#i Think how i Act here is more in Line with how i Actually Act

[fleuryuns]

presenting a fic by @FLEURYUNS

um... who is this?

IN WHICH after being dared to prank call one of the hottest sophomores on campus pretending to be a woman he met at a party, you're unexpectedly roped into the life of lee heeseung as you're forced to keep up the role.

PAIRING     ⟡     player!heeseung x fem!reader

UNIVERSE     ⨯     college/uni au

WARNINGS     ⟡     fake dating au, but was it ever really fake?, prank calls, hot boy!heeseung except he’s actually a loser, one (1) suggestive scene, cursing, smidge of angst, jay’s highkey an asshole, depictions of smoking, depictions of drinking and doing drugs

WORD COUNT     ⨯     16.7k

AUTHOR'S NOTE     . . .     inspired by the one and only, francesca stugot

Contrary to popular belief, Truth or Dare doesn't stop being fun after middle school. If anything, with higher stakes and getting rid of the PG-13 limitations, the game only becomes more intense as you get older.

Or so that was how you explained it to your friends in hopes to convince them to play a few rounds instead of studying for your midterms. But hey, it worked.

You laugh and clap your hands as you watch Yunjin complete her dare. She's surprisingly good at juggling, if you ignore the two failed attempts splattered on the floor. Why did Ryujin have to suggest using eggs of all things is beyond you.

"Okay, okay!" Yunjin catches the last few eggs. "I'm done, my hands are covered in yolk. Ew!"

The other girls echo her cries as she runs off to the bathroom to clean it off.

"It's Y/N's turn!" Ryujin calls out. You playfully glare at her from your side, pretending as if you haven't been impatiently waiting for your turn since the last round.

You hear Yunjin agree from afar. She asks you the impending question: "Truth or Dare?"

"Dare."

"Ooh, I've got a good one~" Her sing-songy tone is never a good sign, but you're too giddy to care, even with the girls ooh-ing and ahh-ing at their own recognition of it.

When she finally comes back, her hands free from eggshells and yolk, all eyes are on her. She looks from side to side for dramatic effect. Yunjin leans in. So does everyone else. She opens her mouth as if she'll start to speak, but nothing comes out before she closes it again with a teasing smile. Everyone groans.

"Out with it!" You say, throwing your arms up for emphasis.

She laughs. "I dare you to prank call Lee Heeseung acting as if you're some girl he met at the party last Friday."

Your face drops.

The girls cheer.

"Oh my god!" You hear Yizhuo yell. "You're a genius!"

"I didn't even go, though," you protest.

Yunjin shrugs. "Makes it even better." Just as you're about to rebut, she raises a finger and interrupts. "Ah! And don't say you don't have his number 'cause I know you used to send him the notes when he missed class last semester." She holds up your phone tauntingly, and you can't help but wonder when she took it away from the speaker, where it was paired to your playlist.

Curse her and her impeccable memory.

"Urgh, fine!" You give in, extending your hand for your phone.

As you type away your passcode and scroll to find the phone app, you reluctantly punch in his name (simply saved as "Lee Heeseung (SNU)" — nothing crazy!) The girls giggle to themselves about the heartthrob since high school.

Everyone and their mother knows about Heeseung. Almost everyone and their mother has been with Heeseung. Yourself excluded, obviously. And, unfortunately for them, excluding most of the girls here, too.

Yizhuo had the grace to spend a night with him and “came back a woman”. (Her words.)

Now, she's scooting closer to you, leaning her ear near the phone you're bringing to your ear.

It rings. Ring!

Once. Ring!

Twice.

"What if he doesn't—"

"Hello," a groggy tone questions from the other side of the line.

The girls all fail to cover their squeals.

Heeseung makes a confused noise. "Um... Who is this?"

"Uh...." Your eyes widen. You didn't really think this far ahead, hoping deep down that he wouldn't pick up at all. Eyeing Yunjin, screaming "Help Me!" with your expression. "This is... Hana..."

"Hana?"

"Kang. Kang Hana," you clarified. "We met at the, uh, party last Friday. At Jay's."

There's a moment of silence through the phone. Then some shuffling noises from his side. You sit patiently waiting for his reaction.

"Kang Hana," he repeats slowly. You hum to him.

"Yeah, we had a good time together, didn't we?"

He pauses. "I guess? Can you remind me?"

You begin to tell a tale about your encounter, barely keeping track of the details, letting your imagination run wild, stopping to listen to Heeseung hum in hesitant confusion.

Kang Hana arrived last out of all guests, immediately running to the kitchen for her first drink of the night. Then, she found herself swaying to the music on the living room dance floor, where she met Lee Heeseung. He had his arms placed respectfully on her hips, letting her guide his moves. He whispered that they should get out of there. She agreed.

They spent an hour or two engaging in conversation about anything and everything on the front patio, ignoring the smokers around the corner.

Hana not only arrived late, but also had to leave early. And so, she left Heeseung stranded, left to drink his grief away in hopes of forgetting all about her.

Yizhuo leans a little too far, enjoying the story too much, her head knocking over your hand, making you both tip to the side. You let out a squeal into the phone.

"Woah!" Heeseung yelps, pulling his phone away from his ear. Or you suppose, hearing his voice fade a little in the distance. With the phone away from him, it's able to pick up on the surrounding sounds better, and you realize he isn't alone either.

"Who is it?" You hear from the phone. The voice sounds familiar and you can almost make it out. Must either be Sunghoon or Jay, his best friends, you assume.

Heeseung doesn't miss a beat before responding, "Y/N."

Your heart does a flip. Yunjin's eyes widen. Ryujin chokes on the juice box she'd been sipping on. Yizhuo is still lying on the floor, only her mouth is significantly more agape.

"You knew it was me?"

He chuckled. "Obviously," he says matter of factly. Heat rises to your cheeks. "Took me a second, I'm a little tipsy, haha."

"Oh." Your eyes dart to the girls again. "Am I interrupting?"

"You're never a bother, babe."

Babe? "Huh," you let out unintentionally.

The girls furrow their brows one by one. Although they probably can't hear every word, they can clearly hear the weird turn this conversation has taken.

"Are you with the girls?"

You shake your head in confusion. "Um, yeah, I am." You're still trying to figure out what he meant by the pet name.

"I don't want to keep you if you're having fun." The smile on his face is clear as day in his flirty tone. "Text me later though, okay?"

"Okay?" Slowly, you pull the phone down and end the call. The second it hits your lap, it buzzes again.

Ping! New message!

이희승 (SNU) Kang Hana? 23:04

"What was that about?" Ryujin asks.

You don't respond yet. Focusing on the typing bubbles at the bottom of yours and Heeseung's no-longer-blank messenger.

이희승 (SNU) ik you weren't at Jay's last week 23:04

ME and i know you don't call random people 'babe' ?? 23:05 

이희승 (SNU) can i call you later? 23:05

ME i wasn't lying when i said i'm with my friends 23:05

ME tomorrow? 23:06

이희승 (SNU) let's meet up at the café on campus 23:07

"Hello, hello, Earth to Y/N?" Your head snaps up as you click off your phone. Yunjin waves her hand dramatically across your face to catch your attention. Ironically, it works. "You're still in there? Or did Hana take over?”

You blink up at her, then offer a small smile. “Sorry, that was weird,” you laugh. They all look at you expectantly, as if waiting for you to explain or give more details, but you’re not sure what to give them. “Alright, who’s next?”

You manage to drift the topic away from Heeseung and Kang Hana’s encounter. Yizhuo nearly fails her own dare, but succeeds in getting the neighbours number. After Ryujin answers her Truth (”If you had to kiss any of the girls in this room, who would it be?” “Well, I already have, but I’d say Y/N.”), you all decide to call it a night.

Ryujin and Yizhuo head out together; their rooms in the same dorm-building across the road. Meanwhile Yunjin begs to stay the night, opting to sleep on the floor because she can’t be bothered to pay for a cab ride to her apartment off campus.

Your thoughts keep coming back to Heeseung calling you babe, for some reason. Rubbing at your cheeks to snap yourself out of it, you sigh when you realize that it doesn’t do anything to help the blush that spreads further up your cheekbones to the tips of your ears the more you think about him.

Monday mornings have a bad reputation, and you completely understand why.

The sunlight creeps through a slip in your curtains and shines right in your eyes as you startle awake from a dream starring your party-animal alias and the campus heartthrob. Checking the time, you groan as the bright numbers ‘06:27’ glare back at you.

Your promise to a rendez-vous last night pushes you up and out of bed. You carefully side-step to not wake Yunjin, who’s still sprawled out on the floor.

You grab yourself some cereal and a cold glass of orange juice to fuel yourself before hopping into the shower. When you get out, it’s 6:44, a minute before your alarm rings loudly. You’re convinced everyone on this floor can hear it, but luckily you haven't gotten any complaints thus far.

Yunjin stirs finally. “Dude…”

“Wakey wakey, Sunshine,” you tell her, standing above her with a cheesy smile. “I have cereal and oatmeal.”

She rubs at her eyes, still laced with tiredness. “I’ll just grab something at the café after classes. I should get going, anyway.”

It doesn't take long for Yunjin to get dressed and leave the room promptly. She’s spent so many nights at your dorm that you took the time to clear up some space in the drawer for her stuff so she doesn’t need to rush out before even the sun’s awake.

When you’re left alone in your room, you pull out your phone again, the screen already opening into the chat room you visited last night.

ME what time do your classes end? just wanna know when i should get to the café 06:59

You wait. And wait. And wait some more for his response. You notice he hasn't even been online since you sent your message and decide to give him some more time.

Although he definitely has classes today, you assume, he might not be as much of an early riser like yourself.

In the meantime, you busy yourself with getting ready for your own classes. You pack your bag with all its supplies, checking your phone every so often, hoping to see it light up with a notification.

Ping!

All you can think is, “Finally,” but unfortunately when you pick it up, the notification reads: @jenaissante has made a new post!

“What am I doing?” you ask yourself out loud.

Since when do you sit and stare at your phone in hopes that some guy is going to answer you? How embarrassing.

You shake it off, grab your bag, and head out to your first class.

Walking down the comfortably silent hallways of your dorm building makes you think that out of everyone, you might be the only one awake. However, you stand corrected as you’re greeted with a door almost slamming you in the face.

Coincidentally, as the owner of said door says, “I’m so sorry!” and you respond, “It’s okay! I’m okay!” your phone buzzes in your pocket.

Nearly making your bag topple out of your hands as you reach for it, your shoulders relax when you see who the message is from:

이희승 (SNU) i hate mondays 07:33

You bid your goodbyes to the door-slammer.

ME good morning to you too 07:33 

이희승 (SNU) 😑😑 07:34

이희승 (SNU) i don’t have classes today. when do yours end? 07:34

ME no classes and yet you're awake so early? i'm impressed lee heeseung 07:36

ME i have my 8AM that ends at 10, then a three hour gap until my next class 07:36

이희승 (SNU) oof three hours 07:36

ME i’m on campus so it's not too bad tbh 07:37

이희승 (SNU) 10 o’clock it is? 07:39

ME sounds good 07:40

You shut off your phone and look up to realize you've made it to the building.

You find it weird how easily you’re already getting distracted by Heeseung, even though you’ve barely interacted, much less talked in person since last semester when you shared a class.

Even then, neither of you ran in the same groups, so your conversations were very limited to assignments and bad-talking the professor.

Of course, you’ve heard a lot about him, but none of it ever involved you. At most Yizhuo was being very descriptive about her night with him, though even then—especially then—you didn't pay it or him much attention.

Deciding to push him out of your mind entirely, you pull out your laptop and set up your notes, waiting for the professor to arrive and start class.

After two long hours, you’re dismissed from class. You tell your professor goodbye and head for the door, but come to a stop when you see a familiar figure leaning against the glass on the other side. Taking quicker steps to come around, you meet face to face with Lee Heeseung.

“Hi,” he says calmly.

“What are you doing here?”

His smile falters. “I came to pick you up.”

Your eyes dart to both sides of the hallway, as if waiting for Yunjin or someone to pop out. “How did you know this is where my class is?”

For the first time in your life, you watch Heeseung lose his cool composure. He stumbles over his words before clarifying, “I asked around.”

You try not to think too hard on it, eyeing him suspiciously before humming. His shoulders relax and he claps his hands together before pivoting toward the stairwell.

“Shall we?” He turns to you, extending his arms as if he’s some royal guard leading the crown princess into a carriage.

“Yes, we shall.” You play along because what the heck. And his smile is worth it.

The two of you make your way down to the café just across campus, not really talking on your way there, but staying close. It’s not as if some sort of secret operation is going down, so neither of you make a move to act like you don't know each other.

Come to think of it, you really don't know what's the purpose of all the theatrics. He even opens the door for you when you get there. Has he always been a gentleman?

From what you’ve heard, Heeseung is a player through and through. Typical, textbook heartthrob who makes people fall for him, toys around with that idea, and then leaves them to pick themselves up. Or, he’ll spend one magical night with a random hookup he meets at one of the million parties his rich friends throw every weekend, only to leave them in the dirt in the morning.

(Literally. Stories went around about this one girl he hooked up with outside. She woke up in Sunghoon’s backyard with only her bra and panties on. Or so you’ve heard.)

He leads you to the counter where the barista takes your order quickly. Just as you're about to reach into your bag for your wallet, Heeseung waves his hand in front of you. “Don’t worry about it,” he says before taking out his card and paying before you can reply.

“Thanks.” You try to come up with something better, but run short. “I’ll pay next time,” you say before you can stop yourself.

“Next time,” he says with an unreadable tone.

You want to reply, but nothing comes out. Instead, your eyes drift back to the barista. You watch him prepare your drinks and you silently pray that he goes faster so you can move on.

Luckily, he listens. “Alright, one iced caffe latte with vanilla syrup, and one dark chocolate mocha for the couple.” The man makes a dramatic turn with the drinks, adding a theatrical wave of his hand to you two.

“Oh, we’re not—”

“Thank you,” Heeseung replies with a smile. He takes a hold of both drinks and motions for you to lead him to a table.

And so you do.

“So,” he says as he sits down. “Kang Hana—” A wink. Your drink is suddenly very interesting. “—I have a proposal for you.”

“Proposal,” you question, raising your cup along with your brow. You take a sip and set it back down. “Go on.”

He takes his own sip. For a moment, you watch him appreciate the taste. He closes his eyes for a fraction of a second in satisfaction, traces of the drink left on his lips. It takes everything in you not to reach over and wipe it yourself. So, you hand him a napkin.

He thanks you before proceeding. “Okay, fine, it's more of an ask rather than a proposal because you won’t technically—” He adds air quotes. “—be gaining anything out of this.”

Now you’re very curious. You let him speak.

“There’s this girl…” he starts. His eyes drift away to the other tables, almost trying to deduce if anyone would want to eavesdrop and spread gossip of what he says next. “I really like her.”

Oh god. You’ve heard this before. Usually it only happens by boy best friends, but basically complete strangers work too, you guess. You prepare yourself.

“And, I just don’t know how to tell her—”

“Listen, Heeseung,” you cut him off. “We barely know each other. I don’t think you’re really thinking this through. How can you even trust your feelings when you barely know me?”

He blinks at you. “What?”

Your heart drops. “You’re not confessing to me.”

Heeseung lets out a short breathy laugh. He awkwardly scratches the back of his neck and answers. “No… Not exactly.”

“Oh my god, this is so embarrassing.” You let your head drop into the palms of your hands, but when you feel his hand on your arm, you snap your head up.

He rapidly retracts his hand of reassurance and lets it float above your arm for a second. “No, no, that’s okay. Don’t be embarrassed,” he assures you, only with his hand now in his lap. “I’m actually a little embarrassed about what I’m trying to ask you—If you’re up for it!”

“Can’t be more embarrassing than I feel right now,” you reply between small sips of your drink.

“Can we date? Wait, this isn't a confession, I meant like can we fake date? Like date, but not actually date. Not that that would be an awful thing to do! I just like this girl and…” His eyes are comically large as he rambles the same reformulated question. The embarrassment slips away as you watch his cheeks redden. “If you’re comfortable,” he finishes more quietly.

You take a moment, both to see if he’s really done, but also to consider your options. “Why?”

“Right.” He nods. “So, as I was saying… There’s this girl I like, and I want to get closer to her and ask her out, but we’ve talked before and she hates that I’m—” More air quotes. “—A player.”

You raise your brow at his words. “Put down the air quotes, then we’ll be on the same page.”

He rolls his eyes imperturbably. “You know what I mean…”

“How would fake dating help you start actually dating? Sounds counterproductive ‘cause doesn't that just make you unavailable?”

“I want to prove to her that I’m more than just—” He waves his arms around to search for the word. “—more than just some guy that goes from girl to girl as if nothing.”

You nod. “But��� Isn’t this, kinda, lying? Since you haven't actually been in a long term relationship.”

“I mean, yeah, if you think about it like that.” He takes a sip of his drink, and when his lips part from the straw, you notice he bite it as he drank. You shake your head. “I’m just showing her that I’m capable of being in a long term relationship. I’m a serious guy looking for something serious.”

The snort you let out is entirely accidental. He looks faux-offended as he wipes off the drops of your drink that fell out of your cup. “Sorry,” you say, also wiping your arm. “You’re a serious guy. For sure, for sure.”

“I am,” he protests. “I take things very seriously. Like this rendez-vous. I’m normally still in bed at this time.”

This catches your attention. “Wait, why did you get up so early though? We didn't have a set time ready, you could've slept in.”

He shrugs timidly. “I knew you mostly take morning classes, so I wanted to be up when you were…” His sentence goes quieter by the end of it, with no help from him reaching for another sip of his drink, which is practically empty at this point, so the tension in the air only grows thicker with the ear-piercing sounds of him drinking air through a straw.

“Oh,” you say slowly. “I stand corrected.”

He nods.

You bite your lip out of habit. “So, shouldn't we discuss the, like, rules to this… Scheme?”

“Wait, you’re gonna do it?” He seems genuinely surprised. And cutely excited.

“Yeah,” you shrug, trying to act nonchalant. “What’s there to lose, I guess. But—” You raise a hand. “We need to figure out these ground rules and I need to get something out of this.”

He agrees easily. And you settle on asking him to put in a good word to one of his friends, Jay, who happens to be the son of the man who owns one of the most respected law firms in the country—you want in on it.

“So, you’re going to be a lawyer?”

Heat rises to your cheeks bashfully. “Yeah, it’s always been my passion.”

Heeseung’s eyes widen in astonishment. “Does that mean I should be more careful with how we set this up? Should we sign a contract to make it official?”

You laugh. “Do you have a printer? We could write one up if you want.”

He plays along with the joke, which eventually leads to him opening his notes app and writing down the rules you settle on together:

You cannot tell ANYONE that this is a set-up. If [REDACTED] finds out it’s a lie, how is Heeseung supposed to find love 💔

Stick to the same story: We met last semester and have been keeping it lowkey. We got together during the break.

Hang out in public at least twice a week. (Heeseung will make plans to make sure his crush will see them.)

Hand holding is a must while out together.

No kissing. Not on the cheek, and not on the lips.

Y/N has to attend all some do you want to make a good impression or not FINE all of Jay’s parties. 

Fake relationship must last AT LEAST two months. Further discussion of whether or not the (FAKE) relationship continues will take place then.

“Now…”

“What’s wrong?”

You watch Heeseung look from right to left, reaching down into his pockets for something, but he comes up with nothing. “How are you going to sign it?”

As unexpected as it is, you have to laugh. “Here, let me,” you respond between laughs, reaching out for his phone, which he hands you swiftly.

At the bottom of the page, you add:

I, Y/N L/N, accept these terms and conditions.

“Your turn.”

And he does the same with his own name.

I, Lee Heeseung, accept these terms and conditions.

“Perfect, so it’s settled.” He claps unceremoniously. “Here’s to the start of Kang Hana and Lee Heeseung’s fake relationship.”

He raises his cup toward you, and you get the memo to clink! your own against his. It’s silly considering they’re plastic cups that make nothing but a wsh! sound when bumped together, but the sentiment is there.

You spend a few more minutes sitting together in silence as you finish your drink.

You’re not sure why Heeseung hasn't left yet. Your business together is done for now, and he’s long finished with his own drink. You decide, however, that you’re glad he stayed.

As you’re stuck in thought, you don't notice that you're staring. You don't see the sly smile that creeps on his lips. And you certainly don't realize Yunjin is watching this scene go down from behind the window.

The front door’s bell snaps you out of your trance, when you finally feel the eye contact you're making with Heeseung. You pull your eyes away shyly, sipping on your drink until it bottoms out.

Unbeknownst to you, Yunjin makes her over to you and Heeseung with a confused expression painted over her features.

“Y/N,” she says. Your eyes widen at your friend leaning over the table to look at the two of you. “What’s going on here?” She teasingly points between you and Heeseung, wiggling her eyebrows all-knowingly.

Suddenly, you forget all your words.

Luckily, Heeseung smoothly takes the lead, already playing his role. “We’re on a date.”

This takes Yunjin by surprise, if her gasp paired with widened eyes says anything. “A date?”

“Yeah,” he says, drawing out the syllable. He looks at you with telling eyes, as if asking if you want to add on. You slightly shake your head only for him to see. “We were actually just finishing up. Right?”

Your cue. “Right, yeah.” You clear your throat awkwardly.

Yunjin raises her hands defensively. “Well, I don’t want to interrupt any more than I already have… So, you two have fun….” She leans over to whisper into your ear. Heeseung raises a brow from his side, but turns away to pretend he isn’t listening to it. “You’ll have to tell me all about this later.”

She bids you goodbye and makes her way to the counter, making no effort in acting as if she’s not staring at your table, watching your every move, as if to assess the situation.

Your hand comes up to the side of your face to subtly cover your mouth from her prying eyes. “We should really get out of here.”

Heeseung nods. “Slowly, we don’t want her to think anything.”

“Is it really so important to keep it from my best friend, though?”

“Yes!” Heeseung says in a whisper-yell. He smiles over to Yunjin who’s blissfully unaware of his outburst, probably thinking the two of you are joking around. Turning back to you, his voice lowers. “We can’t let anyone know the truth, not right now.”

You wonder what you’re getting yourself into now that it’s in play.

He ends up walking you back to your dorm, making his way into the building and all the way to your floor, walking you to your door, even after you insist he doesn’t have to. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t make sure you got back safely?”

“Fake-boyfriend,” you point out.

He nods. “Fake.”

While opening the door, you have a weird urge to ask if he wants to stay for a little. You brush off the feeling and turn back to him. “See you…” You stray, not really sure when you’ll see each other.

“Tomorrow,” he finishes. “For our first official date. Fake date.”

You nod your head, and that’s it. He walks backward into the hall, waving to you, before he turns to watch where he’s going. You only wave back when his back is turned.

Too caught up in whatever the hell you’ve agreed on, you spend the rest of the day burying yourself in studies. Midterms are around the corner, so may as well get some work done now. You also can’t bear to spend another minute with Heeseung’s stupidly pretty face, and smile, and everything stuck in your head.

Throughout the afternoon, then into the evening, your phone buzzes over and over again. You don’t even bother checking in fear that it’s Heeseung.

When you head off to bed, you quickly scroll away from your notifications and open Yunjin’s chat, where you see she’s been spamming you pretty much until you passed out. You note the time and feel the relief wash over you as you realize she must already be asleep by now. You start typing away.

ME i’ll tell you everything tmrw 01:47

ME meet me at the quad in the morning 01:47

As opposed to Monday mornings, Tuesdays have a different, much more optimistic air. It’s as if everyone’s realized that maybe this week won’t be so bad, so might as well put on a smile before heading to classes.

You don’t have early classes today, so you head down to the quad as promised, a knot forming in your stomach on your way.

There’s nothing you hate more than keeping things from your friends, especially Yunjin. Trust is something you really value in your friendship, as you’re both very open with each other, this feels like breaking it, even though it isn’t necessarily a bad lie to tell.

Taking a deep breath, you convince yourself that it’s for a good cause and she’ll understand once you tell her the truth.

You’re surprised not only by the fact that Yunjin is already sitting at one of the tables, wide awake and ready to hear your tale, but also the fact that she is with company: Yizhuo and Ryujin, respectively.

“Well, well, well,” she says with jokingly menacing crossed arms. She adds to the character a dubious expression. “What do we have here? Lee Heeseung’s girlfriend?”

Yizhuo laughs. “Are you serious? When were you going to tell us?”

From the other side of the table, Ryujin adds on. “Yeah, this seems like a pretty big deal!”

You sit down next to Ryujin, facing Yunjin’s excitedly curious eyes. She leans over the table and grabs your hands. “Tell. Us. Everything,” she enunciates every word for emphasis.

“Um,” you start oh-so confidently. You think back to the contract you “signed” and the storyline you decided with Heeseung. “I’ve been, kinda, seeing Heeseung since October—”

“October!?” Yizhuo yells. “Why’ve you been keeping this from us?!”

“We wanted to keep it lowkey before we decided if we were really serious about this.” The lies slip off your tongue easily, but they leave a bitter aftertaste. “I was talking with him about telling you guys, at least, right when Yunjin walked in on us.”

Ryujin raises a brow. “Walked in on you? Were you…?”

You slap her arm playfully. “Nothing like that, nothing like that! I meant at the café yesterday.”

“We’ve never even seen you two together… How lowkey were you keeping it?”

Yunjin looks at you expectantly. You avoid direct eye contact, afraid she’d be able to see the truth through your eyes. “We text a lot and facetime pretty much every night,” you explain, hoping it’s convincing. “And he’d sometimes come over, but we always made sure none of you would find out.” You make sure to slip in an apology at the end of the statement.

Yizhuo’s the one to wave her arm and deny your apology. “Girl, you got yourself a man, how could we be mad at you?” Her eyes widen in realization. “The prank call, oh my God!”

“Yeah, that took some explaining… But he thought Kang Hana was pretty funny.”

“Speak of the devil,” Yunjin teases, nodding her head behind you.

You turn around and lo and behold is Lee Heeseung himself, followed by Park Sunghoon and Park Jay. If this were a 90s romcom scene, their walk would be in slowmo, the camera would pan to girls and boys fanning themselves as they walk by, some would be fainting in their path. Sunghoon would have to step over someone’s unconscious body, Jay would pick a rose from the bush and hand it to one of his followers and they would blush until their whole face is as red as a tomato.

Instead, they’re walking at a regular pace, but you notice the way seems to run through their hair perfectly. That’s what you get when you’re jaw-droppingly attractive, you think. And then you furrow your brows at your thoughts.

When the boys get closer, Heeseung smiles. “Hi, you.”

“Hi,” you say in return. Your heart beats faster.

“So,” Jay, the one on his left, says. “You’re Y/N.”

You nod. “Nice to meet you—”

“Y’know, it’s funny ‘cause Heeseung never mentioned you?” The question throws you off, more than the smile he has plastered on his face. “Keeping it hidden from us like we’re Dispatch, or something.”

Heeseung places his hand on Jay’s shoulder, taking the lead. He sends you a reassuring look before speaking. “It was my idea, mostly,” he explains. “Let’s not take it out on my girl.”

My girl. You smile shyly.

Addressing your friends, Heeseung smiles politely. “It’s nice to meet you all.”

“You too,” Ryujin says.

“You better be treating her right,” Yunjin says teasingly, but with a touch of seriousness, if you know her right.

Heeseung raises his arms defensively. “She’s the one to decide on that front.”

You laugh. He’s really good at this. “Don’t worry guys, he’s been good to me.”

The two of you share a moment in silence, just watching each other. Heeseung’s the first to break it, not necessarily looking away, but ending your silent conversation. “I take it you dressed for our date, right?”

You blink at him in confusion. “Where are we going?”

“So you really didn't see my text?” He pouts. You’re almost convinced he means it. Wow, I’m going to have to step up my game.

“Sorry, I was really busy studying, I shut off my phone for the day after you left.”

He tuts at you jokingly. “Well, I guess it’ll have to be a surprise.” He extends his arm and offers you his hand. Automatically, you take a hold of it, letting him pull you up in the process. Heeseung turns to your friends and smiles politely. “Again, it was nice to officially meet you all, I’ve heard so much. And—” Facing his friends, he says: “I’ll text you later.”

Then, you’re off, holding hands as he leads you to the parking lot.

The car ride isn’t too long, luckily. You find yourself anticipating what Heeseung has planned, only for you to crush that anticipation when you remember what this is all for.

Her, not you.

Although, you still don’t know who she is.

“Will you ever tell me who this girl is?” you ask as he takes another turn, arriving in a parking lot. Finally in view, you realize you’re at Plus One Games as you watch the big, bold glowing sign. “The arcade?”

“She works here,” he says, promptly ignoring your first question. He pops the keys out of the ignition and turns to you. “Are you ready?”

You hum and the two of you make your way to the comically large front doors. He holds it open, and you thank him as you walk past him, staring in awe at the decor.

Plus One Games is known for its grandeur in the gaming world. You didn’t grow up in these areas, but you’ve heard all about it. It’s expensive and you wonder how Heeseung is able to afford it—He must really like this girl.

The lobby is decorated like a gameboard, the stands where the employees greet the customers resembling game pieces, meanwhile there are signs pointing in every direction to where you may want to go, which look like signs straight out of a Super Mario Bros game.

Unbeknownst to you, you begin to wander while you’re looking at the set-up of the entrance, entranced by the level and precision of the design. Heeseung notices, however, and grabs ahold of your hand, spinning you on your heels and leading you to the cloakroom.

“Can’t let you get lost,” he teases, his head nodding to your hand in his which he raises to eye level.

You flush in your spot, unable to get yourself to pull your hand away.

After depositing your coats and changing into the shoes the staff hand the two of you by the door, you’re quick to let Heeseung guide you through the games and stations. He clearly has a map set up in his mind by the way he easily glides through the place, your hand still tightly in his hold.

He brings the both of you to the bumper cars first, wearing a cheeky grin as he handsomely gestures for you to step into the rink before him. To play along, you bow gratefully like an heiress guided by her guard. He laughs, placing a hand by your lower back to help direct you.

How could someone forget how fun bumper cars are? Because now you’re reminded of the joys of ramming your rubber-ringed play car into the people around you. Luckily, it’s not too crowded, so you have plenty of room to strategically avoid Heeseung’s attempts to knock you over, only to turn around and get him instead.

You’re full of laughter, and so is he. In fact, his face is completely red and you can only assume that yours is a similar shade.

Your laughter doesn’t even die down when the dispiriting buzzer sounds in the mini-arena, prompting the cars to stop in their place and the employee to safely instruct you and the other customers on how to get out.

“So, where to next?” Your smile transcends into your words, but you don’t care enough to be self-conscious about it.

Heeseung pretends to be in deep thought, plastering a dramatic pout of curiosity. “Where to… Where to…” he repeats. He lifts a finger in the air in perfect timing with the music blaring through the speakers above. You laugh at the movement. “Let’s try to win some prizes, hm?”

You assume this is probably some kind of way for him to say that the girl he likes is working the counter. Either way, you agree.

“Ice ball,” he suggests.

“I’ll have you know—” You flick your hair behind your shoulder for character. “—I’m kind of a pro at this.”

He raises his brow. “Oh, are you?”

Instead of responding, you grab the keycard and swipe it across the gamepad, watching as the game’s sign lights up as it starts up. Balls roll out from the dispenser and you grab your first one. You pretend to give it a kiss before rolling it up.

It does not go on.

Heeseung laughs.

You clear your throat and try again. The second does not go in.

Nor does the third. Or the fourth.

“Maybe I should try,” Heeseung proposes playfully.

“Fine,” you grumble, though not seriously. You go on to say he has no shot, the game is rigged and—

His first try goes in.

And his second. Then his third.

The game rings “Winner! Winner!” and tickets begin pouring out of the gamepad.

Heeseung ends up beating you in every game you play, always winning a ridiculous amount of tickets or a silly prize that comes with it. Pinball, mini-basketball, Spin-It-To-Win-It, you name it. He even beats the claw machine which is famously rigged in these kinds of places. You suggested it just to see Heeseung lose, yet here he is flaunting his little stuffed turtle he pulled out of it.

He waves the turtle in your face and you swat it away from you. “Aw, c’mon, Y/N, you don’t want Mr. Turtle?”

“You named him Mr. Turtle,” you deadpan.

He smiles cheekily. “It’s a fitting name.” He then takes your hand by the wrist, flipping it over so your open palm faces upward. Gently, Heeseung places Mr. Turtle into your hand, closing your fingers around it. “Here, you can have him.”

As much as you want to keep up your stingy role of a sore loser and throw it back at him, you shyly thank Heeseung for the gesture and place Mr. Turtle comfortably against your bag, so he can look out into the world without you needing to worry about him falling off because he’s safely attached to the strap.

After a match of laser tag—which you end up winning with Heeseung because you were against another couple—a couple of PEOPLE!—and then racing up to the top of the rock climbing wall, you grab a couple slices of pizza together and call it a day.

The pizza is greasy and frankly a little gross, you’re convinced it’s leftovers from yesterday, but it’s just what you need.

Heeseung comes back to the table with two bottles of pop. “Which one?” He raises both for you to see your options. You point to the red one, probably some off-brand strawberry or raspberry flavoured soda, and he passes it to you.

Chugging down the mystery drink, you find yourself content with the day's events.

When you get to the car, Heeseung holds the door open for you once again. You thank him quietly, getting in at the same time. You force your head down to stop yourself from watching as he makes his way around to his side.

It’s silent for a moment as he turns on the ignition and pulls out of the parking spot. The way he places his hand against the back of your seat, his arm in full view, makes your heart stutter. You take a second to compose yourself.

“So.” You look up at Heeseung with telling eyes and a teasing smile. “Did you see her?”

His mouth opens in a mute ‘ah,’ but he shakes his head, keeping his gaze on the road ahead. “I guess she wasn’t working today.”

And honestly, you can’t even be mad about it because it went so well. You tell yourself this is just a stepping stone in the fake relationship. Might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

He drives you back to campus and follows you all the way to the building before you tell him he doesn’t need to come up with you. Although he tries to push it, it’s hard to ignore how tired he is from the way he drawls.

As you walk back into your dorm, you’re greeted with your phone buzzing to infinity with messages from the girls’ group chat. You laugh at their bickering as they wait for your updates and you almost opt to stay silent to see how far it goes.

The following days go on similarly. Between hanging out with your friends, attending classes and studying for midterms, you’re going out on dates with Heeseung. Fake dates, but you soon learn he’s a really good actor.

Then you update the girls on the happenings of the date, steadily avoiding the parts hinting at your deal.

Your first date following the arcade is at the library. At first, you don’t see how Heeseung would consider this a date, until he shows up at your dorm with roses and chocolates. “Bring these with you,” he says. “She should be studying there for another hour, or two if she’s really into it.”

You abstain from commenting on the fact that if she’s “really into it,” is he even sure she’ll notice either of you, because you’re in need for a good study session with a friend, and as much as you love your friends, they have a hard time focusing when you’re all together.

It’s nice. Heeseung is as hard of a worker as you remember from the previous semester. Every now and then, you’ll look up and find his eyebrows furrowed at the paper in front of him, so you ask to help him out if you can. He does the same to you, you realize. As you look down at your notes, biting your lip at the same phrase you’ve been staring at for a while now, Heeseung taps the table right in front of your book with his pencil. “Need any help?”

You only remember once he brings you back to your dorm that you never asked about the girl. You’re not even sure if she was there since he didn’t say anything.

Yizhuo is offended that you find your girls-only study sessions unhelpful. Ryujin playfully slaps her shoulder.

For another date, he takes you to the movies.

“And this is helpful… how exactly?”

He shrugs and raises a hand to sheepishly scratch the back of his neck. “I may have told her I wanted to see the movie. And then I may have panicked buying them in front of her, I don’t want to risk her seeing me bring someone else when I said I’d bring you.”

“This could’ve been your chance to invite her to the movies!”

“And make her think I’m a cheater?” He shakes his head twice. “Besides, this is what we’re fake dating for. You and I can still go as fake-boyfriend and fake-girlfriend, if you don’t mind.”

Of course you don’t mind.

The movie is okay. It’s not really your style, nor is it Heeseung’s, if his distasteful grimace as he’s walking out of the cinema says anything.

“You didn’t like it,” you tease with fake concern.

He looks like a deer caught in headlights. “No,” he defends. He even raises his hands to wave them around as he searches the air for an explanation. “It was—You know—When they—Right?”

You laugh and place your hand on his shoulder. “I’m kidding. I didn’t really like it either.”

Heeseung places his own hand on top of yours and you feel your heart stutter. In a panicked moment, you try to rip your hand away, but it gets caught in his shirt, so you have to awkwardly pull it out from underneath.

Yunjin asks you about the movie itself, and you can’t seem to remember much about it besides Heeseung’s face at the end of it.

One of your favourite—fake—dates with Heeseung is when he takes you rollerblading. (You never ask how this is related to the girl he’s trying to impress. What? You’ve always wanted to go rollerblading.)

You both invite your friend groups and get to see them bond, which is both weird and endearing.

Yunjin holding onto Sunghoon and Ryujin’s hands for dear life as they’re the only two that are decent at roller skating and she’s on the verge of face planting whenever she steps on the rink on her own.

On the other hand, Yizhuo and Jay are equally bad. Yizhuo has horrible coordination and Jay… just can’t move. He can’t even take a step forward, just waves his arms around as if he’s swimming and it’ll somehow propel him. So, Yizhuo just keeps magnetically crashing into him, causing them both to fall down and need to recalibrate themselves from the boards.

Heeseung is a champion at it, as anyone would’ve expected. Though, he falls back to follow your pace, which is slow, but not agonizingly so, or so you hope.

You haven’t had the chance to go rollerblading in a while, and you end up tripping up over your own feet. Luckily, Heeseung is still there by your side to hold you so you don’t fall.

“Thanks,” you say to him, harshly gripping onto his arm to make sure you don’t.

At the end of the night, when your friends have already called it in, catching an uber or taking their own cars back, you and Heeseung stay a little while longer.

You’re sitting by the bleachers on the outside of the rink, Heeseung still freely skating on his own. He’s skating much faster, now, you notice. And he’s doing it with a big smile on his face which you can’t help but mirror when you’re watching him.

Later on, you notice he wears the same, but more subtle smile when he’s with you in the car, laughing and chatting while music blares from the speakers and the windows are rolled all the way down.

After a few weeks of date after date, midterms come up.

You and Heeseung made an agreement not to go out during this time. It gives the both of you time to recharge and focus on studying. It’d be useless to go out anyway, since his girl would probably be doing the same, you think but avoid saying.

When you make the modifications to your arrangement, you assume this means less frequent texting or calls, but those stay the same. Heeseung texts you good morning and is the last to say good night before you fall asleep, just as he’s been doing the past few weeks. You come to think that you’ve become really good friends over this time together.

You also assumed this would give you a break from acting like a couple, but Heeseung once again has other plans.

One afternoon when you don’t have classes, someone knocks at your door.

Normally, if someone’s at the door without texting you beforehand, it means it’s just another one of those door-to-door students campaigning for whatever new project they’ve come up with. Or, occasionally, it’s your next-door neighbour who’s going to warn you about being loud while working on their next project, whatever it is they’re doing.

This time, however, you’re met with a bouquet of flowers and an otherwise empty hallway. The bouquet comes with a note, that reads:

Good luck on your midterms! My two-lips will be ready to reward you once they’re over… (Sorry, Sunghoon told me to write a pun.) (Fuck why’d I write it in pen? There aren’t even tulips in this bouquet???) (This is from Heeseung BTW)

You laugh at the extra scribbles and smudged half-written words on the rest of the paper.

And it’s like magic, the way his words encourage you to keep studying, keep working harder. You pass your midterms with flying colours.

Heeseung invites you to the café on campus to celebrate, and said you needed to discuss something. When you arrive, your chocolate mocha is already sitting in front of him, on the opposite side of the booth.

He smiles when he sees you come up. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you say back. “So, what did you want to tell me?”

“Well, first—” He raises his cup. “To passing midterms!”

You clink yours to his, smiling. “To passing midterms!” You both take a sip of your drinks before setting them down and looking at each other intently.

“So,” he says firmly. “I still haven’t given you your end of the deal.”

That’s right. You agreed on this whole shenanigan as long as he gives you an in on the Park family business. If you’re truly willing to become a lawyer, getting Jay to give you a good word to his father would mean a lot of doors opening, some that you’d never open otherwise.

It’s funny that something so big and important to you slipped your mind over these past few weeks.

Then you remember how you’ve discussed this would be happening. “There’s a party?”

Heeseung nods into his drink, getting a bit of foam on his upper lip. You almost lean over the table to wipe it off yourself, but instead you hand him a napkin, avoiding his eyes as you laugh nervously. “Thank you,” he whispers. Once the napkin’s down, he returns to business. “Tomorrow night at Jay’s actually. His dad won’t be there, unfortunately for you and fortunately for, like, everyone else attending.”

You nod. “So, this’ll be our first big event as a, albeit fake, couple?” Nerves begin to feed in your stomach and suddenly you’re not so thirsty. Your hands naturally start fidgeting with your cup.

The last time you went to one of the campus parties was the first week in the new year, last semester. You remember it all too well, meaning not at all. You’ve never been the best at calculating your tolerance, but that time you really went overboard.

For one, it’s embarrassing, but you also don’t want to do anything with Heeseung.

“Yeah,” Heeseung agrees nonchalantly, but he leans lower in concern, looking to meet your eyes. “But it’ll be okay, just like any of our other dates. Fake dates. Just pretend that you’re the infamous Kang Hana.” Then he adds: “But don’t be late this time.”

There he goes, making you laugh so easily.

Over the next few minutes, you agree that Heeseung will pick you up and drive the both of you to Jay’s not too early, but not too late. Jay isn’t big on wanting his friends to help him set-up, so he’s fine with whenever they decide to show up.

And when you do, you’re struck by awe, your mouth hanging agape at the… everything.

You’ve known Jay was rich, but you never considered he’d be this rich.

The black front gates leading up to a long driveway. The pillared entrance archway. The enormous garden wrapping around the household. The fountain. The white walls which are interrupted by full length windows looking into the modernly decorated mansion.

Jay stands by the door holding a blunt. Wispy smoke draws circles in the air as he exhales. “Look who it is,” he says with open arms, tossing the rest of his joint to the ground.

The boys dab each other up and Jay nods his head at you as a greeting. A chill passes through your body. You hug your body tighter underneath your jacket.

Heeseung places his hand comfortingly on your waist, pulling you closer to him so he can whisper in your ear. “If you want to leave, just say the word.” And when you shake your head, he leans in again. “Are you ready, Kang Hana?”

You decide that you are.

The party is nothing remarkable.

As promised, Heeseung makes sure to give you a chance to talk with Jay and perhaps get an ‘in’ on his father’s company. It seems to go well enough, although Jay mostly just agrees with what you’re saying, trying to move on from the topic of his dad and law.

But other than that, it’s just like any of the other parties that you’ve been to with your friends.

Music. People making out in every corner. Loud music. Couples dragging each other upstairs not-so-secretly. Decent food, despite Heeseung telling you about Jay’s personal chefs being top tier. And did you mention agonizingly loud music?

You still manage to have some fun with your fake-date, though.

The one thing that really stands out is the fact that most girls are keeping their respectful distance from Heeseung.

Usually, he would be surrounded by a dozen, at least. A couple hanging off his arms, some standing behind him, others even kneeling in front of him. They create an entourage around him like he’s some king they worship, and yet today you don’t even see a speck of that lifestyle.

It dawns on you that word really did get around about you and Heeseung.

You even lean in to tell him this much. “Your girl definitely knows,” you tell him. “Is she here?”

Heeseung looks around almost half-interestedly in the others, turning back to you with a smile. “No, I don’t think so,” he says, but he doesn’t sound too bummed out. Maybe it’s the drinks. “Do you want another drink?”

Only later on do you realize you really haven’t learned your lesson on your tolerance.

After your probably fifty-something-eth song on the dance floor, Heeseung calls it quits, having drank just as much, but clearly being able to hold himself together better.

He bids goodbye to his friends, letting you wave at them in your drunken state and gets you in the car to drive you back.

You stumble into Heeseung’s arms as you make your way out of the elevator on your floor. “Oops,” you laugh.

He makes a nervous sound before adjusting his arms to hold you properly with his hand holding onto your waist. “We’re almost there, Y/N,” he whispers, gently tugging you forward on your wobbling legs.

However, he freezes in his tracks when he’s met with your friends waiting by your door.

“Oh,” Yunjin says. “We thought—”

“God, we thought she died or something, she wasn’t answering our texts,” Yizhuo interrupts. “Are you guys gonna…”

“No, no,” Heeseung answers quickly, waving his free hand. “I was just making sure she made it safely back to her dorm.”

You cheer out of the blue, just glad to be there.

Heeseung reaches into your jacket pocket for your keys, the jingling sound making you laugh some more. He tosses the keys to Ryujin. “Here,” he says. “I’ll just bring her to bed—Uh! Not like that, I meant, like, make sure she sleeps.”

Yunjin shakes her head reassuringly. “Here, let me take her. We’ll take care of her, if you don’t mind.”

He doesn’t respond for a second, turning to look at you. The drunk-flush on your cheeks makes your eyes pop, he notices. Unknowingly, a soft smile creeps up on his lips. “Sure, sure,” he eventually says.

When he’s out of sight down the hall, the girls tug you into the room. They bring you to bed, helping you kick off your shoes and take off your jacket, but not bothering changing your clothes—who knows what kind of a struggle that would be.

The process proceeds in a comfortable silence, but not for you. You’re itching to speak, say anything. Something about the drinks in your system makes you feel chatty, so you say the first thing on your mind. “Heeseung’s so pretty.”

“I hope you think so,” Ryujin jokes. “He’s your boyfriend.”

You laugh, turning over to face away from the girls. “No he’s not.”

“Yes, he is,” Yunjin reassures, trying her best to get the blanket over your body to properly tuck you in, but you keep rolling away from her touch.

Watching you shake your head back and forth, Yizhuo curiously pushes. “What do you mean he’s not your boyfriend?”

“It’s just, like, a scheme,” you whisper the last word mischievously, wearing a cunning smile and waving your hands mysteriously. Laughing to yourself, it takes you a moment to notice your friends’ confused expressions when you look over at them again. “What?” You look up at them with a dazed smile.

“So… You and Heeseung,” Yunjin starts with furrowed brows, trying to assess the situation. “You’re not even dating?”

“Nope!” you say with a laugh, enunciating the ‘p’ with a pop of your lips.

From behind you, Yizhuo lets out a sigh of relief.

This time, Yunjin frowns at her. “What’s that about?”

“Sorry, sorry,” she says hurriedly. “It’s just that if Y/N and Heeseung were actually dating, the whole reveal would’ve been really awkward.”

“What reveal,” you ask.

She pulls her lips in, suppressing a laugh, before waving her hands and starting to confess. “So, remember how I said I slept with Heeseung at a party last semester?” Memories of her flaunting her newfound womanhood and maturity swarm your mind. You nod, yeah, I remember. “Well—” She tilts her head  guiltily. “I lied.”

You blink slowly at her. Once, and twice, before shaking your head out of pure confusion. “Wait, what? Why would you lie about that?”

Yizhuo looks over at Ryujin and Yunjin as if they’ll help her. From the less than expressive faces, you can tell they already knew. She scratches the base of her neck awkwardly. “I don’t know, I guess for status, or whatever.”

This sobers you up instantly. “Status? Like sleeping with Heeseung’s some kind of badge you get to wear around?”

She laughs nervously. “Well, no. But like, I don’t know, Y/N, I was just fucking around. I told you guys that when I was, like, really high.”

“Doesn’t excuse the fact that you’re treating him like some kind of object?” You’re always one to try to see the best in a person, in a situation, but you really can’t find it in yourself to defend Yizhuo right now. “He’s not just some fuckboy, Ning, he’s sweet, and kind, and cares about the little things, and—”

“So, you do like him?”

You sputter confusedly. “What are you even talking about?”

She stares at you dumbfoundedly. “You like him. You’re, you’re defending him,” she explains matter of factly. “Do you know how many girls he’s hurt ‘cause of his little hobby of hooking up and leaving them in the dust?”

“That has nothing to do with what we’re talking about. Admit it, Ning, you fucked up.”

She raises her arms defensively. “Fine! Maybe I did! But so did he. Multiple times with so many people. It’s weird that you’re on his side with this.” Sighing, she rolls her eyes. “Fine, I’m sorry for what I lied about when I wasn’t right in the fucking head, if that’s what you want to hear.”

You truly don’t know what’s gotten into her, but you also can’t be asked to bother caring. “Real mature,” you deadpan, realizing that that in itself is immature, too. “Get out of my room.”

She doesn’t even say anything to you. Just rolls her eyes again, mutters under her breath and tells the other girls they can come over to her place if they want. Yizhuo leaves with her jacket over her shoulder, not looking back.

“Go after her, it’s fine,” you tell Ryujin and Yunjin.

“Y/N—”

“Just go.”

They file out of the room in a hurry, and only when the door shuts do you let your tears of frustration fall. You slide down to the floor and cry into the palms of your hands with your knees up to your chest.

You’ve never had a fight like this with your friends. Sure, you’ve argued every now and then about stupid things, but something that left your chest heaving? All of this over a boy?

Your hands shake as you reach for your phone, your finger gliding past the group chat and your private messages with the girls—tempted to call them again, but you refuse—rushed to find the contact you've gotten so familiar with.

The line rings a few times, before you hear the click!.

“Y/N? Is everything okay?” His voice is laced in concern, which warms your heart. And when you tell him you want to see him, he doesn't ask questions and simply tells you: “I’m on my way.”

Heeseung gets to your dorm surprisingly fast.

Then he reveals that he never left the parking lot, not specifying why, and you’re blushing all over. You avoid eye contact, but he reads it as you avoiding the topic.

He tells you as much that you don’t need to go into detail if you don't want to, simply promising to be here. “It’s been a long night, you should rest.”

You lay down in bed, lifting the covers as an invitation.

He lays down next to you. “Is this okay?” And all you can do is nod.

Your curtains are ajar, you notice, watching the way the moonlight traces Heeseung’s features. His eyes shine in the dark, but yours drift down to his glistening lips.

He lightly bites his lower lip as he holds a strong gaze on your face, studying.

Just when you think he’s about to lean in and close his eyes, Heeseung surprises you with a whisper. “I think we should go to sleep.”

Disappointment runs through your body, but you agree nonetheless.

Your dreams are plagued by the shadow of a touch and big brown eyes.

The following morning, the first thing you think is, “I slept next to Hee—Ow, my head hurts really bad?!”

You groan as you push the blankets on the side, when you notice the other half of the bed is empty. The sight of it makes you frown, but then you hear rustling the bathroom and you let out a sigh of relief.

“You’re up?” Heeseung peers his head around the corner of the bathroom. His hair drips onto the flooring and evaporated hot water trails behind him. “I hope you don't mind. I took a shower.”

Not finding the words, you wave it off. Shaking your head proves to be a bad idea because you’re left clenching in your fists from the pain.

Heeseung frowns. “Headache?” When you nod, he points to your side table. “I left a glass of water—I hope you don't mind I took it from your filter—and an ibuprofen—which I took from your cabinet, I really hope you don’t mind.”

“It’s okay, Heeseung,” you tell him quietly, wearing a pained, but genuine smile. “I really appreciate it, thank you.”

He smiles shyly before returning to the bathroom. And then it dawns on you that he might not have been wearing clothes during your exchange. Your face flushes, again.

When he leaves the bathroom, it’s your turn to freshen up. You try not to think about it too much.

“What should we have for breakfast?” he asks casually, sitting by your desk and is still working hard at drying his hair.

Your eyes are stuck on Heeseung’s movements. The way he fiddles with the towel to dry his hair, his face scrunching as he swipes rapidly. You smile in silent laughter at his cute expression, but you don't say anything about it.

“I’m really craving a croissant.”

That’s how you find yourself, hands inching away from Heeseung’s as you walk, making your way down to the café.

He tells you to find your regular table, assuring you that he’ll order. There’s no point in protesting, plus your headache still hasn't completely dissipated, so you willingly agree.

It only takes a few minutes for him to come back with a caffe latte and a dark chocolate mocha as per usual, as well as two croissants in paper bags.

“How’d you know I wanted a dark chocolate croissant,” you ask, peering into its bag. It’s glorious, you note, taking it out, careful not to spill the freshly drizzled still-hot chocolate.

Heeseung shrugs. “You’re always ordering the dark chocolate mocha, so I figured you'd like it on your croissant, too. It’s good right?”

You nod and hum into your food as a response, too enthralled by the taste and Heeseung’s attention to detail.

Your outing together goes well, as they always have.

He doesn't bring up your tear-stained cheeks from last night or the sudden call, to which you’re glad. The conversation is light, but natural. Every now and then, he makes you laugh and forget all about last night's events—almost all of them. Lingering at the back of your mind is the moonlight across his face, his soft lips and the feeling that you imagined when looking at them; the feeling of them pressing against your own.

Heeseung insists on walking you back to your dorm, again. You’ve learned by now that it's useless to argue with him, as stubborn as he is. “It’s on my way,” he lies. “Really, it's for me, mostly.”

That second statement is less of a lie, you can tell.

“After you,” he says, gesturing toward the elevator.

You lean against the elevator wall, closing your eyes. “I’m so tired,” you say with a muffled voice.

After pressing the button to your dorm with no hesitation, Heeseung’s eyes darken with a serious air. “Are you sure you're okay?” He’s not really asking about right now, more so about everything that happened last night. Everything he doesn't know about.

You’re afraid of admitting to him that you drunkenly spilled the truth to all of your friends, and caused a fight because of it. Not to mention he was the center of it.

Internally, you decide not to tell him about Yizhuo’s damage. That’s something between her and him, and you're not going to push it onto either of them.

“You can trust me—” Then, he reassures. “Only if you're comfortable.”

You are. So, you start to put together how you’ll tell him in your head, but your thoughts are interrupted by a loud—

THUD!

“What was—”

THUD! THUD!

And then, you’re falling.

Shit. We’re           falling.

Your brain stops working, completely freezing in your spot, the noise of the elevator screeching against its reins echoing in your head. Your heart pounds against your chest.

“On the ground!" a distant voice yells. Heeseung.

Right. That’s smart.

You follow his movements and lie down next to him, spread eagle. Your arms are practically on top of each other.

Heeseung grips onto your shoulder, shaking it. “We’ll be okay,” he says, though you're not sure if it's to you or himself. His eyes stay open widely, bloodshot. 

Suddenly, the elevator stops in its movements. The unexpected stop makes your chest bounce, but altogether, you're okay. You’re okay. “Is anyone in there?” The voice is muffled from behind the closed doors, but you think you recognize it as one of the janitors from the building.

Hurriedly, Heeseung rushes to the door. “Yes, yes, we’re in here!”

“Stay there—Er, I mean, stay still—Or, just don't worry we’ll get you out of there. Soon.” The ending of his sentence doesn't bring much reassurance, but from your spot still on the floor, you force yourself to believe his words.

Heeseung doesn't seem convinced either, but he lets out a sigh and extends his hand to help you up. You take his offer and try your best to ignore the fire his touch alights in your stomach. “I guess we have some time.”

“I guess we do,” you say with an awkward laugh.

He doesn't say anything in response, giving you the chance to lead the conversation. If you wanted to completely ignore the subject at hand, you don't think he'd mind. This gives you the confidence to do the complete opposite.

You take a deep breath before sputtering, “I told my friends about our deal. Drunkenly, so like totally an accident, but I did and now they know and—”

“Oh,” is all that comes out of his mouth at first. You worriedly lift your eyes to meet his, though now they're glued to the ceiling, with his back leaning against the wall. “That's—That’s okay. What harm could they cause? Unless you're telling me they're planning on going around campus exposing us… But that's not your fault.”

This time, you say “Oh,” standing in silence and staring at Heeseung’s favourite spot on the ceiling, too. The panel twitches from above, and you can imagine the elevator crashing has something to do with it. “I also got into a huge fight with them, or maybe not all of them, but it was, it was bad. We've never fought like that.”

“What was the fight about?”

You, you want to say. How Yizhuo did something stupid and it somehow turned into being about your complicated feelings for him. But you can’t tell him all of it, that’d be too much for such a tight space.

Shrugging while trying to look unconcerned, you decide to confess a half-truth. For some reason, you can’t get yourself to lie to him. “They think our plan is a bad idea because you’d be supposedly ‘using me,’ as if I like you, or something…”

He’s silent, at first. Heeseung considers what you’ve said, neither comforting nor arguing against you for it.

“Do you?”

You turn to him. “Do I what?”

“Like me,” he answers. “Do you like me?”

“I…” you start lamely. Your eyes avoid his, but they always seem to find their way back to his gaze, your face flushing underneath it. “I can’t answer that.”

And neither does he.

Instead, he turns so his body is completely facing yours, coming much closer than he was before. You tilt your head toward his where your breaths fan against each other. Your eyes make the mistake of drifting down to his lips again, and you instantly lose all composure.

You lean in first, but he’s quick to follow your lead, placing his hands onto your waist, while yours find their way to the base of his neck.

The kiss is delicate, but sparks fly all around. Your stomach does a flip when you feel his tongue tracing your bottom lip, but you don’t deny him access for long. 

Heeseung’s hands trail down your torso to your hips, where they inch backward to pull you closer into him. You follow his movements until he’s pushed against the wall with you tightly pressed against him. He flexes his arms around your body and flips you so your back is against the wall instead, with him hovering above you.

His knee is drawn between your legs pressing against your core, eliciting a moan, but it doesn’t go further than that. Soon enough, your movements are slowing down, though your heart is still racing in your chest.

When you separate, your mouth hangs open. “Heeseung…” you whisper, but before you can say anything more, the doors slide open.

“Are you okay?” The janitor that you predicted would be there is standing by the buttons, holding a handy-man suitcase for the electrician kneeling in front of the panel. “Anyone get hurt?”

You brush off any dust from your back, adjusting your shirt and hair to be more presentable. Also to erase the memory of whatever just happened. Did we really…? “No. No, we’re okay. Thank you.”

“Yes, we’re… okay,” Heeseung adds quietly.

You don’t even wait for Heeseung, rushing toward the staircase on the other side to get to your floor. For a moment, you hear his footsteps behind you, but once you’re up halfway, you realize he’s given up and you let out a sigh of relief.

You don’t really want to face him now, not after what just happened.

Luckily for you, you don’t need to face him for a long time afterward.

You stare at his latest text (”assignments are pretty crazy atm let’s reschedule our next fake dates”), trying not to focus on your heart tightening at his word choice, and quickly reply:

ME sounds good! see u :) 10:11

The week goes by slowly and quietly.

With Heeseung mostly M.I.A besides the occasional short-worded answers to your texts and you actively avoiding running into your friends, you’ve had a lot more time for yourself and you notice how much you hate it.

So, you pluck up the courage to text the ghosted group chat, asking the girls to meet together at the café. You all need to talk, whether any of you like it or not.

Though, the reason you even have the motivation to do this at all is because you know the girls have been making an effort to talk. Although not in the group chat, your messages have been spammed daily with apologies and questions about your daily life, to keep it casual. You also received a note during the class you share with Ryujin which read simply: “Love ya xx”

You smiled at it before crumpling it and stuffing it into your bag—What? You were trying to make a statement.

Now there’s no need for theatrical note crumpling, with the three girls surrounding you at your regular booth. Yours and Heeseung’s, you mean. It’s the comfiest there, you convince yourself when making the natural choice to sit there.

The space is filled with awkward silence as you sip on your mocha, feeling even more stuffy when the girls don’t make a move to drink their own orders. You’ve had enough of this. “Guys… Let’s talk, or something. We’re still friends.”

“I’m sorry,” Yizhuo says out of the blue. “Seriously. That was really messed up and I shouldn’t have said it. And I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did, you had every right to be mad.”

You smile softly. “Thank you,” is all you say, taking her hands in yours and squeezing them. You lean your head against her shoulder and the two of you stay like that for a while.

“You really like Heeseung, don’t you?”

Your head shoots up at Yunjin’s sudden question. You stumble over your words, trying to suppress the blush from spreading up to the tips of your ears, but you feel the heat anyway. “No, no, I—I don’t. No.” You shake your head for emphasis, but Yizhuo looks at you with telling eyes.

“Sure, I believe you,” she says, completely meaning the opposite.

“I just—” you start, not really knowing how you feel. “Our whole set-up, it’s—it’s fake. He doesn’t feel the same. I don't even know why he kissed me—”

“He kissed you?!”

Before you have the chance to respond, your phone buzzes, drawing your attention thankfully away from your accidental reveal. It’s Heeseung. Great.

희승♡ there’s a party at sunghoon's, you wanna come? 14:23

ME when is it? 14:23 

희승♡ tonight @ 10 14:23

You look back up at the girls to find them staring at you with knowing smiles. It’s not hard for them to notice who you’re texting, or the way your eyes glint at the messenger.

“So,” you tell them. Yizhuo and Ryujin lean in, while Yunjin raises a curious brow. “Who wants to go to a party?”

Sunghoon’s house isn’t as grand, but it’s just as prepared for a party as Jay’s. Music blares into the driveway as you, Heeseung and the girls make your way to the door. Nobody is standing by it with a blunt, but the wide-open entrance is welcome enough.

“You guys go in,” you tell the girls, making a sign for them to not protest. They don’t, understanding your unspoken signal and heading inside. You turn back to Heeseung who looks more nervous than he’s known to be nonchalant. “Hey…”

“Hey,” he says back.

“It’s been a while.”

He hums, looking off to the cars spilling out into the street, nodding at nothing. “I’m sorry, I was, uh, busy,” he clarifies.

A chill passes between you, but you’re not so sure if it’s the wind or the awkward air. Either way, you’re happy to have brought a jacket to bury your hands in.

“You made up with your friends,” Heeseung notes suddenly.

“Yeah, we talked earlier.” He’s not going to bring up the kiss, you conclude, and neither are you. Maybe you can go on and forget it happened altogether. “We sorted it all out.”

Heeseung gives you a genuine, albeit small, smile. “That’s good.”

Scenes from the elevator rush through your mind. His hands around your waist, his lips against yours. The way it all felt, how consumed you were of him. How good it was. You blink it away and gesture to the door. “Should we…”

“Let’s go,” he says, then adds, “Kang Hana.”

You laugh. Okay, you think, we’re okay.

And with Heeseung by your side, the night is one to remember.

With the music ringing loudly throughout the house, after a few light drinks, you and Heeseung spend your time dancing with your hands on each other, rhythmically guiding each other to the melody. You almost forget there are other people in the room at all, closing your eyes and only thinking of the man holding you in his arms.

When the fourth or fifth song ends, you separate, only for him to run his hand down your arm to grab your hand on his own. He leads you to one of the rec rooms.

“There she is!” Yunjin’s drunken voice makes you giggle, the buzz getting to you, too.

“Hi, hi,” you tell her and the others.

Yizhuo is busy steadying her aim, holding onto a ping pong ball just past her nose with one closed eye, to greet you, but Ryujin waves sleepily from her place. She’s leaning against someone you recognize from one of her study groups. They nod to you, too.

“Hey,” Heeseung whispers, leaning into your ear.

You giggle at the feeling of his words against your skin. “Hey, back.”

“I’m gonna go get another drink, you want one?”

You nod eagerly, letting your fingers fiddle with his even as he begins to walk away. When he’s gone, your hands linger in the air for a moment more, missing the warmth of his hold.

Suddenly, the warmth comes back, though it’s different.

Turning around, you’re faced with Jay. “Can we talk?” he asks.

Wordlessly, you nod and let him guide you through the crowd of people to a more secluded area.

“What’s up?” You try to steady your voice, but it comes out higher pitched and perky out of instinct, still feeling the adrenaline of the buzz.

“Heeseung told me you wanted an ‘in’ at my dad’s firm?”

Your eyes light up. “Yes, yes I do!”

He chuckles at your excitement. “Well… I can give you his details so you can get into contact with him. I’m also technically not supposed to tell you this, but—” You lean in expectantly. “—they're picking out students for a co-op over the summer. Maybe I could put in a good word, slide your application at the top of the pile…”

“You can do that? Seriously!?”

“I can’t guarantee it’ll be with my father himself.” He raises his arms in defense. “But I can definitely get you some connections on the inside.”

Your hands come up to your mouth, holding it from going agape in honour. “Thank you, oh my God, thank you,” you repeat for good measure. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“Don’t worry about it.” The air shifts as he moves closer to you. Jay’s hand lands on the wall not far off from your head. He leans in, his breath tickling your skin, making your cheeks flush. “Maybe you could thank me by letting me take you out?”

For a moment, you’re frozen in your spot. How are you meant to react? Heeseung’s best friend hitting on you? What would happen if he saw? Wait, does it even matter? You’re not actually dating. Right?

But the elevator…

“Hey,” a familiar voice sounds from behind you. Heeseung steps forward, the lights of the party illuminating his features dimly. His face wears an uncharacteristic anger in his furrowed brows and hardened jaw. “Back off.”

Jay simply laughs, retracting his hand. “Why do you care,” he taunts.

You try to keep your composure. Jay hasn't been the nicest out of the group, but you never expected him to sound so mean.

You watch as Heeseung refuses to reply, not wanting to push Jay even more as he’s clearly too buzzed to have a coherent conversation. He tries to grab onto his arms and lead him away, but Jay’s quick to push them off.

“You don’t even like the girl,” Jay slurs.

Heeseung gets closer to him, grabbing his arm and talking into his face to make sure he listens. “You’re drunk, Jay, back off.”

Jay isn’t having it. He tosses his head back in a laugh. “Don’t tell me you actually fell for her?” he asks in a venomous tone. Your stomach churns as you watch their interaction. A smirk grows across his lips. “You owe me.”

“Fuck off.”

“What?” You weren’t going to step in, already feeling shaken up enough from tonight’s events. But Jay’s words ring in your mind. “What does he mean you owe him? What, what is he saying?”

Heeseung’s eyes lock with yours, pity and sadness ghosting his expression. “Y/N, I can explain—”

“We made a bet,” Jay cuts in. He shrugs Heeseung’s hands off of his shoulders. “He had to get any girl on campus to fall for him, leave her in the dust and watch her crawl back.” He turns to Heeseung with a mocking pout, his steps wobbling. He’s really drunk. “Doesn’t matter that she won’t come crawling back, ‘cause you’re too soft to leave her.”

“What’s your problem,” Heeseung shuts. “Are you jealous? That’s fucking low, even for you.”

You can’t even see him properly, your vision blurred in tears. Your breath catches in your throat as you want to say something to interrupt, come between. But you can’t even stand being by Heeseung right now. “A bet? This was all a bet?”

He turns to you quickly. “Y/N, please, let me explain.”

You shake your head, tears running down your cheek, surely ruining your mascara. “I have to go.”

Maybe it would make sense if you let him explain. Maybe he could somehow salvage the situation, but you can’t hear it. Not right now. Not after everything you’ve felt for him, everything you still feel for him despite the ache in your chest.

From behind you, Heeseung calls your name. “Wait, please!” You ignore him and run out of the house.

Your body shakes. “Should’ve brought a sweater..” you mumble bitterly. Then you remember that you did, but you left it inside. You also realize that you left all of your friends behind without a word. “And my phone,” you groan. You could easily turn back around and get them, but you’re already halfway down the road, you can even see your building in the distance.

It’s too humiliating to go back now, anyway.

How could I be so stupid? you think to yourself. Lee Heeseung, going out with you out of his own free will? Stupid. Impossible. Just a dumb fantasy. 

It starts to rain. You curse at the sky.

When you finally make it to your dorm, stumbling up the steps because of course the elevator still hasn’t been fixed, you go straight to bed without washing up. You’re too tired for this. And, you realize, you drank too much to care.

You try to fall asleep. You really do.

But your head keeps replaying Jay and Heeseung’s conversation. The way Heeseung lips parted when Jay revealed it all. The way he looked at you, begging for you to listen to him. It’s all stuck in your head and in fear of it following you into your dreams, your body refuses to fall asleep to ignore everything.

Just as you’re about to take your pillow and scream into it, you’re interrupted by the buzzing of your phone.

희승♡ i’m right outside your door 02:23

희승♡ you have every right to slam the door in my face 02:23

희승♡ or not open it at all 02:24

Staring at the messages, you bit your lip in consideration of your options.

You could, A. Not get up. Keep the door closed and never speak to Lee Heeseung ever again. Or, B. Get up, open the door and see what he has to say to explain himself. You’re liking the former, but your feet move on their own toward the entrance.

You lift yourself up to peer through the peephole. Heeseung is standing there, fidgeting anxiously in his stance. He looks from right to left a couple times, down to his phone, back up, and closes his eyes. After a deep breath, you watch him begin to walk backward, slowly.

Something snaps in you. You open the door.

His eyes widen at the sight of you. You’re probably still a mess, eyes red from crying paired with tear-stained cheeks and running mascara. You don’t even want to begin to picture the state of your hair. Yet, he looks at you in awe. “Hi,” he whispers.

“Hi,” you whisper back.

Wordlessly, you step back to motion for him to come in.

Heeseung follows you onto the couch, where you sit down to look past the TV in front of you and stare at a blank space on the wall. You feel his eyes on you.

“I’m sorry,” he then says.

You don’t reply.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he starts again. “But can I tell you everything from the start? I need you to know what really happened. Then, you can go on to hate me.”

I don’t hate you, you want to say. You don’t speak, nodding for him to go on.

Ironically, considering he was drunk out of his mind, Heeseung remembers the moment he got your call.

He and the boys were hanging at Sunghoon’s, originally just planning on playing video games and getting high, but then Sunghoon mentioned his dad’s stash. “Whiskey and lemonade, anyone? Rum and coke? Dirty Shirley? If you’re feeling creative,”

Who was Heeseung to deny?

And so, soon enough, they were drunk enough to forget the weight on their shoulders and act more carefreely. This is when Jay decided to come up with a brilliant idea.

“So we all know Heeseung’s a whore—”

“Hey,” he interrupted. “I haven’t gotten some in, like, four months.”

Jay laughed, taking another swig of his drink. He grimaced as the liquid burned down his throat. “You’ve basically fucked half of the campus, but it’s always one night and that’s it.” Heeseung nodded, not sure where he was going with this. “Bet you can’t get someone to fall in love, or some shit.”

He couldn’t help but raise a brow challengingly. “What? You think someone wouldn’t fall for me if I gave them flowers and took them out?”

“Have you ever even actually dated?”

The answer was yes. Technically. If you count middle school relationships. Otherwise, fine, he’ll admit to himself that he hasn’t ever dated anyone seriously. That���s just ‘cause he hasn’t found anyone he’s really interested that he knows would be into him, too.

Of course, there was you. You were the first person he ever fell head over heels for. Heeseung didn’t even know he was capable of falling so hard, but he did.

Though you would never like him back. You’ve already confirmed it.

So, Heeseung clapped his hands determinedly. “You wanna bet on it?”

But before Jay could answer, his phone rang.

The contact felt familiar—Note Giver—but his mind couldn’t register. “Hello,” he said confusedly.

Some commotion on the other side took him by surprise.

“Um… Who is this?” Sunghoon looked at him curiously, wondering what could’ve interrupted their moment.

The girl, he presumed, on the other side hesitated for a moment. There was more noise before she said: “This is… Hana…”

“Hana?”

“Kang. Kang Hana,” the girl clarified. Y/N. He finally realized it was you. “We met at the, uh, party last Friday. At Jay’s.”

Heeseung considered your words, wondering where you were going with this. At the same time, he accidentally spilled his drink. “Shit,” he whispered away from his phone. Sunghoon tossed him a towel with a big smile on his face. When the mess was mostly cleaned, Heeseung brought the phone back to his ear, cleaning the rest of it with his other hand. “Kang Hana.”

“Yeah, we had a good time together, didn’t we?”

He paused. “I guess,” he said slowly. He wanted to have a little fun with this, listen to your voice a little longer. “Can you remind me?”

You began to tell the tale about your supposed encounter, spinning the story into something that genuinely impressed Heeseung. Every now and then, he hummed, trying to suppress a laugh at your creativity. He doesn’t even want to know why this was happening.

“I’m so sorry, I left you in the dirt and—” Your voice was cut off by a squeal, shocking him.

“Woah!” he yelped, pulling the phone away once again. Jay couldn’t hold his laugh at Heeseung’s reaction.

“Who is it,” he asked.

Heeseung didn’t miss a beat before responding without really thinking. “Y/N.”

He practically hears your heart drop. “You knew it was me?”

“Obviously,” he replied with a chuckle. “Took me a second, I’m a little tipsy, haha.” He didn’t want to throw you off by admitting he was more than buzzed, so he told a white lie. As long as he was coherent enough to have a conversation, he thought it was fine.

“Oh, am I interrupting?”

“You’re never a bother, babe.”

Why did I say that? Maybe he’s more drunk than he thought. It just slipped past his lips, he doesn’t know why. Were his fantasies meshing with reality that he couldn’t help himself? Heeseung tries not to watch Jay’s face morph into something mischievous.

“Huh,” you said, which made Heeseung cringe.

Jay mouthed something in his direction. He tried to read it, but it must've been something along the lines of “Her. She’s the girl.”

Heeseung knew what he meant and mentally hurled the empty chair to his right at him. Back to the phone conversation, he tried to change the subject. “Are you with the girls?”

You told him you were, and he took this as an opening.

As much as he wanted to keep talking with you, since it’s been so long, he needed to get away from this conversation to recover from the embarrassing slip-up. “I don’t want to keep you if you’re having fun. Text me later though, okay?” God, when does he stop talking?

You confusedly told him “Okay?” before you cut the call.

He was already typing a message to apologize to you for his behaviour, but Jay was already telling him to play along with it some more. The bet was on and he decided that you were going to be the girl.

Heeseung felt a knot form in his stomach.

“I should’ve just come clean when we met at the café, but I didn’t. I’m sorry.” He ends his retelling at that, you fill in the rest with your mind.

You’re not sure what to say. You have so many questions and comments spiralling in your mind, where do you even start? “There was never a girl?”

“No… Just you.”

Stuttering, you just have to ask. “Why me?”

“Jay told me to go for you, said it would be a challenge. I was stupid enough to go along with it. I can’t tell you how sorry I am, I wanted to tell you the truth, but I… I really like you, Y/N, I didn’t think you’d want to be with me if you knew the truth.”

“You called me babe.” Is all you say.

“What?”

“On call. The first time. You called me babe. I thought that was you playing your role.”

Heeseung lets out a shaky sigh that sounds more like a breathy laugh. “I was drunk,” he explains. “And I…” You look at him expectantly. “I’ve liked you since we met, and I guess it slipped up ‘cause I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

This shocks you. You blink up at him. “Since we met?”

“Well, pretty much.” He rubs the base of his neck awkwardly. “Obviously you’re really pretty, but it was more than that. You were always the first in class. You only answered the professor when no one else would, even though you definitely always knew the answer. You’re so well spoken, too.” You blush at his words. You never realized he had been so observant. You never thought anyone would notice so much about you.

However, you shake your head. “But you never said anything?” This truly astounds you. The everknown Lee Heeseung never made a move to even at least try to be with you. You can’t even know if you would’ve said no to him because well… he’s him. If you knew him the way you know him now, you know you would’ve said yes in a heartbeat.

“Remember what I told you about the girl I liked?” You nod. “You’re her.”

You furrow your brows. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Last semester, I went to one of the campus parties and you were there. You were drunk out of your mind,” he laughs. Oh, God, he remembers, too? “At first I was just admiring this new side of you. So carefree and so unapologetically you.” His eyes glint at the memory. You can almost see it replaying in your head. Almost because you truly can’t remember much of that night. “And then you ran off to the bathroom at some point ‘cause you got sick. I followed you to make sure you were alright, but you pushed me away.

“You told me to fuck off ‘cause you didn’t want to sleep with me. You called me a player and said you didn’t want to get roped up in that, or something. I think you insulted me some more, but your words were kind of all mashed together.” You flush. “I left you alone, but made sure to get your friends to check on you. And, I don’t know, I kind of lost interest in hooking up with random people after that.”

Your eyebrows raise, impressed. “You quit cold turkey?” He nods. “For me?”

He nods again.

“Wow… You really like me?”

“Y/N, I think I’m in love with you.”

You find yourself teetering on the edge of disbelief and joy, uncertain about how to respond to this unexpected revelation. Heeseung looks at you with such tenderness that you’ve never had directed toward you, to which your heart flutters with warmth.

His eyes shift from adoration to concern as you sit there in shock for a moment. “I know you probably don’t like me back, but—” he starts, but you don’t let him finish.

Driven by a surge of emotions, you lean in, pressing your lips against his.

As you kiss him this time, there’s a greater sense of assurance. Your first kiss carried an air of uncertainty, with both of you unsure about each other’s feelings. The way you felt when pulling away left your stomach in knots, thoughts of insecurities and worries running through your mind.

You let go of your hesitation, now, focusing solely on this moment. The way your lips connect to his, the way he smiles into the kiss and the way you pull away to look at him with telling eyes.

“I love you, Kang Hana,” Heeseung tells you.

You reply with a laughing smile. “I love you, too, Lee Heeseung.”

A ringing phone blares in your ear early in the morning. You groan, eyelids barely awake since even the sun hasn't come up yet. “Hello,” you mumble into the receiver. “Um… Who is this?”

You recognize the chuckle from the other side. Suddenly, you’re much more awake. “I’m sorry, Love, did I wake you?”

“No! No—” you scramble but are cut off by a yawn. Heeseung laughs softly again. “Yes, you did, but that's okay. Why're you calling so early? How are you even up?”

“I couldn't sleep.” Then, he adds more teasingly. “Not without you.”

You can practically hear the wink he sends.

“I wanted to watch the sunrise, and then I thought that maybe you’d want to watch it with me?” He says it like a question, as if he's not sure. You shake your head even though you know he can't see it. “Maybe I should've thought this through…”

A giggle escapes your lips without warning. “It’s fine, Heeseung. How about you come over and we’ll watch it by my window? Unless you have a spot?”

He hums assuredly. “No, no, I was just gonna watch it from mine, too. I’m actually, uh, already inside your building.”

He’s so ridiculous. You laugh to yourself before telling him to come up—You unlock the door, only for him to appear right on the other side as you do it.

“Hi,” you tell him with a bright smile despite your tired eyes.

“Hi,” he replies quietly.

You’re lucky your window is facing the east, with little to nothing blocking your view from the clear bluish-orange morning sky, aside from some trees, but they only add to the landscape. The sunrise is beautiful, but you conclude that Heeseung is much more beautiful, especially with the way his eyes reflect the sun rays that hit through your window.

For a moment, you shut your eyes to appreciate the heat of the rays. “Beautiful,” Heeseung murmurs.

And when you open your eyes, you realize he’s looking at you.

[wwooyology]

Blistering Heat | J.WY

「pairing」 : wooyoung x fem!reader 「word count」 : 3.7k

「synopsis」 : you started to notice changes in wooyoung's behavior, it was as if he was avoiding you entirely. he was going into a rut and kept trying to push you away, but you'd be dammed if you'd let him go through it alone.

「genre」 : hybrid!au, fox hybrid!wooyoung, human!reader, a small bit of fluff, smut (honestly just pure filth I'm ngl)

「warnings」 : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, cussing, kissing, wooyoung goes into his rut (obvi.), clit play, unprotected sex, dom!wooyoung x sub!reader, big dick!wooyoung, rough and messy sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, squirting, messy makeout, petnames (baby, babydoll, sweetheart, pup...), biting/marking, licking, blood, slight degradation and praising, EXTREAM breeding, possessiveness, manhandling, dumbification, subspace mentioned, dirty talk, derogatory names (cocksleeve), knotting, creampie, slight cockwarming, reader does say no but only because of pleasure (everything is consensual!), hair pulling, choking, slight breath play, dacryphilia, begging, slight pain kink, forced orgasm, lmk if I missed anything!!

「notes」 : I may or may not have gone just a little stir-crazy with this one 🤓☝ I just started writing, and my fingers wouldn't stop... but here is an additional part for all of those who wanted another fic with fox hybrid!wooyoung!! I hope you enjoy lovelies!

You sat at the kitchen table with a warm cup of tea in your hands as you watched the doorway, a distant look in your eyes. Wooyoung had been acting weird for the past week. It started with him not wanting to be within a certain distance of you, to avoid you at all costs. He even stopped sleeping in the bedroom with you and would lock himself in the guest room without so much as a word. You had tried to talk to him and ask if there was anything wrong, but he would brush you off, saying he was fine.

It was some time after twelve that you saw him creep into the dining room, his fuzzy ears twitching as he looked around. As soon as his eyes met yours, he quickly averted his gaze, trying to push down the overwhelming heat that was building in his gut.

“There’s food on the stove.” You told him, trying to offer him a smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Thanks.” Wooyoung felt horrible that he was treating you like this but he’s never dealt with a rut when he was around another person, much less a human or someone he loved dearly. He was worried that he would scare you off.

You let out a deep sigh when he disappeared through the kitchen door. You wanted to understand what was going on, but he was making it hard when he wouldn’t even speak more than two words to you. Setting your now lukewarm tea down on the table, you pulled your phone from the pocket of your cardigan. You were determined to determine what was going on, whether or not he’d tell you.

Wooyoung slipped past you once more with a bottle of water in his hand, his gaze filled with guilt when you wouldn’t even look up at him. Swallowing thickly, he walked out of the dining room and made his way back to the guest room, where he would lock himself in for the next few days.

Opening your phone you went to the first person that you could think of that might have the answers you’re looking for. Hitting the green button you placed the phone against your ear, listening to the rings. After the third ring you heard the line connect before her voice flowed through the speaker.

“Hello?” 

“Hey Leila, it’s y/n.” You greeted her with a smile; it had been a while since you’d heard her voice.

“Y/n! How are you?” Leila asked, a chirp in her voice as you heard her rustling from the other side of the phone.

“I’m… okay. I actually had a question.”

“Is everything okay? It’s not the hunters again, is it?” She asked a sense of urgency in her tone to which you quickly reassured her that it wasn’t the hunters, that they hadn’t shown their faces in a while.

“It’s actually Wooyoung.” You started to explain to her everything that had been happening for the last week, and by the time you were done, she had let out a short burst of giggles. Confused, your eyebrows scrunched together, “What’s so funny? I’m actually worried something might be wrong, and I want to help.”

“Babe… he’s starting his rut.” Her words left you stunned because why hadn’t that crossed your mind? But what stunned you even more were the new few words that left her lips, “If you really want to help, the best you can do is offer yourself to him.”

–

Later that night, after getting out of the shower, you walked into your room with your towel wrapped tightly around your body. Just as you were about to grab your shirt, you heard a loud bang from the other room. Panic filled your veins, and you completely forgot about your clothes and darted out of your room. 

“Wooyoung, are you okay?” Your voice shook as you knocked rapidly on the guest bedroom door, but there was no response. Listening carefully, you could hear his labored breathing from the other side, which only caused you to worry even more. “Wooyoung, open the door.”

“Go away, y/n.” His voice was stern, but you could still hear the pain underneath. He had to have been fighting this off for a while now and it made you feel guilty that you didn’t notice before.

“I just wanna help Woo.” Your tone softened as you wrapped your fingers around the doorknob, but you knew right away it was locked when it wouldn’t budge.

“You can’t help me; just go back to– ugh!” He was cut off by a groan, and you acted quickly, rushing back to your room to grab the spare key before going back to the door.

“Stop being so stubborn, and let me help!” You scold the boy through the door as you knock, wanting to give him a chance to open it himself before you barged in. However, he didn’t give you a response, but you could hear his low growls. “You have three seconds to open this door before I open it myself.” You tried to sound authoritative, but there was still a slight tremor in your voice from the worry that was digging its claws into your spine.

You heard him grumble something from inside the room but couldn’t quite make it out. Giving him a few more moments, you started to insert the key into the keyhole.

“One.”

“Stop, y/n, I don’t want to hurt you.” You could hear the pain in his voice before the sound of another crash was heard, causing you to jump.

“You’re not going to hurt me, Woo. I trust you.” There was a softness in your tone that lured the fox to the door, his hand resting on the doorknob as he fought his inner turmoil. What if he really did hurt you? Would you forgive him? What if he scared you away? He didn’t think he would be able to live with himself if he did, but– “Please, Wooyoung.”

At the pleading tone in your voice, the last bit of his willpower faded away, and he unlocked the door before tearing it open.

A gasp fell from your lips when he appeared in front of you. His raven hair was a mess, and his ears sat flat on his head as if he were awaiting your lecture. His eyes were trained on your face, a small scowl resting upon his features, but despite all of that, you reached forward, cupping his cheek in your hand.

“God, you’re burning up.” Your voice was soft, your thumb brushing under the skin of his eye. Wooyoung closed his eyes, a low purr emitting from his throat from your touch. Until another sudden wave of heat rushed over his body, and he doubled over. 

You cried out his name before rushing to his side, worried that this might just be something more than his rut. Yet when he raised his head, you almost had to step back from the borderline predatory gleam in his eyes. That was also when he noticed that you were in nothing but a plain white towel that barely reached mid-thigh. 

Inhaling deeply, you moved closer to him as he rose back up, his eyes never leaving your form. With shaky hands, you reached down for his hand before bringing it up to your neck. Wooyoung’s pupils dilated as he felt your quickened pulse under his fingertips, almost salivating at the thought of biting into your skin. Marking you officially as his and his alone.

“I want to help Youngie.” The slight whine in your tone caused him to let out a low growl before his fingers wrapped around the delicate skin of your neck, pulling you closer to him. A choked whimper fell from your lips as you looked up at him, fingers lazily wrapping around his wrist but making no move to pull him away.

His eyes searched yours for any sign of hesitation, but all he saw was unbridled lust and need. Leaning his head down just far enough to let his nose bump against yours, he spoke in a low, growly tone.

“Are you sure? Once I start, I won’t be able to stop. No matter how much you beg.” His words send a shiver down your spine. The simple thought of him being so lost in his animalistic pleasure to the point where he’s completely ruining you made your core ache.

You bring your face just centimeters away from his, looking deep into his hooded eyes, “Ruin me then, Woo.”

Those words were the straw that broke the camel's back. His lips surged forward, crashing into yours at a bruising speed. He was moving so quickly that you could barely keep up with him, even as he released your neck.

“Woo…” You breathed out as he snatched the towel from your body, letting the cool air of the room nip at your bare skin. His lips trailed down your neck, leaving sloppy kisses in his wake. His nose pressed right against your jugular as he inhaled deeply, fingers tracing the curves of your body until he got to your hip.

“Fuck, you’re going to be the death of me, sweetheart.” He growled against your skin as he moved further down, cupping your bare heat in the palm of his hand. A small whimper fell from your lips as he parted your folds, tracing his fingertips along your slit before pressing down on your clit. “Oh, you’re already soaked, babydoll. Does the thought of me ravishing your body turn you on so much?” 

“Woo– fuck! Please.” You begged the fox, staring up at him with needy eyes, causing his dick to twitch in his pants, the last bit of his sanity slowly melting away.

Without so much as a word, he lifted your body from the ground before walking over to the bed and throwing you down onto the soft mattress. As soon as your back hit the mattress, Wooyoung was all over you, slotted right between your thighs. His lips traced every curve of your body, licking, nipping, and marking any part of your skin he could reach until you were withering underneath him.

“Youngie.” You whined, fingers threading through his soft locks until you met with the base of his ears. A low growl seeped from his throat as you gently tugged on one of his ears.

“I need to be in you, babydoll. I need to fuck your slutty little cunt until you’re filled to the brim with my seed. Until I’ve bred you properly.” His words came out in a low tone as he bit at your collarbone, slightly harder than before, nearly drawing blood. The sweet sound of your whimper went straight to his cock that was straining against his sweats.

His words left your mind spiraling. The thought of being so full of just him had your aching cunt clenching around nothing. A soft moan fell from your mouth as you pulled him back up to your swollen lips, sealing them with his in a hungry kiss.

“Yours.” You breathed out, eyes half-lidded as he pulled away, “All yours, Woo, please.”

It was then that the last bit of his sanity flew right out the window, his instincts fully taking over as he quite literally ripped his clothes from his body. Your aching cunt quivered at the sight of his throbbing cock, standing proudly against his lower stomach. 

“Gonna fuck you so good.” He growled as he took his cock into his hand, using his precum to slide up and down the length. “Everyone will know you’re mine. All mine.”

You barely had time to process what was happening as he grabbed your legs right behind your knees, pushing them up against your chest before you felt him probing at your entrance. A choked moan fell from your lips as he pushed into your needy cunt, his eyes watching as you swallowed his dick whole before he pulled back out.

“W-Woo–” You were cut off by a loud cry when he thrust back into you with an unimaginable force, nearly sending your mind into orbit.

“Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.” He repeated to word like a mantra as he fucked into your tight cunt, barely leaving you any room to breathe. He pressed down on your legs even more until you were damn near folded in half, the smooth tip of his cock pressing right against that spongy spot in your cunt with every thrust.

Tears were streaming down the sides of your face as you tried your best to keep up with his pace, fingers curled into the sheets. A broken mixture of curses and his name rolled off of your tongue, eyes rolling back as you become overtaken with pleasure.

“Your body was made just for me.” Wooyoung groaned, leaning down to capture your lips in a sloppy kiss, teeth clashing together as he continued to fuck into your tight hole. “Perfect for carrying my kits.”

You clenched around him as he spoke those dirty words against your lips, swallowing all of your pretty noises. His nails dug into your thighs until they broke the skin, a trail of crimson blood flowing down the side of your leg before dripping onto the sheets. The mixture of pain and pleasure suddenly had you toppling over the edge, your back arching off the bed as a loud moan tore through your throat.

A deep animalistic growl reverberated from Wooyoung’s chest as he fucked you through your high, but never slowing down. Stars danced across your vision as he seemed to pick up the pace, his thrust growing even more harsh.

“W-Wooyoung!” You nearly screamed when his lips latched onto your neck, teeth nipping at your skin. There was no way that you were going to come out of this without any bitemarks, but you weren’t really in the right state of mind to complain.

Your hands flew to his back as soon as he latched onto the junction of your neck, his canines sinking deep into your skin. A sharp cry fell from your lips at the stinging sensation before he withdrew his fang, licking over the wound. Your nails racked against the skin of his back, causing him to hiss, his hips stuttering just slightly but never losing rhythm.

When his low, throaty groans started to turn into high-pitched whimpers, you knew he was close, just needing a little more. Trailing your hand up his back, you ran your fingers through his hair before gently taking his ear into your palm.

“F-Fuck!” He moaned loudly in your ear as he came, shooting thick, hot streams of cum deep inside your walls, his pace slowing just a bit.

Your head fell back against the soft mattress, eyes fluttering shut as his lips continued to wander the skin of your neck and shoulder. You thought he would knot you like he always had before and would call it good, but when you felt him pull away without knotting, your eyes snapped open.

“You didn’t think I was done with you yet, did you?” His voice was deep as he cocked his head to the side, the blackness of his pupils nearly overtaking the whites of his eyes.

The air was knocked out of your lungs when he flipped your body effortlessly, laying you flat on your stomach. His hands were quick to find your hips, pulling them up until your back was arched the way he wanted.

“I still have so much more to give you, baby.” He chuckled darkly as he pressed his tip against your twitching hole, watching as you eagerly sucked him in. You buried your face into the sheets as he pushed into you with one sharp thrust, his tip pushing right against your cervix.

Tears stained the sheets underneath you as he relentlessly bullied his cock into your abused pussy, his hands tight on your hips. Muffled cries and moans were the only sounds that emitted from your body. Your cognitive function to form words flew right out the window.

“Such a good little cocksleeve,” He cooed, leaned down until his back was pressed against your chest, his lips finding the back of your shoulder. “Taking everything, I give you like a good girl.” The mixture of his derogatory names and praises made your body melt, and if it wasn’t for his hold, you would have surely fallen flat on the mattress.

“Y-Youngie!” You cried out, fat tears falling from your eyes as he continued his relentless pace until your whole body was shaking. “Cumming! ‘M cumming!” Your voice cracked as he fucked you through another orgasm, but once again, his ministrations never stopped, much less slowed down.

White spots started to cloud your mind when he stood up straight once again, using your hips as leverage to fuck into you. Choked sobs left your lips when your body fell into a state of overstimulation. Every nerve felt as if it were on fire.

Moving one hand from your hip, Wooyoung trailed it down the length of your spine before threading his fingers through your hair. With a harsh tug, he pulled your upper body off of the bed, eliciting a strangled moan from your parted lips.

“Look at you, babydoll, such a fucking mess on my cock. Is this what you wanted? Me to fuck you completely dumb? Until the only thought in your pretty little head was my cock? Hmm?” His harsh tone had you quivering in his hold, eyes squeezing shut as you felt another orgasm building up. Letting go of your hair, he grabbed your jaw harshly, turning your head until you were looking at him. “Answer me, pup.” He growled, lips brushing against yours as you whimpered in his hold.

“Y-Yes, I want you to fuck me stupid, Youngie.” You choked out before all the air was stolen from your lungs when his lips crashed into yours. His hand fell from your jaw down to your puffy clit causing your whole body to jolt. “No, no, no, stop Wooyoung! I feel weird.” You cried out as a different type of pressure built up in your lower gut, but he didn’t stop; if anything, your broken pleas only spurred him on.

White spots clouded your vision as that coil in your gut finally snapped, and your release gushed all over Wooyoung’s fingers and cock, even soaking the sheets below your body. It felt like your soul had been detached from your body as he continued to work you through your orgasm, coaxing more and more of your sweet release out of your body.

“Look at the mess you made, sweetheart,” His teasing tone rang in your ears as your head fell back on his shoulder, legs quivering underneath your weight. He moved his hand away from your throbbing clit, allowing you just a moment to breathe before that same hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing the soft flesh.

A choked sob tore through your parted lips as he pistoned his hips into yours mercilessly. Your brain felt like it was turning into mush from the overwhelming amount of pleasure. Wooyoung’s fingers tighten around your throat as he buries his face into the nape of your neck, inhaling your scent.

“You’re gonna look so pretty all swollen with my kits.” Wooyoung licked a stripe up the back of your neck, “such a perfect mommy.” He cooed as he nipped at your skin, feeling another orgasm of his own creeping up.

“W-Woo…” You whimpered in his hold, your head empty except for the thought of his cock buried deep in you until he was sure his seed would take.

“Gonna make sure everyone knows that you’re mine.” He growled before unexpectedly biting down on the nape of your neck as he came. The sudden infliction of pain pulled yet another orgasm from your spent body, your walls fluttering around his twitching cock, milking him for all he was worth.

Pulling away from your neck, he watched with proud eyes as his mark started to bleed, your sweet crimson blood coating his lips. Your mind was beginning to blank as you slowly came down from your high, only for that peace to quickly be ripped away from you when the fox hybrid pulled out of your cunt.

A small whine emitted from your body when he bent you over once again, pressing your face into the covers. Your jaw fell slack as he pushed his still rock-hard length back into your aching cunt, the mixture of yours and his cum making his movements more fluid.

“Oh, we’re not done yet, baby,” He chuckled darkly, pistoning his hips into yours. The brute force knocked all of the lungs from your body, and all you could do was lay there and take it. The only thought in your mind was Wooyoung’s cock and how painfully good it felt, nudging against your sweet spot.

Wooyoung didn’t stop until you filled to the brim before finally knotting you; the stretch had you cumming for the nth time that night. His arms wrapped around your body as he buried his face in your chest, inhaling your scent. A small pur reverberated from his chest as you ran your shaky fingers through his hair. The world finally felt like it was coming back to you as your body lay there, soaking in each other’s warmth as if you hadn’t been doing that for the past few hours.

“Thank you, baby,” His voice was low as he peppered kisses along the expanse of your chest before resting his chin right between your breasts. You hummed, still not fully trusting your voice, and he smirked before his fingers playfully crept up your side.

“W-Wooyoung!” You choked out his name at the ticklish feeling causing him to chuckle before groaning slightly when he felt that familiar heat bloom in his chest. Noticing the sudden change, you looked down at him in worry, your fingers curling around the nape of his neck. “How much longer will this last?”

Wooyoung took a moment to respond, trying to settle himself before he lost control. He then glanced back at you with worry and borderline guilt, “probably for the next week.”Your head fell back as your eyes fluttered shut, a small groan falling from your lips. This was going to be a long week, but you couldn’t complain. You did offer to help him after all, and by the looks of it, now that he had his hands on you, he wasn’t about to let go.

@wwooyology | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ.

[chronicdelusionistsreblogs]

That is a false framing of the discussion at hand. These two are not mutually exclusive; I hold both positions you listed. It is both true that comments are really cool (and often that it can kickstart a writer to get the motivation to keep going) and also that you shouldn't be writing for engagement in the sense that you beg for kudos and comments or else you have no will to go on.

I fundamentally disagree that meaningful community and the engagement that you describe, the reading back, can be achieved in a healthy or sustainable way via asking strangers on the internet for it. If you are asking that of people, you are setting yourself up for disappointment. The people who are the most caught up in this mindset, those who make posts that to one varying degrees guilt the reader for not engaging with every fic they like and make them out to have wounded the author with their lack of engagement, are the ACTUAL target of the "fic writers shouldn't be writing for engagement" argument.

It's fine to need people invested in your work to write. I understand that. But it is much more reliable and it is much more of an act of community building if you put effort into making a small group of friends that match your freak, people who can laugh at your draft and cry at your draft and react line by line. And if you do have that, and you ever find yourself thinking "those people don't count", I'm sorry, but that's a problem where you need to look inside and ask yourself why it isn't enough. And if you're going to be able to do this longterm or if you need to work on some mental health issues to continue without hurting yourself or lashing out at others for their perceived shortcoming in giving you the attention you wanted.

Aaaaand this is where the comment would stop if I believed that alone would solve it.

But like. This is just fundamentally not a binary issue. I, for instance, fucking LOVE commenting on fanfics. I love giving authors I like a little boost and I love mentoring people and I love when my friends give me snippets of their fics. I don't very much appreciate the implication that in order to think that fic authors are being unreasonable for wanting numbers from the void, that one has to view fic as a content mill, just as I'm sure you don't appreciate feeling like someone is telling you to go to therapy for liking to receive comment emails, which is how this position I hold is often taken. The truth is, you're right. In order to understand the real reasons this debate happens, we must learn to look past oversimplified framing and delve into the circumstances that brought rise to it.

In fact, I think this all has much more to do with the sheer volume of fic that is available via ao3, surrounding patterns of social media use, and the different scale of fan communities that existed before compared to now. I think that more or less the entire modern form of this entire debate can be explained by the cultural differences of moving to a big archive for solo perusal and the loss of forums and other intermediate-sized fan community spaces.

Like, yeah, people have always been holding the next chapter hostage for "reviews" since the days of old, but it was seen as immature to do that. People thought those people were the most annoying people in the world. Why is there a massive shift towards that mindset now, then? I think it's fair to think that I'm in the minority position here given these posts about comment starvation circulate to the tune of thousands of notes. There IS an actual drop lately, from what I've gathered.

I'd hypothesize that instead of going to communities and sharing there first, people are expecting to build communities out of a point of contact on Ao3 itself with no backup. To be clear, I have met lots of friends like this, but they were never my ONLY writing community. And that's not necessarily an attribute I have as an individual, but a symptom of growing up with forums and stuff. And more and more people nowadays grew up with social media and particularly its onesided nature and addicting models of interaction. And the internet is just shaped like that, now. It guides our interactions with everything online, now, these fenced-in, monolithic entities. You can't fault the individual for looking at the online world through this everpresent lens.

And this is interesting because it means that you and I have essentially the same problem with modern fandom, OP: we both have a problem with fic as "content". Neither of us are happy with a landscape where you feel like you have to shout into the void for connection. But to me, it's a problem of systemic particulars and how we teach people to interact with other people online, not a failing of the individual on either "side" but a symptom of the mind-boggling scale and centralization of the modern internet.

How to solve it, though?

uhhhhhhh yeah sorry all of my fixes are really on the individual level because that's all most people have control over lol but I would be interested to see what people who are better acquainted with the reclamation of the internet have to say

what the whole "please comment on fic you like, it will encourage more writing" vs. "fic writers shouldn't be writing for engagement and validation" debate fails to really grasp, for me, is that comments shouldn't be boiled down to "engagement and validation" in the first place. by which i mean: comments aren't payment for a service, they are communication and connection. they represent the audience reaching back.

i don't write just for myself. are you kidding me? the point of storytelling, to me, is to present certain narrative arguments and produce or encourage an emotional response to them. That communication is essentially useless if there's no endpoint, no listener. To me, there is no point if I'm not communicating with someone. When I write, I am talking to a reader. If you've read anything I've written, then I was talking TO YOU.

you are well within your right to consume fic as ~content~ and withhold your "payment" out of a sense that the writer should be satisfied at having created anything at all in an unresponsive void. but please be aware that it feels really good when you talk back.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I have a question about Jpn v Eng fandom differences? I've always been really disturbed and hurt by how the Eng fandom treats Jamil's ob situation compared to the other boys as somehow less forgiving or understandable since Kalim is so beloved. But I've been told this might be because the Eng servers greatly tone down the slavery/master situation as less "indentured" and more "employed but miserable". How does the Jpn fanbase generally feel about Jamil?

Yes, there were significant changes made to the Scarabia duo in the Twst localization and I believe it is these changes that resulted in the English-only fandom misunderstanding Jamil's reasons for overblotting + treating Jamil's OB as "less serious" than the others. I believe it has very little to do with Kalim's popularity, as I don’t recall him being very popular in EN and especially when compared to the other dorm leaders.

So firstly, what you heard about EN changing the master/servant relationship to an employer/employee relationship is somewhat correct. In JP, they consistently use "servant", "aide", or "personal attendant" to refer to Jamil and his family members' status. In EN, they sometimes use words like "helper" or "employee" or “aide” instead of "servant". Jamil’s parents are referred to as part of the Asims’ servants, but the term “servant” is scarcely used to refer to Jamil’s own relationship with Kalim. This by itself already somewhat lessens the power gap between the two, as using words like "helper"/"employee"/“aide” just give the impression that Jamil is simply disgruntled and could leave to find employment elsewhere whenever he likes. In reality, this is not the case--but it is not properly conveyed in EN.

The bigger factor at play here, I fear, comes from the edited lines of dialogue explaining the consequences for Jamil breaking from the Asims' control. In JP, he states that his entire family would suffer if he dared to defy the Asims. He provides an explicit example of being put out on the streets if he acts in selfishness. These lines are scrubbed and replaced with, "How could I betray our history like that? It would be beyond the pale. Not to mention the lecture I would get from my parents. I'm sorry, but it just wouldn't be right."

So... in EN, Jamil's worst worry is that his parents will be mad at him, versus in JP, where Jamil confesses his entire family will be without ANYTHING if he steps of line. JP gives the impression that the Vipers are almost being held hostage to force Jamil's obedience and servility. I think you can see why this would result in some different perceptions based on which version you play. To be fair to EN though, Jamil does get the line, "There would be consequences for my entire family if [Kalim] were exposed to any danger." However, said "consequences" are left vague and never elaborated on.

This has been an endless source of ire for Scarabia (and especially Jamil) fans 😔 It hurts them to see their favorite boys and their nuanced relationship fudged this badly. It hurts them to see others not grasping the full extent of how powerless and hopeless Jamil is in his circumstances. It hurts them to see people comparing Jamil’s trauma to others’ trauma and deeming it unworthy of empathy. It’s so ironic that a huge part of Jamil’s frustration stems from him having no one who understands him, yet the localization has made it so that English-only players aren’t understanding him as intended.

To your question; Jamil is actually a reasonably popular character in the JP fandom. He's not top 5, but I believe he's usually in the top 10. I think a lot of it comes from finding his story complex (as they're getting the original version), but also because a LOT of Japanese people--or those who come from collectivist cultures--find his struggles relatable. Filial piety is very strong in many eastern cultures, and Asians generally feel an immense pressure to be loyal to their families or to take actions that would benefit the group, even if it makes the individual miserable... all for the sake of preserving the group's harmony. This concept is less prominent in the west, so this, paired with the changed dialogue lines, may have resulted in Jamil's story not quite landing with western audiences.

[winnisblur]

“Cracks In Our Hearts.”

pairing ❤︎‬: gender neutral reader x sunghoon. w.c ‪‪❤︎‬: 4.5 - 5k (it’s word vomit at its finest) synopsis ‪‪❤︎‬: you’re a player in squid game, and thanks to a certain square guard, you’ve managed to survive (and get fucked).

this fic includes ‪‪❤︎‬: smut so mdni, death(s?), blood, sunghoon is a guard and is hot with a mask and pistol, he’s also cold(i think that’s the word), reader just trying to survive, ends up dying tho lol, bathroom sex, choking, pain and gun kink, degradation, sunghoon is actually a jerk beneath the mask, so is reader, unprotected sex, readers skin colour nor private parts are mentioned and etc.

warnings ‪‪❤︎‬: english isn’t my first language, not really proofread so srry about that, and i’m nervous af cus this is my first time writing T-T, this is based off of s1 so spoilers ahead (for those who haven’t watched both seasons”.

…..I shouldn't have survived the first game.

The thought clings to me like a stain as I sit cross-legged on the cold gray floor of the dormitory. Around me, everyone's faces wear that same haunted look-eyes sunken, shoulders hunched-but it does nothing to erase this truth: I'm still here, and a hundred others aren't.

My hands shake as I clutch the bottle of water they gave us, the only comfort in this nightmare. “Red Light, Green Light” was supposed to be simple. A childish game, nothing more. But then, when the first shot went off, the simplicity was in pieces. I kept my head down, my steps calculated. An act of luck rather than any skill saved me. Halfway, my legs had locked, but the chaos around saved me. I was too scared even to breathe, let alone blink while that giant, doll-like machine scanned the field. The screams. The silence. They cling to me as much as the relief of being alive.

But that leaves me with just one question: how long will I last?

Dalgona Game

As the guards herd us into the grounds, that feeling of luck is not there.

The sun knocks heavily upon the earthy ground, and a whispering wave curls through the players. In front of us stood a table piled high with tins, each containing the next nightmare: “Dalgona candy.” The guard with the square mask appears to be in charge; he steps forward. His voice rumbles from behind his mask. "You will each choose a tin. Inside is a shape. Your task is to extract the shape from the candy without breaking it. You will have ten minutes."

That's it? A shape?

But then I look at the examples on the display-circle, triangle, star…and an umbrella. My stomach does a flip. Not just precision, but luck too. A wrongly picked tin means my death. The queue moved fast; shaking hands reached for tins, people picking as if their lives depended on it. Because they do.

When it's my turn, I force myself to breathe and reach for the one closest to me. The metal feels cool and heavy in my hands. I don't even open it right away, afraid to see what fate I've chosen. Finally, I lift the lid.

The umbrella stares back at me.

"Great," I mutter under my breath. I look around, and there are a few groaning in despair as they unveil their shapes. Most got stars or circles—luckies. The timer starts, and the courtyard almost becomes a battlefield of concentration. People start licking their candies, tapping needles at them, and quite a few try to bite them. I take the given needle and gently press it against the candy. The sound of cracking candy nearby makes my heart run. I start shaking and tracing the thin, delicate lines of the umbrella. "Steady," I say to myself. Halfway through, it happened.

Snap.

The handle of the umbrella broke off clean. My blood ran cold.

It was over.

Instantly, my head jerks up to find the nearest guard. They are already converging on other players who busted their candies. I heard shots ring out and immediately froze. That is when I see him.

One of the square-guards, taller than the others, stops a few feet away. I cannot see his face, yet there is something different in the way he looks at me. His head tilts slightly, studying me, and for that one fleeting instant, the noise falls away. Then he takes another step closer.

"No," I whisper. Shivering, my heartbeat surges as I hold the shattered candy tightly against my body, to hide it from view. But instead of brandishing his weapon, he leans in and whispers, "Pretend you're still working." I stare up at him, appalled. "Do it," he says sharply in a low voice, and I automatically comply. I push the broken pieces together, my hands shaking so severely it's a wonder they don't break into a hundred more pieces. The guard-he-stands close enough that I can sense his presence. He occasionally looks around, subtly blocking the other guards' view of me. “Why?" I dare to whisper. He says nothing.

Minutes tick by-although by some miracle, no one notices my snapped candy. When the buzzer goes off, I hold my breath for the worst to happen. Instead, the square-guard advances, feigning that he's inspecting the other players. Somehow, I get away.

The dormitory is noisier tonight. Some are cheering, others crying, but I do not think of anything besides him. Why did he save me? Was this some sort of mistake? A test? My head runs with the different connotations, but no sensible fact makes sense. Guards are not supposed to show mercy.

When the lights dim for night, I am awake. I play that moment in my head over and over-the quiet authority in his voice, the way he lingered just long enough to save me. There's just no getting answers, yet I couldn't help my mind from running over and over with thoughts of him.

Sunghoon’s POV

This was reckless.

I lean against the wall of the guard quarters, helmet in my hands, and let my breath out slowly. My heart hasn't stopped racing since I saw them-their trembling hands, the way they froze when their candy broke. I should've ignored it. I should've done my job. But something about the way their eyes widened, filled with fear and determination, stopped me. I don't know why I helped them. It wasn't out of pity. It wasn't out of guilt.

It was them.

I have seen hundreds of players, most of them desperate enough or selfish enough to catch nothing but their own survival. But they're different. I shouldn't be feeling this way. Guards aren't supposed to feel anything. Yet every time I think about their face, my resolve cracks just that little bit more.

If anyone finds out, I'm as good as dead.

But somehow, I just can't seem to care. Tomorrow's another game, another chance to see them. I just hope I can keep my distance.

For both our sakes.

The Next Day

I wake up to this gnawing feeling in my chest. It isn't the ache in my limbs or the exhaustion of staying up all night, reliving the events of the Dalgona game in my head; it's the dread of what comes next.

Another game, another chance to die.

They walk us to the next arena as effectively, coldly, with all the same efficiency of people used to doing a day's labor. My head was down, letting myself just become part of a whole, not standing out too much. The cold-faced, geometric-mask-covered guard statues line the wall opposite. My eyes fly toward each square mask.

Grievously stupid. Insane even-but what did it matter? Had he watched me just then? Was he going to try to save me?

A small part of me wants him to, but the larger part is reminding me of one crucial thing: here, I am on my own. Completely and utterly. Not even him.

Sunghoon’s POV

There they are.

Perched atop the arena above, my eyes find them in a heartbeat. They scan the guards again, their shoulders tense, eyes keen despite the exhaustion clinging to every player out there. I shouldn't watch them. Shouldn't give a damn.

Yet I can't peel my eyes away, though. Still alive, that's what matters.

My grip tightens on the rifle in my hands as the Robotic Female’s voice booms across the arena, announcing the rules for today’s game. I already know what’s coming. Another trial, another bloody mess.

And I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure they survive. Even if it means breaking every rule I’ve sworn to follow.

The Tug-of-War Twist

We are brought to a very large outdoors arena, with several platforms towering up to the sky. Ropes traverse atop thick, and beneath these? A fall so long I could hardly see the bottom.

Tug-of-war.

The explanation is simple: teams of ten; whoever wins lives. Losers. well, the fall does the talking. I'm pushed towards a group, and panic bursts in my chest as I realize the dynamics are uneven. None of them appear to be very strong. A few even shake so hard that I don't think they can hold the rope.

This is bad.

The guards line the edges, rifles in place to take out anyone showing even a millisecond of hesitation. My eyes flicker to them out of instinct, and there he is-square guard. His posture is stiff, but his helmet angles toward me as I step on the platform. Is he looking at me?

The thought's cut off by a buzz. And with that, the first match begins. I am horrified as the opposing team pulls with ruthless precision. Losing is being dragged, inch by inch, toward the edge. Their screams echo when the rope jerks once more, sending them plunging into the void.

This isn't just about strength. It's strategy.

When it's our turn, I reach for the rope, my palms already slick with sweat. My team looks hopeless, all whispering prayers and clutching at whatever scraps of courage they can muster. The opposing team, however, is all muscle.

"Pull!" someone yells as the buzzer sounds, and I dig my heels into the platform. The rope's abraded heat against my palms sears the skin as we're yanked forward. Arms scream, legs wobble-it feels like we are seconds away from catastrophe. "Lean back! Use your weight!" someone yells, but it's futile. We're losing so much ground. That's when I saw him.

The square-guard stood near the edge, his head cocked as he watched me. For what feels like an eternity he doesn't move, before finally he moves a step closer and leans on his rifle at his shoulder. I'm stuck until his hand moves after all, and it does really slowly.

It was the signal.

I watch transfixed as his gloved hand takes direction toward the other guys on the opposition side of this platform, then he tap-dances his foot quickly yet small - almost in a blur-close around anchor point holding their ropes steady. My eyes widen.

Is he telling me their side is rigged?

I have no time to think. I lean back with all my strength and yell to my team, "Pull to the left! They're off balance!" The others hesitate but follow my lead, shifting our weight. The opposing team stumbles, losing their footing, and in the chaos, I catch something flicker in the corner of my vision-a quick, subtle motion from his side.

The anchor point snaps.

The opposing team barely has time to act before they're pulled forward, screaming as they tumble into the abyss. We collapse onto the platform, gasping for air. Relief washes through me, tainted with disbelief.

I should be dead.

I glance toward him again but he's already gone, sucked back into the sea of guards. Tonight, I cannot get him out of my mind. The square-guard. The one who has saved me over and over again. No one else is paying any attention to anything but celebration or mourning as I slip into the shadows near the edge of the dormitory. The guards patrol the perimeter, their masks gleaming under the dim lights. And then I see him.

He leans against the wall, a little apart from the others. As I approach him, my heart pounds, and every step sounds louder than it should. "What are you doing?" I whisper. His head snaps toward me, and for a second, I think I have made a mistake. But then he steps forward, his voice low and sharp. "You shouldn't be here."

"Neither should you," I shoot back, emboldened by adrenaline. "You've been helping me. Why?” He hesitates, glancing around before tugging me further into the darkness. "You shouldn't ask questions you don't want answers to," he says. "I think I deserve an answer," I say, crossing my arms over my chest despite the tremble in my hands. "You've saved my life twice. Don't act like that's normal." For a moment, he says nothing. Then, with a sigh, he lifts his mask just enough for me to see his face.

He's younger than I expected. Sharp jawline, intense eyes that seem to pierce right through me. "You stood out," he admits, his voice softer now. "Most people here…they're just trying to survive. But you-" He catches himself, as if he's said too much. "But what?" I press.

“You fight," he says so simply. "Even when you're scared. Even when you shouldn't." The words dangle in the air, between us like a challenge. Heavy, electric. "I don't know why I do these things," he continues more irritably. "But if you wanna stay alive, don't trust me. Don't trust no one." His words shouldn't assure me, and yet suddenly, for the first time since I have been here, I do feel one thing: hope.

"Thanks," I say under my breath. He doesn't answer, but pulls his mask back down and steps away, leaving me in the shadows.

I trudge up the stairs, the fluorescent lights above me flickering with every labored step my legs take. It was mountainous, but I had survived another game, another step closer to whatever hellish end this place had in store. The other players say nothing. Their faces are hollow, their skin pale. No one dares speak anymore. Silence is safer.

I stop on the last step as a guard blocks my path. Square mask. My heart catches. "What's this?" I say, sharper than I mean to. Exhaustion has sucked any tolerance from me. "You're flagged," he says bluntly. "There's suspicion you might be carrying something you shouldn't be. You'll have to be searched." My blood turns cold. Suspicion? Prohibited? “That's crazy," I say, my panic rising into my chest. "I don't have anything-"

"Follow me." There's no request about it. The other players glance my way, their eyes wide and wary, but they don't get involved. They're too frightened to risk drawing attention to themselves. I hesitate, my mind racing. If this is a setup, if they think I've broken a rule, this could be it. This could be my end.

But I have no choice. Taking a deep breath, I follow the guard down a dimly lit corridor and into a bathroom. The sound of the door locking behind me makes me shiver. “Turn around," the guard instructs in a cold, emotionless voice. I do so, my heart racing. "Look," I begin, "I don't know what you think I've done, but-"

"Stop talking.” It cuts through my protest, and there's something about it-something familiar. I turn to face them, my brow furrowing. “What is this?" I ask. "Who are you?" For a moment, they don't respond. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, the guard lifts their mask. My breath catches.

It's him.

The square-guard who's been helping me. The one I thought was gone, fired, or worse-killed for breaking the rules. "You-" I stutter, my voice barely above a whisper. "I had to see you," he says, his voice soft, yet urgent. "I couldn't stay away any longer." I blink, trying to process the rush of emotions-relief, confusion, anger. "I thought you were-what happened to you? Why did you stop-" "I had to lay low," he interrupts. "They were watching me. But I'm still here. I don't know what to say. My mind is racing, torn between gratitude and frustration. “Why did you bring me here?" I ask finally.

His eyes lock with mine, intense and unyielding. “Because I couldn't take it anymore," he says, his voice low, stepping closer. "Watching you risk your life, knowing I couldn't do anything to stop it-it's been driving me insane." I swallow hard, my heart racing as he closes the gap between us. "You shouldn't be doing this," I whisper. "If they find out—"

"I don't care," he says with finality. "I've already broken the rules for you. What's one more?" And before I can say another word, his hands frame my face, and he kisses me. It's not soft or tentative-it's desperate, raw, like he's pouring every ounce of fear and longing into the moment. I'm stuck in a freeze-frame moment for a second, mind whipping. Then I yield and cling to his uniform while kissing him back with every ounce of fierce intensity of my own. The world falls away, and I feel something other than fear for the first time since this nightmare kicked off.

But not for long.

He pulls away, forehead resting against mine, hard breaths mingling between our lips. "I can't protect you anymore," he says, his voice cracking. "Not with what's coming." I search his face, my chest tightening at the pain in his eyes. "You've already done more than enough," I whisper. He shakes his head. "It's not enough. It'll never be enough."

A heavy silence falls between us, and I know this is goodbye. Expect it wasn’t actually, his lips captured mine again, his lips….almost saying they wanted me, needed me. That is until he broke the kiss again, and pinned my back against the cold, colorful tiled wall of the bathroom. His body language seemed like he has longed for the dramatic (sort of) crash of holding me against the wall, kissing me like he was dreaming about this every single minute of the day.

He winced as my nails raked across his back through his pink suit, he probably felt like his outfit was being torn by my nails, which could get us both in trouble if that was actually to happen. He winced again as he took ahold of my wrists and slammed them to the wall in retaliation, wedging his knee between my thighs, which made a gasp leave my lips at the slightest bit of friction I was getting from his thigh.

“Didn’t know you were this desperate for me,” he teased after breaking the heated kiss for the nth time, leaving him and me breathless, panting with saliva connecting us. His low chuckle echoed through the empty, now suffocating bathroom, and making his vampire teeth pop out. “it’s laughable, really. Does the games make you horny?” he teased yet again, raising his thick eyebrows in a way that seemed mockingly, his thigh moving back and forth slightly, earning a whine from my lips as he chuckled like he was enjoying me being teased. “Does your life being on the line make you horny? You sadist bit-“ Pain blistered across Sunghoon’s cheek, he couldn’t help but grin as it sent shockwaves of sensation tearing across his body. Adrenaline hummed through his veins as he hungrily kissed me again, choking me with his gloved hands. I thrashed, ripping at the back of his head by a fistful of hair and biting down hard on his lower lip. Both of our lips were bleeding now, but the metallic tang only made him deepen the kiss even more, greedily trying to taste much of it as possible, masochist much?

“Fucking slut,” He hissed, licking blood and spit from my chin. “You’re a cunt and a dick, a motherfucking cunt and dick sucker.” I hissed back, he chuckled. He fucking chuckled this was all a fucking a circus show for him. “Damn right,” he teased. “But only good girls or boys get their cunts and dicks sucked by me, which isn’t you unfortunately.” he grinned, his hips rolling against my privates, yet again another chuckle slipped from his lips like he enjoyed watching me being frustrated sexually, and I could confirm it just by looking at his eyes that had a glint, a glint of giddiness everytime pain was inflicted upon me.

I hooked my foot behind his knee, forcibly collapsing it. First, he tries making me shit in my pants from coming out of nowhere and telling me that I had to be pat down, makeouts with me, choked me and almost knocked out all of the air in me, calls me names and now his hand is reaching up to my knee to bring me down with him…great. He smirked as he yanked me down onto him, flipping me onto my back and pinning me to the cold floor now instead. He gave just one slow, merciless grind of his hips against mine, and I’m only just realising but…he’s fucking big.

“Who said that…I want you to fucking suck me off or eat me out?” I bit out, nursing my injured lip to keep from moaning as he set out a torturously slow pace through our clothes. “It seems pretty eager to me,” Sunghoon teased, gloved fingertips dipping beneath the waistband of my pants. “I bet I could make you cum in- shit-!” His head smacked harder against the tiles than it should have as I tossed him onto his back, thighs clenched tightly around his hips. The throbbing pain only added to the throbbing pleasure as I rolled my hips. “Just who do you think fucking I am? Just- fuck- just because I’m trying to survive and win doesn’t mean I’m gonna be your fucking bitch.” Sunghoon grinned up at me, I was already flushed bright red and riding his hips with rough, desperate japs of my hips. “Big talk for someone who’s riding me like their life depends on it, ironically.” he snickers. “I can feel you, asshole. You’re in the same situation as I am!” Sunghoon smirked, and in one quick move, he snatched my wrist and rocketed back to his feet, spinning me back around and leaving me face-first against the wall. “You might not be able to kill people like me, and neither I could survive the games you’re playing but god…you’re right, I do want you.” I shuddered at his deep voice. I shifted, legs spreading to support myself better and Sunghoon slotted his knee right between them once more, hands settling on my waist as I got my one free hand between me and the wall, trying to push and give myself some space. I only succeeded in pushing our bodies closer than before, his cock nestled firmly against my ass.

“Let me have you,” Sunghoon purred, squeezing my waist and slowly moving up my sides the way that turned me into putty. I moaned, shuddering again. “Fuck you! If you want me so badly, then come and take it, take me!” well, that is an invitation that Sunghoon hasn’t heard before, even before doing this whole crazy guard thing at a unknown island. He growled, jerking my pants down in a hurry, like he actually couldn’t believe that his dreams are about to come true. I threw my elbow back, but Sunghoon just pinned my wrist back to the wall. “Stop being a fucking brat,” he hissed. I struggled and choking back a moan, feeling the material of his pink suit against my bare ass. “Get your shitty ass outfit outta the way,” I demanded. “Shit feels like sandpaper!” I hissed. “So sensitive and demanding,” he cooed, even as he let me have both hands back to brace myself against the wall. Sunghoon didn’t dare to move back and give me an opening to escape, only reaching up to unzip his suit and free himself, mostly his cock that was strained against the fabric and begging for friction as it twitched in his underwear. I adjusted, leaning away long enough for Sunghoon to free himself. “If you were me, you’d complain too!” I hissed. “Yeah, yeah, stop running your big mouth. You want it or not?” he rolled his eyes, his suit and underwear failing to his ankles as he leaned forward, completely trapping me between him and the cold wall, his bare cock resting just on my ass, just right where I needed him, so far yet so close. “I told you you fucking idiot, just take it-“ Sunghoon couldn’t help but thrust all of his cock in one go. Making me moan out loud at the blissful pain from the thrust.

For Sunghoon, you were a wet dream come true to life; Sunghoon’s cock glided through you without resistance, soft and slick, tightening only as he rutted against a known sweet spot along your walls. I moaned, arching my back, wrapping tightly around him. He groaned in response, leaning over me, his hands covering mine, fingers almost interlocked. The sweat on my neck left a layer of salt on Sunghoon’s tongue, but beneath it was nothing but you. Sunghoon muffled his own moans against my throat, sucking and biting his way down to my shoulders. I turned my head, covering my mouth with the inside of my elbow as he fucked me against the wall. Sunghoon hiked me up onto my tiptoes, leaning back to appreciate the view, your skin glistened with sweat under the fluorescent lights. “…Please, I’m close da- fuck-!” your words and moans rang loud in his ears, in the bathroom, the silence sharpening your cries. They acted as pokers to the hot coals of fire in the pit of Sunghoon’s stomach, making him embarrassed over how loud you were, neither was the wet and loud sound of skin smacking was making it any better. If any of his fellow guards were outside or just a tad bit close to the bathroom, he’s fucked and killed to death alongside with you.

That is when Sunghoon got an idea, an idea that satisfies his other personality, the one that was created whilst being here for a very long time that he has lost sense of time, and that is fear. He lives off of the idea of goosebumps appearing on the player’s skins just before he kills them, and in this case, while he’s fucking them and practically making them cock-drunk from his stroke game. Sunghoon leaned down and grabbed his long forgotten, abandoned pistol on the floor, aiming the barrel at your forehead, and with that his thrusts became harder, sloppier but you…you were terrified. Terrified on why there’s a gun to your head suddenly, is he going to kill you after using you like a worthless, lifeless sexdoll? Is that what’s going to happen? You couldn’t lie to yourself because the thought kinda turned you on and made you wetter even more, because you wouldn’t mind being his sexdoll if his cock was constantly inside you and making you go brainless. “Stop moaning like a whore unless you want me to pull the trigger right now, and kill you before they find us.” he threatened lowly in my ear, licking and bitting as he tried to muffle his own sounds. By now, you knew you looked pathetic with your eyes red, red and snotty nose as tears stained and wet your flushed cheeks as you began to bite onto your ragged and bloody jacket, trying to keep quiet because as much as it turned you on at the thought of dying on his dick, but you valued your life at the moment because, living longer equals bouncing on his dick for even more before you die.

Sunghoon barely managed to pull out on time, painting his pleasure all over your ass. He grinned at the realisation that you were still haven’t even came yet, still hanging on the edge as he lowered his pistol and patted his gloved hand on your ass, watching it jiggle with the motion of his hand, giggling to himself as he brought his head up and was met with the sight of you, eyebrows furrowed and eyes narrowed at him. “Get your own self off, brat.” he teased, putting on his suit back and mask, giving you one last cocky glance before he makes sure he looks presentable in the mirror and walks out on you, leaving you frustrated at him, at not being pleasured enough, at the games, and yourself because behind his handsome looks, he’s actually just like the other guards, ruthless and cold.

The Final Game

The days blur all together.

The games are getting more brutal, and the players, myself included, are growing desperate. Every moment feels like a race against time, against fate. The tension among the remaining participants is palpable. We’ve all become numbers now, not people—just pawns in a game that doesn’t care about our lives. The final game is announced, and my heart skips a beat.

It's the one everybody's afraid of: the glass bridge.

We line up in a row, one behind the other, in front of the two routes laid out before us, each comprising several glass panels, some strong and some weak. We had to walk over them and choose appropriate ones to cross or plunge to death. A shiver runs down my spine as the first few players go up front, and what happened was inevitable. One after another, they fall. Screams pierce the cold air, but clear had been the instruction from the guard that no one was to move unless his turn came upon him. Just as I'm about to take my first step, I suddenly feel. something.

It's him.

The square-guard above watches on, his eyes tracking my every movement, and for a split second, our gazes meet. The connection is brief, but it's enough. I don't know what to make of it, but something in the way he watches me is different. There's something in his eyes-something almost…regretful.

It's my turn.

I step onto the bridge, my legs trembling as creaks come from within the glass as my body weight presses down upon it. The first few steps are just fine. My luck has to turn sometime. The crack starts to give under me and I freeze. I looked back, and that is when I see it-something shifting in Sunghoon's posture. Moving.

Too late.

Balance is lost.

I heard him scream my name-my real name, not a number-and did not care. I fell. This was a never-ending fall. The world spun and the only thing I was aware of was air rushing in as I dropped with the pretty firm knowledge I'd not live to cry out.

And then, there was nothing.

Sunghoon's POV

The world is silent.

I stand in stock-stillness, my heartbeat the only sound of the drumbeat as their body disappears into the void below, and with every shattered piece of me. I should have. I should have—

My fist slams against the metal wall. Its echo rings out into that space. Why didn't I act sooner? Why couldn't I pull them back? Why couldn't I protect?

I close my eyes, the guilt suffocating me. This wasn't supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to feel this way. But here I am, crushed under the weight of it, the weight of my failure. I should never have gotten involved. I should never have helped them.

But I couldn't stop myself.

And now…

I failed.

I failed them.

The game goes on, but Sunghoon's mind is a maelstrom.

The rest of the players are like shadows, their faces hollow with fear and exhaustion. To Sunghoon, however, time has stopped. He stares at the rest of the players, his eyes searching among them for any sign of the one he couldn't protect. Every step weighs too much to be taken. Every decision he makes feels like a mistake. And when the final buzzer goes off, he barely hears it.

It's the end of the day now, and it doesn't matter anymore.

The only thing filling Sunghoon's head is the weight of his own guilt. The others are rejoicing, but his mind is consumed by you-your face, your eyes, and the time you spent together. He had never gotten the chance to say goodbye.

And he never will.

[claramelooo]

CRIMSON REVERIE

Guys, appreciate Clarita here cuz I'm having to read abt quantum physics again just to write for you ahahah

Love language: acts of disruption hehehe

Enjoy it <3

Pairing: Dark!Witch Wanda x Fem Reader

MINORS DO NOT MUST INTERACT

Summary: The witch inside Wanda can't help but feel the spark in you.

Read here: Prologue | ENVY | MULTIVERSAL ANCHOR | FUEL

Spark

Working with Wanda Maximoff was an emotionally crafted torment. From the moment you stepped through the office doors until the instant you left, exhausted, she made it her mission to remind you that she was in control.

"You're late," she'd say, even when you arrived five minutes early. "Is this the level of commitment you think is acceptable?"

Or: "Is this the best you can do?" as she reviewed your painstakingly polished work with disdain.

Every word, every look heavy with contempt, felt like a needle piercing your skin. You wanted to scream, to throw the stack of reports in her face, and leave for good. But you couldn’t. Your future career depended on this job, so you swallowed your pride, suppressed the anger, and allowed her to push you to the limit.

But there was something else. Something that irritated you even more than her brutal demeanor. The look. That look.

Wanda had a habit of watching you with an intensity that felt almost predatory, her eyes trailing every inch of your body as if she were deciphering a riddle only you held the answer to. Sometimes, it was so overwhelming that heat rose to your face, but at the same time, there was something... addictive.

You hated how your body responded to that gaze. You hated how your heart raced when she drew near, how the idea of defying her both thrilled and terrified you. It infuriated you that her mere presence could elicit such a visceral reaction.

That day, everything seemed to reach a breaking point.

"I need these reports revised in an hour," Wanda said, not even looking at you as she placed a thick stack of papers in front of you. "And by revised, I mean flawless. If I find a single mistake, we’ll have a very serious conversation."

You stared at the pile, then at her. "An hour? Do you have any idea how much work that takes?"

She raised her gaze, her face a mask of icy authority. "Do you have any objections?"

You opened your mouth to retort but decided it wasn’t worth it. You pulled the papers closer and began to work.

The clock seemed to work against you, the pressure suffocating. When you handed the reports in, your head throbbed, and your fingers ached from typing.

Wanda reviewed everything in silence, her eyes scanning each line. Then, with a dramatic sigh, she looked at you.

"This," she said, spinning the report with her fingers and pointing to a specific phrase, "is unacceptable."

You leaned in to see what she was pointing at. There it was: a single word in the middle of a sentence—comfortable.

"Comfortable?" Wanda repeated, as if the word itself were a personal insult. "You're describing a scenario of critical analysis and use comfortable to characterize the impact of a strategic decision?"

You blinked, confused and already exhausted. "Well, it was meant to demonstrate—"

"It doesn’t matter what it was meant to demonstrate," Wanda cut in, her voice cold as ice. "What matters is that your choice was... inadequate."

She slid the report back to you, not even bothering to disguise her impatience. "Redo it. And this time, choose words that actually make sense."

You grabbed the papers, your fingers gripping the edges so tightly you nearly tore them. It was the third time redoing the same work, each time over a detail only she seemed to find relevant.

Wanda walked back to her desk, leaving you alone with your wounded pride and mounting frustration. You worked quickly but carefully, then handed the reports back. She read them in silence, her eyes moving over each line until another exasperated sigh escaped her lips.

"Again," she said, spinning the papers back in your direction. "Here, you used significant in a way that sounds redundant. Redo it."

That was it. You’d had enough.

"Maybe you should just do it yourself, professor," you snapped, dripping with sarcasm.

The silence that followed was deafening. Wanda looked up, her eyes glinting with something between fury and fascination.

"Repeat that," she commanded, every syllable laced with crushing authority.

Your heart raced, but you forced yourself to keep your chin up. " I think you heard exacly what I said." Your pride seemed to override your sense of self-preservation. "Surely, your hearing is still intact."

Wanda stood slowly, walking toward you with deliberate steps, every movement radiating power. When she stopped in front of you, she leaned down just enough for your eyes to meet.

The office was silent, the tension so thick you could almost touch it. Wanda’s gaze bore into yours, like knives cutting through the walls you tried to put up. Then, she smiled.

It wasn’t a warm smile. Nor one of pleasure. It was calculated, a smile that said she knew exactly how much power she held over you—and how easily she could unravel you with a single word.

"If I were you," she said, her voice low and dangerously controlled, "I would choose my next words very carefully, dekta."

That word echoed in your mind like distant thunder. Dekta. She said it so casually, as if it were something small, trivial. But you knew it wasn’t.

It was Russian; you knew that much. Since meeting Wanda, the language had piqued your curiosity, but not enough to delve deeper. Now, however, you felt the weight of that small word each time she uttered it, the way it made your heart tremble. It wasn’t just a nickname—it was possessive, electric, and it made your skin tingle in ways you hated to admit.

And beneath the glacial control Wanda displayed, something wild roared inside her. Each word that escaped her lips felt like a spark, igniting a fire she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—extinguish.

It was fascinating—and exasperating—how young you were. So young. Almost pure, but with a spark of fire she wanted to extinguish and reignite at the same time. The witch inside her whispered constantly, like a hypnotic song, insisting that you were a rare prize, something that needed to be claimed, molded, possessed.

Your heart was beating so fast you thought you might faint. But at the same time, there was something incredibly thrilling about that exchange, something you didn’t want to admit even to yourself.

That was when you realized: you didn’t know if you hated Wanda Maximoff or if you wanted to kiss her right there.

And that thought terrified you.

The silence in the office was palpable—only broken by the rhythmic tapping of Wanda’s nails against the wooden desk. You sat across from her, hands resting on your lap, but your eyes boldly challenged hers, glowing with an intensity that contradicted the shy image you projected.

“You’re so smart,” Wanda began, her voice low and dangerous. “And you really think it’s acceptable to turn in work... of this quality?” She slid the paper across the desk.

You ignored the flicker of warmth in your chest at her direct compliment.

You hesitated for a second, trying to gauge the intensity of the situation before responding. “I thought the content was what mattered. But it seems the presentation is what impresses you, professor.”

Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you could almost swear you saw a flicker of surprise painted red in her gaze. It didn’t last long. The surprise quickly gave way to something darker, a careful calculation that seemed to weigh each of your words as if they were pieces in a game she had already won.

“Are you saying my evaluation is superficial?” she asked, her voice controlled but charged with a force that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

“That’s not exactly what I meant,” you replied, leaning slightly forward. “I just think your expectations are... unrealistic.”

The silence that followed was unbearable. Then Wanda laughed. It wasn’t a genuine laugh but a short, cold sound that seemed to mock your attempt to stand up to her.

“Unrealistic expectations?” she repeated, rising to her feet. Each step she took toward you felt calculated, as if she were marking her territory. When she stopped behind you, the heat of her presence was almost tangible. “Do you know what I think?”

You swallowed hard but maintained your composure. “No, but I imagine you’re going to tell me.”

She leaned closer, her voice just near your ear. “I think you’re petulant. A stubborn little girl with a sharp tongue who likes to test limits to see how far she can go before someone tames her and puts her exactly where she belongs.”

“And where would that be?” your whisper was hoarse, almost painful from the tension you felt between your thighs.

Wanda laughed again, a softer sound this time, almost indulgent. Leaning closer until her lips were nearly touching your ear, she replied, “Right beneath me, looking up at me with those doe eyes, begging for my mercy.”

Your heart raced. You could feel each beat like a drum in your ears, but you managed a short laugh, more to mask your nervousness. “If that’s what you think, maybe you need to watch me more closely, professor.”

That’s when something shifted. For a brief instant, you saw something in Wanda’s eyes. It wasn’t just anger or disdain but an indecipherable glimmer, almost dangerous. Fascination? Interest? It was impossible to say, but it stirred something in you that left you unsettled.

“Closely?” She repeated, as if tasting the word. Returning to her chair, she crossed her legs with controlled elegance and rested her chin on her hand. “Interesting. Perhaps I should. After all, you seem to have a lot to learn about respect and discipline.”

The tension between you was stifling. Every word seemed laden with hidden layers, messages no one dared to decipher. “And you seem to enjoy talking about it,” you replied, trying to regain some control. But there was a tremor in your voice, a small hesitation Wanda surely didn’t miss.

The smile she gave you was devastating. There was nothing friendly about it—only a dark pleasure in seeing you falter. “Be careful with your words, darling. You might not like what happens if you keep provoking me.”

You knew she was in control. But what intrigued you the most was how she seemed to be fighting something within herself. You couldn’t ignore the subtle glow starting to form in her hands, tiny red sparks dancing in sync with her uneven breathing. Wanda quickly clenched her fists, as if trying to extinguish it, but the glimpse was enough to awaken something in you.

What was that? Power? Anger? Or something deeper, something visceral she didn’t want to reveal? Your curiosity was piqued, a spark igniting somewhere inside you. Perhaps it was dangerous, but for the first time, you wanted to understand what lay behind the absolute control Wanda so insisted on displaying.

Her fingers tightened into fists at her sides, and a crimson glow began to appear in her eyes. She realized too late that red sparks were dancing at her fingertips, small flickers of long-dormant power now awakened by you.

“You...” Her voice was a low growl, laden with something more primal than words could express. “You really don’t know what you’re doing, do you?”

Heat radiated from her body, and Wanda had to fight the overwhelming urge to let her powers fully manifest. She wanted—God, how she wanted—to wrap those hands around your neck, not to hurt, but to feel control, to see you bend under her.

But she knew she couldn’t. Not here.

Wanda took a step back, trying to regain control. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, but all she saw was your expression: defiant yet vulnerable. So maddeningly perfect.

“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” she finally broke the silence, her voice low and loaded. “You think your sharp words and rebellious attitude will get you anywhere?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The intensity of her gaze left you frozen in place, and the small part of you that dared to confront her was now silent.

“You irritate me,” Wanda continued, her voice a dangerous mix of frustration and something darker, something she herself didn’t want to admit. “And at the same time...”

She stopped, swallowing the words before they escaped. No. She wasn’t going to give you that satisfaction.

But what she couldn’t hide, what was as clear as the red glow still flickering in her eyes, was that there was something about you that called to her, that provoked her in a way no one ever had before.

You were a spark. A wildfire. A slow, inevitable destruction.

And Wanda knew, deep down, that she couldn’t extinguish you.

She stared at you for another moment, her crimson eyes still glowing. “Leave,” she ordered, her voice firm but not as steady as before. “Now!”

You obeyed, but each step toward the door felt like it led you deeper into a maze you knew you couldn’t escape. As you left, the sound of Wanda’s controlled breathing still echoed in your mind.

Inside the office, alone, Wanda finally allowed herself to relax. But as she looked at her hands, still trembling with residual energy, she knew the truth: there was something about you she couldn’t ignore. Something that pulled her to a place she wasn’t sure she wanted to explore.

“She’ll be my ruin,” Wanda murmured, the red glow finally fading. “And God help me, because I want it more than anything.”

[...]

One more night, when you would go to sleep with your thoughts fixed on one another. The night was an escape for both of you, though neither of you truly understood why. When your eyes closed, the world around you dissolved, and there you were.

The setting was simple: a kitchen bathed in the warm light of sunset streaming through open windows. The sound of children’s laughter echoed in the background, and the air was filled with the aroma of something delicious baking in the oven. You sat on the couch in the living room, a serene smile on your lips as you cradled a small, green-eyed baby.

Seline.

You had never seen her before in real life, but in the dream, she was yours, and it made sense in an inexplicable way. She was warm against your chest, nursing with a strong, satisfied rhythm. Every movement she made was familiar, natural, as if it were a moment you had always known.

In the corner of the room, Wanda stood. Her figure was a blend of strength and gentleness as she used her powers to stir a pot on the stove. The red glow danced in her hands, and she seemed calm, almost happy. From time to time, she glanced away from her task to look at you.

Wanda watched you from afar, her eyes capturing the serenity on your face as you held the little one. The scene was so intimate, so natural, that it made something inside her tighten. She didn’t understand how, but she knew she had lived this moment before.

It was always the same scene, the same dream, yet each night it felt more real, more alive.

“Are you comfortable, my love?” Wanda asked with a tenderness that made both your hearts ache.

Your smile was her answer, but you confirmed it with a simple, “Yes.” It wasn’t just a response; it was an absolute truth, and Wanda felt it deep in her chest.

As she knelt by your side, her touch was both reverent and familiar. Her fingers, still warm from her magic, skillfully worked to ease any tension you might have felt. It was an act of care that transcended the moment—it was a promise.

“You make it look so easy,” Wanda murmured, her eyes fixed on Seline, who nestled against you with complete trust.

“Because with you here, everything is.” Your answer was simple but laden with something Wanda couldn’t quite name.

These moments always ended the same way: Wanda leaned in to place a kiss on your forehead, her fingers brushing your skin with the lingering warmth of her magic. Yet there was something in her gaze, something deep and unwavering, as if she were looking at a home she had both lost and found at the same time.

Wanda woke with a jolt.

Reality hit her like a cold bucket of water. The room she was in wasn’t the house from the dream. It was the bedroom of this universe, shared with Vision, but as empty as a cavern.

She closed her eyes, pressing her fingers to her temples. What was that? Why did she keep reliving this scene with you, someone she could barely tolerate in real life?

It was impossible. Wasn’t it?

But the more nights passed, the more Wanda was convinced there was something between you that defied the laws of time and space. Something that transcended multiverses, as if you were two pieces of a cosmic puzzle, always destined to meet, yet doomed to lose one another.

And somewhere within her, a certainty grew: these dreams weren’t mere figments of her imagination. They were fragments of something greater, something her soul recognized even if her mind denied it.

But the truth was more complicated. Wanda knew she didn’t hate you.

At the same time, you woke up.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your heart pounding. There was Seline again, a name that seemed to echo within you like a forgotten memory. And Wanda... The gentleness in her eyes, the careful touch, the way she seemed so at ease in that dream world...

You hated yourself for it. Hated that a woman like her could leave you so vulnerable, so desperate for something you didn’t understand.

Back at the office the next day, Wanda was different.

The shell of the unshakable, cruel woman seemed cracked. Her eyes lingered on you for too long, something indefinable passing through her gaze. And her powers, long thought dormant, began to peek through the cracks.

Every time you spoke, every time she grew irritated by your presence, the red glow threatened to surface.

And Wanda didn’t know if it terrified her... or excited her.

The soft light of the setting sun filtered through the window, reflecting off perfectly arranged bookshelves and furniture that exuded authority. You sat across from her, your posture a mix of defiance and nervousness.

Today, something was different.

Wanda didn’t speak much, but her eyes… they were sharp, as if peeling back layers, analyzing every part of you. She had prepared a stack of reports and exercises, each more complex and tedious than the last.

“I want you to review all of this in one hour,” Wanda said, her voice low and cutting.

“All of this?” you replied, raising an eyebrow. “You want me to do alone in an hour what your students do in a week?”

“Yes,” Wanda answered simply, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. “Unless it’s too much for you.”

You gritted your teeth, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing you hesitate. Picking up the first sheet, you began to work, but the questions were deliberately vague, almost impossible to solve.

“This doesn’t make sense,” you muttered, more to yourself than to her.

Wanda looked up, her fingers tapping on the desk. “What was that?”

“This,” you said, holding up the sheet. “The question is poorly written. It doesn’t make sense. Not even the brightest professor could solve it.”

The corner of Wanda’s mouth twitched into a faint smile. “Perhaps the problem isn’t the question but the person answering it.”

Blood rushed to your face. You knew she was provoking you, testing how far she could push you. But you were tired of it too.

“With all due respect, professor,” you began, your tone sour, “if you’re trying to humiliate me, maybe you should try harder. This isn’t difficult; it’s just poorly done.”

Wanda’s eyes narrowed. The room seemed to grow warmer.

“Repeat that,” she said, her voice so calm it was chilling.

You hesitated, but her gaze dared you, as if saying you wouldn’t have the courage.

“I said,” you continued, your voice trembling, “that maybe... maybe you should—”

Before you could finish, something in the room shifted. The air around you seemed to vibrate, as if charged with electricity. The temperature truly rose, and a red glow began to emanate from Wanda’s hands, now resting on the desk.

Her eyes... They glowed in a way that seemed impossible.

Time stretched thin, like a taut wire on the verge of snapping. You stared at Wanda, the scarlet glow dancing around her hands like something alive, pulsing. Sparks floated in the air, illuminating the room with a supernatural crimson light, almost hypnotic.

You told yourself you should be afraid, but fear never came. What replaced it was a deep, unsettling curiosity. Powers? Was this real? It seemed impossible, yet there she was, almost divine in her presence, her eyes burning like stars with an intensity that made you forget to breathe.

Wanda seemed less human in that moment — more like something beyond flesh and bone, beyond anything you could comprehend. And yet, you couldn’t look away. Her beauty, already disarming before, now seemed amplified. It was as if the power radiating from her was an extension of everything that made her irresistible.

“Perhaps I should what?” Wanda asked, her voice dripping with irony and danger.

You froze. The red glow intensified, forming tiny sparks floating in the air. Papers on the desk began to slide on their own, and the bookshelves groaned, as if adjusting to an invisible weight.

“I…” you tried to speak, but your voice faltered.

Wanda rose slowly, every movement deliberate, her eyes locked onto yours. The crimson aura around her was mesmerizing and terrifying all at once.

“Why does she challenge us like this? Doesn’t she know what she’s playing with?” A darker, more instinctual voice echoed in Wanda’s mind. End it now. Show her who’s stronger.

But then, a quieter voice, almost a whisper, countered. What if that’s what she wants? What if she isn’t just challenging us, but trying to reach us?

Wanda’s eyes flickered as she struggled to maintain control, red energy pulsing around her hands. You, so small and yet somehow imposing, stood frozen in place. Your bravery was foolish, but there was something in the way you looked at her — as if you saw beyond the raw power, beyond the unshakable façade.

“Why do you keep testing my limits, detka?” Wanda asked, her voice low but sharp as a blade. “Don’t you see how this could end up hurting you?”

You didn’t know what to say. Fear and adrenaline mixed inside you, but there was something else… something darker, more intimate. You were fascinated by her, by the power she exuded with every fiber of her being.

“I… don’t know,” you finally murmured.

“She doesn’t understand,” the cruel voice insisted. "She doesn’t know what she’s risking."

"She knows exactly what she’s doing," the gentler voice argued. "She’s seeing what no one else sees."

“Don’t know?” Wanda repeated, stepping closer. The red energy around her seemed alive, pulsing with each beat of her heart. “Maybe I should teach you not to meddle with things you don’t understand.”

Suddenly, the crimson glow burst in a flash that illuminated the entire room. The walls vibrated, and you instinctively shrank into your chair, shielding your face with your arms.

When the light dimmed, the office was a mess. Papers were scattered everywhere, books had fallen from the shelves, and Wanda’s desk bore a deep scorch mark.

You looked at her, your heart pounding in your chest. Wanda was still there, but something about her seemed different. More alive. More dangerous.

She was breathing heavily, as if she’d just run a marathon. For a moment, her eyes met yours, and there was something there that left you speechless.

“Get out,” Wanda finally said, her voice low but filled with an authority that brooked no argument. “Now!”

You stared at her figure, and she looked like a goddess — the incandescent red glow surrounding her gave her a unique aura, leaving you captivated.

With clenched fists and inexplicable courage, you answered, “No.”

The word echoed through the office, charged with a boldness you didn’t know you possessed. Wanda stopped in her tracks, her bright red eyes fixed on you. For a brief moment, the world seemed to freeze.

“She’s crazy,” the dark voice commented.

“Or extremely brave,” the other voice countered.

Wanda tilted her head slightly, a faint, almost imperceptible smile forming on her lips. She took a slow, deliberate step forward, the energy around her dimming but not disappearing.

The glow around her intensified, almost blinding, and the air in the room grew dense and suffocating. She looked like a storm about to break, every muscle in her body tense, as if on the verge of destroying everything around her.

“Do you have any idea what you just said?” Wanda asked, her voice low and dangerous, like the rumble of distant thunder.

You swallowed hard, but something inside you refused to yield. “I do.”

Wanda’s gaze narrowed, and the red glow around her flickered, like an unstable flame. She stepped closer, and you had to fight the instinct to back away.

She stopped inches from you, the heat of her magic almost tangible. Her eyes were like portals — intense and deep — and for a moment, you felt completely vulnerable under her gaze.

“She’s fascinating,” the gentle voice whispered in Wanda’s mind.

“She’s dangerous,” the cruel voice replied.

“Then why do you keep staying?” Wanda murmured, her voice laced with both threat and genuine curiosity.

You took a deep breath, your heart pounding, but you held her gaze. “Because deep down, I think you want me to.”

That answer hit Wanda like a wave. The voices in her mind fell silent, and she took a slight step back, the red glow around her diminishing even further. She turned her back to you, her hands trembling slightly.

“She saw beyond us,” Wanda thought, confused. "She saw something even we don’t understand."

At last, Wanda spoke, her voice softer, almost broken. “You have no idea what you’re saying.”

But the smile you gave in response was full of a certainty that disarmed her completely. “I think you don’t either.”

“You’re just an insolent girl,” Wanda said, her voice laced with disdain and something else you couldn’t quite identify. “You have no idea what you’re doing or who you’re dealing with.”

“Maybe not,” you answered, lifting your chin defiantly. “But you don’t seem to know who I am either. Or what I’m capable of enduring.”

The red glow intensified, casting her face in an ominous light. You could feel her anger, palpable like a wave of heat, but there was something else — a sort of fascination that seemed to disturb her as much as it did you.

“You’re playing with fire, little girl,” Wanda said, her voice low, but full of promise.

“Maybe,” you retorted, your own voice steadier than you expected. “But it definitely seems like you are too.”

For a moment, Wanda was silent, simply staring at you. The glow around her began to fade, but her eyes still burned with an intensity that made you tremble.

“You have no idea what you’re asking for,” Wanda murmured, more to herself than to you.

“Then show me,” you challenged, the words escaping before you could stop them.

Wanda took another step, now so close that you could feel her warmth, the soft scent of something sweet and spicy that seemed uniquely hers. The red glow around her disappeared completely, but the intensity in her eyes remained.

She tilted her head, a dark smile forming on her lips. “You’re really not afraid of me, are you?”

“Should I be?”

Wanda let out a short, humorless laugh. “Oh, you should. But something tells me you don’t learn until you feel it firsthand.”

Before you could process what was happening, Wanda raised her hand—not to touch you, but as if she were trying to summon something. Her eyes glowed intensely for a brief moment, but nothing happened. The power seemed to dissipate into the air before reaching you.

She frowned, confused, and tried again. Nothing.

“Interesting,” you remarked, trying to hide the tremor in your voice. “Seems like I’m not as easy to control as the others.”

Her irritation was evident, but there was something else in her eyes—a mix of fascination and frustration that made your heart race.

“You’re insufferable!” Wanda muttered, her voice laced with disdain but also a strange warmth that sent a shiver down your spine.

“And you’re a tyrant,” you shot back, knowing you were treading dangerous ground.

“A tyrant?” she repeated, letting out a quiet laugh. “If I were, you’d already be begging for mercy.”

“Maybe I want you to make me beg,” you replied without thinking.

Wanda fell silent, just staring at you. The red glow returned to her eyes for a moment, but she quickly suppressed it.

“I already told you to leave,” she said again, but this time her voice carried something deeper, more intimate.

You let out a small growl of frustration—like a puppy—and Wanda found it... endearing.

“And I said no!” You stepped closer to her. “I want to help... I’m pretty sure it’s not normal to see a woman throwing red energy balls around.”

As you rambled on, Wanda noticed something in your eyes that made her power waver, even weaken.

Wanda arched an eyebrow, the crimson glow fading momentarily, replaced by a sharp, cynical look. “Red energy balls?”

“Yes, red energy balls,” you retorted, crossing your arms. “That’s not exactly a typical classroom occurrence, is it?”

Wanda didn’t respond immediately. She leaned against her desk, arms crossed, as if assessing you. Despite her casual posture, her eyes dissected every movement, every nuance of your voice.

“And what do you suggest we do, little know-it-all?” she asked at last, her words dripping with sarcasm.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, holding her gaze with a determination that seemed to irritate her even more. “But pretending it’s not happening won’t solve anything.”

Silence filled the room again, and Wanda realized she was holding her breath. You weren’t backing down, and that unsettled her—not because you were annoying, but because she liked it. More than she should.

“You’re so irritating,” Wanda finally said, her voice low and controlled, as if trying to convince herself.

“You’ve already said that. Repeating yourself today, aren’t you?” you quipped back.

Her eyes flared red again, a flash of intense crimson that made the air around her heat up. “Watch your mouth, brat,” Wanda warned, her voice taking on a dangerous tone.

But you didn’t back away. Instead, you leaned in slightly, as if testing her limits. “Or what? You’ll throw another red energy ball at me?”

Wanda let out a short, humorless laugh, but something in her gaze faltered. It wasn’t fear or anger—something darker, more unspoken.

“You really have no idea what I am, do you?” she asked, a mix of exasperation and admiration in her tone.

“I’m waiting for you to explain.”

Wanda narrowed her eyes, tilting her head slightly as if weighing how much you really wanted to know. There was something in your defiant tone, in your unwavering gaze, that made her almost... trust. But trust wasn’t something Wanda Maximoff offered freely.

She sighed deeply, walking slowly toward her desk. Stopping beside it, she placed a firm hand on the wooden surface as her eyes wandered, searching for the right words to begin.

“I’m... more than I seem,” she started, her tone serious. “Much more.”

Her eyes locked on yours again, scrutinizing you, as if deciding whether to reveal what she was about to say.

“There’s a name some people have given me,” she continued, her fingers twitching slightly against the desk. “A name that, in other worlds, carries more weight than you can imagine. Scarlet Witch.”

You blinked, confused but intrigued. “Scarlet Witch? That sounds... conceptual.”

Wanda let out another short, humorless laugh. “It’s not just conceptual. It’s a prophecy. A myth. Something I never wanted, but somehow, I was forced to accept.”

“And what does it mean?” you asked, taking a small step forward.

“It means I’m a Nexus Being,” Wanda replied, her eyes beginning to glow faintly red again. “A unique entity across the multiverse. Someone with the power to alter realities, to shape the very fabric of time and space. But that... that power shouldn’t exist here.”

“Why not?” you asked, feeling a chill run down your spine as her tone darkened.

“Because in this universe, I wasn’t supposed to have powers,” Wanda admitted, her voice carrying a mix of anger and frustration. “I was meant to be an ordinary woman. A teacher. A mother. A wife.”

She paused, her gaze piercing.

“But something changed,” she continued, her voice growing rougher. “Something awakened in me. And I’m almost certain you’re part of it.”

Your heart raced, but you fought to keep your composure. “Me? What did I do?”

“It’s not what you did,” Wanda replied, stepping closer. “It’s what you are. Your presence here... it’s like a catalyst. Every time you challenge me, every time you confront me, it’s as if something inside me is trying to break free.”

“And what exactly is trying to emerge?” you asked, your voice quieter than you expected.

Wanda leaned in slightly, her eyes glowing with that burning red again. “The power. The control. The Scarlet Witch herself.”

She took a step back, distancing herself from you as if trying to regain control.

“In other worlds,” she began again, her voice calmer but still tense, “I was a figure of destruction. I did... unforgivable things. I manipulated entire realities. Created a perfect world for myself, where I had everything I wanted. But it all fell apart.”

You could tell she was speaking about something deeply personal, something that haunted her.

“And then, I was confronted. By other heroes. By people who believed they knew best. In the end, I had to undo everything. I had to destroy what I loved most.”

“What?” you asked, feeling a tightness in your chest.

“My children,” Wanda said simply, her voice trembling slightly. “Tommy and Billy. They were real to me. But not to the rest of the world. So I lost them. And I’ve lived with that ever since.”

You stayed silent, unsure of what to say.

“And now, here I am,” Wanda continued, her voice hardening again. “Trying to be something I’m not. Trying to be normal. But you... you’re making that impossible.”

“I don’t understand,” you finally said, your voice hesitant. “What did I do?”

“You challenge me,” Wanda replied, her eyes glowing again. “You force me to confront things I’d rather forget, because I can’t make you forget—I can’t manipulate you. And now... now, I’m not sure if I can control this anymore.”

The air around her began to vibrate, charged with energy.

“You should be afraid of me,” Wanda said, her voice low but intense. “Because if I lose control again, I don’t know what might happen.”

But you, with that stubbornness that seemed to both irritate and fascinate her, stepped forward and replied:

“Maybe I’m not afraid because I see something in you that you don’t see. Maybe I see someone who still has a choice. Someone who can be more than this... Scarlet Witch.”

Wanda remained silent, her eyes glowing with something that seemed like a mixture of admiration and frustration. And, for the first time, she didn’t know how to respond.

She stood frozen, your words echoing in her mind, reverberating in a way she couldn’t ignore. She felt your persistent gaze on her, but she couldn’t meet it. She needed to maintain control, to step back from the internal abyss that seemed to open every time you were near.

“Go, girl,” she finally said, her voice quieter than she intended, tinged with both farewell and warning. “And tell no one.”

You hesitated for a moment but eventually obeyed. The sound of the door closing behind you left Wanda alone in the room, the silence filling the empty space around her. But inside her, there was no silence.

She pressed her hands against the desk, her knuckles turning white from the effort.

“You’re losing control,” a seductive, low voice whispered in her mind. Wanda knew exactly what it was. It wasn’t someone from outside—it was a part of herself, a side she had buried long ago.

“No. I’m in control,” Wanda replied softly, as if trying to convince herself.

“You call this control?” the voice mocked, a soft laugh resonating in her mind. “Look at you. Trembling. Afraid. That girl got to you in a way no one else ever has, hasn’t she? Do you really think you can resist this? Resist me?”

Wanda stepped away from the desk, walking to the office window, trying to find a fixed point on the horizon to anchor her thoughts. But there was no escape.

The Scarlet Witch was there, inside her, drawing closer, growing stronger.

“I am you,” the voice continued, this time more primal, almost animalistic. “And you know you want me back. Stop fighting what we are. What we can be.”

“I don’t want you,” Wanda replied, closing her eyes tightly.

“Liar.” The voice was a whisper, but it seemed to fill the entire space around her. “You feel it, Wanda. The power. The freedom. You’ve never been more alive than when I was in control. And now, that girl... she’s the spark. She’s calling us back.”

Wanda took a deep breath, but it didn’t calm her. Her hands were trembling, and the air around her felt electrified. She knew her powers were awakening again, harder and harder to contain.

“Stop fighting me,” the Scarlet Witch insisted. “Accept who you are. Who we are. You know I’m right.”

“No,” Wanda murmured, but her voice sounded weak, almost pleading.

“You’re afraid,” the voice observed, amused. “But not of me. You’re afraid that deep down, you like this. That you need this. The freedom, the power, the intensity. And, most of all... her.”

Wanda opened her eyes, now glowing with a threatening red light. She stepped away from the window, walking to the center of the office as if she needed to move to escape the storm brewing inside her.

“She’s not part of this,” Wanda said aloud, as if trying to assert her authority over the voice within.

“Oh, she’s everything,” the Scarlet Witch replied, a light laugh escaping her. “She’s the key. Every time she challenges you, every time she gets closer... you feel it, don’t you? The heat, the energy, the desire.”

“Shut up!” Wanda shouted, her voice reverberating through the office. A wave of red energy pulsed around her, the furniture trembling under the force of her power.

The silence returned, but Wanda knew it wouldn’t last. The Scarlet Witch was there, waiting, like a predator patiently circling its prey.

Wanda sank into the chair, pressing her hands against her temples. She needed to think, needed to find a way to regain control. But the dilemma remained: the more she fought the Scarlet Witch, the more she felt herself slipping into her.

And deep down, what scared her most was the possibility that maybe—just maybe—she didn’t want to fight anymore.

[...]

The Sanctum Sanctorum was quieter than usual. The air was filled with the occasional sound of pages turning and the rustling of the Sorcerer Supreme’s cloak as he inspected a series of ancient artifacts spread across a table. At the center, the Eye of Agamotto glowed faintly, pulsing in shades of green and gold as Strange carefully traced a line between dimensions on a holographic map of the multiverse.

“Finally,” he murmured to himself, his fingers tightening around the artifact. His expression was more tense than usual, a shadow of worry flickering in his eyes.

Wong entered the room, carrying a hefty grimoire. “You found her?”

Strange nodded, his demeanor grave. “Yes. The Scarlet Witch is hiding in a universe we can barely access. She’s weakened, but she’s still dangerous. If she regains her strength, she could become a threat worse than before.”

Wong crossed his arms, his expression wary. “And how exactly do you plan to capture her? I doubt she’ll come willingly if we call.”

Strange gave a brief, humorless smile. “I don’t plan to capture her. I know someone who can.”

~*~

Mommy is coming back!!!

Tag list <3

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@indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher

@idkwhatever580 @valentine585

@reginassecretlover @trying-to-do-good

@imjustvibingsworld @mbxoxo @jazzyxqzl @eternallyconfuzed @ctrlaltedits @sheriffhaughtearp

@lesbiansweet @i-luv-w1men @sheriffswan-blog @htinha157 @syssmin @wandasslut3000

[the-fab-fox]

This is so true. I recently saw a recipe for a really healthy meal on a recipe blog. I clicked the author's name and found my way to their actual domained website. In their about, I found the email. I have emailed them asking if there was a way to do the recipe but in a crockpot due to the pretty unsafe environment I live in—due to the skuzzy way my roommate/Subletter acts, I don't feel safe using the kitchen. I have not received an answer but from my experience sending out emails to people one would not generally consider, I know one of two things will happen. They will simply not respond (that is to say ignore or disregard my email) or they will answer and let me know if it can be done or let me know they don't have the time or energy to offer that solution. And these two options aren't bad at all. There's no consequence.

So even if they *don't* answer, what's the problem with asking when the worst outcome is simply no answer. You're literally losing nothing no matter the outcome, and more times than you think you're gaining something.

A few more examples on this:

I'm very much a networker. I am a people person and really good at striking up random conversations with people. Been that way my whole life. I just love interacting and helping people. (I'm a customer service professional of 20 years if that says anything).

I also am pretty intermediate with computers and very good at writing resumes and cover letters for job resumes and things like that. A lot of that comes from the fact that when I was younger, if I wanted something that could only come from a specific person/company/entity/etc, I would search and research until I found the contact needed.

Sometimes I'd be pleasantly surprised, sometimes not. But I never lost anything by trying.

A few times I was pleasantly surprised:

I was/am really into Criminal Minds as a TV show. Got into it in my 20s. It's become a comfort show (as weird as that is for a show about a fictionalized Behavioral Analysis Unit in the FBI). I was thinking... What would it take to be a BAU agent. It's probably nothing like the show so what's it like really. So I went on USAjobs.gov to look into it. Found contact for FBI. Emailed with a well edited and professional email (yes, this is absolutely important if you want to be taken seriously—if anyone would like me to draft up an example of what that could look like in a specific scenario, I'm happy to help!) as well as I could at the age I was at (basically, write it as well written and professional as you know how at where you're at now—don't try to "sound" professional and use big words. Just write as you but more formal). Lo and behold, I got my answer and it was quite thorough and they even warned me that the team as is seen on the show is very over glorified and the BAU mostly consults from afar and very rarely goes into the field. Lol. But you still have to pass the entrance exams which include physical.

2nd time, around the same time. I was a member of a Matthew Gray Gubler (Spencer Reid from Criminal Minds) fan blog on Live journal. (Really aging yourself, here, Finley ��) Anyway. There was a movie we heard of that MGG would be in but no one knew if it was true or really happening or if the project was still in the works or had been stalled. I did a Google search, found the movies official page, found a contact email or form. I was consise in my subject line and consise in my email (my thinking was entertainment people are gonna be hella busy so put my inquiry in as little but still respectful and professional words as possible. I stated who I was, my experience leading to my question (in this case I said something along the lines of 'my name is Finley Beckett and I'm a member of a Mattew Gray Gubler fan blog. The group of us have been looking forward to the movie that if coming out but we haven't heard anything about it or whether it's still happening or not. I was hoping that you might be able to shine some light on this. Also, due to the questionable relience of the internet these days, would it be at all possible to send some kind of proof that you are indeed the people behind the movie. I won't share with the group, of course, but that way I can with 100% confidence, inform them of your response). And two or so days later I got an email from the director of the movie himself (and keep in mind this was a lower budget film and pretty sure straight to DVD so obviously this would likely not work with someone like say George Lucas or Christopher Nolan or Stephen Spielberg) emailed me back and gave me not only what has been happening as far as movie production but as well as a few production stills that included MGG within them.

I've gotten to correspond with two of my favorite novelists due to finding their websites and through those, their contacts. (Business inquiry emails count as contacts). And one of them, probably my favorite author of all time (Tamora Pierce) even looked over some of my writing at the time and gave me some really great feedback. To this day I cherish this moment even if I've lost the email to time.

Ultimately, the biggest advice I can give on this sort of thing is best summed up in this quote:

"You miss one hundred percent of the shots you don't take. Even though there is only a 1-5% probably of scoring."

— Wayne Gretzky (not Michael Scott 🤣)

And I left in the second part because it confirms what I've said. Like yes, there's only a 1-5% chance of getting something out of reaching out, especially in this day and age.

That said, if you never try, that percentage stays at 0%. Full stop.

You're already at 0%, so it would make more sense if you tried because even if you fail, you're already at 0% so you've literally got nothing to lose, right?

IDK if any of this will help but I wanted to try just the same. (See what I did there? 😉)

[elytra404]

okay okay so yk magical mystery cure? heres my idea of a rewrite.

i think there are better cutie mark swaps for them, so here we go. Also new story.

Rainbow Dash - Apple Jacks Cutie Mark

Cutie Mark Redesign - 3 Zap Apples

Fastest harvester around. But has to slow down so the basket holders can keep up. Loves Zap apple season for the adrenaline, but the traditions and tasks make it boring to her with us endlessly frustrating. adores harvesting and watching them tho. She isn't allowed around cider season after stealing some of it and being distracted by her love for it. She's good at it. But having to slow down for the farm work makes her feel useless.

Rainbow tends to put her hair into high ponytails for harvesting season. She wears a yoke around the farm most of the time.

Fluttershy - Raritys Cutie Mark

Cutie Mark Redesign - 3 pink rounded gems

She is a wonderful designer but running it as a business takes away from her freedom and time to do it as more than a job. She has to be social and model to support her business, which is terrifying for her.

Fluttershy tends to keep her mane and tail up in a braided bun to keep it out her way. She's considered cutting it shorter but doesn't want to limit her modeling options. She wears pastel green horseshoes after one to many times stepping on needles. They cover her hoofs, the bottoms being gold and the rest being designed like leaves wrapped around her hooves. Her wings are very thin as she rarely uses them for actual flight.

Pinkie Pie - Fluttershys Cutie Mark

Cutie Mark Redesign - Balloon animal butterflys

Pinkie does enjoy taking care of the animals. Shes very good at organizing them, and finding the perfect owners for those who want to be pets! However she struggles with volume control quite often, and that tends to scare the smaller animals away. She's not the best at being gentle, preferring to rough house with bears. She's doing her best but every time she scares a creature she feels horrible about it.

Pinkie's hair never got its curls. She wears it in box braids, letting it grow quite long. She tends to wear a reinforced jean jacket Flutters made her to protect herself from the larger animals claws.

Apple Jack - Pinkie Pies Cutie Mark

Cutie Mark Redesign - Lasso and Apple themed Balloons

She's a rodeo gal! Lasso a bull and stay on it for record times, tricks and jumps. She loves it. Mostly. She has to move around a lot for rodeos, and rarely gets to stay in one place for long. She hasn't been able to help her family in a harvest in years because it tends to line up with rodeo season.

AJ keeps her hair at around a bob so it stays out the way for rodeo work. She wears her dad's hat in her free time but doesn't during actual rodeo work to keep it safe. She started dying streaks of red and green into her hair as a kid to be more recognizable to judges and continues to too this day.

Rarity - Rainbow Dashs Cutie Mark

Cutie Mark Redesign - Rainbow waterfall

Rarity designs the weather for events! Making sure the sun shines brightest on the stage, and beautiful rainbows for filly's birthdays. She knows how to make it practical as well as beautiful. One of her favorite things is designing snowflakes. However, weather designing isn't a hobby. It affects everyone in the vicinity not just her. So in her free time, Rarity feels a bit lost. She mostly goes to the spa, but that doesn't really change her feelings of uselessness.

With her free time Rarity has let her hair grow out, curling it into ringlets. She also tends to wear a shawl that Flutters made her, a lavender knitted one that is pretty light weight and clasps in the front with an opal.

Twilight

Twilight looks and acts the same, with one different. She has gained silvery marks on each side of her back, where wings would be if she had them. When she first comes too, her hair is tied back like Moondancers. She undoes that almost immediately tho.

What happened/What happens

The spell Twi accidentally cast not only swapped her friend's destinies, but in the process undid the rainboom.

Because of this, Rainbow ended up crashing when she attempted it into sweet apple acres. In her attempts to fly away she runs into a few trees, harvesting them and earning her cutie mark. Granny smith ends up taking her in in return for her work.

Due to this, AJ never seens the rainbow leading her home. She stays with her aunt, joining in a junior rodeo contest for fun a few weeks later and gaining her cutie mark. She visits ponyville every chance she gets.

Pinkie never sees the rainbow on her farm. She continues to farm until one day birds form a nest on Holders Boulder, and she ends up bringing the birds down and relocating them, gaining her cutie mark. Eventually she finds her cutie mark has no real place on her farm, so she moves to ponyville.

Fluttershy stays up in cloudsdale until she is tasked with helping to sew weather factory uniforms as her first job since she cant fly very well. This gains her cutie mark. She eventually moves to Ponyville to continue her special talent without the need for flight.

Rarity grows up in ponyville and is a late bloomer until she is given the chance to work on making extra snow flakes when not enough are made one winter. This is how she gains her cutie mark. She stays in Ponyville, leading winter wrap up every year in Ponyville after.

All of them end up being friends, but not very close. AJ see's Rainbow as a distanced sister or cousin, Flutter's makes AJ rodeo clothes and anything Pinkie needs for her animals, and Rarity met both AJ and Flutters separately for events. Once they were all in town and ended up running into each other. Since then they meet up when they can, which is rare.

Twilight never hatches Spike, but still gets into Celestia's school. (Going on the idea that the dragon egg was a test of handling failure.) She gets her cutie mark just the same. Without Spike she is even less social in school, and doesn't end up as Celestia's prize pupil. She stays in Canterlot, eventually moving out of her parent's place to stay closer to the castle, where Shining Armor works.

The day after she casts the spell, Twilight wakes up in this work with all her memories of the past one. I imagine this would be an entire season of the show. When it gets tough, she thinks of Spike and keeps going for him. She spends about an episode with each person getting close to them again. Including some filler to get to know this new world and dynamic. Including a probably 2 part finale type thing, she gathers them all, shows them they can be happy, and reverses the spell. the issue isn't that their bad at their talents, its that they aren't happy.

However not in a show like format, my perfect au (aka my focus), its slightly different. Same beats over a longer span of time. It takes Twi longer to figure out that there is a big issue with her friends. She's caught up in grief over Spike for most of it. She is basically Spike's mum, a teen mum at that. She has to learn to function without him, both emotionally and literally. And she has to learn to change her motivation for fixing everything. Her original motivation is just for spike. But as she gets to know her friends again she learns she has to do it for their happiness as well.

All of this would happen over about a year.

By the end, she has

- Pinkie who fully believes her and has become her confidante and right hoof mare,

- AppleJack who has suspicions that Twi's hiding something but assumes its grief over a lost child (not entirely untrue) and nothing else,

- Flutters who considers Twi the first person to truly believe in her,

- Rainbow who has gained a change of pace with Twi and is loving it,

-Rarity who also fully believes Twi and is the only other than Pinkie who knows everything and has found a purpose in this.

It takes all of them to preform the spell, friendship is magic after all, to return the world to its right place. Twilight has to make herself an Alicorn during this spell to have the power to complete it.

Also to clear up some other plot holes-

Luna does come back, but Celestia isnt relying on Twi this time and so is able to send her back to the moon again. Luna is still in the moon and Celestia is still alone.

Discord isn't set free because the Cutie Mark Crusaders never form, since Rarity doesn't settle in ponyville as her main residence, Sweetie Belle doesn't go to schools with Scoot and Apple Bloom. They end up meeting only after Twi realizes how unhappy they are apart and sets them up to meet.

Chrysalis never attacks because Cadence and Shining Armor never fall in-love. Twi never moves to Ponyville so Shining Armor is focused on making sure Twi's okay, not love. Twi sets them up too.

I'm gonna post stuff about this au at #magicalmysteryyearau sooo follow that if you wanna see more

[grison-in-space]

One of my favorite teaching moments was the time that one of the students in my class (a Classics double major that had long since forgotten that anyone else in Genetics Lab might have humanities interests) snapped the opening lines to another student out in the middle of a play argument. I gasped at him, the other student demanded to know what the first had said, I provided my own translation ("I'll rape you in the ass and mouth, cockslut Aurelius and ass-hungry Marcus") and formally made the point that we do not say shit like this unless we expect to stand by our words when someone unexpectedly understands them. Then we got into a brief argument about whether irrumare is better translated as "to skullfuck" or "to rape one's face" and a much longer discussion about the way that toxic masculinity relates to homosexuality and prescriptive sexual behavior.

For the record, what aetherograph is referring to is actually the Roman verb irrumare itself. It is a violent word, and while all the folks above are right that Romans and Greeks alike had a lot of moral panic surrounding men being the receiving partner of penetrative sex, irrumare is specifically more threatening and insulting than, say, pedicare: you're specifically muting the person and potentially blocking their airways here, making them even more vulnerable. It also implies very strongly that the penetrating person is controlling the movement: this is not a verb that can be translated synonymously to "blowing" a person, for example. The word means to forcibly fuck a person's mouth, an act so degrading that it is beyond imagination that an upstanding man would or could tolerate it without being forced.

These are Bad Words to a Roman, and I think translations should incorporate that as well as trying to convey the violence of the words. I really don't like translations that try to downplay the extent to which Catullus 16 is a very, very vivid rape threat in response to (inferred) loss of masculine status on account of spending too much time and attention with female lovers. I think there is a tendency to be delighted by profanity and obscenity themselves in the hallowed halls of literature, and certainly this is one hell of an ancient Italian poetic tradition that continues well into the modern day. But I also think that obscenity and poetry both exist to turn strong feelings into meaning, and I think Catullus' poetry is most powerful and effective when we stop thinking about how naughtily he was saying something and start thinking about what exactly he was saying as he did it.

Catullus certainly is one of the Roman poets that fucked, but Catullus 16 is not a romantic poem but a violent one. (This isn't that uncommon for Catullus, who writes vividly about sex, emotion, and violence as recurring themes and can be almost as aggressive to women as to men. One of his other famous ones, Catullus 11, involves him feeling spurned by a lover and declaring that his friends Furius and Aurelius should go tell her that he says he hopes she's happy with all her many suitors, her three hundred lovers, none of which she truly touches despite the rupture of their thighs; another (Catullus 58) has him complaining that his lover whom he was so attached to is off lying in the back alleys fucking all the "grandsons of Remus," AKA any Roman who shows up and hikes up his tunic.) He was also very capable of mushy sweetness! But the anger is always there lurking beneath the surface.

He was a complicated guy. His poetry is constructed in careful layers of meaning around astonishingly raw emotions, glittering and artistic to behold. He was absolutely a man of his own time and place, which makes him translator catnip. But that time and place was Imperial Rome, and translators ought to work to communicate exactly what sort of place Rome could be, too.

you cant even begin poems with "i will sodomise and facef uck you" anymore. because of woke .

[roryacker]

I love hybrid AUs. I dunno what it is, my current theory is it's just a weird autism trait, I won't get into that for now, but I just really like the idea of taking humans and giving them animal traits and instincts. I have. SO many headcanons lemme tell you.

I like to think of hybrids as a good mix of animalistic and human in behavior, most of the appeal for me is the behavior so I mean. That's a given.

so here's a bunch of my ideas for a Hybrid AU :) I'll probably utilize this for writing about them later on

• I like to think of Soap as a rough collie hybrid. Fluffy, herding dog, Scottish, and I feel like their fur lends well to his lil mohawk thing he's got goin on.

• Absolute menace. 100% he herds anyone and everyone he can get his hands on, primarily prey hybrids. Gaz is one of his most common herding targets, he tries to herd Ghost sometimes but usually gets nipped at for it, and Price is exempt from such instincts.

• Gaz is a deer hybrid, I think he'd look cool with antlers, specifically a red deer. Bucks are strong, man. He just gives me ungulate vibes most of the time idk what it is.

• He usually tolerates Soap's herding. :)

• Price could be lots of things. I've found that I'm actually quite fond of him just being a normal dude who sees the value in hybrids (and treating them like people) so I'll probably go with that. Otherwise I suppose another dog or something could work. Rotts are big and angry but also have a very unintimidating smile so maybe them? They're super good working dogs so. Still I'll mostly stick with the human idea.

• Ghost always depends on what I'm looking for really. Sometimes Wolf if I want the wild vibe, sometimes Dog because he just reminds me of a grumpy working dog. Definitely a GSD hybrid. I do prefer writing him as a dog hybrid anyways so I'll stick with that.

• Shepherds are technically a herding breed, but Ghost lacks any herding instincts and finds Soap's irritating. Best-case they're useful for gathering up the team in a mission to prevent unnecessary separation, though, and it's amusing to watch him weave around folks barking and snapping his teeth at people to get them to stay in line. Sometimes Ghost tolerates it, and sometimes he nips at him to get him to stop.

• I feel like outside of combat Ghost and Soap have a habit of wrestling. Like how real dogs tend to, yknow. You leave them alone for one second and suddenly someone's arm is in someone else's mouth, there's growling, it looks like they're fighting, and the only thing saying otherwise is the wagging tails and the lack of any blood or fur anywhere. It's how they bond

• Price definitely made an effort to not get any hunting hybrids because he'd rather not have infighting thanks to Gaz looking huntable, thank you. It's not even worry that Gaz would get hurt given the fact bucks pack such a punch, he just doesn't want to deal with all that tension.

• Feral, Domestic, Tame, and Wild all mean different things. A Domestic hybrid can be Feral and a Wild hybrid can be Tame, etc. It's mostly rooted in real-life terms, think feral housecats.

• Feral refers to temperament and handleability, it's a term that can change over time based on treatment. Tame is the same but flipped; so a Feral hybrid is harder to handle and acts more like their animal counterpart due to a lack of (positive) human contact, while Tame hybrids seem more intelligent in comparison just due to being easier to handle and better at communicating. Neither are fully unable to communicate by default, but personal traits can mean either are, if that makes any sense.

• Wild vs. Domestic is entirely about the species; a wolf or lion hybrid is wild, while a dog or housecat hybrid is domestic. This one's as simple as finding out if the species they're considered a hybrid of is domesticated or not. If they are, Domestic, if not, Wild. This term cannot change over time, but like their real-animal counterparts, Wild hybrids can be domesticated over time via selective breeding (it won't do much, but it is possible) and Domestic hybrids can slowly regain Wild traits only if multiple generations are exposed to conditions where they need it. So, selective breeding, but backwards. This practice is heavily discouraged as it just leads to unnecessary confusion and hybrid breeding is considered pretty cruel.

• "Hybrids" are not a literal hybrid of human and animal, because that's just kind of weird, but humans with a mutation that closely resembles certain animals. This phenomenon has only been properly recorded as of late, maybe a couple centuries, but there are implications that it might have existed earlier in history and just been ignored, seen as taboo, etc etc.

• There's a few different rules to which hybrids get what treatment. It's not uncommon for any and all hybrids to have a handler, and one handler can be in control of multiple hybrids, but they're not required to live together, and it's more like an emergency contact/trainer/guardian than an owner or something of the sort.

• It is, however, different for Wild and Feral hybrids. Tame Domestic hybrids are not required to have a handler, but Feral Domestic hybrids are at least supposed to have a trainer or therapist or something of the sort. With Wild hybrids it depends on the specific species, smaller Wilds are usually fine, especially if they seem harmless, herbivores tend to be exempt due to stereotypes, and most omnivores are fine, but medium-large carnivores and all Feral hybrids are required to have a handler and in some places required to live with them and be accompanied by them to most places. Wild carnivore hybrids are usually considered more dangerous, also due to stereotypes.

• Again, in certain places, Wild carnivores are expected to wear a muzzle and be properly handled (physical restraint in the form of a leash or the handler just being close enough and able to handle them), but this is mostly a private property/commercial spaces thing that depends on the exact place. Think like how a Petco or something (ew) might let you bring in your little dog or something, maybe a cat, but probably won't let you bring in a big rottweiler or something of the sort, depending on the location. Or how in some locations specific stores will let you bring in a pet as long as they're handled well, but others only allow in service dogs.

• This is very intentionally inhumane, as given how the real world functions I feel like yes we would base how we treat folks with carnivore-oriented traits on how we personify those animals in our minds. Going further I also imagine some places are permitted to bar certain species entirely, and species that are viewed as "unappealing" and violent (hyenas, coyotes and maybe jackals, probably foxes and raccoons in some areas, etc etc) tend to show up on this list a lot.

• Probably lots of folks advocating against this, but it sticks around like a tick because plenty of people are just little cowards about it and don't want the change. I imagine most herbivore hybrids are also against it because what's stopping them from being mistreated in the same way next, so it's mostly a non-hybrid thing.

• How much someone resembles their real-animal counterpart depends on content! This is a term seen in some real-world hybrids, most often I see it in wolfdogs as they're very easily hybridized and their offspring can breed. However, rather than being based on that, because again they're not actually hybrids it's more of a form of mimicry, it's based on the genetics deciding how much of their species they look and act like. I like to think there's a specific set of genes that causes this, and 1-2 traits that factor into how the traits look and how the behavior and instincts develop. Someone who's relatively low-content doesn't look much like the species if at all, and doesn't act much like them, while someone who's high-content will have a lot of the animal's traits and are more likely to fall into that Feral state due to how their brain is built. It isn't set in stone, but more of a big scale.

• Most of TF141 are pretty in the middle of that scale. Ghost is the highest content, Soap isn't far behind, and Gaz is about in the middle, maybe a bit below.

• Nikolai could be a human and I like the idea of normal guy Nikolai BUT he's russian, and to that I suggest: Russian Wolfhound, aka the Borzoi, because I love Borzois they're the best. And greyhounds but Borzoi is a Russian breed :) their fur reminds me a bit of his hair as well

• I just. Really like Borzois, man. I was SO excited when they started gaining popularity a while back, I know it was because of a silly joke but screw it man!! They got more love!!! Smooch smooch Borzois my beloved. They're a sighthound breed as well, and honestly, I feel like that just fits him somehow.

I have tons more but I'll leave it here because I got stuff to do, rambling over take my funky animalfolk and go

[toskarin]

Is Vgen safe to use? I'd never heard of it before you mentioned it but it looks cool

this answer's going to be a bit roundabout because I don't feel comfortable directly vouching for anyone who handles money besides myself. and I don't even vouch for myself

so, vgen is basically a non-japanese* (*: primarily western, but that's more of a demographic thing than a platform restriction) version of skima mixed with skeb, both of which are existing sites that japanese artists use to take sketchbook style requests

pixiv also does this now, along with a few other japanese sites, but it's generally been kind of limited to being an otaku thing, even outside of japan, and it's very often been limited to japanese artists actually taking these requests (even if anyone can send them) because of legal issues around international payment

for context, skeb's request-based style of commissioning gained a lot of popularity because it's, frankly, antisocial in a comfortable way for both clients and artists

[you can skip this section if you know what skeb is]

you can think of it as paying an artist to draw something with the understanding that you are paying for the literal act of them drawing it, rather than for a refined and specific finished product

in this format, the requester puts money on the table alongside a brief outline of what they want and any applicable references. there is usually an outline of how much you should pay at minimum, some examples of that artist's work, and (traditionally) a hard rule that neither party in this arrangement communicates with each other about it outside of the request-accept-send-tip procedure itself

traditionally, when the artist accepts the request, the platform takes the money and holds it in escrow. then, when the artist sends the finished work, the exchange is concluded with the requester receiving the work (possibly along with a written note by the artist) and the artist receiving their payment from the site. if the artist doesn't finish the work before an agreed-upon deadline, the money is refunded

in the original skeb format, if the requester especially enjoys the art, it's customary to tip the artist, which applies a golden border around the art and allows the requester to include a thank-you note, displayed alongside the artist's commentary and their original request

this is important to lay out because, as you might notice, there are no windows for revisions and no active direct lines of communication allowed. I've seen people get angry about this before, so that's one way in which the skeb style of commission can be considered "unsafe"

there's a lot of misconceptions around the differences in legal rights here, but the bottom line is that, when it comes to commissioned artwork, most people on the english-speaking internet are profoundly misinformed about the laws around things and operate largely on handshake agreements that wouldn't really hold up in any court, if push came to shove

[end skip]

so! let's get to vgen

vgen, being an adaptation of this format, actually mixes in a lot of different features that I would consider to be more traditional for western art commissions. it carries over the skima/skeb style storefronts, but adapts them more towards serving vtubers (a common use case for skeb and skima) with a slight tilt towards the client having additional protection

for example, to open an artist storefront on vgen, you have to either be invited in by someone or pass some variety of notability verification test (either an engagement baiting post including your art or winning a contest of some fashion)

to make requests, you just kind of make an account and send the money

skeb style commissions do exist on vgen, but the site is designed to allow additional stages of artist communication on certain requests. this means that you may get some extra securities as a client, or you may not, depending on the terms of the request

one notable rule of vgen which makes it distinct from similar sites is that you can't draw porn on there. this may come as a shock, because people aren't great about following that rule, but it is actually a pretty firm rule on account of the site being more beholden to major western-centred payment processors

so, as far as the site itself goes, if you keep yourself familiar with the rules and actually read the terms of your deals, you're safe there in the same way that you're safe when making a conscious decision to climb a tree

as far as financial matters and the site's management go, I don't know, and I can't know because I don't know the staff personally

I have made a personal decision to trust that they're acting in good faith. I've made a request through the site before to test it out, it went as expected, so my decision to use it is informed by my own sense of risk management

TL;DR: is vgen safe to use? I don't personally think it's uniquely risky as far as storefronts go, but it's an online storefront where people sell each other things, so treat it as one and walk about as carefully as you always do

[artist-issues]

Mufasa Re-Do: Zazu

For my first adjustment; Zazu! Zazu and his interactions with the rest of the cast.

In the Mufasa We Got, Zazu is supposed to be young, and comedic relief, because he is following Sarabi around like he’s on her staff somehow, because the rest of her pride was scattered by the villain. He doesn’t interact directly with Taka or Rafiki beyond flying in the same traveling group as them, and he has one interaction with Mufasa where Mufasa tells Zazu that he can save the day by using his bird wings to cover their tracks so the villains don’t find them. 

They’re inconsistent with Zazu’s characterization, and with what he’s doing in the story. At first, he seems to be dedicated to Sarabi as part of her honor guard, though she mentions he’s just her scout. That’s supposed to be funny, because he’s like a 1lb-bird claiming to protect a 200+lb lioness. But any time there’s trouble while they’re in the traveling part of the movie, he turns into a coward and darts into the sky with a one-liner about how he didn’t sign up for this danger. Even though he had no trouble “confronting danger” when it was Taka and Mufasa. Then, even later in the climax, he seems to lose all cowardice (inexplicably) and has to be rescued because he’s trying to fight three evil lions at once.

None of which has anything to do with the Zazu we know and love from The Original Lion King. 

He has one line at the end where he seems to be a stickler for tradition, which would be in-character for the Zazu we know—he tells Mufasa that he must banish Taka for betraying them. But uh…where does that tradition come from, and how does Zazu know it? He just got to this kingdom ten minutes ago. Also, THIS young Zazu has not demonstrated any personality-bent toward tradition until this moment. Basically what I’m saying is, they just needed someone to suggest banishment in that moment, and Zazu was luckily nearby and they could give him that line. It only fit his adult-characterization by accident. 

In the WHOLE movie, they should’ve been showing that he was a stickler for rules and pomp and circumstance. They should’ve been showing how he was THRILLED to be part of a royal lioness’ staff, and wasn’t going to let anyone take that away from him. 

In the movie, however, I love one moment with Zazu, which was totally inconsistent and never gets addressed again, but they should’ve been focusing on it much more and it could’ve been great:

It’s when Mufasa encourages Zazu to use his wings to cover their tracks. 

This scene accomplishes 3 things:

1 - It gives Zazu a moment where he can be validated, and feel useful, as a young bird in the company of royal lions. That could be a real character beat that shows us how he got to the majordomo we know & love in The Lion King. 

2 - It shows Mufasa’s “superpower” as a character; he “respects all creatures in the Circle of Life” and can not only empathize with them enough to see how they can be useful—but he can INSPIRE them to work together for the greater good. He can make a plan, see how someone else can be delegated-to to put it into action, and then inspire them to get it done. You know. Like a good leader.

3 - It shows all the characters around Mufasa, from Sarabi to Taka to Rafiki, that there’s a different way to think; animals of all species can be useful. For Taka, he needs to learn that to become the evil-genius who thinks of allying himself with hyenas. For Sarabi, she can admire the way Mufasa trusts others, and see that they CAN be trusted.

The problem is? The Movie We Got doesn’t lead up to it well. Zazu acts insecure and uncertain, in this ONE scene, until Mufasa believes in him and gives him a pep talk. But earlier, Zazu seemed to have no problem with confidence and self-importance. The other characters’ interactions with Zazu don’t lead up to this moment well either. Actually, they’ve barely interacted with him at all. He’s just flying around saying one-liners to himself.

So! Here’s what I would’ve done.

Young Zazu:

Instead of being all-over-the-place with his characterization, I would’ve made Zazu an intensely loyal bird who thinks he can be useful to the Grand Scheme of Things. Unfortunately, he has way too much confidence in being able to do anything, when actually, he needs to learn that he;s just a bird. He can do some things well, but he won’t fit into ANY place in the Circle of Life—he needs to find HIS specific place. A place where he can be of the most service. (That’s a recurring theme in my idea for the movie.) So, first he thinks he can be a bodyguard for Sarabi, then he almost gets her and himself killed and loses all confidence—then Mufasa gives it back to him by showing him that he can be more useful in a smaller way. Like covering their tracks.

Zazu and Sarabi:

Sarabi’s father did leave Sarabi in Zazu’s care. But it was a panicked, spur-of-the-moment decision. It went like this:

Sarabi’s father heard there were Rogues hunting in his territory and, like a good King should, interrupted their illegal hunt and tried to chase them out. They happened to be toying with young Zazu at the time when Sarabi’s Dad burst in and fought with them. But he was overpowered, underestimating their numbers, and Sarabi’s Dad realized that his kingdom was about to be taken over. So in the middle of what became his last stand, he commanded Zazu, who was still nearby,  to go find his daughter, the Princess, and warn her to run away. But Zazu actually found her after she already escaped, on her own, and insisted that “your father left you in my care!” Then he won’t leave her alone.

And in my concept, she hates that.

 In The Movie We Got, Sarabi was very inconsistent, too, just when it came to Zazu. She’s like, “I don’t need anybody’s help— and nobody’s WOULD help me, anyway.” She acts that way with Mufasa & Taka, she acts that way with Rafiki, and she eventually acts that way when Mufasa wants to get help from elephants. BUT. She does NOT act that way with Zazu. Which is not only inconsistent, but ridiculous, because he is, again, a 1lb-bird, and making her consistently annoyed by his offer of help would have strengthened the story and given Mufasa more of a spotlight, by contrast, because he DOES value Zazu.

Anyway.

Sarabi should find Zazu bothersome, especially because she CAN’T get rid of him. He flies out of her reach whenever she tries to scare him away, but he never goes far, and he won’t shut up. At first. He’s convinced the King, her father, condescended to save his life and entrusted him with something important, he’s thrilled to have that mission in life, and he doesn’t (at first) care what she or anyone says to the contrary.

For most of the movie, Zazu and Sarabi’s relationship is one-sided. Eventually she softens her dismissal of Zazu into seeing him more like an “annoying little-brother,” (because they bond over Zazu’s brief connection to her late father + they spend more time together + Mufasa sets a more empathetic example and it rubs off on her.) 

Then they have one tense moment where Zazu’s bad-fit as her bodyguard really leads to bad consequences for Sarabi, and he loses all confidence, until Mufasa fixes that.

By the end of the movie, Sarabi and Zazu are friends and she’s come around to Mufasa’s way of thinking—all animals in the Circle of Life should be respected in their own right, and Zazu is their first example of why.

But at the beginning, it’s pretty tense. He insists he can be useful and she demonstrates how much she refuses to need help by wishing she could eat him.

Zazu is introduced to the rest of the group like this:

While Sarabi is slinking through the bush, trying to put as much distance between herself and her fallen kingdom as she can, Zazu won’t stop flying overhead, yammering. He’s talking about how danger can come from anywhere, and pontificating on what a good Royal Escort’s policy should be to watch out for it, and she’s shushing him but he’s taking no notice.

 Taka and Mufasa spot him flapping and monologuing above some bushes as they are making their own escape, and when they get closer, THAT’S how they find and meet Sarabi.

Taka thinks Sarabi is beautiful at first sight and tries to pounce on Zazu as soon as he gets the opportunity, kind of to show off and make an entrance. Zazu protests that he is Sarabi’s Royal Escort, and should not be eaten. Sarabi wants him to shut up—she doesn’t know if these two strangers are part of the Rogues that she’s running from, and she doesn’t want them to know who she is (more on that in my Sarabi-focused post.)

But Mufasa? 

Zazu and Mufasa: 

Mufasa hears that Zazu is Sarabi’s Royal Escort and he thinks that’s a great idea. He admires that she works with a bird, immediately. (Remember, in the great Lin-Manuel/Lebo M. Song, “I Always Wanted a Brother,” Mufasa admires birds for their freedom and ability to see more than he can?)

He shows how Zazu can be useful, and eventually convinces Sarabi that Zazu IS useful. This can happen more than once, but the best moment I’m thinking of is Zazu flying to get help when Sarabi is knocked out by the elephants. (That’s scene was almost strong, so I want to keep it.) 

Zazu does this without thinking, even though a moment ago he was downhearted and feeling useless after his Big Mistake Moment. But Mufasa takes notice, after getting Zazu’s message and saving Sarabi. He reminds Zazu of  his helpfulness as a messenger later on, when they need him to cover their tracks, and that convinces Zazu that he really is believed-in by the lions. Then Zazu goes to Mufasa for orders in the climax, further hitting the nail-on-the-head that Mufasa’s True Place in the Circle of Life, where he serves others the best, is as their natural leader.

Because he can see the respectable nature of all creatures, from the crawling ant to the leaping antelope. And it starts with Zazu!

Zazu and Mufasa are fast friends, from the beginning. This is obviously because Mufasa does more than tolerate a bird traveling with them, he actually laughs at Zazu’s jokes and treats him civilly—but he also stops Taka from eating Zazu.

Zazu and Taka:

The running gag for much of the movie is that Taka finds Zazu annoying, as one of his maneuvers to have something in common with Sarabi. Also from an early age, Taka believes other animals are only as useful as they are tasty, or maybe as entertainment. 

Zazu dislikes Taka’s presumption to always be walking alongside Sarabi. He keeps getting in the way every time Taka tries to put the moves on the Princess. Sometimes Taka comedically menaces Zazu, but once or twice at the end of the movie, to show how violent and bitter Taka is getting as Mufasa gets the spotlight, Taka really tries to smack Zazu around. 

Mostly, Zazu serves as a way for Taka to demonstrate how differently he and Mufasa think…and Sarabi is caught in the middle of the two worldviews.

Zazu and Rafiki:

Zazu starts out skeptical of Rafiki and even being a little jealous of him. He sort of unconsciously liked that he was the only non-lion traveling companion of Sarabi—it gave him a sense of special-importance. He also likes things to be proper, and Rafiki seems a little crazy, so their personalities don’t exactly mesh. 

But then I’d hint every now and then at the idea that Rafiki, in their travels, is teaching Zazu about the traditions of the Great Kings, and how lion prides have been run in the Pridelands. Zazu likes that, because in his mind he’s part of Sarabi’s nonexistent court, and now he has rules and regulations to insert into conversations with her.

This way, by the end, if Mufasa needs someone to suggest punishment for Taka, Zazu can believably be the one to do it. And it won’t come out of nowhere. It’ll feel like this was always where Zazu was headed, because now we’ve seen where he came from. 

[kingskyless]

thoughts on natlan's arc in genshin🌋

tldr: i'm pissed off!! watch me rant about storytelling under cut. please take your storytelling seriously and with love, jesus christ

this is long btw! this is what happens when you piss me off with your poor writing choices! i crave blood!

--

these are thoughts i wrote on my private twitter but i'll put them here too, why not.

i really, really don't like being negative towards anything anymore, chosing to embrace the silliness of poor storytelling and just grab what i do love, but man did the final act for natlan piss me off

I've been waiting for Natlan since the game came out because we knew it was going to be inspired by pre-hispanic America. Aztecs. México. (i'm mexican for context) and it was!!! with the inclusion of Maori, Peruvian, Lakota, Hawaiian and Yoruba. and it was done Horribly

Natlan is still mostly inspired by México though, I made a whole video on genshin's mexican rep, when it comes to overworld, food, names, music and lore inspiration yeah, the Mexican rep is done well and very fun! but it's still mixed with the cultures previously mentioned which is bad!!

and it gets WORSE because you look at the characters, be it playable or NPCs and nothing about them is mexican (or any of the previous cultures) nothing at all, and that's when the issues start.

I literally made a tumblr post a few days ago how I didn't think Natlan's story was bad, we just didn't connect with the characters due to character design. And while it still holds truth, this final act just undoes all the build-up it had in the previous acts, leaving no true conclusion and, therefore, ruining the story as a whole. a lá game of thrones.

Natlan in its first 3 acts was actually really well done, presenting the different tribe cultures, character personalities and how they mix with one another, and they had very strong set up for more world building and Very Important Lore Reveals (the Abyss having a "heart", dragons, THE SHADES, FALSE SKY?) I really enjoyed myself playing the first acts!

But the marketing makes you distance yourself from the characters, devs decided to push back the culture of the tribes in game and delay the next acts of the story, and you disconnect!!!

going back to the first acts and it's wonderful set up, then what is the point of having all this beautiful set up, only to just - not explore it in the CLIMAX OF THE ARC. and it was very very important lore and conversations to move the story forward and raise the stakes!!!

and they ignored it or barely mention it!!! yes having all the answers shown at you is not fun, and they can totally explore these aspects of the lore later on, but by the way Natlan was written from the start it was 10000% expected to have those conversations in THIS arc.

there's also the set up that's been there since the games release. None of this is explored, we don't know who "he" is, who's the crossed out name, what was the secret of the god of war. there's nothing, this is never explored.

NOTE: that it is true the story was revisited or straight up rewritten way after this material was released, it is something that can happen during production, it partially happened with sumeru already. the thing is when you make changes like these, if you already established in previous trailers or manga certain lore, you have to be extremely careful, as the audience is already expecting something like this to happen in the story. when you rewrite this and there's no pay off it causes confusion and frustration among the audience, as you are no longer following what you set up and it creates plot holes a throw away line about the muratans or murata would've done to connect the manga with the current natlan, but there's not even that.

They establish very important new characters, but don't explain their true role in the story beyond "evil" . What is Gosoythoth? why can it become a dragon? why are there voices around it? why are the former archons so negative? . Sure, we as an audience can make headcanons about it (and some answers were partially told, not nearly enough though) but it's information that needs to be talked about in the story, but the characters never question this and it's never explored.

and we KNOW they can write compelling characters and stories because Fontaine is right there!! it explores very important lore and intertwines it perfectly with the cast and their own personal struggles, what the fuck happened in Natlan.

it just pisses me off and makes me very sad, I was excited for natlan for many years because, for better or for worse, that's my culture they're taking to tell this story, and seeing them fuck up both frustrates me.

i'll keep playing because i still want to see how they wrap it up but aaaaa, i haven't been this mad since Inazuma, and i dont think Inazuma pissed me off this bad.

the following is things that bothered me personally and not something i can criticize from a storytelling standpoint:

the entire traveler parade after beating gosoythoth made me uncomfortable to no end. really really giving white saviour. it draaaged and everyone was kissing their feet and i was PRAYING for more depth in that but no! fuck me!

if you wanted to have the corny ass parade, okay, have it, but maybe show the traveler not being as happy? or carrying mental wounds after the battle??? GIVE THEM DEPTH OR SOMETHING?????????

you couldve expanded on the four shades, expanded on the abyss, expanded on the angels, expand on xiuhcóatl, expand on fucking gosoythoth since it was literally right there???? flesh out paimon, flesh out the main cast????

and totally flesh out capitano, he did absolutely nothing and he's the first of the harbingers, we just saw him get his ass beat by mavuika in the first act and then nothing??? (cutscene was great!) im not mad at the ending he got, it was very in character, i just wish there was more to him

natlan was set up as a nation of dragons and we learned nothing of them in the main arc, it set up the abyss having a personification and we learned nothing of it

this is mostly something i wouldve loved, but they set up the shades and time manipulation as we saw from mavuika, and no mention of istaroth??? hello???????????

also how did ororon know about nahidas power????

[pinkkop]

Best BLs of 2024

To my surprise, it appears that we've entered 2025, so before I give myself over to the new year I wanted to share my 15 favourite BLs of 2024 in no particular order. Here we go!!!

🇹🇼 The On1y One

This show came complete out of left field and absolutely blew me away! The slow burn was just so delicious which I actually think is a pretty hard thing to do but with acting this good and a great production quality, it did not ever get too slow or too boring. I just wish they would get a second season because, as I've talked about before, I'm convinced the creators intended for this to be just the first season. I'm still holding out hope for a second season but I do worry that since we haven't heard anything concrete yet that we might not get one.

🇰🇷 The Time of Fever

I already knew this was going to be good since I loved these two in Unintentional Love Story. This is actually very similar to The On1e One and did it just as well but with a slightly different approach. The yearning was palpable in the best way possible!

It's such a pity that it seems like the Korean BL market is struggling right now but this show was no disappointment. Would love a sequel to Unintentional Love Story now because I need to see these two finally get their shit together.

🇹🇼 Unknown

Taiwan does gray area stories so well and this was a perfect example. It was so delicious to witness Yuan just love and yearn for Qian and just get stronger and stronger in the conviction that he was made for loving Qian. I'm also just weak for a character who doesn't think much of themselves and don't believe they deserve to be loved like their romantic interest wants to and then for them to finally cave to the persistence of their romantic partner. Could watch a trillion of those types of pairings and this show was a really good take on the trope.

🇰🇷 Love for Love's Sake

This was an odd one but I really liked the concept. The acting, plot and production was really good and I liked how this added something fresh. It's a similar type of pairing as Unknown so again this was right up my alley. One of these days I should look at all my favourite shows and see how often this dynamic pops up because I bet it's a lot. 

🇹🇭 Cherry Magic th

Is this the same type of pairing as both Unknown and Love For Love's Sake?!  You bet it is!!!

Tay and New were just so good in this. I loved that they're both actual dorks but Karan is just better at hiding it so Ashi believed Karan was better than him. In reality they were just the same and perfect for each other. Also I just absolutely love this version of Karan because, as I said before, he' was's such a dork and hearing his inner thoughts through Ashi's powers was such a highlight of this show. Favourite scene was in the bus when Ashi leaned on Karan's shoulder and you just heard Karan's internal screaming. Such a mood!! It just made Karan so much more down to earth and I think Ashi and Karan are one of the few BL pairings where I can imagine them being together for the rest of their lives because they'd be both best friends and lovers.

I did struggle with the Pai character because she was such a good female character and representation of the struggles a lot of woman have. I so badly wanted her to stay single and happy on her own and it felt unnecessary to pair her with Rock. Even more so because her Japanese counter part was actually asexual so I would have loved for Pai to have a similar story line.

🇯🇵 25 Ji, Akasaka de

Just so much pining!!! And another character feeling unworthy of their romantic interest but I feel like this was slightly different, more in an idolizing way and Japan does that really well. 

🇨🇳 Blue Canvas of Youthful Days

This was such a raw feeling show and s big surprise coming out of China. It felt real and raw without feeling like it was low quality. I loved both pairings so much and maybe I'm a masochist but I loved having my heart broken every week.

It didn't quite stick the landing but honestly, with it being China, I'm not surprised the ending got muddled and famously I don't mind when a show doesn't stick it's landing (See my love of HIStory3: Make Our Days Count). It's still worth watching so much and I will definitely watch it again myself. 

🇹🇭 Every You, Every Me

I already enjoyed Top and Mick in their segment of My Universe so I was very excited for this one. This was also a nice surprise because I was just expecting another anthology show but the way they connected the couples was really clever. The ending was a little weak but again here, I didn't think it really hurt the show too much, it just meant this is a good show that could have been even more amazing.

I feel like Top and Mick really proved themselves in this and I really hope that we get more of them. They're a rare pairing that don't visually have a clear top/bottom dynamic while also being good enough actors to be able to both pull of playing both roles.

🇹🇭 I Saw You in My Dream

This was a cute little show and I was happily surprised that they pulled off the more ambitious concept of the prophetic dreams. Both couples were really great and I had such a good time watching along. 

🇨🇳 Meet You at the Blossom

Finally a Wuxia BL from China, by the help of Thailand and Taiwan. This was all I wanted it to be and I can't wait to see how these actors do going forward with them being Chinese and all. I hope we get more Wuxia BLs because this was soooo much fun. I loved both main and secondary characters and pairings and the plot was just the right amount of unhinged.

🇹🇭 We Are

I was worried about this show having so many couples and episodes but I loved how they intertwined and balanced the pairings and gave us a show which was engaging and interesting all the way through.

I love me some found family and all the pairings were great in their own ways. I did particularly love Peem and Phum. It's the hurt character with walls so high all over again (adds another tally to the count). To be honest PhumPeem are still rotating in my mind to this day which I think is a testament to how well this show was executed.

🇹🇭 Spare Me Your Mercy

This was such an engaging watch and it was so cool to get another BL which was really a romance second and another genre first. The crime and mystery of this show was really great and the production quality fit really well. I talked in this post about it struggling with only having 8 episodes which I wholeheartedly think is most of the reason why this show is just good and not absolutely amazing. 

🇯🇵 Takara no Vidro

Another little gem of a show with characters who are perfect for each other but don't believe they're worthy of the other person. Japan does this really well so this was a success. 

🇹🇭 Pit Babe

This was a wild ride with a wild plot and concept but it committed to the bit and made me really invested in the characters and made it easy to get on board with the ABO dynamic of this show and what it meant for the plot.  

🇰🇷 Love in the Big City

This was a top tier QL! It's one of those BLs that are really more about the realities of being queer than the romance which is when a ton of people pop out of the woodwoork to debate whether this is a BL or Queer Media™ as if the latter is inherently better than the first, which is a ridiculous sentiment. Sure, if you don't want to call this a BL because the focus is much more on the realities of being Queer in South Korea then I'm not going to burn you at the stake but don't make this out to be better than BL as a whole. BL is Queer Media and not inherently worse or better than other queer media, especially the kind that don't focus on romance. Anyways, a small tangent.

This show is great and well worth a watch. I don't know if I'll ever watch it again personally because it just left me feeling so raw and too seen. 

[beegswaz]

tangys Blog is just For me to be Silly and not have to Be on this blog Atp

[bambi-kinos]

I think this is missing out on a few key things, not about Paul but about journalists. Yes to Paul not being elegant with communications but it's important to examine what the journos are doing through out these events. Paul was allowed to thump a pair of them and then they were easily purchased with an interview and a different set of photos when the actual bombshell would have been an expansive story about Paul being violent and then bribing them with an interview. Then there's the Rolling Stone interview which was set up to play into John & Yoko's expectations. They wanted 'McCartney' smothered in its crib and Jann Wenner by that point was already brown nosing as hard as he could. The Rolling Stone review was not organic and Paul could not have changed the message if he had been nicer or smarter with his PR because that did not line up with John & Yoko's desires. There is nothing Paul could have done to change it so he didn't try.

What Paul seems to have realized during his tenure as a Beatle is that journalists and the press are media organs who are given instructions on what to print rather than creating their own material. Tabloids will go the extra mile of blackmail, spying, and actual investigation because they want a real story (and that makes them genuinely dangerous) but respectable publications, even in the 1960s and 1970s, are passive as a rule. They minimize their investigative outings and they simply wait to be told what to print. If they were genuine about being """investigative truth tellers"""" or whatever the current noble lie is then Life would have published the entire story. Instead Paul remembered that magazines and newspapers are puppets that dutifully regurgitate what they are told to and nothing more. You can even see this in action in that one 1966 interview (I saw this in 8 Days a Week) where a woman journalist has an embarrassing temper tantrum about The Beatles being "horrid snobby." Paul has to remind her that if the journos give them not-nice questions then they will receive not-nice answers. Because they are journalists, they sullenly sit there and take it and presumably printed what they were told to print. If they were capable of doing more than they would have but celebrities have more leverage and can generally do what they want.

John and Paul both realized this and acted accordingly. John figured out that Ray Connelly was not a good puppet because Connelly didn't respond to John's manipulation. That off the record chat wasn't just a chat, John was trying to get Connelly to leak the break up and was angry when Connelly didn't do it. Thus Paul got the drop on him. Jann Wenner in contrast was desperate for John's validation and hero worshipped him which made him a much better conduit for John's ambition. Paul is much more self-made and didn't need to build a sycophant network like John did. He had puppets he was comfortable with like you showed here but he understood that if he so much as sneezed there would be a line of journalists out the door trying to get photos of the snot. If Paul wanted to do PR then he would have done it. That's not to say Paul would have done it well, I agree that he wasn't used to handling it himself so he was clumsy and inept, but he understood how it was all done. If he really wanted to do PR for 'McCartney' or Ram then he would have.

I highly recommend reading McCartney Legacy Volume 1 for this period (I haven't read Volume 2 yet) because it becomes apparent that Paul's lack of PR was a deliberate choice on his part. He deliberately ignored or skated past journalists numerous times on his way to found Wings. McLegacy demonstrates that Paul was very at ease with the idea that he wouldn't get a big PR storm around 'McCartney'. I believe that he cultivated this on purpose and that Paul's invincible sense of self worth didn't need or want a PR bomb. What mattered to him were the sales numbers, and Paulfans showed up in droves as did the radio DJs. Paul likes the hard numbers because those are hard proof that stand the test of time; John's psychology in contrast prioritized sycophantism.

Rather than Paul being PR illiterate I would say that he made a deliberate choice to not do PR. He was sick and weak and wanted to spend time with his children, he chose not to engage and the timeline on McLegacy Volume 1 demonstrates this. If he wasn't doing family activities then he was wooing his woman and making music with hired orchestras in New York. I would go so far as to say that John understood this and was pants wettingly terrified of Paul and his output which is why he came out so strongly against him in the first place. John secured a puppet in Wenner and used him accordingly. Paul did not do PR bombs in contrast because he believed in his music. If Paul was actually pissed about Miss Thing's whiny shitfit regarding his album then he would have responded more harshly than with a telegram making fun of her childish behavior. What is she going to do, not review his next album? Paul had those balls in a vice, he was happily squeezing them to remind the publication who exactly owned them.

Paul was an industry veteran by the time Ram and 'McCartney' came out. He understood how PR goes even if he wasn't elegant in handling it. He understands that the primary purpose of journalism is to print pre-made material. The Beatles were united in one thing when they treated the press with contempt and freely kicked them around with no thought to consequences. When Paul reminisces about this period he is reminiscing about John, not the puppets John used to do the deeds. Paul understands that they are meaningless. Paul's clumsiness regarding PR is interesting especially in light of how he didn't git gud until after John died but IMO it is a mistake to attribute Paul's lack of PR to illiteracy during this period. He fully knew what he was doing because he had already been a Beatle for years.

Absolutely begging everyone to read McLegacy, it is a dry as hell book but still fascinating and really illuminates Paul's mindset at this time. He made a deliberate choice to not speak to John or George at this time and most of his communications was through legal representatives. When Paul is actually angry about something then he sends a lawyer with carefully written language, hence the legal threat over John calling him 'camp.' He doesn't settle his problems through a puppet at a magazine or a newspaper.

"A dark shadow on an otherwise beautiful record": PR, McCartney and The Beatles' Split.

“No, I wasn’t angry – shit, he’s a good P.R. man, that’s all. He’s about the best in the world, probably. He really does a job. I wasn’t angry. We were all hurt that he didn’t tell us that was what he was going to do.”

(John Lennon in Rolling Stone, 21 Jan 1971)

To cut to the chase, I want to explain why this statement from John, claiming Paul is a good PR man is wrong. Largely thanks to quotes like this from John, Paul gets painted as the Beatle with a good media strategy, the insinuation being of course, that he is disingenuous and inauthentic. I don’t believe this is true in general, but what I really want to focus on, and what John is referencing in that quote, is the publicity around Paul’s 1970 album McCartney, which got all tied up with the news of The Beatles split, and how actually, mistake after mistake was made, rather than it being what John claims - a purposeful move to get more publicity for his album. 

This isn’t a moral judgment on either John or Paul, or me saying Paul is stupid for not doing more. In fact, I think it playing out this way is far more interesting and we can gain a lot of insight about his mindset and relationships from his press activities around this time. 

I’m going to do this chronologically as much as possible, but before we dive in it will be helpful for us to keep a few basic PR strategies and tools in mind to help us understand what’s (or perhaps more importantly, what’s not) happening. So what are some things that make for good public relations? 

A clear, cohesive message. What's the story of the album? There should be key phrases that are repeated throughout press activities, and also allow an easy fall back when faced with questions that haven’t been prepared for. Broadly speaking, you want to highlight the good and ignore the bad, without lying or appearing to hide anything.

A good relationship with the press. Having even a couple of journalists on side can be a huge benefit, it makes for friendlier interviews and more forgiving assessments (which isn’t to say journalists are being fake or can be incentivised, but it’s just human nature that if you make friends, you’re going to have an easier time.) Furthermore, you want a reputation in the industry as someone that’s nice to interview, because journalists can and will talk, and if they’re going to come in with a preconception about you, you want it to be positive. 

Reactive messaging. If something comes out that you don’t want to be out, be prepared. Ideally potential problems have already been planned for. Know which journalists to reach out to, know what the story is, then be prepared to go quiet and leave things alone.

Pre-prepared Q&As or FAQs should answer more questions than they generate. They also shouldn’t require in depth answers - save that for conversations where there’s time for explanations. 

So, let’s start back in 1969. The Paul is dead rumours are in full force and Paul, Linda, Heather and Mary are living up in Scotland, trying to escape the goings-on back in London. 

On 24 October, Paul gives an interview to the BBC dispelling the rumours about his death, which goes out on 26-27 October in two parts. A few days later, Dorothy Bacon and Terrence Spencer from Life Magazine make the trip up to his farm to try and get another interview with him, for a piece they’re also doing about the rumours. 

Paul throws a bucket of dirty water at them, they get pictures, and then realising how this will look if published, Paul gives them an interview and promises to have Linda send them some family shots for the articles. In exchange they get rid of the photos they took earlier in the day.

So the first point here, that hopefully I don't need to spell out, is that you don’t wanna go throwing buckets of water at journalists. Thankfully, Paul did realise this and course corrected, but I can only imagine what the fall out would have been had he hadn’t gone after them. But what’s important for this story is that Paul is fed up with journalists and having to share his private life, he's emotional, and his instinct is to lash out.

The other thing that’s interesting here is a line that goes completely unnoticed. At this point, The Beatles split is not public knowledge. 

The Beatle thing is over. It has been exploded, partly by what we have done, and partly by other people. We are individuals, all different. John married Yoko, I married Linda. We didn’t marry the same girl.

(Paul McCartney in Life Magazine, November, 1969)

This is huge, and it doesn’t get picked up by anyone else. It’s not made a big deal of in the Life article, it’s perhaps the clearest statement we get about the state of The Beatles, and yet it flies under the radar. I’d love to know exactly what the deal is here, but there’s not much we can do about that, but what we should start keeping in mind in this: there is no plan in place around The Beatles split. There is just an agreement to not make it public yet. 

The McCartneys go back to London and Paul starts recording music with his new equipment at home. Later he books studio time when he decides he can make an album out of the songs he’s been working on. 

Some key dates: 

Paul finishes the album on 25 February.

The album is set to release on 17 April.

Ringo’s album get rushed to release two weeks early on 27 March and Let It Be is also supposed to be released in April.

On 31 March John and George send a letter, delivered by Ringo, asking Paul to delay the release of McCartney. Paul refuses and Let It Be gets moved instead. 

Which brings us to April. Prior this, Paul realised that if he’s going to be putting an album out he’s going to have to do some publicity, but the problem is… well, there’s a few; he’s never had to do publicity for a solo album and simply doesn’t have the knowledge, his relationship with Apple has completely deteriorated which includes the people who have been handling this stuff for him in the past, and lastly, he doesn’t want to be dealing with press. Refer back to him and the bucket. 

Thankfully, Peter Brown and Derek Taylor from Apple’s press office, tell him he does need to do something and to an extent, he listens. They select a handful of papers he’ll do interviews with, and Peter Brown puts together a Q&A for Paul to answer, which will go out to journalists in the press kit with their early copy of the album (x).

What I would love to do here is a question by question breakdown of that press kit Q&A but I’m conscious of how long this is already so I won’t… but before we get into that, here are a few more key events: 

7 April: The Eastmans issue a press release with news about Paul’s solo album and his acquisition of the film rights for Rupert The Bear. This is covered mostly by American press on 8 April who speculate that this could mean the end of The Beatles. (An important note here is the lack of communication between the Eastmans and Apple, not knowing what materials each other are providing is not helpful).

9 April: McCartney press kits are sent to journalists. 

9 April: Before Don Short at the Daily Mirror clocks off for the night, he is called by an Apple employee who tells him Paul has definitely quit. 

10 April: The Daily Mirror breaks the news with the headline ‘Paul Is Quitting The Beatles’. 

10 April: After doing interviews all day, Derek Taylor issues a statement regarding The Beatles. It doesn’t say much, which he acknowledges, because there’s not much he can say at this point. Another important note here, is that not even the head of publicity of Apple knew what was going on with The Beatles. There is no communication, and with no communication there can be no plan.

(Paul McCartney Project page that covers all this)

So what happened that made The Beatles split go from speculation to a certainty? It’s all to do with that Q&A. Of course, with the Eastman’s press release people were going to start connecting the dots, but that call Short got from his source isn’t presented as a rumour. 

Now, there’s a lot to say about this Q&A because Paul's answer are so unhelpful and you can feel his attitude. I think the fact this was allowed to go out is a fundamental piece of evidence of Paul’s relationship with Apple at the time. No one wanted to tell him no, and he certainly wasn’t going to give them more than the bare minimum. 

And lets be really clear here. This is a Q&A for his new album. Obviously the state of the Beatles was going to be brought up which is why Peter Brown included the questions, but the number of the questions on that topic and then Paul’s answers, make it really confusing and it’s no wonder this is what press picked up on, rather than just talking about Paul’s album. There are 41 questions in total, and 13 of them are asking him about his relationship to the other Beatles, Apple and Klein. That’s just over a third of the Q&A talking about things that he doesn’t want to be talking about. The fact he didn’t just tell Apple that he wasn’t going to answer some of the questions shows how little forethought went into this on his part. There was a much more concise way to do this, and I do not believe for a second Paul wanted further questions about the state of the Beatles when he’s trying to promote his first solo album. 

And remember what I said at the top, about how if you’re gonna be promoting something in the press you want clear messaging around it? That’s already going be difficult now this Q&A has tied so much of the Beatles split into their messaging, despite Paul actually having a pretty clear idea of what the album’s story is aside from that, but the answers Paul gives to those questions just add further confusion. 

Link to full Q&A.

Q: Were you influenced by John’s adventures with the Plastic Ono Band, and Ringo’s solo LP? A: Sort of, but not really. Q: Will they be so credited: McCartney? A: It’s a bit daft for them to be Lennon-McCartney-credited, so ‘McCartney’ it is. Q: Will the other Beatles receive the first copies? A: Wait and see. Q: Is it true that neither Allen Klein nor ABKCO have been nor will be in any way involved with the production, manufacturing, distribution or promotion of this new album? A: Not if I can help it. Q: Did you miss the other Beatles and George Martin? Was there a moment eg, when you thought ‘wish Ringo was here for this break?” A: No. Q: Are you planning a new album or single with the Beatles? A: No. Q: Is this album a rest away from the Beatles or the start of a solo career? A: Time will tell. Being a solo album means it’s the start of a solo career… and not being done with the Beatles means it’s a rest. So it’s both. Q: Is your break from the Beatles temporary or permanent, due to personal difference or musical ones? A: Personal differences, business differences, musical differences, but most of all because I have a better time with my family. Temporary or permanent? I don’t know. Q: Do you see a time when Lennon-McCartney becomes an active songwriting partnership again? A: No. Q: What is your relationship with Klein: A: It isn’t – I am not in contact with him, and he does not represent me in any way. Q: What is your relationship with apple? A: It is the office of a company which I part-own with the other three Beatles. I don’t go there because I don’t like the offices or business, especially when I’m on holiday.

So what can we get from this? It’s the start of a solo career for Paul, he doesn’t know if The Beatles break is permanent or temporary, he’s not in contact with Klein and Klein doesn’t represent him, he owns part of Apple but he doesn’t like going there, and he seems very certain that the Lennon-McCartney partnership is over, despite not being sure if The Beatles will play together again or not. 

It’s a mess. It raises further questions. The only reason I can think of for it being so long is Peter Brown trying to cover absolutely everything he could think a journalist would ask, but it’s given Paul far too much scope for muddled answers, and in some cases, factually incorrect ones. He is tied up with Klein whether he likes it or not, because Klein’s tied up with Apple and Paul still has a contract with them. 

It’s no wonder that this becomes the focus of the media narrative, and it makes Paul panic. 

So on 16 April, the day before McCartney was released, Paul sits down with journalist Ray Connolly. And we move from story making, into reactive messaging. There is some thought behind this - Connolly is friendly with The Beatles and had actually already been aware of the split thanks to an off the record chat with John, so he was a good choice. The interview was published in the Evening Standard, a few days after the album had come out. 

And here’s why you want a friendly journalist to talk to, because as the world rushed to say that Paul had broken up the band, Connolly led his article with this: 

Paul McCartney didn’t kill the Beatles. If the group is dead, McCartney might be seen as the last survivor. If he has quit, and he still hasn’t confirmed it, he was the last to go.

(Paul McCartney in the Evening Standard, 21-22 April 1970)

However, the interview is also extremely telling about where Paul’s at emotionally in this moment. 

A few days ago Paul McCartney decided to break his year-long silence and be interviewed. He wanted to clear up the confusion about his relations with the other Beatles and Allen Klein, and to kill the rumours that he was now ‘a hermit living in a cave somewhere with a ten-foot beard’. He wanted to show that he really was a happily married man with ‘a nice family and a good life’. But most of all he wanted to talk, to work things out in conversation, as much, I suspect, for his own benefit as anything.

This is not what you want to be doing with a journalist, you want to have this worked out before the conversation. 

We met for lunch in a Soho businessman’s restaurant. With hardly moments for the hellos, he’d launched into his theme, talking rapidly and intently, and only occasionally allowing Linda to come in as support and verification. He wanted to put it all straight, to show that no one was to blame for what had happened, and when after two and a half hours’ non-stop talking he had cleared up his mind and mine too, he laughed, said he felt better now, got into his car and went home.

This demonstrates the lack of media training he had. It’s a stark difference to the confidence he had doing press with the other Beatles, on his own and with a particular idea to get across he appears nervous and controlling. Long form interviews like this are a marathon, not a sprint, and had he had an advisor or representative that was willing to push back against him, he would have known how to handle this better.

Moreover, an interview of this sort should have been done and published prior to the album coming out, or at least on the day of. Yes, there were always going to be questions about The Beatles tied up with this release, but one long interview like this, that had been properly prepared for, could have gone a long way to keeping the story straight. He also, despite his steamroller-ing of the conversation to begin with, comes across much more balanced about the situation than he does in those Q&A answers, so leading with something like this would have put him on much better footing.

So let's just pause here. What have we got so far? We've got Paul wanting to do as little press as possible, and with a breakdown of communication with his press team resulting in minimal planning and advice. This goes completely against the picture John is trying to paint.

And I’m not done yet. Because now we need to talk about the response to the album which wasn’t what I imagine Paul had wanted. There are two reviews I’m going to focus on here, firstly from Disc & Music Echo, written by Penny Valentine. 

I don’t know what he was thinking when he planned this album. Perhaps he is laughing at us all. That’s fine, but it’s a pretty cruel way of doing it… almost a betrayal of all the things we’ve come to expect.

(Disc & Music Echo review, 18 April 1970)

It’s really harsh, but also this is within her right as a journalist. And what should someone do if they’re getting bad reviews? Ignore them. Thank the fans. Thank the people who say nice things. Don’t highlight negative attention, and certainly don’t lash out. 

And look, there’s a lot to be said about Paul, Linda, John and Yoko’s press communications over the 70s, the Melody Maker letters spring to mind, and I’m very aware that I’m looking at this from 2025 when PR is much bigger and better oiled machine, almost to the point of it being quite boring and predictable. I do, however, also think that ‘don’t lash out at journalists who don’t like your work’ is common sense. 

So Paul and Linda writing to Disc & Music Echo is a bit much to my eyes: 

Dear Penny hold your hand out you silly girl I am not being cruel or laughing at you. I am merely enjoying myself. You are wrong about the McCartney album. It is an attempt at something slightly different, it is simple, it is good and even at this moment it is growing on you, love. – Paul and Linda McCartney.

(Paul and Linda's telegram to Disc & Music Echo, 25 April 1970)

It’s condescending, and if you want to plant the seeds of what your album is meant to be, there are much better places and ways to do it. Again this is reactive, showing little to no planning earlier in the year. 

But here’s the thing that actually, completely baffles me. On the same day, in the same paper, another article gets published, this time by Derek Taylor, with the by line reading ‘Derek Taylor, Beatles Press Officer’. This just shouldn't happen. I can’t think of another case where someone’s PR is coming to their rescue in print. That’s not their job, and yes, Taylor used to be a journalist but he’s not anymore. I think this is way more to do with the way the people that have been with the Beatles since the early days are so emotionally wrapped up in this, they weren’t the people that should have been handling this.

(x)

It also shows though, that however much Paul was distancing himself from Apple, there were people still there who loved him. It’s an emotional, beautifully written piece calling for people to leave Paul alone, but also not a good PR move, especially when he’s highlighting a specific journalist. Whether Paul asked Derek to do this, or Derek did it of his own accord, I don’t know, but it looks defensive and if I was a journalist, I’d be rolling my eyes. 

Which brings us to the final part of this, the Rolling Stone review, published on 14 May 1970, nearly a month after the album came out, and largely not about the album at all, but a lot of  focus on Paul’s handling of the situation. 

The review of the actual songs is pretty complimentary, but this is also a personal attack on Paul. 

(Full review)

Unfortunately, there is more to this album than just music. Accompanying the release of McCartney was a mass of external information — all of it coming directly from Paul himself — which casts real doubt on the beautiful picture which the songs create. 

The sheets contain even more assertions about how happy and peaceful Paul and Linda are these days, and some interview statement from Paul concerning his relationship to the Beatles — statements which drip a kind of unsavory vindictiveness.

My problem is that all of the publicity surrounding the record makes it difficult for me to believe that McCartney is what it appears to be. In the special package of information which Paul wanted to include with the album we find startlingly harsh statements.

The lasting effect of this publicity campaign is to cast a dark shadow on an otherwise beautiful record. Listening to it now I cannot help but ask if Paul is really as together as the music indicates, how could he have sunk to such bizarre tactics?

I don't think this needs much commentary. You know something’s gone wrong with your PR when that becomes the focus, rather than the thing you’re actually trying to promote. 

If we return to the four things I listed above, I think we can pretty resolutely lay out what I wanted to do. 

Was there a clear, cohesive message? Around the album itself, sort of, Paul knew what it was. But it got tied up with the news of The Beatles split, the messaging around which was confusing with no one sticking to the same story. He also didn't do enough before the album came out, to get that messaging about his album stuck in people's heads. So overall, no. 

Did he build good relationships with press? No. He threw a bucket at one. He provided confusing press kit material, even to journalists he was friendly with he came across in a manner that was worth noting in an article, he sent a bitchy telegram to a journalist who wrote a bad review, and this all culminated in Rolling Stone spending more time talking about his publicity than his album.  

Did Paul have reactive messaging prepared? Evidently not, and then given the chance to provide some, he came across as panicked to the journalist he was speaking to. 

Did his Q&A provide clear, simple answers to common questions he was likely to get asked? No, it was overly long, asking the same questions in multiple ways and no editing was done to his short, snappy, confusing, and incorrect answers. 

I don’t want to give the idea that Paul, overall, is just shit at PR. (I mean, there's a difference between being a good spokesperson and good at PR but I won't get into that). He’s a highly successful musician who by all accounts, is now extremely good at interviews and making journalists feel at ease. He’s Paul fucking McCartney. But John saying this, in direct reference to this period of press activities is just not true. The album did well for Paul in the charts and sales, yes, but I’d argue that’s despite all this, rather than because of it. 

And it’s also important to reiterate, that Paul simply wasn’t interested in doing a lot of publicity. He wasn’t even sure this was going to be an album when he started writing the songs. He didn’t want people coming to his farm, invading his new family life (and rightly so), he didn’t want to be on TV or the radio every day. That’s why his Q&A is so terse and why he hadn’t put any thought in how he was going to talk about The Beatles. And whilst how he felt is understandable, what he needed were a team around him willing to push back, steer him, and were separate from Apple. That’s the only way, I think, this could have gone differently.

Even then, he probably wouldn’t have listened to them anyway: 

I don’t think I need a manager in the old sense that Brian Epstein was our manager. All I want are paid advisers, who will do what I want them to do. And that’s what I’ve got.

(Paul McCartney in the Evening Standard, 21-22 April 1970)

And that’s really the crux of it all, because you can’t do good with PR with someone who doesn’t want to take advice and thinks they know best. And I love him for it.