shook his head, a scowl as clear as day splashed across his lips as he reprimanded you for your heart’s foolishness, “Of all people…” he scoffed in disgust, “Honestly, Y/n.”

“You know, you shouting at me isn’t going to fix anything,” he rolled his eyes at your statement and racked his eyes over your disheveled state. You’d obviously been battling with yourself over your—unfortunate—crush for some time. As your best friend, Ron Weasley knew he’d have to soften up on you eventually, but honestly, it was your own fault for falling for one of his disastrous siblings.

You were currently sprawled out on Harry’s bed, across from the red-headed boy you’d known since you were in nappies, your arms hanging off the edges of Harry’s four-poster. Neither you or Ron had a clue where Harry, or Hermione, had disappeared off to today. Harry was probably on the quidditch pitch practicing while Hermione haunted the library, you supposed as you listened to Ron’s rantings, wishing they’d been there to mediate.

“—of all of my siblings too! You couldn’t have picked, oh I don’t know, Charlie? Or Fred even? Merlin, even Ginny! But no! You just had to go and bloody fall for the only Weasley who actively cannot stand you.” You only caught that portion of his rave, having gotten lost in the idea of being coddled sympathetically by Harry or Hermione. You adore Ron, really, he’s your loyalist and longest friend, but Merlin was he a total drama queen.

“Charlie is five years older than me, Fred is my wingman and honestly, I snogged him on a dare last summer and I wasn’t that impressed and in case you’ve forgotten, Ronald, Ginny is dating Harry,” you lectured, ignoring how he rolled his eyes as you continued, “Also I’m well aware that he hates me. You don’t need to keep reminding me.”

His composure cracked after hearing your depressed mumble, and with a sigh he moved from his spot on his own bed and made the short trip over to Harry’s. Ron gently pulled you into a sitting position on the edge of the mattress and sat himself down next to you. He let out a heavy sigh, still slightly shaking his head—he couldn’t seem to stop—, then he dropped a heavy arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side, finally offering you the comfort you’d been seeking out in the first place.

“S’alright, Y/n. Maybe he’ll get hit in the head with a bludger and forget he’s hated you since he was four.” Ron encouraged, very weakly.

You released a sigh of your own at that, “I feel like I’m betraying myself here. Like I’m letting that stupid git win.” Ron couldn’t stop the laugh he let out at your grumble.

“I’ll be honest, I thought he’d be the first to crack. You can be quite scary when you get going.” Ron divulged, shuddering at the memories of when he’d been on the receiving end of your rath.

Your family and the Weasley family had been extremely close since before you or Ron were even born, which meant you’d grown up alongside all of the Weasley children. Of course, because of your ages you and Ron had been attached at the hip as infants and remained that way even now, late into your fifth year of Hogwarts. Most of the Weasley children simply adored you, as you did them. However, there was one boy who, for whatever reason, hated you to your very core and as far as you could remember; he always had.

He is none other than the younger of the two twins; George Weasley. Despite the fact that Fred was actually quite fond of you, his twin refused to warm up to you in any way, shape or form. No, the tall and annoyingly attractive boy had made it his life’s mission not to get along with you, but instead, wage a war on you that spanned for the entirety of your childhood and adolescence.

“When did things change? When did it stop being a challenge? When did it start affecting me like this? I used to take his insults like a champ! I used to get him back worse!” You wondered out loud, letting your head flop onto Ron’s broad shoulder as he let out a puff of air through his nose.

“You still take it like a champ, numpty,” he chastised you gently, recoiling ever so slightly when you lurched forward in complete defeat. Your hands shot up to cover your face as you rested your forehead against your knees.

“No! I don’t,” you murmured dejectly, lifting your face from your hands to make eye contact with Ron. “Do you remember the other night in the Great Hall? When Neville told me he thought my hair looked pretty? And George, out of bloody nowhere, comes over and says and I quote, ‘I wouldn’t waste your time on this one, Longbottom. You’d have a better time kissing that toad of yours.’ Do you remember that?” Ron raised an eyebrow and nodded in confusion, your voice seemed to be steadily rising in octaves as you recalled the events of the other night. He had to admit, it had been an unusually unnecessary comment on George’s part, but the youngest Weasley boy wasn’t really sure where you were going with it.

“Well do you remember how I had said, ‘how’s that girlfriend of yours, Georgie? Figured out a way to make her stop being invisible yet?’ and then remember I rushed off? Do you wanna know where I rushed off to?” You pressed, watching intently as Ron nodded his head, unsure if he even wanted to know. “I went to the bathroom and I cried! I cried, Ron! Over something George bloody Weasley said to me!”

His eyes widened at that. Never once had George ever managed to properly upset you.

“And over something as small as that? I’ve heard him say a lot worse to your face.” Ron said in disbelief and you nodded, expression mimicking his as if you couldn’t believe it yourself.

“Right? And it’s like everytime he says something mean to me now my stomach drops and it actually hurts,” Ron regarded you softly, his eyes sad while he rubbed your back as you buried your face in your hands yet again, “Do you know what’s worse though?”

Ron opened his mouth to hazard a guess but no sound escaped as he drew nothing but blanks.

“I actually care what he thinks of me now. As if I actually value his idiotic opinions of me.”

It was at that moment that Harry entered the room sporting muddy quidditch gear and a confused expression, “May I ask why we’re having a heart to heart on my bed?”

Ron shrugged, continuing to rub soothing circles into your back as he told Harry mournfully, “Y/n likes George.”

“Merlin.” Harry whispered, as horrified to learn of your crush as Ron had been. “But, Y/n, he hates you! I mean he really hates you-“ the chosen one was cut off by a pillow making contact with his face. Ron had chucked it at him the second he felt your form begin to shake beneath his touch.

“Bloody hell, Harry! You’ve gone and upset her even more!” He whispered harshly. Harry quickly set his broom down and plopped himself down beside you, leaving you trapped between himself and Ron. The green-eyed boy rested his cheek against your lightly shaking back and managed to snake his arms around your torso.

“Sorry. Shouldn’t have said that.” He told you genuinely. “Should we go and find Hermione?”

You only shook your head. Embarrassment quickly overtook you as you realised your were crying in front of your two best friends over George fucking Weasley.

“No. No, I’m okay. It’s fine,” you sat up and hastily wiped your tears away.

“It’s okay to be upset, Y/n,” Harry spoke softly, squeezing your middle in a short hug, getting mud from his quidditch practice all over you.

With a resolute shake of your head you stood up and faced the boys, who each looked at you with pity filled eyes, then you spoke as steadily as you could, “I’m not upset. He hasn’t upset me,” you weren’t fooling anyone, really. Your eyes were bloodshot, your cheeks and nose were red and your voice was slightly hoarse when you spoke. The boys entertained you anyway, nodding in agreement.

“I’m telling you this as his brother and your best mate; you can do better.” Ron told you honestly, he wasn’t lying either, you were the type of girl who could get any boy she wanted without lifting a finger. Well, not any boy—obviously— but that wasn’t anything to do with you. Ron had his suspicions in regards to why his brother acted like such a knob towards you, however he’d been thrown off his scent recently when the older ginger stopped being mean to you teasingly in favour of being just plain mean.

You gave Ron the best smile you could muster at his words, “You are absolutely right, Ronald.”

Harry snorted before making his way over to Ron’s trunk, he rifled through it for a few seconds before pulling out one of Ron’s jumpers. He casually tossed, what you recognised to be Ron’s Christmas jumper from Molly, over to you with a grin, “Put that on. I got muck all over you.”

You had plenty of your own Christmas jumpers made by Molly Weasley but they were all the way over in your own dorm. Besides, you liked stealing the ones made for the boys as they were usually far too big for you which made them extremely comfortable to wear.

So you happily pulled the maroon jumper over your head, the wool effectively covering your dirtied t-shirt.

“Oh yes, by all means, you two just work away.” Ron grunted sarcastically. In all honesty, he didn’t care if you stole every piece of fabric he owned, if it made you feel better, he couldn’t care less.

“Right,” you said, making your way to the door of the dorm room, “I think I’ll go for a walk before the sunsets, calm myself down a bit.”

The boys nodded, “See you at dinner?” Ron asked and you gave him a smile and a small nod of confirmation before you set off out of the Gryffindor common room.

Thankfully, you didn’t run into George on your way out. You walked peacefully through the gardens and behind the greenhouses, it was around five in the evening and the sun was beginning to stoop low behind the tree line. The days were beginning to take on a chill as October approached quickly, you’d gone out without grabbing a jacket and you couldn’t deny that you were beginning to feel the cold nipping at your skin despite Ron’s jumper. Pulling the sleeves further down your wrists you carried on, trudging forward through the fallen leaves of the garden, you weren’t ready to go back inside yet. Going back to the castle meant you’d have to look your problem in the face, literally. You settled on the fact that you’d rather endure the physical cold rather than the emotional coldness you were sure to receive from George at dinner.

When you’d reached the back of the third greenhouse you could faintly hear someone humming to themselves and a soft smile found your lips when you saw who it was. Neville sat on a chair in the greenhouse, right by a plant that you hadn’t a clue what it was called, seemingly humming the little tune for the plant in question. Despite his undeniable clumsiness, there was something about Neville Longbottom that soothed you greatly. He has a good soul and his heart is usually in the right place, even if his head is sometimes screwed on slightly loose.

Gently, trying not to startle him you knocked on the closed door of the greenhouse before you opened it and walked in, “Hi, Neville. Mind if I join you?”

Neville blushed slightly but nodded his head, “Course! There’s a spare chair just there,” he pointed nervously to the chair. Once you settled yourself beside him, he let himself relax slightly.

“What sort of plant is this?” You asked him curiously. You really liked plants but you weren’t the best at keeping them alive, Neville though, seemed to be something of a green thumb.

He beamed at your question and quickly began to explain everything about the plant before you. You didn’t absorb a lot of it but listening to Neville speak so freely, something he rarely got to do amidst the other Gryffindor boys, filled you with a sense of serenity. Between his voice and the light wind that blew against the glass building, you’d completely forgotten about your red-headed problem.

“—sorry, I’m probably boring you. My nan says I have a tendency to ramble.” He cut himself off, cheeks heating up as he rubbed the back of his neck bashfully.

With a small giggle you only shook your head at the brown haired boy, “You’re not boring me at all! I quite like listening to you speak,” you admitted although you felt a bit silly after saying it out loud. Neville seemed to grow even more flustered after the words left your lips.

His eyes searched your face for any sign that you were teasing him, but all he saw was your kind eyes and comforting smile. Not exactly sure about what to say to you, Neville made an observation, “You’re cold.”

You gave him a nonchalant shrug, “I’m okay.”

Completely unsatisfied with your answer, Neville shook his head in protest and shrugged off his jacket. He was used to spending a lot of time in the garden so he was usually sporting far more layers than necessary, just in case. “Here, wear this. You’ll catch a cold otherwise,” he fretted and you didn’t have the heart to turn his offer down, you didn’t want to turn it down either, you were absolutely freezing. Gratefully you accepted the jacket and wasted no time in pulling it on.

“Thank you, Neville,” he looked you over for a moment, you could tell he was debating with himself on whether or not to speak, after a long few seconds of his eyes running over you he spoke.

“You look nice- I, uh, the jacket. You look nice in the jacket- I mean, the jacket looks nice on you-“ another giggle left your lips and effectively put the boy’s fumbled ramble to an end.

“Again, thank you, Neville. You are unbelievably kind.” You told him sincerely, quite enjoying the blush that adorned his cheeks.

“We should probably head back to the castle for dinner now. It’s gotten dark,” Neville said, standing up after giving his plant a loving pat.

The walk back to the castle with Neville was nice. The pair of you chatted idly about school subjects and house drama, but you had to admit, you weren’t paying a huge amount of attention to the conversation.

“Thanks again for lending me your jacket,” you said sweetly, shrugging the jacket off as you reached the main hall of the castle.

Neville, who seemed to be in a perpetual state of bashfulness, took the jacket back gently, a rosy blush painting his features, “It was no problem, really.”

Neville had always been incredibly kindhearted, sometimes to his own detriment. He treated people with respect and never turned anyone away if they needed help with anything at all. He is sweet, honest, loyal and, whether you liked him or not, he is indisputably adorable. And you found yourself thinking about how entirely better your life would be if your heart had chosen Neville to have a romantic fondness towards.

After separating from Neville, you made your way towards the Great Hall. On your way you bumped into Fred Weasley, who surprisingly, wasn’t accompanied by his twin. He greeted you with a wide smile and, as he always did, he ruffled your hair.

“So! I have a proposition for you,” the look on his face as he spoke was nothing short of wicked, a pit of nerves began to form in your stomach with the way his eyes were lit up excitedly.

“What are you proposing?” You encouraged exhaustedly. Whatever it was would probably end with you running from Filch.

Fred lopped his long arm around your shoulder, effectively pulling you along with him as he walked in the opposite direction of the Great Hall. Any chance of you getting fed this evening had gone out the window the second Fred clapped eyes on you, you’d made your peace with it. “I’m glad you asked, princess- “ at the sound of the pet name you let out a guttural groan.

“Freddie, please, I’m not in the mood to help you make some poor girl jealous just so you can get a snog,” you whined weakly only for the boy to ruffle your hair and tug you closer to his side.

“Let me finish! As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” he paused to glare at you jokingly and you smiled apologetically, “I have a plan to make George stop acting like a prat.”

A disbelieving scoff left your lips, “Yeah that’s likely,” Fred laughed and pinched your cheek lightly before carrying on.

“Angelina told me that she heard you crying in the girls toilets the other night,” he informed you. Your eyes widened in shock and confusion, you didn’t think anyone was in there with you and you also couldn’t piece together what your moment of weakness had to do with Fred’s master plan. “And before you start, I know it’s because of George.”

“That’s ridiculous, Fred.” You lied, unconvincingly.

Fred laughed again, it was a gentle laugh that let you know he hadn’t come here to tease you but to help you, “I know it’s ridiculous and that’s exactly why I know you’ve been so down in the dumps the last few days.”

“Besides,” he started again when you remained silent, “Why else would Ron be giving his brother the silent treatment?”

“What does any of this have to do with your plan?” You asked, eyes sad and heart heavy for the second time that day. You’d only just managed to get the whole thing out of your mind, and yet, here it was again.

“Well I happen to know why George acts the way he does,” you met him with a raised eyebrow and a bored expression.

“Because he hates me, I know.” Fred’s lips grew into a wicked grin and he shook his head, coming to a stop in the middle of the hallway.

“That’s where you’re wrong. He doesn’t hate you,” he lowered his lips to hover right by your ear before he whispered quietly, “He loves you.”

With a roll of your eyes, you pushed the boy away, fixing him with a hard stare, “Come on, Fred. That’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking!” He exclaimed desperately, “We were in potions making amortentia, yeah? And Slughorn called George up to tell the class what he smelled and do you know what he said?” Fred retold madly, knowing full well that this was possibly the only opening he’d get to make the two of you realise your own feelings. Fred was well aware that you developed a crush on George, he picked up on it the second you began looking crestfallen when hit with a snide remark from his twin. He knew long before now that George had loving feelings towards you too, but their recent potions class was the only hard evidence he had to support his theory.

You shrugged helplessly in response, and Fred grabbed your shoulders and looked down at you urgently, “He said it smelled of cloudberries, daisies and-this is a direct quote-‘summer breezes’,” you stared at him numbly, not exactly sure what to say as the description did match the perfume you’d been wearing regularly since you were thirteen.

“That’s you, Y/n!” Fred confirmed and you pulled your lips between your teeth before shaking your head in complete denial.

“Lots of girls wear that perfume-“ Fred cut you off, ruthlessly.

“Name one.” You racked your brain but you genuinely couldn’t name another person who wore the same perfume as you. “You can’t, can you? Because it’s your smell!”

“Ok fine! So it’s my smell, what exactly do you expect me to do with this information?” Fred rolled his eyes in exhaustion at you.

“Blimey, you’re as daft as he is sometimes, do you know that?” Fred ran his hands down his face in exasperation before looking at you softly, “I except you to come with me so we can drive him mental for a bit and if he gets nasty I’ll embarrass him because I’m an incredible brother.”

You let him lead you towards Gryffindor Tower all while complaining about how you were starving only for Fred to hush you each time you let out a hungered whine, “We can raid the kitchen later on, love,” he promised and you sighed in defeat, “That’s the spirit.”

When the pair of you entered the Gryffindor common room, George was already there, probably waiting for Fred to return it. He sat one one of the sofas that faced the fire, completely relaxed and you hated the fact that you thought he looked amazingly ethereal with the way the flames from the fire lit his skin in an orange glow.

He hadn’t noticed you yet and Fred took notice of this. The older twin subtly slid his hand into yours and intertwined your fingers with his before turning his head and shooting you a mischievous wink. Fred Weasley was a nightmare, but when he was on your side, he never failed to make you smile.

Accepting that whatever Fred was about to drag you into would result in nothing but chaos you took a deep breath and followed Fred over to the sofa.

“What is she doing here?” George practically seethed, despite the intensity of his glare, you didn’t miss the nervous look he shot in Fred’s direction. What you had missed, though, was how harshly he’d clenched his jaw upon noticing your intertwined hands.

You decided that tonight you’d play the game slightly differently, if what Fred was saying was true, it would make things all the more entertaining. So, instead of your usual menacing glare and ego-shattering insult you met George with an innocent smile, “Was just hanging out with Freddie, thought I’d come say hello,” you said, sitting in the middle of the two twins.

George stared at you suspiciously, “Hello. That all?”

“Hi. No, actually, I think I’ll sit with you for a while. If that’s okay?” Fred was smirking from his spot beside you as he watched George’s face contort.

“You’ve never wanted to sit with me before.” He told you, squinting his eyes and trying to decipher what you were up to. He couldn’t lie to himself, he definitely wouldn’t mind you staying so close to him for a while, however he’d also sooner die then let you think you had the upper hand.

His and your composure cracked simultaneously at your next sentence, your truthful and somewhat vulnerable mumble of, “Well, you’ve never given me a chance to.” He knew you were right so he didn’t say anymore, opting to shift his gaze to the roaring fire, trying his best not to let his mind linger on the fact that you were wearing his brother’s jumper. His nose perked up at the scent that drifted from your spot, unusually close to him. There was no doubt in his mind that he’d fancied you for a long time, but, there was also no denying that he’d done a perfect job of making you hate him. Yet, as much as he wanted to just cut the crap, tell you that he thinks you’re the most insufferably beautiful girl he’d ever seen and kiss you and never ever stop, his pride would never allow him to cave. Especially not when you challenged him so effortlessly.

“So how come you were headed to dinner so late anyway?” Fred piqued up, growing tired of the lack of hostility between yourself and his twin.

“Oh. I was sort of worked up earlier so I decided to go for a walk ‘round the greenhouses. I bumped into Neville and I suppose I just lost track of time,” you explained halfheartedly.

Fred let yet another smirk overtake his face, “Longbottom, eh?” He wiggled his eyebrows and you let out a short giggle while shaking your head, sure, it would’ve been a good topic to tease George with, however, Neville was simply too sweet to be used as a pawn.

“Don’t get me wrong, he’s very sweet. But he’s just a friend,” George looked almost satisfied with that answer, his usual scowl making an appearance once again.

“He could do better.” It was a barefaced lie. Neville couldn’t do better than you. In fact, George was of the firm belief that nobody could do better than you.

“Of course he could, he’s quite the charmer,” you spoke wistfully, finally giving Fred the show he’d been hoping for, as you egged George on.

George pretended to think for a moment, “I’m sure he is. Personally I think you’d be more suited to Filch, although, I’ve heard his standards are quite high.”

You took the boy by surprise when you laughed, the airy giggle left your mouth had such a profound effect on George that he almost wished he’d kept his mouth shut. His heart was leaping and there were butterflies beginning to form in his stomach, he physically had to will himself not to stare at you in awe when your eyes turned to meet his. The glow of the fire only aided in showing him how gorgeous those stupid eyes of yours are. “Mmm, yeah I suppose I should lower my expectations,” you paused briefly and mimicked George’s earlier motion of pretending to mull over your options. Your next action had Fred practically howling with laughter.

“You’re available, aren’t you Georgie?” You’d asked in a mock sultry tone, leaning towards him and lightly brushing your hand down his arm. Loving the way he choked on air you got up from the sofa, not before shooting him a wink, and sauntered towards the portrait hole, “I’ll be in the kitchens. See ya later, sexy.” You directed the last part at George, who looked as though he’d been frozen in time as Fred’s laughter grew in volume.

Upon entering the kitchen, the house elves had fussed around you, handing you food at any given opportunity. You had finished eating a while ago, you were currently nursing a hot cup of tea while chatting away to one of the house elves, only to be interrupted by someone else entering the kitchen.

He set his sights on you and quickly moved to the seat across from you, a look of urgency on his face that reminded you of Fred, “Whatever he told you. It’s not true,” you raised an eyebrow, sipping your tea uncaringly.

“Mind elaborating?” You asked tiredly.

“Fred.”

“Thank you, George, very clear and helpful,” you grumbled sarcastically and the boy let out a huff.

“You were acting different. You know something. What did he tell you?” George demanded through gritted teeth and you only deflated against your chair. It always boggled your mind how everyone described George as the nicer of the twins.

Not answering, you decided to start asking your own questions, “Can I ask you something?”

“Seems like you’re going to no matter what I say,” he sighed out as an elf pottered up to him and handed him a cup full of hot tea. He took it gently and thanked the elf with such sincerity that you wished you hadn’t seen the exchange, simply because it stung to know he’d never treat you with that level of sincerity.

“Why do you hate me so much?” He sat frozen for a second. Your tone of voice took him by surprise. It was needy bordering on desperate, nothing like he’d ever heard you speak before, not to him anyway.

George took a sip of his tea and shrugged as if the question was a stupid one, “I don’t.” A cold, humourless laugh came from you in response, the kind of laugh that made his stomach drop.

“Bollox. I’m being serious, George. Tell me what it is about me that makes me so insufferable to you!” You exclaimed, heart rate increasing and tone raising in octaves as you felt yourself growing more upset by his reserved expression.

George let out a heavy sigh, the jig was about to be up. You were upset and merlin was he tired of pretending that he didn’t want you in every way, shape and form.

“Do you really want to know?”

“Yes.” There was no trace of hesitance or uncertainty in your voice, at this point you didn’t care what the answer was you just had to know.

“Fine,” he said all too casually and you knew by his tone that he, as per usual, wasn’t taking you seriously. “I don’t hate you. The only insufferable thing about you is how annoyingly gorgeous-“ you cut him off right then, with a scoff of pure disbelief.

Shaking your head rapidly, you stood from your chair and all but stormed out of the kitchen. His footsteps began to echoed behind you a few corridors later, he would’ve caught up to you sooner had your response to his would be confession not left him completely immobile. He called your name but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop. Tears stung your eyes and you absolutely refused to let him know that he’d managed to bring you to the point of tears. Not that it was the first time.

“Bloody hell, Y/n! Hold on would you?” He called, finally getting close enough to reach out and grab your wrist. He spun you around to face him and quickly placed his hands on your upper arms to stop you from doing another runner. When he took you in he swore he’d never hate himself more than he did the moment he looked at you to see your eyes filled with tears, small drops escaping and carving a trail down your cheeks while you sniffed miserably.

“What?” You snapped, hostility the only thing you felt like offering the ginger in the moment. His brown eyes bored into yours with so much intensity but they held something you didn’t recognise. They looked sad, almost.

“I wasn’t making fun of you.” He stated honestly but you furrowed your eyebrows, your eyes set in a glare.

“Then what were you doing?” You croaked, letting your tears fall freely as the damage was already done. The sinking of your stomach and the tightening of your chest didn’t do a thing to ease your mind as George’s hands squeezed your arms.

He licked his lips quickly, he felt they’d become unbearably dry, and then slowly, he let his hands trail down your arms and took your smaller hands into his own. He hoped you were feeling the same electricity he was when he touched you.

“I’ve been a prick to you. You didn’t deserve it and I’m sorry.” He sounded sincere, but you second guessed him. For all you knew it was just some elaborate prank, Fred was probably in on it too.

When your gaze didn’t soften, he continued to speak, “So I understand why you wouldn’t believe me when I tell you that I don’t hate you. But I just-“ he cut himself off with a heavy sigh.

“You just what?” You squeaked when his eyes spent a moment too long observing your lips. You hardly had time to register the feeling of his hands leaving yours before they were cupping your cheeks instead. “What’re you doing?” You wondered, completely dazed by the way he stared at you. His warm hands holding your face causing your stomach to jolt in an entirely different sensation than before. As much as you wanted to push him away and tell him to shove his apology, you couldn’t help but take him in. His lips were parted ever so slightly and his cheeks were flushed, probably from chasing you through the castle, his hair was disheveled and merlin he looked like he wanted to kiss you.

Your question floated in the air, completely unanswered. Next thing you knew his lips were on yours. He kissed you as if you were oxygen and he’d just been drowning and you couldn’t help but move your lips harmonically against his too. Your hands clutched his wrists as he continued to cradle your cheeks. In all honesty you weren’t sure at what point he’d backed you against the wall, or at what point his tongue had entered your mouth or when exactly his hands had migrated to your hips, yours now tangled in his hair. His body was pressed flush against yours and the small groans he’d let out when you tugged at his hair or ran your tongue against his made you realise that you couldn’t care less if this was one big prank or joke. It was happening and that’s all you cared about.

Even as he reluctantly pulled away, he chased your lips with several shorter kisses before separating entirely. He rested his forehead against yours, his guard completely down now as he admired your swollen lips and heaving chest. The feeling of your fingers in his hair made it nearly impossible for him to keep his lips detached from yours, “You’ve no idea how many times I’ve thought about doing that.”

Your eyes searched his face for any sign that he was lying, when you found none you finally let yourself smile. A similar smile formed on George’s face, “I meant what I said earlier. I really do think you’re annoyingly gorgeous,” the boy silently praised himself when you let out a cute giggle.

“You’re quite cute too. When you’re not running that massive mouth of yours,” you teased although you weren’t really joking, to your surprise George let out a bellowing laugh before placing a fluttering kiss against your lips.

When he pulled away again he looked around the hallway, as if he only now realised where he was. Luckily nobody was wandering the halls since curfew was fast approaching and the unwelcoming cold that occupied the hallways left little reason for students or staff to be out and about. George slid his hand into yours again, this time intertwining your fingers with his. He gave you a hopeful glance and asked, “Do you wanna go somewhere?”

You nodded your head and let him tug you into one of the abandoned astronomy classrooms on the upper floor of the castle, Filch rarely ever patrolled up there which is why George decided on it. As well as that, since the classroom, which had been out of use for a good few years, had been used for astronomy the ceiling was bewitched to reflect the night sky.

George hadn’t come to this particular class in a while but thinking on his feet he remembered the cupboard at the back of the classroom used to hold blankets, he remembered when the classroom had been in use during his first year, students would be all but freezing during the winter, so they’d stocked the classroom with blankets to be brought out during the colder months.

He made his way over to the cupboard and grinned happily when his hand landed on a rather large woollen blanket. The material was scratchy but it would do for what he needed it for. He grabbed one more blanket from the dusty press before he made his way back over to you.

George suppressed a chuckle as he watched you, your face completely turned up, watching the stars on the ceiling with awe in your eyes. He busied himself with laying the wool blanket out on the bare floor, the room was devoid of tables and chairs so he didn’t have to worry about finding a space. Once he was finished, he plopped down on the blanket and expectantly patted the empty space beside him, “Come on then, sit down,” he urged and you finally tore your eyes away from the charmed ceiling.

A small laugh left your lips when you settled yourself down beside him, he wasted no time in covering the pair of you in the second blanket. With an exaggerated sigh he laid back and waited for you to do the same, he turned on his side to face you when you did. In contrast to earlier, George had an air of nervousness about him as he deftly took your hand and began playing with your fingers, not meeting your eyes. “Just out of curiosity,” he began quietly, making eye contact with you now, “What exactly did Fred tell you?”

His question forced a somewhat smug smirk to crawl onto your lips and you couldn’t help but take the opportunity to tease him. You leaned up on your elbows and twisted slightly so you could look down at him, trying not to waste too much time admiring the view, you answered him, “Oh, nothing really. Your lovely twin just happened to mention that you had a very eventful potions class the other day…” you trailed off, biting back a smile as he groaned.

“Mhm and what was it that he said you smelled from the amortentia?” You poked his cheek and he closed his eyes, a tiny smile growing on his face despite his blushing cheeks. “Cloudberries…oh! And daisies, now, what was the other thing? Let me think-“ you pretended to ponder before George cut you off by pulling you down on him and pressing his lips to yours in a kiss much softer than any of the others.

“Summer breezes,” he whispered against your lips before connecting them again, “It smelled like you,” and with that his hand snaked to the nape of your neck as he pressed his lips against yours, pouring all of his feelings into it, hoping it was enough. In all honesty, now that he’d felt what it was like to love you, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to go back to pretending to hate you.

Once he pulled away you were completely breathless, however, George seemed to have more to say. “I don’t want us to go back to the way we were,” absentmindedly you brushed his hair out of his eyes, stroking the red strands soothingly as he continued to confide in you, his voice, face and body completely vulnerable to you. Something about him trusting you with his feelings reassured you that his intentions were pure and banished any notion you possessed of the whole thing being a joke, “I didn’t like it, acting like that but you were always so unbothered that I felt like I had keep one upping you,” he confessed.

“You always gave me this feeling in my stomach whenever you’d come over to the Burrow with your parents when we were little and I didn’t understand it. I just thought that it must’ve meant I didn’t like you…” George seemed to get lost in his own mind as he gazed at you regretfully, his fingers trailed the length of your spine sofly, “By the time I realised, we were both older and I suppose I just thought you couldn’t feel the same ‘cause I made you hate me,” you hummed in acknowledgment, your fingers still working his hair, keeping it out of his eyes that looked at you so intently that you could’ve drowned in them and died happy.

“But then the other night after dinner Angie slapped me upside the head and talked my ear off about how out of order I’d been—obviously I agree with her! You weren’t even talking to me but Neville was complimenting you and I don’t know… just got possessive,” he muttered the last part, losing some confidence but regained it upon seeing the little smile on your lips. “Then Ron looked about ready to push me off the astronomy tower when I saw him this evening. Blimey, I knew it had to have something to do with you since Harry was snippy too.” You had to laugh at the exhausted look on his face when he recalled your two best friends.

Mockingly, you gave him a stern look and clicked your tongue, “Well, perhaps if you weren’t so mean to me all of this could’ve been avoided,” George groaned once again, feeling guilty he pulled you even closer and buried his face in your neck.

“M’sorry,” you carded your fingers through his hair, pressing a soft kiss to his head. Your lips against his head caused him to lift his face from the crook of your neck, “Forgive me?” He asked, a cute pout on his lips.

“I’ll think about it,” you teased, giggling at the offended look on his face. George let out a dissatisfied sigh, he pushed a strand of hair behind your ear before giving you a toothy smile.

“Don’t worry, love. I plan on making it up to you.”

[dumdumsun]

And Dusk

A/N: Just a heads up, the sensitive content in this chapter will be marked "<<<<<<" as the beginning and ">>>>>>" to signify the end. The racial slurs used in this chapter were targeted towards African Americans (and still are) and I chose these because I, myself, am African American and used them as a sort of “default” for any POC readers. ⚠️Please, never use these towards anyone. Whether it be in a “joking” manner or not. They are hurtful and were created to be that way⚠️ I wrote this chapter the way I did to bring awareness. Proceed with caution. Much love ❤️

Warnings: ⚠️racial slurs⚠️, violence, mentions of guns and dying/death

Word Count: 3707

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Chapter 3: The Frankel Footage

Shaking himself out of his shock, Five stood from his seat and hurried after his brother, grabbing onto his arm and stopping his strides. “The hell is wrong with you, Luther? I just told you the world’s gonna end in ten days!”

“Yeah, well, you’re always saying that.” Luther nonchalantly spoke before moving away, but Five intervened yet again.

“And so far, I’ve been right.” He hissed as Luther sighed and shook his head.

“Look, you want to go save the world? Knock yourself out, alright? I already got a job.”

“Wait, you work in this shithole?” The boy furrowed his brows.

“Yeah. Well, my boss owns the place,” Luther only received a nod from his brother, so he clarified. “I’m his body man.”

But this only made Five even more confused. “What’s that? Like, a masseuse or something?”

“Okay, you can make fun all you want, but I take good care of Mr Ruby.”

“Wait, Ruby. The Jack Ruby? The gangster who shot Oswald.”

Despite Five’s concern, Luther proudly smiled a smug smile as he glanced over at his boss. “Yeah. The one and only.”

“Well, it finally happened,” Five sighed. “That gorilla DNA has finally taken over your mind-”

“Hey, watch it, alright? Jack’s a good friend-”

“And you’re Number One. Numero Uno. Remember?”

Luther clenched his jaw and shook his head. “There is no Number One. Not anymore. Not in 1963,” When Five stared at him in disbelief, Luther sighed again. “Look, I’ve been stranded here alone for a year. What did you expect?”

Five scoffed. “I get it, alright? You watched Pogo die, the world exploded, and I marooned your big dumb ass in time. I’m sorry, okay? But I’m asking for your help, Luther. The Umbrella Academy needs you.”

“It doesn’t need me,” He slowly spoke to draw out his words. “It never did.”

“Luther, honey,” The waitress from earlier approached the two. “Jack’s about to lose it on some half-wit. A little help?”

“Ah, shit,” He groaned and began walking away. When Five tried yet again to stop him, he whirled on him, his lips pulled into a thin line. “Listen. You’re the genius who said we should jump, right? You’re the one who got us stuck here. And you’re the one who brought Vanya. So, if there is a doomsday coming, she’s probably the cause. And if I was gonna do something about it, it sure as hell is not gonna be with you. That’s (Y/N)’s job, being dragged around into your messes-”

“I don’t drag her into anything.” Five swallowed, blinking rapidly.

“Yeah? Well, she wasn’t stuck as a thirteen-year-old and constantly worrying about her kids until you showed up. I’m surprised she isn’t sick of you yet.” And with that, he stomped away to his boss. This time, Five let him go, his words sending a pang through his chest as he thought back on it. Grabbing his drink, he sighed and shook his head.

“Dad should’ve left him on the moon…” He muttered, taking a sip of his drink before moving to leave his seat. When he felt his jacket snag on something, he looked down to see an object in his pocket. Taking out the tape, he frowned and turned it over.

Date: 11/22/63

Subject: FRANKEL FOOTAGE

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

This world was unfamiliar to (Y/N). She knew she had to have been somewhere in America, but she didn’t know where. The cars, fashion and stores bringing the street she walked to life told her she had to have been in the sixties. But she didn’t want to believe it. Surely Five hadn’t time travelled that far? She had to have been dropped during some type of sixties-theme festival. But the voices suddenly beside her quickly prove her doubts wrong.

“What do we have here?”

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a lost little colored girl.”

Tensing, (Y/N) continued her way down the sidewalk, slightly speeding up her pace, but the men fell into step beside her with ease, flanking her sides.

“You’re on the wrong side of town, girl.”

“Yeah, we don’t like coons around here.” One of them hissed right in her ear. Her eyes welled up with tears before the other shoved her forward.

“Gon now, get!” He ordered as if she were a dog. She realized that’s how they had seen her. An animal. Nothing more. Tripping on a crack in the sidewalk, she fell to the ground, smacking her face on the concrete. She choked out a sob as the two men cackled. And to make matters even worse, she felt the pitter patter of raindrops start to freeze her skin.

(Y/N) gasped out in shock when the men spit two wads of saliva in her face. She knew she must’ve looked a mess with spit and tears sliding down her cheeks and blood oozing from her nose. She hiccupped on her sobs and began to stand, much too tired from her previous fight with Vanya and literally being dropped from the sky to successfully do so. The men backed her up against a wall and one fisted the front of her vest before a voice called out.

“Take your hands off of my child!” Whipping around, the men were half expecting to find another target, but (Y/N) coughed and sputtered nonsense upon the person her gaze fell upon.

“M-Mom…?”

Before her was Grace, but… she wasn’t robotic in any sense. She could tell by the raw anger etched into her features. She took a brave step forward. “I said. Take your hands. Off my child.”

And that was another thing: her accent. (Y/N) was immediately comforted by the stern southern accent the woman shared with her attackers. It was a voice she never thought she needed. The two looked between Grace and (Y/N) with smirks. “You mean this lil ol’ jigaboo-”

“Is my daughter. Now you let her go before I call the police.”

“Woman, I don’t care if you call the police-”

Grace took it upon herself to step closer and grab the child by her arms, yanking her into her warm embrace. (Y/N) immediately latched onto her, quivering in her hold. The men scoffed and shook their heads, beginning to walk away. “Make sure to keep that thing on a leash if you’re gonna have it out, ma’am.”

“Oh, fuck off.” She growled before turning and walking back in the direction the girl came from. As they walked past the alleyway, Grace took out a handkerchief and began wiping the girl’s face clean of what the raindrops hadn’t already washed away. “It’s alright, hun, they aren’t gonna hurt you anymore.”

“T-Thank you.” (Y/N) sobbed and gently held her nose in pain. Grace crouched in front of her and gently held her face in between her hands.

“Don’t thank me, darlin’, it’s how everyone should be treatin’ you ‘round here… Where are your parents? I could take you to ‘em.”

(Y/N) thought for a long moment, watching as the rain soaked Grace’s hair and clothing. The woman didn’t seem to mind as she watched the girl before her swallowing thickly. (Y/N) skimmed over her current choices. She didn’t have any choice.

“I don’t have parents. I-I don’t remember them…”

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

“I’m tellin’ you, Reggie, she’s highly intelligent for a child her age.” Grace proudly presented (Y/N) to the man she had grown fond of over their time working together. (Y/N), however, was frozen in her spot. Sir Reginald Hargreeves. The man whose death she had wished upon for years, whose death had finally graced her existence, was back in her life. She flinched at the disapproving look on his face, much too acquainted with it by this point in her life. “And she’s very respectful. Talented, too, this girl can speak several languages.”

“You seem rather fond of this child.” The man observed as Grace squeezed her into her side.

“She’s my pride and joy.”

“And you cannot remember anything of your past, child?”

“N-No,” (Y/N) shook her head and stared down. “Not a lot. J-Just my name and birthday.”

Reginald hummed and stared her down with an unreadable expression. When she met his eyes again, he was crouched down to her level, his monocle clutched in his fist. “(Y/N), was it?”

“Yes.”

“It would be an honor to have your presence within my home, along with your mother.”

“O-Oh, that’s okay-”

“I insist. Besides, you have been living with her for almost half a year, correct? It is highly unlikely that she will share a home without you.”

“He’s right about that, hun,” (Y/N) glanced up at Grace, who was smiling warmly at her. “I’m not leavin’ you.”

(Y/N) could have cried.

And she did.

One year later, (Y/N) had been living quite the comfortable life with Grace and Reginald. She had been introduced to the ape, Pogo, for the second time since Grace first started working with him. As much as she loved being around the chimp, it brought back so many memories. She almost felt silly, looking after him sometimes knowing he had done the same for her in the original timeline.

Her relationship with Reginald was nothing she ever expected. He was gentle, well as gentle as Reginald Hargreeves could get, he cared for her, spoiled her, even. She wouldn’t have to ask for anything half the time. If he were to overhear a conversation between her and Grace about a dress she oh-so wanted, it would suddenly be laid out on her bed the next day. She usually had a say in dinner meals every Thursday and Sunday and Reginald listened intently whenever she would voice any discomfort or concerns with her living conditions. (Y/N) never had a real father, but she assumed this is what it was like to have one. She never wanted to let go of it.

For her birthday in 1963, she was surprised that he had actually gotten her a present. As she entered the parlor, she was met with the tiniest bark and an even tinier golden retriever, bounding up to her. She gasped and stopped low, letting him jump into her arms. She let him lick her face and giggled in the joy it brought her.

“Your mother said you would like it. Though I would never allow dogs in my house, I have come to understand that there are rules I must bend for you, my child.”

(Y/N) turned to her father. Yes, father. Reginald, also growing quite fond of their father-daughter bond formed between them, decided to adopt the girl. As much as his beliefs and his deep distaste for children protested. There was just something about this child. Or perhaps it was Grace’s insisting, reassuring him that he would make a wonderful father. (Y/N) was very hesitant at first for her own reasons she never shared, but eventually came around to the idea of being his daughter again.

This was the same Reginald Hargreeves who locked her in a dark room for five days straight, but also an entirely different man. Perhaps it was her fascination with the differences, or maybe she just wanted a real father for once.

“Thank you, Dad.” She softly smiled, the man nodding in response.

“But this is your pet, (Y/N). It is your responsibility. I will not find it in my study, in my bedroom, you are to train it yourself-”

“Can you-”

“And no, I will not help you pick out its name.”

The girl softly groaned and looked back down at her new puppy. Looking into its eyes, she smiled softly at a distant memory as a small child.

“Welcome to the family, Mr Pennycrumb.”

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

(Y/N) groaned when she felt the sunbeams of the early morning sunrise hit her eyelids, coloring her black vision with the stinging fire of orange. Rolling onto her other side, she stretched her blanket over her head. They were yanked away the next second, causing a whine to leave her lips. “Mom… Five more minutes.”

“I let you sleep in long enough, hun, it’s time to get up. You have a date with Preston this afternoon.” Grace gently pulled her daughter to sit up, giggling quietly at her look of disgust.

“Preston? Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously, let’s get goin’.” Grace patted her leg and walked to her door, waiting patiently. (Y/N) sighed and rubbed her face, letting her feet slide into her slippers. As they descended the stairs to the kitchen for breakfast, Reginald could hear his daughter’s sleepy complaining from his place at the table.

Setting his utensils down, he turned his head in their direction. “My child, how many times throughout each week must we have to repeat this conversation?”

“Until it starts making sense.” (Y/N) stepped into the dining room, now in her robe, and crossed her arms over her chest. Reginald sighed and stood from his chair at the table.

“You are one of my greatest accomplishments,” He began towards her. “There is no doubt in my mind that you would make a fine successor. I do not believe you will need a husband. In fact, you would be better off without another individual holding you back from what you are truly capable of.”

“But?” She raised a brow.

“But… I have grown to know you more than I expected… and I know that you would need someone to help manage your finances you inherit once I am gone. Preston is a fine young man who was born into this life, made into this life. He will take good care of you.”

(Y/N) knew there was only one person in this world who would truly take good care of her. But he wasn’t here, and she needed to play the part as the amnesiac adopted daughter, so she huffed and nodded. “Fine… I’ll go…”

“Thank you-”

“But only if Mr Pennycrumb can go, too.”

“Very well, but you will not be gifted another animal if you lose it.”

The outing wasn’t entirely bad. (Y/N) didn’t mind the picnic or the art museum, it was the company that made her blood boil. Preston is anything she would have expected out of him. This had been their seventh date, tenth of the ones he planned. (Y/N) sought out any opportunity she could to cancel on him to save herself from the unbearable three hours she would have to spend with the kid. He was arrogant, smug, selfish, narcissistic, and overbearing. Of course, this was not the Preston he presented to her parents. No, to them, Preston was ‘a fine man with a bright future ahead of him’, or as Grace would put it, ‘a delight to have around’. He laughed like a drunk, talked like a husband, and smelled like a man. All at the age of fifteen. (Y/N) had to remind herself on several occasions that she was mentally the older out of the two and to not stoop to his level when he got under her skin.

“Don’t you think, (Y/N)?” The voice brought her attention back to the boy beside her. She looked up from the grass they had been strolling through. When she hummed in question, he amusedly scoffed and side-step closer to her. “Never mind. I should have known you wouldn’t have been interested in politics.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” The girl raised a brow. At her confusion, he laughed and gently tapped the side of his head.

“You’ve always got that head of yours in the clouds. Or turned behind you- like right now.”

(Y/N) turned her head away from where she had been looking over her shoulder. “What? Sorry, Preston, I’m a little preoccupied today.”

“With what, exactly? You don’t seem to be the type of girl to have very many issues. Nothing to worry about.”

“And you wonder why I don’t listen to you.” She sighed as her puppy ran in between her legs, rolling in the grass once he was a few paces in front of them. Preston frowned in distaste and shook his head.

“You should really keep that thing on a leash, sweetheart.”

She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, clenching her teeth as she folded her hands behind her back. “Really now?”

“Really. You know, I’m not very fond of dogs, so I’m not sure how it’ll work out once we’re married. I think we should get one after we have kids, you know? Just so the kids could grow up with it.”

(Y/N) quickly turned her head to the left, pointing out across the street. “Preston, would you look at that?”

“Look at what?” He gullibly looked in the direction, (Y/N) quickly checking the area before almost silently singing her tune. From her shadow, her clone formed and robotically walked behind the two. She quickly switched spots with it and ordered the clone to walk with Preston before scooping her puppy into her arms and rushing off in the opposite direction. Once she was behind a diner far away from their date location, she let out a sigh and gently patted her dog on the head.

“Were you sick of it, too?” She chuckled. Resting the back of her head against the brick wall she leaned on, she let out a slow breath and began to relax. The sound of guns cocking had her head snapping up so fast, she swore she could have dislocated it. Just down the end of the line of stores were three white-haired men, one in a milkman uniform, training their guns on her. (Y/N) didn’t waste a second tucking her dog in front of her and spinning around, charging down the opposite direction as bullets whizzed past her. She dodged them the best she could, jumping a few feet in the air at the ones that threatened to take their place in her feet. It was like a dance; the twisting, spinning and jumping, and she was to perform this dance until one of those bullets killed her if she didn’t find a way out soon. Sliding to the side of a clothing store for cover, she gently shushed her pet as she caught her breath.

The three sets of footsteps eventually found their destination and rounded the corner with skilled quickness, shooting at the girl until she was nothing more than a bloodied corpse on the ground, bullet holes lodged in almost every inch of her body. The three men nodded to each other and turned around, making their way out from behind the stores.

(Y/N) had already been down the street from her house by the time her attackers found the clone in her place. She couldn’t have been bothered to check herself for any wounds, too worried about Mr Pennycrumb’s potential bullet wounds. But the pup was perfectly, happily nuzzling into her arms and wagging his tail. This left (Y/N) to ponder.

Who the hell were those men?

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

“Is it on?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know? There’s an ‘on’ button. Just- There’s something over- that jigga-ma-thing, whatever.”

“I hit the jigga-ma-thing!”

“Okay, well, just- Give it to me. I know how to do this.”

“Alright, here, here. Hurry up.”

“Okay, alright, let’s see…”

Lila didn’t look up from her task of painting poor Elliott’s toenails, his bindings he received after threatening the trio with a gun preventing him from moving too much. Which was beneficial to her, as it kept her from ruining the paint job. She softly smiled as she listened to the argument between the elderly couple on the film Five and Diego were intently watching. “They’re so cute,” She commented. “I love old couples. I’m always so proud of them for not murdering each other.”

Ignoring her, Diego turned to his brother from his seat on Elliott’s counter. “Why are we watching this?”

“Shush.” Five replied, eyes trained on the film before him, searching for any clue to the approaching apocalypse, brows furrowed in concentration.

“Yeah, I… I’m Dan Frankel. And…”

“I’m Edna Frankel.”

“...Edna Frankel. We are in Dallas, Texas, to see the president. Today’s date is November 22, 1963.”

Five nodded as everyone’s attention was brought to the projected screen before them.

“That’s six days from now.” Lila spoke as Elliott thrashed about more against his bindings. Diego sat forward in interest.

“Holy shit. This is it. The grassy knoll. Kennedy’s about to get shot. How do you have this?”

“Hazel died to get me this footage,” Five answered. “It must be the key to stopping doomsday.”

“Hazel…?” Diego frowned, remembering the man he spent hours searching for and planning to kill to avenge the death of Eudora Patch.

“Long story.”

“What’s doomsday?” Lila looked up at the boy.

“Longer story.”

“What exactly did he say to you?” Diego asked as Lila turned her head back to the film.

Five shrugged. “Well, he was killed before he could explain. But whatever he wanted us to see, it’s on this film.”

“This is very exciting.” The old man smiled before the sound of gunshots and screaming could be heard, the camera moving around in blurs due to the shock of the old woman filming.

“Oh, my god!”

“Oswald…” Diego whispered, setting his knife down as Five leaned in closer.

“The president!”

When the camera was steadied to record across the street, Five and Diego both stiffened in their spots at what their eyes caught. “Oh, no…” Five breathed and moved behind the projector, rewinding the film and scooting the cart backwards to zoom in closer. The room was silent as Diego stood to his feet and Five rounded the cart before standing beside his brother, directly in front of the film. “This can’t be…”

“Okay, you gonna fill me in now, boys?” Lila glanced between the two. “What the hell is this shit we’re watching?”

But she was ignored yet again.

“No, that’s impossible…”

“Clearly, it’s not.”

“What… What is it?” Elliott muffled past the gag in his mouth.

A beat of silence went by before the two Hargreeves whispered in unison,

“Dad.”

—————————————

Taglist: @unfortu-nate-ly @sapphicsyn @m00n-sh @starcurrent @alexander-hamilhoe @youcandalekmyballs @wonderlandfandomkingdom @yrdadjstcallsmekatya @sm0kingcrack @a-t-h-r-e-e-n-a @moatsnow @bubblegumflamingos @starstormssymphony @meowiemari @magicalgothpandamaker @simping-4-fictional-men @hehehehannahthings @harrystylescherrie @rhain3 @himikaphoo @zerocanonlywriteshit @xxeiraxx @camerondiaz48104 @isawachickeninatree

[cheelduh]

How to strike your way into someone’s heart (Highschool AU)

Part 2 to this. Can be read alone!

Pairing: Childe x fem!reader

Warnings: A lot of swearing I mean what do you expect they’re all teenagers. Lots of brick slapping. Childe clowns Scaramouche. OH YES this isn’t edited at all lmfao have fun.

Synopsis: It’s your big date with Childe after you lost the bet miserably. You decide to pay the occult club a visit in hopes of finding something that can...ease your concerns. Childe on the other hand has Signora give him a friendly piece of advice, believe it or not. 

Note: SRY THIS TOOK ME LIKE A MONTH

For as long as you can remember, you've never believed in ghosts, demons, or souls that lose their way in the endless void, forced to roam the earth in repentance.

Believing in the unknown takes creativity, adventure, maybe even a little sense of fear. Scratch that—a shitton of fear, because humans love to weave in their insecurities and inability to explain something into something of a phenomenon.

Bad luck lies in this category. Bad luck is simply a way to justify the catastrophe that one cannot admit they have fabricated themselves. Everyone wants a reason as to why shit hits the fan, and it can be anything but their own fault.

Bad luck is nothing but a load of bull to you. That's totally why you're standing outside the calculus classroom during lunch break, which happens to be the official meet spot for the occult club.

You raise a fist to knock, but then falter, thinking over your options once again. Is this what it has come to? Putting your faith into the weird kids that once tried to summon Schrödinger's cat for the physics final.

Fischl kicks the door wide open, a smirk playing at her lips once she spots you. "One cannot refrain from the song of your cogitation. The feline for which thou dwell on—"

A squeak leaves your throat and you flinch back, cutting her off. "You can read my mind?"

"Fischl," An icy eyed boy shows up from behind her and points a thumb back. "Mona needs your help."

Fischl squints at you for a brief moment, and then spins onto her heel to go back into the room.

The blue haired lower class man, Chongyun you guess, narrows his eyes at you. "Is there something I can help you with?"

Finally you manage to speak, palms all sweaty. "Yeah uh, I need your help. You know, with occulty things." You use your hands to articulate your thoughts, but ultimately give up.

You're not sure if it's pity towards your pathetic explanation or simply annoyance, but Chongyun widens the opening. He silently gestures for you to follow.

Stumbling on your feet and putting on your big girl pants, you hurry inside of the room, hoping you aren't seen by Beidou. She wouldn't let you hear the end of this.

The temperature instantly drops, and you have to adjust your sight to navigate. There's heavy incense in the air as well as a a few lighted candles from the dollar store, you guess.

Sitting smack dab in the middle of all the demonic markings is Mona, with a mischievous glint in her eyes. Chongyun has made his way next to her, crossing his arms with a sigh, and Fischl is busy cooing at her bird.

"Well well well..." Mona's amused, eyes almost twinkling as she gets up from the poor desk that had to suffer the wrath of her ass. "If it isn't Y/N."

Mona is a glorified dick wiper in your books. One time, she partnered up with you in chemistry last year and refused to do any work because apparently her "star sign" said she was incompatible with science. You haven't forgiven her since.

"I need your help." You barely manage to choke out the words, reigning yourself in by clenching your fists instead. It'll be unethical to claw her face, especially since you're the one who's come to her.

"Oh?" She smiles wickedly, revelling in every moment of this no doubt. "Why would the high and mighty Y/N need help from the 'Whoroscope whore'?"

Fischl nearly slips out a laugh, trying with her upmost ability to refrain from rolling all over the floor.

You blink away your tears of almost-laughter, casually sliding in twenty mora across the table dividing you two. If she's a whoroscope whore like you say she is, she'll definitely put it in her bra.

Mona raises a brow, but her eyes linger on the bill for a second too much. "What makes you think I'll do it for money?"

"That's simple," You say, rolling your eyes. "When you see mora, you cling to it like a baby clings to a tit. Now just take it and solve my issues."

She fumes a litany of curses but snatches the money up anyways.

"What do you want?"

You breathe in, then out. "I need a talisman."

Mona raises a brow, hand on her hip. "I'm sorry. Did I get that right?"

How dare she. You will your eye into not twitching, the beginnings of fire thrumming through your veins, scalding hot. How dare she make me repeat myself.

"You know, the thing to fend off evil spirits," Your statement hangs heavy in the air as the cogs in their brains click into place. "I need one that can remove the most evilest thing times ten to the power of twenty five on this planet."

Everyone immediately thinks of Hu Tao.

Chongyun is the first to speak from an area of expertise, seemingly shocked at your words. "Are you sure you want a talisman that powerful? How bad is the evil spirit you've come across?"

You glance out the window, through the semi-open blinds. The apprehension curls in your stomach once you spot Childe chasing Aether with safety scissors, and you've never been more sure of than anything in your life.

Gulping, you turn back to the exorcist. "I'm 110% sure."

He doesn't ask any more questions and goes to fetch the talisman.

Mona clears her throat. "So I hear you have a date with Childe today. Quite the character you've taken to."

"Oh please," You hiss through your teeth, your blood pressure going up tenfold, "you're the one that told him our star signs were intertwined and that we're fated lovers."

She shrugs innocently, stance casual unlike your own that is ready to lunge an attack.

"Here you are," Chongyun hands you a talisman, a colourful mix of some charms, some kind of liquid in a bottle, and about a shitton of other things. "You'll need these if you're going to face the most demonic of all evils."

You think of Childe's stupidly handsome smirk, the playful life of his eyes, and how gentle and considerate he is with you. You think about how cruel he is to others, but how loving he can be to you.

"Oh, I will be."

—

Childe is getting his ass handed to him by Scaramouche on the switch. It's just that he can't seem to focus, not with the forthcoming date all over his mind.

He hasn't experienced these kind of jitters in a long time. Has to endure that foolish smile that's about to plaster all over his face.

Scaramouche may be a son of a bitch with an agenda, but he doesn't appreciate his acquaintances safeguarding their personal crap when it starts to leak onto him. Especially when it comes to video games.

"Okay," The short boy sighs, stretching over the staff room sofa to drop his controller on the cushions. "Let's hear it." He can't even properly enjoy his victories when Childe isn't giving it his all.

"Hear what?" Childe lays his head back, relaxing from all the strain of endless gaming during the lunch hour. He seems too relaxed for someone who's broken into the teacher's lounge.

"Why you're so distracted." Scaramouche points out. "Not that I care—hey! I'm serious here!"

Childe's cracking up for absolutely no reason, rudely cutting him off. "I'm sorry—sorry it's just so hard to take you seriously when you're wearing that stupid fucking hat."

"Don't question the drip." The older moves his head to glare at him, but the thin stripe of silk on his hat swooshes with him, and it's enough to have Childe clutching his stomach in pain as he barks out in laughter.

"Grow the fuck up." Scaramouche says, no doubt exasperated from the constant shit he gets.

"Ok—ok I'm sorry."

There's a knock on the door before Scaramouche gets the chance to intimidate him again.

"Fuck shit fuck who is that? Wasn't there a staff meeting?" Childe whisper yells, panic clear in the ocean of his eyes.

Scaramouche shrugs and downs a can of soda with no care in the world.

Childe would be nonchalant too. If it were a normal day, he wouldn't give two shits about getting caught.

However, he's looking forward to that date he has with you today. Detention is going foil all his lecherous plans.

"It's me." The feminine sound of a threat calls out from the other side. "Open the door." The clicks and clacks of her toes tapping the floor indicating her impatience.

The two sigh in relief, Childe getting up to open the door. It's way too early in the afternoon to deal with this crap.

"Surprised to see me?" Signora greets sweetly, and if not for the murderous glint in her eyes, he would smile back.

"Yeah, I didn't say Bloody Mary three times." The ginger replies, keeping a steady eye on the upperclassman in case she pulls a fast one.

The blonde shoves him aside in offence, and prances in like she owns the goddamn place. Scaramouche greets her with the bird.

"There's this rumour going around—I'm sure you've heard..."

"Oh?" Childe pockets his keys, ready for an attack, not even remotely interested in the topic.

"Something about how Y/N gave Mona a visit today" Signora muses, elegantly taking a seat on the arm of the couch, "with your date and all, I just thought you should know."

"Hah!" Scaramouche bursts out in laughter, tears in the corner of his eyes. "I can't believe she went to get a horoscope reading on how shitty your date's gonna be."

"Get castrated." Childe growls, flipping him off on both hands.

"Now now boys," Signora's lips curl, and she clasps both manicured hands together, prepared to break the fight if it ever reaches its peak. "Settle down. You two are comrades."

"As if I'm comrades with this SIMP!" Scaramouche has to wheeze out the words.

The youngest clenches his fists, unclenches, and then lets a smirk grow. "Oh? I'm the simp? What about that time Mona pantsed you in-front of all the freshmen and you fell in love with her."

Scaramouche glares at him, a glare strong enough to have anyone shaking in their shoes. "I'm attracted at her sheer audacity of trying to fuck I, Scaramouche, the 8th harbinger, over. It takes balls."

"Mad respect." Signora leans forward to place her phone on the coffee table, then approaches Childe. "Moving on, the reason I've decided to bestow my precious intel on you is because I have a favour to ask of you."

"What?" He says blankly, confused that she has a request for him out of all people.

"I need you to let me get you ready for this date of yours." She gives him a gaze that is enough to wither away any arguments.

Childe shares a look with Scaramouche as if to say "am I fucking deaf because I sure as shit didn't just hear that."

"You sure as hell did, boys." Signora intercepts the connection of their two brainwaves with a dreaded sigh. "I hate Y/N. This is the only way I can get back at her."

"Hey!" Childe exclaims loudly, waving his hands in the air incessantly. "What makes you think I'll let you shit on my future girlfriend."

"I'll be doing nothing of the sorts." She points out, giving him a sly smile. "I just know she's terrified of what's coming. The better the date is, the more she's gonna hate herself. What more do I need but to sprinkle some inner conflict within her airtight resolve?"

As favorable as the proposal is, Childe  contemplates for a second. Signora...helping him? This could work to his advantage if he plays his cards right.

His inner turmoil takes him into the future, where you two are happily married with eight and a half kids. If you ever managed to find out Signora was the culprit that was finally able to set you two up, you'd never forgive him.

"Nah I'll take a hard pass." He doesn't want to think about divorce and custody battles this early on. He'd rather face the brunt of Signora's wrath.

Scaramouche chooses right then to make a tactical withdrawal out through the window since he doesn't want to be a witness to a murder he hasn't caused.

Surprisingly— "Fine then." Signora shrugs, unbothered when summoning out a minty juul from no where. She's disappointed nonetheless.

Childe tilts his head, perplexed, but decides against mulling over it for too long. Instead, he strides off to the door, wanting to get the last two periods over with so he can run home and freshen up for this date.

"Oh and Childe?" Signora calls out to him, but he barely acknowledges her, only pausing momentarily without looking back. "A piece of friendly advice. A diligent student like Y/N, there's no way she'd be into rash things like fighting. So try and control yourself, hmm?"

He flashes the senior a sheepish smile, the front row tickets to the illegal underground fight-club burning in the back pocket of his pants.

—

Childe conceals near the bushes by the gate, expertly hiding his shaking hands by pretending to look for something in his back. His goal isn't to seem desperate, even though he's raced out here at the speed of light after Havria's dismissal.

It's not like he's trying to eavesdrop or anything. He just wants a little insight on how you're feeling about this, in case the rumors of you visiting the occult club wasn't a farce.

From his peripheral, he spots you and a familiar figure that is Lisa, leisurely walking side by side as you approach the main side walk.

"Ready for your date, Y/N? You've been daydreaming all afternoon." Lisa winks, and dodges the shove you send her way with experience like no other.

"Yes, daydreaming about punching you in the face." Your left eye twitches in annoyance as you fix your hold on your skateboard.

"Well then, I'll be off—ah!"

The gorilla grip you have on her sleeve takes away all the time she has to get on the last bus she's about to miss.

Your utter strength is enough to make Childe's knees weak. How pathetic he thinks.

"Oh no you don't," You say in a sing-song voice, "you got me into this, so you're going to help."

"Help with what?" Lisa fakes a hard pout as she bats her lashes, trying to collect pity points.

"I—" You inhale, loosening your grip on her and averting your eyes nervously to see if anyone's watching. "Don't make me say it."

The older girl motions for you to continue, and you're sure you've suffered more for less at this point.

"I've never...been on a..." The sentence ends in a trailed murmur.

Childe doesn't think he's ever seen you so flustered. He's about to snap a picture for later, but decides against it. They'll be plenty of moments later on to see your cute expressions.

Lisa's grin is both seductive and terrifying, Childe notices. "You've never been on a date?"

"Shut up!" You hiss, dropping your board so you can cover her lips with your palm, eyes darting around your surroundings frantically. "Not so loud."

He has to bite at his fist to hide his amusement.

As if she has a sixth sense, Lisa's eyes somehow find Childe's through the abundance of leaves, and there's a glint in her eyes that nearly makes him shart his pants.

"Of course Y/N," She replies sweetly to you, who is currently unaware of the staring match going on. "I'll teach you everything you need to know...and more."

Childe doesn't know if that's a good or bad thing. Nor does he want to find out.

—

You ponder on what's taking him so long, more on edge than you usually are. Thankfully, Lisa basically pried your hair down from its usual up-do. Said something about how you can hide your lack of shits given as to not offend him.

Except you think you're giving more shits that you expected to. Why else would your heart be pounding so hard?

"What took you so long?" You sense him creeping up on you, ceasing his chance to pounce.

Childe groans playfully and slaps a hand over his face as he comes into view. "How'd you know?"

"You have a douche-styled gait." You reply as you remove your gaze off your phone to approach him.

He's prepared to shoot a witty reply, but it dies halfway through his throat when he procures a good look at you. Your hair frames your face elegantly, eyes shining despite the tiredness that's so clear, all complete with a cooling spring dress that hugs you just right.

Mouth going dry, he forgets how to speak the common tongue, unable to tear his gaze off your form.

You shift in place awkwardly. "Uh are you okay? Looking a little...blank."

"Sorry—sorry just thinking." Childe stumbles over his words like the complete idiot and a half he is, berating himself countlessly on the inside. He regains his confidence once he spots the light dust on your cheeks. "You ready for the best date ever?"

"The best date huh?" It's the first time you smile today, and he swears his heart leaps in his rib cage. You're the prettiest thing he's ever laid his eyes on. "I'm ready. I better not be disappointed."

"I wouldn't dare disappoint, girlie." He feigns mock offence as dramatically as possible. "I'll show you how to have some real fun. Cool keychain by the way, for good luck?"

It's one of the charms Chongyun urged you to carry with you at all times to keep all forms of evil away.

"Yeah...something like that."

The two of you ease into the walk in a relatively comfortable fashion, contributing with lively chatter and a few jabs here and there. It's not awkward at all, not like you thought it would be. Your nerves loosen up, mind diverting from the roots of the stress of high school.

"—And you won't believe what Kaeya did the other day. I'm telling you there's something wrong with him because that SoundCloud rapper wannabe Venti goaded him into birdboxing through the hallways at lunch."

"And the son of a bitch did it?"

"The son of a bitch did it." Childe confirmed, gasping through his laughs as the two of you converse in psychobabble. "And guess who he bumped into?"

You're choking in laughter, tears in your eyes as you hunch over and shake. "He didn't. Childe—no he didn't."

"Straightttt into Diluc. And he had the balls to feel him up because he thought he bumped into a hot bab—"

Childe crashes into a sturdy chest and stumbles backwards towards you, but manages to catch his balance midway. Both of you freeze when faced with a buff guy from another school, bandages on his fist and a crooked smirk on his face.

Fuck. You think. Classic high school cliché.

Realizing he can't risk the remainder of this date when it hasn't even begun, Childe raises a hand in apology, aiming to be the bigger person instead of socking the kid in the face.

"Sorry. I wasn't looking." He offers to the guy, but you can tell he isn't buying any of it. There are about four more kids who group, a setup that isn't going to end in your favour.

"Hey punk. You don't remember me?" The upperclassmen barks out, glaring holes into your date.

You deadpan towards Childe, but he's too is racking his brain to remember. Ends up shrugging with no recollection.

"I have a list of names but they're in my other pants." Shit, what an a-grade reply. Now you know you're done for. "Listen dude, I'm kind of on a date and the vibe is going great. Don't ruin it."

"It's a good thing she's here to watch then!" The guy yells, stomping so that he's right in-front of Childe, ready to pounce. "You humiliated me in front of my gang last week. I'm here to rip you a new one."

Childe blinks, tries to remember, and when he doesn't, he grabs a wad full of cash from the his Fanny pack and throws it at the guy's feet.

Everyone's eyes bulge out of their sockets, including yours at the amount of money placed there casually on the crack of the dirty sidewalk.

"Hopefully this is enough for the damages." Childe offers, aiming to not further escalate the situation albeit how pissed he is right now. If you weren't here...well that would be another, much more violent story.

With a soft tug, Childe brings you close and begins to pass the guy, until he's abruptly stopped by a hand gripping his shoulder tightly.

"I don't think so!" The guys barks, and his lackeys move to surround you two. "You gotta pay taxes too buddy." Oh he's getting way too comfortable now.

A feral smile grows on Childe's face as he looks over his shoulder. "Oh?"

"Yeah shithead." The guy seethes, puffing out his chest to size him up.

Childe itches for a fight. He can no longer keep in the urge and is just about ready to raise a heavy fist, but is beaten by the sound of a loud thwack, and then a painful groan following.

There you are, standing in front of the trembling asshole, spinning your crossbody bag in circles like it's a nunchuck in all it's glory. There's a deadly glint in your eyes, pure, unadulterated vexation in your features.

If Childe could fall for you any harder, it's probably happening now. In that exact moment, his heart beats in his ears uncontrollably, and there's nothing but raw adoration that piles up all at once.

You're an angel of destruction, a force not to be reckoned with, and shit, you're the eye of the fucking storm.

Fire courses through your veins as you pulverize the guy with your bag, swinging with such expertise it has Childe in awe. "He may be an absolute idiot for not remembering—"

"Hey girlie you're killing me here!" Your date snaps out of his astonishment temporarily.

"—but you don't get to call him a shithead, you asshole!" You snarl angrily, gripping the handle of your bag tightly, decking everyone that lunges at you, letting out strings of curses with every hit. Every hit sends a flock of them either stumbling back in pain, or knocked out completely.

Childe doesn't even get a chance to lift a finger by the time you're done violating them with your heavy ass pink bag. Stands there like an absolute loser.

"Apologize." You pant, prepared to send another flurry of attacks at the leader, who is crawling away with a battered face. "Apologize or I'll—I'll fucking Russian neck tie your ass."

"S-sorry!" The guy whimpers out and tries not to piss his pants at the threat.

Childe is still in too much shock at the whole ordeal to reply, short circuiting.

Another thirty seconds pass until he registers the smaller hand waving in front of his face. He catches your cold hand through his haze, brings it closer.

Running a free hand through his locks, he doesn't hide his astonishment. "You're fucking gorgeous, girlie." He whistles lowly, eyeing you with a new kind of regard.

"I-I uh." Your face is all shades of red by now, the adrenaline from kicking ass wearing down. "Let's go."

"How is that bag so heavy?" One of the fallen gasps out in pain, clutching his ribs as he trembles on the floor. "Like a buh-brick."

A part of your zipper in open, and Childe briefly peeks out of morbid curiosity. His jaw slackens. "Is that a...no, it can't be."

"It's a brick." You murmur guiltily, gnawing at your bottom lip. "Just in case." Fingers tentatively play with the straps.

Childe is head over heels by now, all smitten as a foreign warmth bubbles up in his throat, and he's just about sure he'll puke his heart out.

His next words are picked out carefully. "There's an underground fight club going on—"

You lock and aim for his right kidney.

Worth a try, Childe thinks.

"SIKE. Joking—joking. Just a joke." He insists, gloved hands raised by his ears in defence.

Clicking your tongue, you scowl and rush past him.

It hasn't even been an hour and it's been the most exciting date Childe's ever experienced. When he sees your lips twitch, he knows it's the same for you as well.

"Are we going or not?" You mumble, avoiding eye contact, a tinge of red still decorating your cheeks.

Childe crumbles into his hands at your deadly duality. One that comes for his enemies and one that comes straight for his heart.

[pedrosbish]

from me, the moon

word count: 1.7k

warnings: angst

*female reader x marcus*

He loved you with all his heart. And it terrified you.

You were both nineteen, in the prime of your youth, having only been dating for a year and a bit (one year, two months and eight days he had corrected you once) when you had come home to your modest, tiny apartment. The lights were turned off and for a split second you were worried that something had happened, something felt off. 

Wandering further in, you noticed a flickering light coming from the bedroom and as you slowly pushed the door open, you were met with the sight of Marcus Moreno cursing as he attempted to light another candle, burning his finger when it wouldn't catch aflame. 

“Baby?” You almost laughed out loud when he had whipped around, a loud gasp escaping his mouth, dropping the match to the ground. Pointing to the neatly made bed (which hadn't been done in awhile), roses adorning the white duvet and the multiple lit candles around the room, casting a calming light to fill the room. “What’s all this?”

“Mi amor.” He takes a step forward, holding something behind his back. “You weren't supposed to be back for another hour. Is everything okay?”

“Of course. I just managed to get away earlier today- not many customers.” Waving your hand around the room again, you glance your eyes around before looking at Marcus. “What’s the occasion?” 

Gently taking ahold of your hand, he leads you to the bed where you sit, expecting him to take a seat beside you but instead he gets down on one knee, revealing what he had hiding behind his back. A ring. It was a simple thing, a golden band with a tiny diamond sparkling in the centre, but it still managed to make your breath hitch and your stomach drop. 

“Mi amor, mi vida, I fell in love with you when I first saw you. I fell in love even more when I got to know you and when you somehow managed to agree to be my girlfriend. I would like to spend the rest of my life with you so I want to ask this one thing: will you marry me?”

Bile rises in your throat and your heart beats rapidly as you see the look on his face- hope, fear, love. Tears gather in your eyes as more time passes and he rocks onto the back of his heels, the hand holding the ring faltering slightly as he waits and waits and waits, before it falls to his side. 

“Marcus...”

“Please say something baby.” Your heart breaks even more when you see the hopeful emotions on his face fall at your hesitation. “Please just say something. Anything.”

“I can’t,” you croak out as your head falls, tears rolling down your cheeks, avoiding the look of utter heartbreak on his face. “We’re too young, Marcus. We haven't even finished college yet; we  don't have a steady pay check; we haven't even been-”

“I know what I feel for you. I know that I love you with all my fucking heart.” He pauses, his voice raw with emotion as he fights back his tears.”Please just say yes.”

                                                       ~~~

You knew it was cowardly to run away, you know that now, but after explaining to Marcus that you weren't ready to marry him you had packed all your things and left. Avoiding all his texts, calls, attempts at catching you on campus, he eventually gave up and left you alone. It broke your heart. 

Years had passed and you both had moved on. He got married, had a kid and moved away while you continued focussing on your job having set up your own business in the city. You were happy for him, really, and you tried to ignore the feeling of jealousy that sprouted in your chest whenever you heard news of him from his mother who you kept in touch with all these years (you figured he wanted nothing to do with you anymore after your rejection).

And that's why you were surprised to receive an invitation from Marie Moreno to come visit them. 

The idea of seeing Marcus Moreno again nearly scared you into not going- something which Marie must have sensed when you had called her the day before you were supposed to travel as she made (empty) threats to hit you with her walking stick if you didn't come. It was something that you didn't want to risk. 

Standing in front of their door, however, changed your mind and you had almost made it back to the rented car before the door opened and a young girl appeared, a large smile on her face. So this must have been Missy. There was no doubt about it; her dark brown eyes that crinkled at the corners when she smiled, her skin a healthy tanned gold - everything about her proved that she was Marcus’ child. 

“It’s so nice to meet you!” She takes a step forward to shake your hand, not letting go. “My abuelita has told me so many stories about you like that one time you went over for dinner and my dad told you a joke so funny that a piece of spaghetti came out of your nose!”

“Of all the stories she has about me, of course she has to tell that one.” You mutter under your breath but the girl managed to still hear it, her smile widening. 

“Or there was that one time when-”

“Missy!” A voice calls out from the house and your heart stills as footsteps draw nearer to you. “Do you have everything? We cannot be late to this thing again otherwise Mrs Flanagan is going to have my head on a spi-”

Your heart jumps in your throat when your eyes meet, those brown eyes that you could have stared at for years when resting on his chest as the world around slowly woke up for the day. He looks older, better, a beard adorning his face and a pair of thick framed glasses perching on his nose, but he also looks...the same. His eyes widen and take in the fact that his old girlfriend from his high school days is standing on his front porch. 

“Hey.” You wave at him awkwardly with your free hand.

“Um, hello? What- what are you doing here?”

"Marie invited me...she said you knew about this.”

Marcus looks to his daughter for an answer only to be met with a sly smile and gleaming mischievous eyes. He opens his mouth to say something but before he can, a car pulls up on the street and Missy quickly grabs the bags he had dropped at his feet before running to the car. His mother's car. 

“Goddamit.” He glances at you, too scared too stare too long and remember. "I'm really sorry about this. Should've known that they were up to something- they've been acting weird these last couple of days."

"It's okay Marcus."

Your laugh is angelic, like hearing an old song again after such a long time, and he tries to ignore the way his heart thumps wildly within his chest and his stomach flips within his stomach. He smiles, clearly lost in his own thoughts and you try to ignore the way your heart speeds up at the gesture and the butterflies in your stomach. 

"Would you- do you want to come in?" His offer is tentative but it still means the world to you and you happily nod, moving past him when he takes a step back into the house. 

It’s nice, homely, as you take in the framed family pictures lining the hall that leads to the kitchen. You grin at the mess in the kitchen, breakfast plates and bowls littering the counters- he still struggled to fin the time to clean- and he must sense your thoughts as he smiles sheepishly at you, moving to put everything in the sink. 

“Do you want something to drink? Coffee? Tea?” 

“Just water please.” 

It’s awkward and tense, the air filled with unsaid things. You watch quietly as he gets a glass for you and fills it with water, eyes fixed on the task at hand instead of looking up at you. 

“How-how have you been?”

“Good. Everything’s good.” You mumble, ignoring the way his eyes look you over quickly. “Not as good as you though! You got married. And you had a kid.”

He laughs, fiddling with the ring on his finger, and your attention is drawn to the simple band of gold. His smile falters as he stares down at it. “I did. She-my wife passed away about a year ago.” 

“I’m so sorry Marcus.” Placing your glass down on the counter, you round it to stand in front of him. “How has it been?”

“Hard, yeah.” He nods his head and casts his eyes to the ground, trying to hide the tears that have started to gather in his eyes. “Missy has been dealing with it better than I have. But we’re- I’m getting there.” 

You lift your hand and place it on his arm, comforting, and he closes his eyes at the contact of warmth. His eyes lift up to meet yours, not breaking away, and you hastily take a step back, away from him. 

“It’s, uh, really nice to see you.” 

Your cheeks redden as you nod your head. “It’s nice to see you too. Anyway, I should probably go and check into the Bed and Breakfast.”

You turn to leave, Marcus trailing behind, as you open the front door and take a step outside. A mixture of feelings torment you as you glance at him over your shoulder before getting into the rental car. Before you can drive off, he runs to your car window, signalling for you to open it. 

“Would you maybe want to go to dinner with me? To catch up?” 

Those brown eyes fill with a hope that you haven't seen for a long time, that you haven't seen since the last time you had the honour of being the centre of Marcus’ life, and it makes your heart beat just a little bit faster in your chest. 

“I would love to.”

[zodiyack]

In Letters

Requested by @imaginesbymk​: Oh gosh hi! Could I request a imagine w/ Eugene Sledge falling in love with y/n and when he returns home he surprises them with flowers and asks y/n out on a date? Hope this was ok!

Pairing: Eugene Sledge x Female!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, mentions of war

Words: 1,795

Summary: (See Request)

Note: So I got a little carried away and I’m not too proud of the ending, but I tried my best and I hope you liked it :D

Taglist: @matth1w​, @redspaceace-writes​, @fandom-puff​, @darling-i-read-it​, @simonsbluee​, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow​

Masterlist | Joe Mazzello Masterlist

My dearest Gene,

The nights seem quiet, deafeningly so. The room feels lonesome without your presence. Although it pains me to admit it, it’s not just my chambers that are haunted with such sadness.

I feel goosebumps rise from my skin as I lie in bed, similar to the ones I’d get when you wrapped your arms around me. The hairs on my neck rise just as they did when you whispered in my ear each night, assuring me that nothing could hurt me, for you were there to fend off whatever creatures dwelled in the night. But alas, these are not from you this time. My body reacts in such ways to a frightening feeling, one I almost forgot having never felt it after the first night you snuck into my room, and the nights prior to your descent. With you away, I have no soldier to protect me whilst I rest.

My words, melancholy yet true, shan’t bring you down... I hope. Please do not assume wrongly of my intent; I am indeed very proud of you. So much so that I simply cannot help but worry.

What has my worries, you may ask?

Well, my soldier, it’s you. Whether this letter will actually find your soft hands at all, I know not, however, you told me to have hope, so I will. Before you set this parchment aside and go out to your tasks, I ask one last request.

Take your advice, and have hope. When the nights become too much, think not of the horrors, but of me, of this letter, of the nights back home wherein you protect me like you are now protecting us.

You’re so strong and brave. I find it mandatory that you know that and believe it, not just hear the words and brush it off as a compliment. Eugene Sledge, it is a fact. You hold others up as though you are Atlas and they are the world that you carry upon your shoulders. Even now, you carry a burden and you march forward nonetheless. It amazes me. Inspires me, truly.

To end this letter, I’m unsure. Do I make up some falsehood to fill you with delight? No, no, I cannot do such a thing to you, even if I wanted to. I can try all I want, but anytime a lie is formed on the tip of my tongue whenever I talk to you, it rolls backwards rather than out like I want it to.

What ever are you doing to me, Eugene Sledge?

Y/n

Darling Eugene,

You didn’t have to send me the necklace. You know that, right? Nonetheless... I have yet to take it off since I received it. It smells like you. Before the war. Your scent lulls me to sleep as though you are lying with me once more. I’m too overjoyed to remind myself of the reality. I hope you received my gift. And I hope it gives you the same affects yours does unto me.

I try to cling to the hope that you may return safe and unharmed. Any type of war is never easy, I know that, I really do, and I know you won’t be the same person you were when you left. However, you will always be my Gene. With that being said; I will never turn my back on you the way you wrote, the way you feared I would.

Lest you too lack of sleep more than before, I have included a gift of my own. See to it as...a gift to make things even. It’s only fair, seeing as you sent me an accessory you crafted. If you haven’t seen it yet- open it.

A locket can be seen as a feminine accessory, yes, but in truth, it’s attached to no sex. I do hope you like it. I’ve also debated on sending you one with a photo of us both, but settled on purchasing matching necklaces. One for you, which holds my photo, and one for me, which holds yours. Before you lecture me on spending money on you- I spent it for both my sake and yours.

I’ve read every book you gifted me throughout the years and still, you are not yet in my arms nor beside me in the study. I try to imagine, but it gets harder as time goes on. I miss you.

I hold strong aversion to the time it shall take for your return. Nothing pains me more than the suffering you must be going through, and the suffering I too am experiencing. Though my pain is less than yours, it is still great in its ability to affect me. Life without you is dull, meaningless, gut-wrenching and awfully depressing.

Have you made any friends? Other than “Peaches” and “Snafu”, whomever those men are. Perhaps you can introduce some of them to me when you’re home, I’d love to meet the men who kept you company. Any friend of yours is a friend of mine. (Peaches is quite an interesting name though. I mean no ill-will behind my curiosity, but...is “Peaches” his real name?)

In reference to my previous question; I myself haven’t made any new friends. To be completely honest, I rarely leave the house. Whenever I step foot outside...it feels...well...pardon my language, like I’m entering a shit show, stepping into hell itself. I’d rather be in hell than live in a world without you.

Think not of my prior comment. Merely bask in the positive parts of this letter. For me.

All my love,

Y/n

Eugene,

I heard you boys are coming home? I do hope the news is true. I fear I cannot face yet another disappointment, nor much longer without you. As time has gone by, nights spent without you beside me, days awfully bore...your face seems to fade as though it plots to abscond.

Funny. It’s seldom that I think of anything else, and it still rebuffs all my attempts to conjure your image into my brain. Whilst I have photographs to assist in my efforts, I can’t quite see your beauty in full, as though the photo is faceless. I miss your charming features and I loathe myself for having struggled to remember them now, even if it happened against my own wishes.

Albeit my words, which were truthful, I still see you in my dreams. Only, when I wake, your face abates until it’s lost in the nothingness, lightyears away from my grasp.

My sincerest apologies for the briefness of this letter and its majority of sorrowful content. I would write you a thousand joyous letters if only I had the strength to tell you falsities.

Awaiting your return,

Y/n

Each letter he received from her warmed his heart and never failed to put a smile on his face. Despite being in a literal warzone, joy never left his heart. The nights where he couldn’t sleep due to the things he had to see, the things his imagination conjured up, or just due to the lack of Y/n. It was the last one more often than not.

Snafu teased Sledge with each letter he managed to catch a glimpse of. Despite the man’s suggestive teasing, the two in question were only friends, inseparable since childhood. However, he wasn’t completely wrong with his jabs. Eugene felt his heart long for her like hers did him, but his longing wasn’t purely platonic. Since his teen years, he felt an almost magnetic-like pull towards her. Her letters only amplified the harshness of the tug on the invisible rope.

His hands shook as he wrote back to her, the first few lines seeming very unlike himself, but the rest so poetic and beautiful, even Snafu was speechless. The words were there, but they only really flowed onto the paper after he let go of control and wrote from the heart. Honest and sincere, he told her as much as he could.

The only thing he didn’t include ever, was a confession.

It took almost all of his strength to prevent himself from giving in to the urge of being lovesick-fool. But as her letters grew more desolate, as the war became more intense, as his time to write shortened...he couldn’t bring himself to confess. He couldn’t bring himself to push that onto her- a confession during the war, forcing her to live with his last letter being a question he could never fulfill.

...

He underestimated himself in so many ways.

The second he returned home, he bought flowers and rushed to find her, not even caring to make sure he looked his best. It was the first thing on his mind. Despite being ever so tired, his eyelids begging to drop for a little while longer, his feet sore beneath him- he powered through.

His fist rapped against the door, a quiet hiss leaving his mouth through his teeth at the feeling of his skin coming in contact with the hard wood. It creaked open, half of a face, an eye mostly, coming into view slowly before it widened and the door swung open.

“Gene!”

She surged forward, wrapping her arms around him as she leapt into his grasp. The two chuckled for a moment before her feet found the ground again and they stood in silence. Drinking each other in, all they could do was smile.

“Oh!” Eugene exclaimed once he’d returned to reality, holding out his hand to Y/n. “I uh- bought these for you.”

“Thank you.” She smiled sweetly, accepting the gift with teary eyes.

“But...not as a friend gift, really.”

“Well of course not, we’re best friends!”

“No, no... I mean it as a step above best friends. I mean them as a gift and a question.” Her brows furrowed and she tilted her head, visibly confused. “I know I just came home- I haven’t even changed my clothes for fucks sake, but I need to ask. I’ve wanted to ask for so long.”

Y/n’s eyes darted around, even more confused than before. “Ask what?”

Eugene cleared his throat, finally meeting her eyes; “Would you be interested in joining me for a meal...or, more specifically, a date? It doesn’t have to be today-”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.” Y/n bit her lower lip and giggled. “I would love to. Tonight, after you get some rest, I’ll meet you at your place.” Y/n placed a hand on Eugene’s cheek, smiling at him. Then, her lips replaced her hand. She turned and walked back inside, closing the door with a smile.

The soldier outside, who had faced and won two wars around the same time, stood outside, hand where Y/n’s lips were, and a matching smile upon his lips. He was undoubtedly glad he didn’t confess in letters.