#i cant shake these feelings and it makes me not very confident in my identity

[kulemii]

something that irritates me about me is that i always feel so guilty when i sexualize women. i punish myself internally as if im some sorta predator or something and it's annoying as fuck bc i can say something 10x worse about men and not bat an eye about it. so like, am i penalizing myself because i feel like women are to be protected always and when i thirst after them, im inherently a danger? or am i policing myself for having gay thoughts and because they're women as am i, that's what makes it a crime? why is it okay for men but not women? either all of it's okay or none of it's okay.

(incase this somehow comes across someone that doesn't know me- i do not EVER say any of the things i think or feel to real people. tbh, this issue is something i noticed in myself when i thirst after fictional characters and the occasional celebrity.** so this is not an issue of making people uncomfortable.)

[wincore]

runway (m) | jung yoonoh

pairing: model!jaehyun x fashion designer!reader

words: 18.7k

summary: there are some things that come with dedicating your life to fashion: a taste for finer fabrics, a splash of love for art, and an appreciation of the human body. none of these are supposed to include the hottest model you have ever laid eyes on, or the fact that you completely, utterly hate his guts. 

genre: enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, light smut, comedy-ish

warnings: sexual content, mentions of anxiety

a/n: woohooooooo she’s finally here!!!! i cant believe this!! everything aside, i do not have first hand experience working in the fashion industry so please do take this with a grain of salt. i’m also going to pass out. good night <3

A list of things you appreciate: colours, satin, comfort.

A list of things you do not appreciate: Jung Yoonoh. Jaehyun. Whatever.

The hum of the car engine has little effect on you; you travel like this almost every day. Tall buildings, scorching pavement, the blare of traffic—it’s Seoul, after all. You sigh, more of a short expression of annoyance, scrolling down with your thumb and back up again. Since when did he get permission to post pictures from pre-fittings? And one of your works, no less. 

His feed is so messy. You click your tongue. For a model, that is. 

You open the story again and consider messaging him. It’s your cherry red coat, or rather the collar of it, golden thread sewn in swirls of patterns, and a sheer floral shirt extending all the way up to cover Jaehyun’s neck. You frown. It’s meant for showcase, not teasers. Even if the picture extends just from the curve of his shoulder to his parted lips, you can’t stand the sight of it on him. It’s not bias, you try to tell yourself. This is business. You tap your fingertips rapidly against the back of your phone. This is obviously business. 

Seoul Fashion Week is the height of your anxiety, which means you have little regard for anything else decorated around you. With a new frenzy arising in every minute of your day—you don’t have time to think, a sense of madness in the way you keep busy. Your Elixir collection is more than what you had hoped for it to be, a twinge of satisfaction sitting at the pit of your stomach. It nicely puts together everything rich and extravagant, humanity’s first love—everything you despise really, so Jaehyun wasn’t a bad choice for a model. 

You backspace on your text. Is this rude? Should you care if you’re being rude? How unprofessional, you imagine his voice saying. It wouldn’t be the first unprofessional thing you’d done.

The final text reads ‘Glad you’re enjoying my designs, but they were not meant to be publicly displayed before the official show, as common sense predicts.’ 

No, of course you’re not trying to be snarky. It’s perfectly formal. All that time writing professional complaint letters to companies for ripping off your designs paid off, you suppose.

You exit the Uber, thanking the driver quickly before you rush into the building, checking the time on your watch. It’s sunny, and hotter than you anticipated. You can only hope it’s cooler tomorrow so the heat doesn’t suffocate your models.

The company building is another madness in its own. Joohyun greets you with a quick smile, a bunch of fabrics being handed to her before she can make any conversation with you, and the rest of the workers bow in greeting before getting back to their own individual windstorms. You step over a few boxes on the grounds, beelining to your workspace so you can settle down your bag.

You’re team leader, you tell yourself, a short breath tumbling out of your mouth. Even so, you don’t do very well under several pairs of eyes on you at once. Some part of you is still the timid fashion designer, packing your entire identity into a small sketchbook.

The sunlight is blaring out of control in the place—it’s meant to be spacious and sunlit, of course, but the heat makes you adjust your collar before you can move forward. The bustle of the style and design team along with the production team in the same place is akin to a nightmare, and you trace your steps quickly.

“Guys,” you begin, fidgeting with the leather strap of your watch as you continue, “Firstly, good job.”

There’s a bunch of short cheers and clapping to interrupt before you can continue. 

“As for tomorrow…stylists, I need you to touch up the collars in all the Western-style coats. The detailing needs to be kept clean and sharp. I want the audience to be able to see it.”

You pause, your tone still neutral. “And let’s not start again on the lacing. We had that discussion yesterday.” 

There’s some nods and sounds of affirmation. 

“Production team…I don’t think I can say much to you without Doyoung getting on my case.”

There’s collective laughter and you crack a smile. With a few more rapid words, you dismiss yourself, walking over to your colleagues to help them out. You’re team leader, the one with the final say in all the designs, but you can’t possibly imagine completing it without Joohyun or the others. 

“Good pep talk there, (name),” Joohyun says, walking over to you as her hands sharp and steady as they go through the clothes rack. 

“They think I’m an asshole,” you say, breathing out. You know your words are too direct. Drunk co-workers on a Friday night are not the best place to discover facts about yourself. Sometimes even you think you sound bossy. You check the key parts for each item, knowing you’ll be doing this once again before the show.

“We wouldn’t be going anywhere without direction,” Joohyun responds, laughing as if you’d said something silly. “We’re all glad you’re here, (name).”

Words like these are so easing for a mess like you, not that you’d admit it. Joohyun has always been a sort of mother figure to you after you entered this company, followed by Doyoung. A good few years senior to you, she started out as a model before she moved on to designing. 

It’s her last year working in this place. But of course, it’s a given when she’s starting her own label (mom clothes and children’s apparel, she’d called her clothing line, rolling her eyes) and one of the most well-known names in South Korean fashion not having her own label is sacrilege (according to your colleagues anyway). She’d said to contact her when you start your own family, and maybe she’ll send a congratulations package for both you and your baby. You’d laughed. Out of all the insults you could ever receive, that was perhaps the loveliest one.

Ridiculousness aside, you’ll miss the comfort of her presence. You were still in school when your designs led you to a showcase in New York Fashion Week, your sponsor more than generous. You stepped into it too soon, too eager. It was breath-taking and awful all at once—and the first time you saw a world outside of your own. It was overwhelming. There are few people in this new world as kind as Joohyun.

The sound of your notification snaps you out of your thoughts. You swear you kept it on vibrate, a little irked at having to search for your phone when your hands are full. The notification itself brings on a stronger wave of vexation.

_jeongjaehyun:

My manager told me it was good publicity

But I could take it down for you

The ‘for you’ adds an unnecessary effect, you think as you hold back a scowl. And what does ‘could’ mean? A miscommunication with the sales team isn’t even on the list of things you need to worry about. Honestly, you don’t have time to fight him, quickly typing out a ‘whatever. it’s okay’ before looking back up.

You jump, the look on Joohyun’s face a little suspicious for what might come out of her mouth.

“It’s not a crime to text people.” She shrugs, shuffling through the rack one more time to take the clothes for transportation. 

You’re quick to jump to your defence. “I have nothing to do with him.”

Joohyun looks at you, amused. “He’s not a bad person, you know? How long are you going to keep hating him for one thing he did?”

“It’s not one thing,” you groan, averting your gaze to the clothes so as to help her. “I just- he’s so- so- oh come on. You know how I feel about him.”

“I’m just saying you don’t have any reason to. Everyone’s different from what they appear to be. Especially in this line of work.” Joohyun balances the clothes you give her across her forearms.

“So he’s fake. I hate that even more.” You sigh, pulling out the blue silk overcoat, the colour matching Joohyun’s work dress.

“You mean unreal? Models tend to be that way—don’t be so harsh on him, honey.”

You simply shake your head, words entering one ear and out the other. Joohyun presses her lips into a line but lets it go soon enough. She knows you’re capable enough to separate professional from personal and that should be enough. You’re not keeping a tab on something as warming as spite. 

You can’t believe you’d ever been within five feet of him without turning your nose. You can’t believe you’d smiled at his jokes once, even if it was just that one night. He was the godsent Prince Charming, just perhaps not yours. Paris surely had a distressing effect on you that year. 

You don’t make the same mistake twice.

You walk back to your desk to take a seat and scavenge through your belongings, most of the people already outside. Fashion Week, which once upon a time was a faraway dream, now is part of life—exciting and exhausting. It’s almost always over in a flash, your love for it whisked in peaks of bittersweet. (“You work your ass off for six months and it’s, what, fifteen minutes long?” your mother had asked after you’d brought her to one of the shows.)

This line of work is a nightmare without mental preparation. You have a degree, you have experience and yet it doesn’t feel enough, confidence easier to drain in a person than blood. And you’re not very fond of pale cheeks.

It came to asking yourself if you really have it in you for a few months—a test of sorts everyone puts themselves through at least once in their lives. At that time, your favourite professor, a bald man nearing his retirement years with the wrinkliest face you’d ever seen, had asked you just one question. 

Do you love it? 

Of course you fucking do. 

You couldn’t say that to his face, sure, but you know he saw it in you—either the effort you put out every day of the semester or the way your hands moved across fabric like a machine, your designs made with the persistence of nature. Your final year project landed you an internship at one of the largest clothing brands in Seoul and your internship landed you a job at the same. Your job, well, lead you to Jaehyun, among many other things. 

You scowl at the image of his face that appears when you close your eyes, massaging your forehead—it’s hard to not see it everywhere already, from Cosmopolitan to Vogue.

While you were biting your nails in New York, Jaehyun had flown out to Paris with Saint Laurent, one of the younger male models to show his face for the first time. He’d taken the whole place by storm, you had heard from a friend. To say half the world had fallen in love—either with his dimples or his confident walk—would be an understatement. A privilege, to be gold-plated in a mercenary world.

You’d briefly made eye contact at the airport the first time you saw him, a year later, when you were arriving in Incheon and he was leaving it. It was London, that time. For him, Milan. As much as you couldn’t believe living a fashion student’s dream, Jaehyun’s face was truly, unironically much more unrealistic. Your classmates’ gabs and gossip in sewing class had suddenly made sense. You taught yourself to not be swayed by faces, even if they look like they’re stitched together by Aphrodite and Apollo with their bare hands—friendly advice from seniors at the orientation night ‘party’. 

You’d met him formally in Paris, after you’d graduated from fashion school. He was certainly the most beautiful face in the room—and you weren’t the only one aware of it. The entire night you’d been starting conversations you couldn’t relate to, till he came along with his charming dimples and a faux connect. You were naive, and a little tipsy. The attraction was obvious, and it had been you by the bathroom pulling him in for a drunk kiss till he’d snapped out of the daze—as if it were some joke you’d been playing. He’d apologized before leaving, like it wasn’t a big deal, with silken lips parted in a gesture of remorse and a short, firm bow. It didn’t settle very well alongside the merlot in your gut.

You. You’re a big deal. 

You were alone in a room full of painted faces and he sat atop the throne they worshipped. Why had you expected any more from him—in the understanding nods or the few kind words that escaped his lips? You felt stupid. He made you feel like smiling for the first time that night and you hated him for it—you’re sure he doesn’t care either way. Or maybe he does, with the wonderfully irked responses he graces you with. 

Jaehyun made something out of himself in these nine years, just as you have. Runway supermodel to the face of South Korean men in fashion to an entrepreneur, he might as well have a documentary on him—and he would if he didn’t evade paparazzi and reporters like his life depended on it. Enigmatic, the articles wrote. You scoffed. Conceited, more like. After the initial years, he decided to settle in New York, frequently flying to Seoul and other fashion capitals for business and contractual events. Some of those occasionally include your shows.

Having Jaehyun gets more attention but it’s not like you’re a new, doe-eyed kid. Your works have been featured for popstars and foreign celebrities, and you’ve been invited to several interviews with big magazines. You’ve gone global (albeit under the brand’s name) and you’ve been to places you’d only seen pictures of in the very same magazines you looked up to. They can describe your work as unique all they want—and you don’t mean to sound fucking pretentious—but your job is nothing more than an expression of the self. It’s a part of you; you first started sewing patches onto things simply because your closet lacked colour. And eventually, you found yourself searching for more—colours, fabrics, dreams. You’re devoted to your job because you love it, you want to do it. You’re allowed to be a little arrogant about it. 

If only trying desperately to be arrogant did something about your insecurities.

You hope your works redefine themes, your need to stand out contrasting with your fear of it. Eye-catching is always your forte; this time it’s fairy tales and royalty in a mix of East meets West. 

D-1. Same feeling, new season.

The press is here, you take note. Photographers. Models. Students. Vloggers. It’s a burst of colours down there.

You hate running late, rushing down the stairs to the plaza through the crowds of people. Some recognize you, as they make their way to you but you end up walking a little faster to minimize your presence.  You curse yourself for wearing the jacket. It goes nicely with the rest of your outfit and March isn’t supposed to be this hot. You wipe the sweat from your hairline, hoping the makeup is waterproof like it said.

You consider stopping at the café for a fix of coffee but stop when you notice Joohyun holding a bunch of cups by the venue. She doesn’t look too happy about the sun, or the burdening errand of fetching coffee. You adjust her little red beret at her request, smiling at her annoyance but trying your best to keep it hidden. You don’t want to get cussed out by Joohyun. 

“Someone tell Doyoung to get his coffee,” Joohyun complains. “I’ve been waiting for half an hour.”

“I’m sure that’s an exaggeration,” you say, sipping your coffee. The taste fills your senses with a pleasant dose of energy and you hum out a satisfied note. “Why are there so many students out here? Influencers? Did we sponsor this many kids?” 

Joohyun shakes her head.  “Jaehyun just got here.”

You suppress an eye-roll. “Wonder why he still comes back for Seoul when he’s booked full for New York.”

“It’s his hometown.” Joohyun shrugs. “I’d come back too. Even if I’m paid more out there.”

You finish your coffee and duck into the fitting room, much to Joohyun’s displeasure as she’s left alone again. Doyoung’s in for an earful, you chuckle thinking about it.

It would look like a hell of a mess to anyone not accustomed to this. Everyone is a flurry by themselves alone but if you mix them with the eclectic crowd you find at a Seoul Fashion Week backstage, it’s more of a disaster. A colorful one, at the very least. 

New York was worse. You were too young, in a world that was too big. It’s a miracle you even received an opportunity from so big a name. But, you suppose, it hardly matters now.

You no longer live in a world where Seoul is far from Paris. Fashion and art are things unmarked by place of origin.

It’s easy to spot Jaehyun in a corner, two people adjusting his coat for better fitting at the waist. His makeup’s done, you notice as you get closer. Good, you think. If any makeup were to get on the fabric, you’d go feral (although you do have full confidence in the makeup artists here and their choice of product).

“Jaehyun,” you greet. Your co-workers give each other a look before excusing themselves. You raise an eyebrow, too late to stop them. They didn’t finish the looping of the belt properly, you take notice. You wrinkle your nose. Sloppy. 

“(name).” He responds with an equal lack of amusement. 

You pull the belt at his waist, Jaehyun stiffening at the contact.

“What are you doing?” he asks, looking down at you with a raised eyebrow.

“My job? What do you think, genius?”

Jaehyun presses his lips together and lets you complete the altercations. The chiffon shirt allows you to see the hazed definition of his core, a rather flustering thing to be exposed to for anyone with eyes. When you look up in a moment’s mistake, you’re reminded of why his face is everywhere. Flawless, almost. You hate it. Averting your eyes, you fix the collar so the pattern stands out more. You can feel his eyes over your outstretched hand all the way to your face, subtle as ever. If Jaehyun thinks you’re bothered by it, he’s an idiot for believing so. 

You take a step back to analyse the coat. The golden threads are flawlessly detailed, spiraling in patterns of different flowers and vines around the collar, gradually getting larger as they twine at the base of the neck. They meet the polished rhinestone buttons a little lower. You almost smile. You’d sewn each thread and each button in yourself the first time. It hardly looks the same now.

Bright red is an eyesore if you look at it longer than five minutes, you realize. The frown that’s been itching to show up finally does. Suddenly, you’re glad Jaehyun is modelling this piece. You shake your head and look back at his face, from his deep-set brown eyes to his full, tinted lips before pausing. The little Swarovski pearls line strands of his hair in a starry display, perfect in every angle of it. It’s easy to appreciate the human beauty when you see his face, and even if you claim your vehement dislike for him, you’re not a liar nor an idiot. 

How infuriating it is, to let things be. Bad blood can only dry to an ugly, unusable brown.

You narrow your eyes at the thinning layer of glitter on his peach-blushed cheeks. He doesn’t exactly need much more of it but the unevenness bothers you.

“Your makeup needs retouching,” you say, frowning. “Did you touch your face? I thought you were a more...professional model than this, Jaehyun.”

“You walked in,” he replies, casually. “I was distracted.”

You feel your cheeks colour. “That’s- that’s not a reason.”

He smiles politely. “I suppose I’ll leave you then. You must have other work to do.”

You hold back a biting remark. His playfulness doesn’t sit well with you; he’s polite just enough to annoy you and straightforward just enough to make you want to throw something at him. He could’ve directly told you to fuck off maybe—but oh no, it’s Jung Yoonoh, seamless and radiant, with only the sweetest collection of words on his tongue. You think of the first time you met, something warm in the corner of your heart. You’d mistaken it, of course. 

He didn’t care for you, or any of the people trailing after him and his silver flute, or the rest of the shallow carcass of a world so undeniably obsessed with him. It didn’t hit you till he’d left you hanging, mangled memories of something close to hurt. You’re glad you didn’t kiss him. You wouldn’t be able to get over the embarrassment, the blow to your pride had it escalated any further.

And of course, the one thing he did to make you absolutely certain of his distaste—was simply choose another designer’s work over yours when given a choice. It seems silly, unprofessional even, but the lack of response to your Fall/Winter ready-to-wear collection had been embarrassingly low, someone else’s designs sold out at an equally awful rate. You—your insecurities—wanted to blame your own failings—maybe it was the lining of the coats, or the colours maybe— the fabric? Perhaps, you hadn’t focused on comfort all too well. But it was clear, a word from Jung Yoonoh could change the minds of a fashion-forward youth as easily as his face and physique scored contracts with the biggest brands and labels. And it was clear he didn’t like you very much.

You walk over to the other models, eyes scanning down to the T. You glance over one of Joohyun’s designs, a modern men’s hanbok. The blood red paired with yellow is certainly easing on the eyes, though the shades vary from top to bottom, like a sunset. The dark grey chunky shoes fitted under dark tights complete the entire future oriental look you suppose she was going for. She’s only showcasing two of her designs this year and they’re just before the centrepiece. You shake your head, clutching the fabric of your jacket sleeve. You hate seeing other designs before a showcase, even if they’re a friend’s. 

You turn your head to make eye contact with Jaehyun across the room. It takes a few seconds but you snap your head in another direction to break the spell. 

How strange. You haven’t had nearly enough coffee to feel jittery under his gaze.

You’re forced to take a breather away from this jungle of liveliness. 

The amount of people outside the venue gives you yet another headache. Excited college students and fashion vloggers stand outside expectantly, and you give a short bow and polite ‘hello’ to anyone who approaches. You desperately want to be left alone. Even if it’s for a few seconds.

You walk quickly, your feet soundless against the floor. Your mask performs considerably (and surprisingly) well in hiding you. You consider visiting the Design Market to enjoy a seat alone and charge your phone before it’s show time.

Open spaces. You need open spaces. Suddenly, the DDP seems to be suffocating you despite its tremendous size.

“Hey!” You’re greeted with a sudden force to your right side, an arm wrapping around you. You look up to see Johnny, a wide grin on his face and you let yourself mirror it, shaking your head.

“Big day,” he says. “Want me to take some pictures? I’ve got some time between shows—lovely outfit, as usual.”

It’s strange how Johnny’s the photographer and not the model—you’ve heard he receives a lot of requests to get on the other side of the camera though he always refuses. He doesn’t visit Seoul as often, but he has much to do in uplifting the mood with his strangely effective sense of humour. The coffee-coloured shirt he’s wearing goes well with the plaid grey coat, reminiscent of Fendi’s Spring collection, and sometimes you wonder whether a job as a fashion photographer ever had much to do with his style. Johnny has always been effortlessly impressive. 

You politely decline, your mind still focused on the smooth running of things. Nothing’s ever on time when it comes to Fashion Weeks—yes, it’s called fashionably late but it just makes you annoyed. You consider ducking back to your venue, adding some final final touches and any more last-minute altercations. Years have passed and you’re still not used to it, fingers itching to do something about everything. You’re grateful the company gives you your creative space but it only makes you wonder just how far the limits are. 

Johnny accompanies you to the charging station till he’s distracted by some of the children in the latest Fendi kidswear and you make a mental note to never bring your kids to Fashion Week, if you ever choose to have them.

You breathe in and out for a few moments, feeling lightheaded before the sense of reality touches on you. People walk in and out of the stores lining the pathways, a soft buzz of conversation in the air as your eyes follow their movement. You wonder if you’ll have your own stores opened in plazas like this—here, in Seoul, and on brightly lit streets of the world outside. After all, colourful dreams are the hardest to get rid of. You sit quietly till you get a text from Doyoung asking you to get your ass over there quickly with several exclamation marks. You smile to yourself. Joohyun might have had a sour effect on him.

You arrive back at the venue, trying to tear your eyes away from anything that might want to make you fix it. You avoid Jaehyun’s eyes even more so, like you’ll jinx something right before it’s showtime. 

The buzzing reaches a peak before everything is drowned out.

The show finally starts. And it’s over. Twenty-two minutes, this time.

That’s the way it goes. You hold your breath till you’re sure it’s safe to let go, blind to everything that goes on in between. Sometimes it’s underwhelming, sometimes you can’t give a fuck when you love doing this anyway.

You breathe a sigh of joy when everyone gathers backstage, Johnny making all the models pose together for one giant group photo. It’s like a ritual for him, always finding time for a backstage picture with the models goofing off.

Jaehyun looks at you instead of the camera, a nervous shiver running through you. His gaze is not something of inconsequence, eyes piercing into you with words hanging in the air that you don’t care enough about. You think he sends you a smile, cockier than you’d like. Despite your efforts, you have to look away.

Now, what should your dear Fall collection look like? You exit by yourself, relief humming through your veins when you think of getting back to your apartment, papers to be sketched on in your hands, soft fabric to be sewn on your table. Maybe they’ll display your works in the front rows of the stores, maybe you’ll even have displays outside of Seoul. You’re not a student anymore and your job has taken you enough places. 

Even so, Paris and Milan sneak into your dreams often. You used to dream of them so much that it was hard to consider them reality—finding yourself in those streets, in between all those beautiful picture-book monuments.

You prefer Seoul, you decide after conscious thinking. You don’t have to worry about the world outside. 

Afterparties are not your thing. 

You somehow still find yourself in them, hoping to catch a drunk video of Doyoung for blackmail or make eye contact with an attractive stranger only to stop at exchanging numbers because you never find the time. 

It’s a social event. You’re supposed to be doing social things. It’s exhausting.

The last person you expect to bump into is Jaehyun, drinks in hand as he looks down at you with a greeting of surprise on his tongue. He’s wearing a simple dark Oxford button-down, two buttons at his chest undone, and tucked neatly into his pants. His hair looks untouched since afternoon, parted in messy waves, minus the pearls. The music changes to something with slower beats as you stare at each other for a few moments.

“What are you doing here?” You raise an eyebrow. There are other afterparties he could be attending. Big ones.

Jaehyun tilts his head, cracking his neck before smiling. “Charming, as always. I’m here because I want to be here, obviously. So does everyone, I’m sure.” 

“Fucking narcissist,” you mutter to yourself. You think Jaehyun might have heard you because you get a dirty look thrown your way, masked with the signature apathy across his relaxed lips.

“That’s a little rich from you,” he mumbles.

The muscle by his mouth twitches but he doesn’t say anything more. This is probably the most emotion he shows, you think. Wouldn’t his lovestruck magazines relish seeing him riled up like this? They’d still find a way to fall in love with him.

You could have, too.

No way. You tell yourself that’s ridiculous. 

You’re aware he’s booked for at least three other shows this week. It’s a miracle he agreed to yours, considering your mutual distaste for each other. You suppose it had more to do with his agency than himself but it wasn’t like you were the keener one. Jung Yoonoh is the face professionals look for and your company loves the publicity, although you keep telling yourself your designs would still shine without him. 

Jaehyun excuses himself before you can get on with any unpleasant conversation you might have. At least you have something in common—that is, trying to avoid each other as much as possible.

A few minutes (and uncomfortably snaking through swarms of bodies) later, you find Doyoung, unfortunately sober and intending to remain so, people congratulating him with claps on the back for securing the position of PR Head. You think it was supposed to be a secret, but someone higher in the ladder must have spilled early. Joohyun never attends these, and honestly, good for her. 

Afterparties are not your thing.

You shouldn’t have taken those shots but you’re on the dance floor now anyway—what more could happen? It’s easier when you’re not paranoid about all the eyes on you, dancing against a stranger with a lion tattooed against his neck. Maybe you’ll go home with him, maybe you’ll leave at the first signs of attraction. Romance isn’t quite on your to-do list, but an occasional intoxication with the skin works just fine. You could live like this for a few moments.

Your back runs into someone else’s rather forcefully and you turn around, apology bubbled up to your tongue already, mixing with the alcohol.

“Oh look.” You roll your eyes. “It’s the prince of high fashion. What can I get you today, sire?”

Jaehyun drives his tongue over his lips, quite definitely over your antics. Soft breaths leave his mouth in a rhythm irrelevant to this box of laughter and blaring music called a party. You love how he never knows how to respond—what new words will he choose to keep false dignity? If you think about it, he’s the embodiment of why you always thought everything was so out of your reach—big names, exclusive parties, not for kids like you. They were never for fashion students too honest to know their own worth.

“Jealousy isn’t a good colour on you,” he says, just loud enough for you to hear.

You scoff, a pang of annoyance sizzling through you. “Jealous? Of who? You?”

You sneer at the last part, Jaehyun’s frown deepening. Some days you just like to think you’ve won. A few moments pass between you two, the sound of pop music filling in the gaps. 

Jaehyun presses closer to you, your chests almost touching as your breath hitches in your throat.

“Do you know what makes success?” he says, head dipping lower to look you in the eye. The smell of alcohol disturbs you for a second before your heartbeat gets loud enough to drown it. You try to not focus on how his mouth is so near yours—and perhaps if you were drunk enough, you might commit a mistake against the very core of your being, something you’d been dangerously close to once.

You stay quiet, the pulsing in your ears too loud in the shallow distance between the two of you. You swear it’s always the two of you pressed up like this once you’re drunk enough, the dislike growing stronger and stronger with every breath exchanged. You’ve intertwined each other into a strange garden of contempt, easy to forget when you're facing him. Jung Yoonoh has the prettiest face in the industry, and the only one you can’t bear seeing. 

“It’s confidence,” he answers, as slow and steady as ever. “And there’s a thin line between confidence and arrogance I intend to keep. I’m not so sure about you.”

The rest of the night passes without conflict and you retire early, Jaehyun’s breath still hot against your face. Only when you collapse on your bed do you get an urge to shout, yell, anything that doesn’t make you call him up and scream at him. You have your precious dignity too, something he seems to look past. The effect he had on your breathing, the crawling over your skin—God, you hate him. You’re too stubborn to not continue doing it.

“What’s this?” you ask, your eyes darting in between the director of design and Lee Taeyong.

To say you were surprised to see him would be an understatement. You note the simple dark rimmed glasses in contrast with his light dyed hair, the mellow blue of his cashmere sweater sporting his own label’s logo—Lee Taeyong is a household name. You feel yourself shrink the tiniest bit.

This industry’s all about names, you think miserably. You meet people and you remember the ones who can get you ahead. It’s tiring.

Taeyong started his career even earlier than you did, and before he had changed his major to fashion. He’s a little older than you, though he doesn’t look it and he had begun with working exclusively on jackets. Several rejected designs later, he had popped up as one of the designers to look out for in Seoul Fashion Week. Now he has his own global label slowly turning brand, several worldwide stores and everything dreamers in the same place as you look up to. You think you’re fine here, you tell yourself despite that.

The director smiles at you, her hand gesturing rapidly at you to come forward.

“You’re going to be so happy,” she says, signalling Taeyong to continue.

“Uh, hi,” he greets.

A little awkward for a world-class designer, you think.

“I’m Lee Taeyong. You might have heard of me—”

“I know who you are,” you interrupt, ignoring the disapproving look of the director.

“Oh, that’s good!” He smiles. “I’ve seen your work—I’ve been following your work for a few years now…and, well, I’d love for you to work under my label—in a collaboration of sorts. You’ll have full creative freedom, of course! I’m just there more or less for supervision, really…”

You think you feel your heart stop for a few moments, Taeyong’s sudden stream of information fading out. The pinnacle of your career, you believe, had been Paris Fashion Week four years ago and you’d been dreaming of it ever since. This is a business contract, you’re sure, and you don’t know if you have a real choice but maybe you could take that step forward you’ve always wanted to.

“Isn’t that great, (name)?” The director interjects. “You get to work under the Lee Taeyong label. And…surprise! You’ll have your work presented at New York Fashion Week in September. They’ll hit the stores a week later.”

You freeze. 

“New York?” you manage to squeak.

“Yep!” Her voice a notch away from annoying. She’s not the first person you’ve met who sounds so goddamn manufactured. “Pack your bags, darling. You’re flying next weekend.”

You must be looking like a deer caught in the headlights because Taeyong opens his mouth to say something, alarmed. You speak before he does.

“Okay,” you say, more to yourself than them. It should be a good thing. It’s supposed to be a good thing. Even so, you feel the anxiety in your ribcage threatening to overgrow into thorns. 

“I’ll- I’ll do it,” you clarify. Looking from your manager’s bright yet stern face to the hopeful smile on Taeyong, you don’t think you have much of a choice.

New York, huh. How long has it been? You shudder at the memories, your focus a little off for the rest of the day.

Joohyun visits you a day before you leave. She places the box of chocolates on the coffee table, that Doyoung apparently sent for you. 

“You know, I’m really happy you’re getting this chance,” Joohyun says, crouching down beside where you’re splayed, trying to count the travel essentials and everything else on your messy checklist.

“He gets promoted and now he can’t even come visit me, huh?” you say, shifting to grab the box and tear off the clear wrap.

Joohyun laughs. “He’s certainly enjoying his duties. I can’t wait to boss him around again after I leave.”

Your shoulders hunch, a sigh leaving your lips. “Great. You’re leaving. Doyoung’s too busy to annoy. And now I’m a part of this godforsaken project for almost six months.”

Joohyun softens a bit, running her hand through your hair. “I heard you accepted it. All by yourself. You’ll do just fine, don’t worry.”

You feel yourself turn pink, a feeling of warmth you’ve been missing for a week. It’s cozy in your apartment, always the right temperature with a tinge of happy memories. You wish you could find comfort in people as easily as others do. Everything happened so fast, you can barely remember the conversation you had with Lee Taeyong. A few moments pass, Joohyun and you picking out chocolates before you can rummage through your suitcase again.

“I hate New York, Joohyun. Just what else can you throw into the mix to make me hate it even more?”

She freezes for a fraction of a moment, pressing her lips together before clearing her throat. “Oh. Uh. I probably shouldn’t tell you what I was about to tell you then.”

You turn your head to her, eyes narrowing. “What?”

She shrugs, eyes not meeting yours. “You know. New York. Fashion capital of the world. Lots of things to love.”

“What are you not telling me, Joohyun?”

She sighs, defeated. “A certain someone might be on the same flight as you. I was about to give you his number in case you needed help.”

You pause to think, curling your lips. “It’s Jaehyun, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

You groan, dropping your head back and yelping when it hits the coffee table. Joohyun moves to rub your head and ease the pain as you let out a stream of complaints.

“You really thought I’d call him for help?” you yell. “Him? Of all people?”

“I think you’d rather have a known face there. Besides, he’s a good kid,” she reasons, looking you in the eye. “And stop yelling.”

You quieten a bit at her glare, gulping. She adds the number to your contacts, saving it with a professional ‘Jung Yoonoh’ before she helps you clean up, advising you on how to manage your finances abroad. You know she’s trying to ease you, but how could she—after dropping this awful news on you like it shouldn’t matter at all? She doesn’t even know what happened—almost happened in Paris, or the fact that your honeyed feelings had turned bitter so easily. She’s worked with him before, you know this, when he was a much younger model and she trusts him more than you ever could. 

But maybe, just maybe she can’t see what you see—after all, she’s also part of the elite, crème de la crème of this industry, more so in this country. It’s frightening, and so vague what goes on up there, at the top of the chain; and whatever you have—it might never be enough. 

You’re you. Sometimes, that isn’t enough.

You jump at the water rushing from the shower, too cold for skin and scramble to twist the knob the other way. This time, the water’s too hot and you yelp, shutting it off altogether.

You press your hand against the shower glass, breathing heavy. You’re trying—you’ve been desperately trying ever since you landed a week ago. Change is not something you can take lightly. You miss the dim lights of your apartment in Seoul that Joohyun always warned would get you some brand new prescription glasses. You miss walking down the streets to your favourite convenience store at three in the morning to get honey butter chips. You miss picking fights with Doyoung over which detail to scrutinise during your project discussions. This project seems to have torn apart several things that belonged to you.

You can’t seem to get your head into it either—even spacing out during the meeting you had with Lee Taeyong among several other things. You can’t remember a single design detail he’d specified or what the theme was even supposed to be—a bunch of bright foggy lights replacing whatever fuzz was growing in your head. A twenty-something-year-old shouldn’t be letting homesickness affect them like this. 

You finish the rest of your shower with a heavy heart and a clouded head. 

Taeyong booking a luxury suite for you was a bit…much. Not that you’re complaining, but it gives more fuel to the profound sense of emptiness you keep drawing. There’s no intimacy to this place, no love. It’s a little hard to create things without love, and comfort.

Still, you grit your teeth and get dressed into something more comfortable for the night. If not today, then tomorrow. Something will have to give, even if it costs you—whatever the hell your parents keep telling you when you’re going through problems. What if you don’t want to be cost things? Compromise isn’t as delicate as it sounds. You try to comfort yourself, rocking yourself on the much too large couch, hugging a pillow close and trying to think of things that don’t immediately make you want to throw up.

The memories of your first visit are a little less than pleasant. You think you cried after the entire ordeal because you thought you did a bad job of talking, socializing, the most ordinary things. There are some people who are good at wearing masks—good at making copper look like gold, good at shining under dim lights, and good at using words that don’t have much meaning to their existence other than being pretty. 

You were not one of them. 

The intense need for everything to be perfect was still there, even when you couldn’t possibly have achieved it. You wanted to make things and show them to the world—what was so wrong with that? Why did being there make you feel like you could never even touch your dreams? You were so out of place, feeling completely out of touch with yourself. There were people from the top there, established and famous. It felt out of your grasp. You felt fake.

The city lights twinkle with life but there’s no sound, the windows shut tight. The ambience of the room is kept to a caramel minimum—the best you can do to honour your sweet little home back in Seoul.

The hatred for everything pretentious was born with your first step into this place, into the game that the big boys play. It showed in your designs, your choice of fabric, your distaste for certain people. You wanted reality—you wanted a taste of life in your everyday clothes. You wanted that flavour you feel on your tongue in a room full of strangers or the one on a quiet night by yourself at your apartment rooftop. You didn’t want dignified fur coat ensembles, you wanted the naive chaos you feel every day and you wanted to make it look good. It’s driving you insane just how much you feel like you’re losing now.

You take out your phone after what seems a few minutes of contemplation. 

Jung Yoonoh. Your finger hovers over the call button. What would he say if his night is interrupted by your voice?

You’d met at the airport after landing, though you were only two seats away in the plane. You’d made no error in acknowledging his presence, browsing through the inflight magazine half-heartedly. Truth be told, sometimes you couldn’t really seem to get over him. Sometimes the thought of him made you so pissed, you had no idea what to think of it. 

“Welcome to New York,” he had said shortly after you’d exited, a giant crowd of people greeting out-goers, holding up placards with names of people, in numbers you’re unaccustomed to. Or, used to be accustomed to.

You hadn’t talked since—and really, you weren’t expecting to.

You press your home button, any lingering thoughts of him vanishing at the force with which you tell yourself it’s not worth it. How is Jung Yoonoh better than anyone else you know here? He might have been living in New York for quite a few years now, and he’s probably the only one you’d feel comfortable enough to swear at—that doesn’t mean you’d actually ask for help. That doesn’t mean he’d actually help. Joohyun must have had her hopes far too high to have convinced you for even a moment.

The couch feels colder all of a sudden, and you turn down the air conditioner. This place will never adjust to you, and your stubborn little self won’t either.

You think of Jaehyun from the afterparty, loose shirt and knowing eyes, and you wonder if he feels just the same frustrated agony, if not more. You think of his parted lips and breathing words close enough to be provocative, discomfort growing at the base of your stomach. Who does he think he is? He might have the airs and dignity of someone way up in the hierarchy of society but you know what people can be like. You know envy, you know malice, and you know lies. He has to fit in there somewhere—and perhaps you would have hated him less if he did.

Even if you’d scoffed at the idea of jealousy, that might very well be the closest to what you feel, what you keep hidden in the darkest corners of your locked chest. When you first met at that star-spangled dinner, you’d felt what it’s like to watch a fireworks show or a big musical opening; but the fireworks are being blocked by skyscrapers and you’re only the helping staff at the theatre, watching from a balcony at the very back. Jaehyun was impressive with barely any words. It annoyed you so much and somehow, the only solution you arrived at was the tremendous need to understand him, pick him apart and see what made him.

No. That’s wrong. You were annoyed because you still wanted to kiss him after he’d pushed you away, his dislike steaming clear. It strikes you as gently as lightning that the only reason someone would have to hate Jaehyun is being attracted so violently to him. God, you hate making a fool out of yourself.

You pass the night in quiet contemplation, promising yourself a better tomorrow. After all, no one else is going to do it. 

You walk with your chin up as if you don’t feel the weight of the world on your shoulders. You picked out your black Harrington jacket to look at least a little more professional, but you might have miscalculated the size and the material in the equation because you look completely and utterly ridiculous in it. No one would look at you and think you even work in fashion, much less be competent in that line. 

(To be fair, you wear the same beige sweater and black corduroy pants to work and if your coworkers choose to judge you, you wouldn’t blame them.) 

It’s only been a month and somehow, it translates to forever to you. You think you’re adjusting better now, and you pat yourself on the back for it. It’s not raining today at the mercy of the skies, a tidal wave of sunlight splashing through the buildings every time you take a turn. The city doesn’t scare you all that much anymore. It’s a good day, for once.  

You lean your head against the car window, eyes trailing up and down the reflective blue of each skyscraper. You can barely see any clouds, and the sky’s endlessly the same, comforting blue. Just like back home, you think for a moment. Your eyes move back to the sidewalk, people passing by—mothers with their babies in strollers, kids clutching the strap of their school bags as they run, men and women in all levels of professional clothing. No one stops in this city. Except the fucking traffic apparently.

You sigh, glancing at your watch. Only moments ago, you were moving and yet again, you’ve stopped. The cycle keeps repeating and you’re trying to keep patience focusing on things around you that you can appreciate. 

Maybe you jinxed it when you said it was a good day.

You reach Taeyong’s studio just in time (not that you’d get yelled at or anything, he’s too nice of a guy). Your eyes fixate on the numbers that light up on the elevator one by one till it finally reaches the first floor.

You walk right into someone’s chest, an apology tumbling out of your lips as you bow out of habit. 

“(name)?”

You look up to find Jaehyun in the elevator of Taeyong’s building, a casual white shirt clinging to his frame that’s tucked into his jeans to look somewhat formal. A pink overshirt hangs at his forearm and from the windswept styling of hair and his perfected dark locks, you’ll assume he’s here for a shoot—even without it, he looks like something from a teen magazine, someone people would see and instantly daydream of. Best known for high fashion, Jung Yoonoh is still a spectacle in casualwear. 

“I can’t believe I have to see your face here too,” you mutter, getting into the elevator. You’ve had your share of moments with him.

“Good to see you too,” he says, bemused. 

You make a sound of acknowledgment, taking out your phone to turn the damn notifications off so you don’t feel it vibrate in your pocket every few minutes. You feel eyes on you for a moment and snap your head to the side.

Jaehyun has his eyes focused on the door, quiet breathing fresh against his lips and you hesitate before concluding you might have been mistaken in your perception. 

“You’re here for a shoot?” you ask, curious about his relationship with Taeyong. 

“What else can I be here for?” He says nonchalantly. 

“Sarcastic. Very nice.”  

“It’s a little weird, you trying to make conversation with me. You’re usually raving about me too much to actually talk to me.” He smiles, the dimples provoking and eyes the familiar beguiling brown. 

“I’m not trying to make conversation,” you hiss, crossing your arms. “I’m sorry, I forgot you’re only a person in front of cameras.”

Jaehyun takes a sharp breath before turning to you, a not-so-happy look on his face despite the calmness over his features. You’ve seen it enough times.

“How long are you going to keep up the pretentious this and pretentious that before you face it, really?” He looks at you with tight lips, poisonous implications in his question. “Why you love to get up in my case all the time?”

The words take time to settle in. You shake your head when you realize, a sardonic laugh leaving your lips. Of course he’d think that.

“Oh my god,” you scoff. “You’re so full of yourself. You think I’m interested in you? Don’t let what happened years ago get to your head.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Oh, what did you mean then? Pray tell.”

“First of all, stop cutting me off,” he says, taking a step towards you. A certain feeling of uneasiness runs through you when you detect annoyance in his quiet statement.

“Secondly,” he says, taking a another step forward just as your back hits the wall of the elevator, “Stop treating me like I’m the bane of your existence. I have nothing to do with you.”

He’s right, of course, but the words sting where they hit. Asshole, you think. He has no business telling you what to do and what not to do. But in this moment, you can’t fish for the correct words—you don’t have the strength to when you’re so close to each other like this, the scent of his cologne syrupy and sickening. His tall stature is intimidating, with his straight shoulders and proud jawline.

The elevator dings at the seventh floor, Jaehyun stepping away from you without a glance or care, striding out just as smoothly as on a runway.

You take a moment to breathe, unsaid words burning holes into your tongue. You wish you could’ve said something better, anything that didn’t make you feel so pathetic. Maybe you should’ve told him to stick his words up his ass, sounding vulgar being the least of your worries. You wait patiently to reach the last floor, each ding souring your mood little by little. 

You are so glad you didn’t call him that night. To think he’d ever help you knowing it’s mutual, the whole hating each other’s guts. You just can’t believe the audacity of him—to accuse you of, what, romantic feelings? In an industry where you can’t tell apart gold from copper? Where all the people warming up to you are fair weather friends and competitors? He must have let all that attention get to his head. Runway faces aren’t as easy to fall in love with as he thinks.

“(name)! Come quick!”

Taeyong’s voice urges as soon as you enter and you settle your bag down, rushing to him. His smile drops when he sees your seething figure place your bag on the desk with a loud thud. You turn to him, without a hint of sweetened formality and ask him the day’s schedule.

Taeyong gulps before responding, undoubtedly afraid of your lips, a twitch away from a scowl, but he explains nicely nonetheless.

“Can you do a rerun of these designs for me?” he says, arranging the papers on the desk. That’s how he says these need improvement. No wonder the interns love him.

Taeyong’s in his usual attire, still too chic for you but strangely comfortable to look at. You nod, immediately scrutinising them, your (almost pointless) years of training trying to give you hints as to where you went wrong. You’re not really expecting to find big flaws or anything—just details you can enhance. You’ve learned enough about Taeyong in a month and it’s that his sense of style encompasses comfort, even in the most abstract of concepts. You respect him for that. It doesn’t change the fact that you think it’s a little overdone maybe.

Taeyong laughs, breaking you out of your daze. You raise an eyebrow.

“Is- Is something wrong?” You look at him, perplexed.

“It’s just that- It’s just you remind me a lot of the fashion students.” He smiles at you.

Your shoulders droop. Amateur. New. Unprofessional.

“Oh.”

Taeyong rephrases himself quickly, waving his hands about. “I don’t mean it as a bad thing! It just means you still…love doing it.”

It sticks with you longer than you’d expect, as you work throughout the day. You think Taeyong is too nice to criticize you properly but he eventually gets the point across—stick to the theme, written in Taeyong’s dainty handwriting and pinned to the softboard. 

Secrets. 

What an atrocious concept. Firstly, it makes no sense apart from sounding like a fucking lingerie collection. Secondly, when you went over Taeyong’s designs with the layers and patches, you supposed he wanted to focus on the inside of things because everything he’d drawn was inside out. Thirdly, when you heard him explain it, you were a little taken aback to hear it was going to be all about you, us. The designers, the models, the photographers, the magazine editors—there are millions and millions of people working to make sketches come to life, for a few items of clothing in someone’s closet. It feels nice to hear that from him. You promise you’re going to perfect it. 

And perfection is your dear old friend. 

It’s what you always strive for, but end up with something else that’s a little less beautiful. You take slow breaths, removing and adding details (after all, art is in the details). But perfection can easily grow tiresome. It makes you increasingly frustrated and you don’t think you have the heart to tell Taeyong everything in his studio stresses you out.

“So, you’re working with Jaehyun?” you ask, trying to look less antsy.

Taeyong blanks out for a moment before responding. “Yes. Why? Is he- Is he making you uncomfortable?”

Uncomfortable wouldn’t even begin to explain what he makes you feel. 

“No,” you deny. “Just curious.”

Taeyong smiles. “We usually work on summer shoots together. It’s like tradition.”

“That’s…nice,” you say, trying to reciprocate his smile.

“Oh, but we’re having terrible weather so the shoots keep going longer than planned. That’s why I’m having to compromise planning time with you. Sorry about that.”

You try to keep your posture despite the mild annoyance brewing at the back of your head. Great. Now you have to see Jaehyun’s unbelievably annoying face every time you walk in. Maybe if you plead enough, you’d get permission to leave early and not want to throw some insults at him. 

You decide to walk, despite Taeyong insisting his driver help you get home. He doesn’t act like it but he’s a busy man, with side projects and interviews coming up so often you lose count. It’s no wonder he had to, and you hate using this word, hire someone for the label’s next venture. You think articles like Lee Taeyong loses touch and hires designers instead of doing his job would make him upset but he seems to genuinely not let it bother him. It’s about ideas to him. His label, almost large enough to be a brand, is for ideas; what a pretty thing to base your business around. While you thought you were a big shot back in South Korea, you’re almost nothing more than Lee Taeyong’s co-designer—assistant here.

You feel drops of what you felt years ago trickling down your throat. Overshadowed. Powerless. Imposter. Something about New York makes you want to pull all your hair out. You wish you hadn’t been here in the first place, maybe then this would seem more of a fun trip than memories weighing you down. But then if you hadn’t been here, you might not have even started.

You hug yourself at the sudden downpour, clouds kind enough for it to be nothing more than showers but you’re soaked anyway. Kind, but still a little cruel. Running under the eaves of a store, you curse yourself for not bringing an umbrella the only day you needed it. You stand there for a while, just breathing.

Real life is never like movies, is it? Cameras lie. Pretty faces lie. Sometimes you end up stuck in New York rains without an umbrella or a friend to call or a lover to protect you. You end up getting an Uber, taking awfully long to arrive due to the traffic the rain had ensued and try your best to ignore the disgruntled driver mumbling about you wetting his seats.

You still don’t know how the goddamn shower works. 

You manage to complete without either scorching your skin off or freezing it to Greenland and back—a feat much more successful than whatever you had going on for today. You slip into the absurdly soft mattress, pillows and covers swallowing you into a state of sleep.

You start the day almost pouring coffee onto Jaehyun’s spotless white shirt. And you might have were it not for immense self-restraint, and the fact that Taeyong’s eyes were trained on the two of you.

“So…are you two…a thing or something?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“No,” Jaehyun responds calmly while you sputter it out.

Taeyong apologizes, a laugh following. “You seem to have worked together before. Jaehyun, you never told me that.”

“I…I thought you knew,” he answers, leaning back against the tabletop.

“Ah, well,” Taeyong shrugs. “Thanks for helping me out with this, (name). Maybe- maybe we can draw some inspiration for the collection from outdoors.”

“Of course,” you say as you smile wide, trying hard not to break the coffee mug in your hand.

If you’re being honest, you had a gut feeling you’d be asked to help with Taeyong’s (apparently) infamous summer shoot. He walks into his studio every morning with hair in a disarray, talking to more people than he might enjoy and the entirety of New York weather against him. There’s only so much time a man can have and under pressure, he’s going to have to choose. It’s easy to feel sorry for someone like him.

This should be the stylist’s job. Jaehyun stands with his chin up as you adjust the fitting, smoothing out creases and making sure the cerulean shirt is pinned right, satin feeling cool and nice under your fingers. Sleeveless is back in trend this summer, and so are low-cuts.

“Careful there,” he says when you hand brushes a little lower, just below the full-grain leather belt.

You hope your face isn’t steaming from the rush of heat but you manage to limit your emotions to a sound of discomfort, remembering the horrendous accusation he’d thrown at you. “I don’t care about your dick, twit.”

Jaehyun laughs, bending a little to whisper. “I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

“You look like you’re having a wonderful time making me uncomfortable.”

“You’re just so easy to work up.”

His dimples are getting on your nerves. You reach up to button his collar, perhaps a little too harsh because he chokes, an uncharacteristic sound leaving his mouth as he winces. You suppress a smile, glad you managed to do something about the look on his face.

The sunlight over this park feels like Christmas come early, with the way Taeyong is flitting from model to model and stylist to stylist with the intensity of a five year old after an ice-cream truck. 

“Is he- Is he usually like this?” you ask, eyes on the makeup artist getting directions from Taeyong.

“I just assumed all of you are this way,” Jaehyun, responds looking at the same sight.

You roll your eyes. “We’re not all crazy.”

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe a little bit,” you correct yourself, watching Taeyong almost trip over someone’s bag in order to greet the magazine’s style director. 

Jaehyun chuckles, eyes meeting yours for a moment before the two of you go about your own business.

You like magazine shoots for the most part. You never find a glass of water anywhere, but some intern or the other will definitely be there to fetch you Starbucks. There’s at least three people fussing over each model and at least two exasperated photographers trying very hard to snap clean shots. The stylist and designer look as though they might explode any minute, although the relief on their faces after it’s all over is something worth looking at. The skies are so bright and blue, you think, for a cosmopolis. The trees and shrubs lining the park are in a state of tranquility compared to the chaos it encircles.  

Magazines might not be as important in an age of social media advertisement, almost part of nostalgia now—but maybe some of you are not yet willing to deny kids the thrill of reading a magazine under their blankets in the middle of the night. It often gave hope to little boys playing dress up and little girls sewing their own clothes. 

You’d forgotten just how exhausting shooting with magazines is. The models must be having it worse but their masks don’t come off easy. If you had ever underestimated their job difficulty, it comes back to throttle you at full speed every time you’re at a shoot.

 Looking good in front of a camera is pretty damn hard. 

They don’t even get to keep the clothes, unless some asshole of a designer decides to pay them in apparel instead of actual money. Most models leave New York in debt. Men are paid even less than women. You’re surprised Jaehyun is as celebrated as he is—or the fact that he was clever enough of a businessman in launching his own high fashion-themed restaurant. You’ve heard he barely visits it, like a careless afterthought. But you’re not one to get carried away by sketchy articles on the internet. All you’ve needed are more reasons to hate him.

You sip the iced coffee, its effect pretty much worn out during humid afternoons. It’s time for a break, but no one’s willing to break momentum. You find yourself feeling a little awkward, as nothing more than a guest with creative advice, and so you sit under the comforting cool of the giant green umbrella at one of the tables. You could sink into your chair were it not so damn uncomfortable.

Jaehyun takes a seat right beside you to your surprise, offering you a box of diced mango before you fervently decline. You still think he’s an asshole. It doesn’t make any sense—why accuse you of unsaid affections and then flirt with you like he never said it? It’s not like you’re even friends, how ridiculous. There are quite a few jerks you’ve met in your life, but Jung Yoonoh really takes the cake.

“What?” you snap when his gaze gets on your nerves.

“I didn’t say anything.” He raises his hands defensively, eyes still on yours. “You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself.”

“I enjoy the air conditioned suite Taeyong booked me more than this, yes.” You sigh, leaning back. “I don’t really have anything to do.” 

“I’m assuming he booked you the luxury suite on the fifteenth floor,” he says, chuckling.

You furrow your eyebrows. It’s not impossible that Jaehyun knows Taeyong’s favorite suite to book for guests.

“The view’s pretty nice from there, right? Oh, and you must be enjoying the silence.”

“I actually like the outside sounds,” you defend. “It’s calming.” 

“Not when you’re on the third floor,” he says, shoving a piece of mango into his mouth with a fork. “All you hear is middle aged men screaming.”

You rest your elbow on the table, placing your chin against your palm. The shade is separated from sunlight by a thin line against his chest, pale blue satin glimmering where the sun meets it. Jaehyun’s eyes shine a darker hue of honey under the shade, moving to the box in his hands occasionally before trailing back to the background noise again. Taeyong really does love pretty fits, but this might just be one of the most gorgeous pieces you’ve seen this summer (and you’ve already been through all the ready-to-wear lookbooks you possibly could). A thought passes you in a breeze, that maybe it's the model making it seem that way.

“You’re talkative today,” you note quietly, the sun harsher on your cheeks than before.

Jaehyun shrugs, hurrying to finish all the pieces. He suddenly pulls a face, one you don’t see very often in high fashion websites and Instagram pages. It’s almost cute. 

“Sour.” 

You find yourself laughing, a gentle influx of peace filling the inside your chest. You quickly recover, looking back up to see Jaehyun simply staring at you, breathing. He looks caught off-guard, no camera to warn him. You straighten, your cheeks flushing with heat.

“Is- Is something wrong?”

He immediately shakes his head, more to himself than you. There’s a pause before the two of you are happily distracted. The style director appears to be gesturing at him from the other side and Jaehyun responds with a curt wave.

“You’re doing two different concepts today?”

“Three, actually.”

You raise your eyebrows. Well, they’re definitely taking advantage of the good weather. They could just photoshop it, in your opinion, but authenticity is everything when it comes to magazines nowadays. 

“Well, don’t let me hold you back,” you say, your tone dismissive. “Go get changed into whatever pretty shirt Taeyong has up next in his collection.”

“The next shoot doesn’t have a shirt,” he says, the corner of his mouth quirked upward.

You almost choke on your coffee, blaming the heat for your weak state of mind. You’re just having one of those strange days—just that, nothing else.

You finish the rest of the coffee, cup resting in your hand till you find the energy to get up and find a trash can.  

Jaehyun was right. This time the shoot’s a little too wet and a little too much skin for you to enjoy. The only thing added to Jaehyun above the waist are a dainty red scarf knotted over his neck and a small, flat hoop earring on his left ear. The velvet fingerless gloves, although you’re not very fond of them, complete a rather rugged yet soft look. You didn’t expect Taeyong to come up with something like that. 

Jaehyun’s well-developed physique, while you’ve seen it in other shoots and online articles, is completely different when you’re a few feet away from it. The dark blue cargo pants, silken, are a signature style of Taeyong but the details don’t distract you easily enough. Funny, this is the first time you’re feeling somewhat flustered in a place full of half-naked models. 

You suddenly think of reds and oranges, lilac shrubs and a hint of Burberry men’s perfume. In a way, it reminds you of the strums of the guitar your roommate used to play while you stayed up late, coming up with concepts. Cherishing, soothing—and special, just enough. The corner of your lips twitch and you take out your pocket sketchbook. It’s never too late to add a design to the collection, right? After all, you have secrets too. Maybe Taeyong was right about the outdoors for inspiration. 

Something sets into motion, subtle but sharp.

The next time you walk into Taeyong’s studio, you feel the sun on your face better. Everything seems to be fitting into place, as you smooth through designs at a pace your student self would be jealous of. When Taeyong praises your work, you feel a rush of pride smearing the inside of your chest and you finally feel like everything’s not falling apart. It feels good. It feels like you’re someone.

The days go by in what seems like barely seconds—you know what they say about New York minutes. The mustard cloth draped over your desk to the cottage blue of your curtains, the colours around you change as quickly as the wind. Sometimes they’re abstract—and other times, well, they have more to do with a stranger’s eyes, or the swirls within a coffee cup. It’s the way in which transition occurs around you, that you often forget it moves something within you too. 

You’ve put together some samples with Taeyong, most of them by yourself; the process of making is ever comforting, fabric even more so. You’ve sent the revised designs for production, feeling giddy about whatever is to come like it’s something new. (It shouldn’t be.) 

You fucking hate how different this is. Seoul is nothing compared to New York. The anxiety is nearly ten times worse, the streets are far more attractive when it comes to inspiration and the figure of Jung Yoonoh is no longer as easy to ignore. 

Even after the summer shoot’s over, Jaehyun often comes by to hang out at the studio, dressed in what you would call the simplest fucking thing you’d ever seen and still managing to look just as gorgeous. He blends in well with university students, often wearing the ugliest baseball cap you’ve ever seen, and the look of his face feels much, much worse than ever before. It’s at ease, smug even, but never failing to smile at you when you’re trying to focus. You don’t care how good of friends Taeyong and Jaehyun are—you want to tell him to leave. 

But you just can’t bring yourself to. It’s not that you don’t trust yourself, you certainly do, but whatever New York has done to you, includes making you feel a different way about him. Sometimes you find yourself pressing your legs together harshly, stiffening at any proximity with him and a pool of warmth at the base of your stomach you’d rather not feel.

It’s embarrassing to even think about it—the fact that he makes you feel that way, so hot and bothered like it’s your first time. You blame your lack of going out these few months because after all, anyone could fall in love with runway faces. It doesn’t have to mean it’s him you want. You carry on doing what you’ve been doing for the most part of your career, your best to avoid him. There are more pressing matters, and your head might just implode if you keep on worrying about things (a man, of all) you need not. 

Time passes even faster when all your thoughts revolve around the same thing.

One month. D-30. Whatever the hell you call time before the end of the world.

Your palms sweat a whole lot easier here. It’s a little weird, considering you don’t find much difference in humidity between Seoul and New York. Your heart often catches up in your throat too. Not a great feeling, your heart choking the breath out of you, but you’re used to it. You cope and you learn, that’s what it means to be human.

You pull your hand down before it reaches your teeth. The day ended in a meeting with Taeyong’s production team—everything’s running smoothly so you need not worry, he said. 

Why are those the words that make you worry the most? 

You check the time on your phone. 23:05 and a whole month to go. You better get some sleep for all the meetings you have scheduled tomorrow. You close your eyes and for a while, everything falls quiet.

You dream of New York Fashion Week. People come here to feel included. Everyone wants to be a part of something they don’t understand.

The models walk down the runway in increasingly uncomfortable outfits. You didn’t design any of them. Where are the ones you worked on? You can’t move from your seat, or turn your head from the runway, anything at all. Something’s wrong, everything’s wrong. You don’t belong here. Thunder strikes outside the venue and you wake up with a gasp caught in your throat, and the clock on the bedside table flashing 2:14.

You’ve had enough. You swear you’ve had enough.

You get up out of bed, pacing the giant bedroom, the empty spaces making you feel more and more miserable. The city twinkles with innumerous stars beyond your window, curtains half drawn so they can comfort you whenever you need—but these lights don’t shine for you, or anyone else. They shine for themselves. That’s what it means to be in New York again. 

What time is it in Seoul? Could you call your mother? Joohyun? Everyone must be busy right now—you don’t know what to do. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt so helpless. There’s a reason you’ve been avoiding New York for this long and now it’s come crashing down on you. 

This was a mistake. All of it was a mistake.

You look down at your phone, the light hurting your eyes despite being set to the lowest brightness. You think a little, and then some more. There’s no one else you can call. Even if he’s busy charming all the other employees whenever you see him, even if half the world is in love with him, there’s no one else you can call. This time you don’t stop yourself.

You tap the call button beside the Jung Yoonoh saved neatly. Tapping your foot against the floor nervously, your mind goes blank for a few seconds or so. He answers when you’re just about to hang up, breath hitching in your throat at the sound of his voice.

“Hello? Hello? If this is a reporter—”

“It’s me, Jaehyun.”

The line goes quiet for a moment and your voice overlaps his before he can begin.

“I- I didn’t mean to call so late. Sorry…uh.”

You scrunch up your face at your own voice. This is not getting you anywhere.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, voice lower.

You fall silent, unable to answer without breaking down into tears. You did not call Jung Yoonoh for that. 

“Yeah,” you choke out. “Fine. Completely fine. I just…”

You trail off, trying to get yourself to breathe.

“I’ll send you an address. Be there in an hour.”

You blink back tears, confusion adding to the burning pile of worries inside your head. 

“What?”

“Address. I’ll text you. Be there. One hour.”

“I’m not stupid, Jaehyun,” you snap, strength refilling your voice. “Why?”

“I’m not answering questions, just be there.”

With that, the line goes flat and an embarrassing amount of ‘hello’s get you to realize that he hung up. A notification pops up a minute later and you’re too groggy to decipher it, logging it to Maps instead so you can follow. It’s fifteen minutes away, you realize with a sigh of relief, so you can at least present yourself within the given constraint. 

You can’t grasp what you feel in the moment, the night air and warm streets beckoning you to leave the clamped apartment soaked in fear. You think this is unlike Jaehyun, what he’s doing, but you’re too shaken to care. You need some respite, even if it comes from somewhere you can’t picture.

“You…wanted to meet me at a Korean barbecue restaurant?”

Jaehyun’s ears turn red, as they often do when he doesn’t know how to respond to you.

“I-It’s not that I…Never mind,” he tries to explain, fidgeting with the cloth over his shoulder. “We can go somewhere else if you want.”  

We? You think, eyes scanning his face in confusion. If you want? Where’s the uncaring Jaehyun you’ve known, foreign eyes and impassive lips? He hardly looks the part he’s meant to play—a billboard face with a confident jawline and nothing more behind it. Outside of work—you don’t even know what else to call this—Jaehyun looks hardly intimidating, or abrasive. He seems different, gentle almost, although the dark circles under his eyes might have something to do with it. Maybe he’s too tired to say anything more and that’s it.

But he still came all the way here.

“Aren’t you a little…overdressed?” 

There comes the remark you were hoping to not hear. You just wanted to look nice; you’d hardly call this overboard. The loose, mustard-colored chiffon shirt cinches at the waist, paired with your nicest (only not faded) pair of light blue jeans and shoes that haven’t seen the light of day since you arrived here. You barely ever design clothes for yourself anymore but you thought you looked good in this.

“No,” you defend quickly, feeling your face grow warm. “You’re underdressed.”

You say that, but he clearly looks good in anything he wears. Could you expect any less of  a supermodel? He doesn’t seem to have dressed in as much a hurry as you had. Clad in a plain black T-shirt that’s half tucked into skinny jeans, he’s added his hideous baseball cap and a pair of navy blue shades which looks just as ridiculous as it sounds. You really think he shouldn’t be leaving his house without the help of a stylist. 

“I…I just mean you don’t wear anything other than the same sweater and pants combination to work, so… please excuse my surprise.”

Jaehyun's eyes flicker over your figure before masking it with an awkward cough. You reach out and pull the shades over his head, the look bothering you more than anything else. He doesn’t respond to it, at least not in a way that’s obvious, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to do—you fixing his hair and unquestionably awful sense of style.

“There’s a soju place a few blocks ahead. Or if you’re not into that, there’s a noodle shop just at the edge of K-town,” Jaehyun rambles on, not meeting your eye. “If you’re looking for something inexpensive—"

“You came all the way here to give me directions?” You raise an eyebrow. You might even be enjoying this, although your inner voice bites back at you, denying it.

Jaehyun shakes his head, the red in his ears pulsing back up. “No. I…I needed some fresh air.”

“You…have someplace to be then?”

Jaehyun might not realize it, but the answers he gives always have room for teasing. Aloof. Vague. Yet somehow sweet.

“And you’ll go alone? At this hour? No, I’ll accompany you,” he says out loud, trying to play off the sudden vocal inflection. You sigh. Boys will be boys, as they say. Even if they’re twenty-six.

You let him keep you company. Though the first few minutes are painfully quiet, neither of you knowing quite what to say without starting a disagreement, you continue your walk through a city that never sleeps. It’s awkward even, being side by side without you seething at his charming, (undoubtedly) fake smile. He feels real, for once, and you don’t know how to react. There seem to be some gold-tinted cracks appearing in your reality, slowly but surely, and you’re not very good at patching anything other than fabric.

“You know, it’s actually a little relieving to see Korean letters here,” you say, sighing. You never thought you’d be so corny, but it really does feel good being here. 

Or is it him? 

“Thanks,” you add quietly, hoping he doesn’t hear. No, maybe you do. You can’t tell at this point.

“I…I know what it’s like,” he says, so softly that it almost gets carried away by the wind. He clears his throat, an ‘ah’ escaping his lips as he stops abruptly.

“We…We missed the turn,” he declares, a little sheepish as he scratches the back of his head.

You look at him in disbelief. “Jaehyun, how long have you lived here?”

“Oh, I was born here actually,” he says, tilting his face to look at you, blunt sarcasm evident on it. “How many times have you lost your way to the convenience store in Seoul?”

“Literally zero times.”

Jaehyun puffs a cheek before going back to normal and turning a hundred and eighty degrees down the street.

“Hey, wait up!” you huff at his increased pace, half jogging to keep up.

You reach the acclaimed noodle shop, your breath barely within your lungs and swearing at Jaehyun who looks like he wasn’t bothered one bit. He reaches his hand out to help you and you swat it away, chest still heaving with your hands on your knees.

“Dickhead,” you hiss.

“I don’t think I deserved that,” he responds with a widening smile. 

“Asshole,” you say, standing up straight to glare at him.

“What would Seoul say hearing their beloved designer swear like this?” Jaehyun looks almost amused, as if you hadn’t shared an awkward time together, like two teenagers who were forced to walk home together from the bus stop.

“They can go to hell,” you retort. “As can you.”

Jaehyun laughs, a strange sound to hear and you blink a few times, unsure of what to do. You wonder if it’s the night playing tricks or if Jaehyun really is an actual person, not the basket of preprocessed insults you were used to. The cracks are widening—you’re not sure if they’re meant to be patched.

Perhaps you were a little eager to enter someplace warm, but you feel immense relief in this little shop, despite the smell of chili paste and noodle soup wafting through the air. It’s a little empty; in fact, you two seem to be the only people there apart from some students at the other corner, but you sit there in your own bubble, talking with Jaehyun of all people about which singer is better. He laughs occasionally, still managing to catch you off-guard with how honest it sounds and you wonder for a moment, how nice this feels. For the first time in a month, your heartbeat seems to have settled at a normal rate.

“What?” you enounce, a little offended. “What’s so wrong about my love life?”

“You just- You just don’t seem that type,” he explains, his ears as red as the bowl.

“I don’t have time for commitments, Jaehyun,” you sigh. “It’s what happens when you’re good at your job.”

Jaehyun nods, something akin to agreement in his response. 

“So, your, uh, what is it? Training camp? What’s that about?” you ask, in between blowing your food.

“You could really Google things once in a while, you know?” he replies, bringing his chopsticks close to his mouth.

You roll your eyes. “I’m sorry I’m not one of your creepy stalkers, Mr. Jung.”

“Nothing to do with that,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s for kids interested in fashion, modeling, photography—stuff.”

“Oh? How so?”

“I just sponsor them. You know how difficult it is to get noticed in…this industry,” he explains, like it’s not a big deal. Nothing ever seems to be a big deal to him.

You nod, unable to help the smile. Maybe it isn’t a big deal, but you’re sure now that you were mistaken. Just a little bit. 

“I was lucky,” you mumble. “I can’t believe they saw those ugly embroidered patches and decided to sponsor me, oh my god. That sweater was hideous.”

Jaehyun laughs loudly. “They saw me cleaning outside my school and decided to pick me up and ship me straight to Paris.”

“Nothing’s worse than the first day.” You take another mouthful, the taste savoury and filling. 

“You know, I’m pretty sure they photoshopped my ears out in the first magazine shoot I had.”

You laugh, leaning in a little closer. “Your first year was rough, huh?”

He hums, his eyes flickering from your nose to your lips. It makes you a little self-conscious, blood rushing to your cheeks at an unexpected pace. Who knew Jaehyun could have such an effect on you? 

Your eyes flutter over his face once again.

He’s handsome. But it’s the sort of handsomeness that tells you, you don’t know much beyond it. You look back at your bowl, sobering up and completing the rest of the noodles.

It’s still midnight blue in the faraway sky as you walk down the streets. Most of the people you see out and about are those drunk off their faces from club hopping or a particularly enthusiastic group of tourists. The watermelon soju, while better with budae-jjigae and arguably the best soju flavor, somehow had little effect on you with the bitter aftertaste still settling in. The crowds in other places would make for great people-watching but you walk in a lonely street that calls for proximity. Beside you, Jaehyun sneezes, the sound of it making you jump on the quiet sidewalk.

“Jesus Christ, Jaehyun,” you huff, wincing at the sound, “you sounded like a fucking tractor.”

Jaehyun laughs, looking down at the pavement. When he looks back at you, the circles underneath his eyes seem to have darkened and you wonder if yours are the same. Yours can’t possibly be as important as his, though, and you wonder if it’s appropriate to laugh at how dorky he looks.

You find yourself not wanting to walk back into the safety of your suite. Jaehyun has a look of calm across his features, drawing over the landscape around you. New York lights don’t faze him, they only reflect in his eyes. 

The way his soft breaths fan out against his lips remind you that he is human, after all—he has a soul and body, thoughts and its beautiful intricacies. When he turns back to you, you feel those criminal feelings all over again, except this time it’s even louder. It feels so wrong, and yet you can’t help but think of the liberation that could come with his lips on yours. 

You could swear out loud, all the colorful words ready at the tip of your tongue.

“Your collar’s…”

Jaehyun’s voice trails off, his hand moving to fix your flipped collar, and when the heat of his skin brushes your neck, you try to not think of where else his hands could be, his lips could be. 

In fact, there’s a moment within where it’s perfectly reasonable for him to kiss you, the taste almost on your tongue. But Jaehyun moves away, an indecipherable look across his face.

“I should get going,” he says, “I have a- I have a shoot early tomorrow—today.”

You nod, cheeks coloring at your own unsaid thoughts. Just what have you done to yourself? Why is your skin searing, why does your stomach feel upside down and why were you so ready to give in to him? To Jaehyun? You’ve never felt want like this before, this need to press skin against skin in a manner so illicit. 

You part with a short goodbye, the sudden loneliness in your path making you want to backtrack, ask if you can go somewhere else again—maybe there’s a club nearby so you can see him through a round of shots as you usually do. Maybe the bitter feelings will return then. 

When you think of the words you exchanged over the course of so unusual a night—your former unforgiving words contradict you. You hate the realization but being so obscure in front of a camera doesn’t have to mean he’s pretentious. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe someday you’ll even admit it.

You feel a flash of heat in your face. You are not running to Jung Yoonoh—what an embarrassing thought. If the very core of your being isn’t repulsed by it, there’s something wrong with you. 

There’s something definitely wrong with you, love.

You breathe sharply, trying to organize your thoughts. As if the paparazzi wouldn’t have a treat out of this meeting you had with him if they got to know. You’d better limit it to the only one.

You bite your nails out of force of habit. It’s not going to help. You know. But there’s hardly anything else to cool your nerves.

Front row tickets to New York Fashion Week—the most mortifying dream out of all the ones you’ve ever had. The way Taeyong fidgets, you want to believe he’s in the same boat as you—it makes you thankful even. 

Even outside of New York, Lee Taeyong is known for booking out exclusively intimate spaces. There are some props for the pre-show photography, including inked sketches on giant vertical banners stuck to the walls and tables with a messy collection of coffee cans, pencils and a sewing machine. Diverse types of fabric roll off the table in long strips, gently lining the floor till they end midway to another table. It’s a mess—a mess you made look good.

You’d left that and the backstage behind now. All eyes are on the sparsely lit runway, your aspirations coating the air in a thick veil. Are you ready? You won’t know till the first model steps out and till you can elicit a response from the audience.

Jaehyun’s at another venue—career before friendship, or, heaven forbid, attraction. You’d seen the fitting, cape skirt doing daringly well with his long legs clad in black pants, and a classy vest over a ruffled white shirt. You hate seeing other designs before a show, but god, were you glad you’d visited Givenchy to meet Johnny. 

But you’re relieved even, that Jaehyun isn’t here. You don’t have the strength to face him anyway, all your energy directed into this chasm of whatever you’d call six months of effort. You want to call yourself accomplished. You want to be proud of yourself.

So this time, you remember all twenty-six minutes of it.

God, they look so beautiful up there, when they’re being looked at, seen for what they are—you’ll never get over it. There’s still hardly much to remember, except this time you’re happy to do it all over again. Effort only exists if it’s acknowledged.

It settles in quite a while later, the weight of all you’d done. You could almost cry, but that’s better left to pillows and the unrelenting skies above a midnight-coated rooftop. This is your moment. For once, you’re anything but afraid. 

Afterparties are still not your thing. 

However, you had your nicest outfit picked out and Lee Taeyong’s fancy, themed afterparties are something notorious among your colleagues. You’ve heard designers tend to go all out, wearing the best things they’ve designed even if it makes them a little embarrassed to be wearing their own work.

You feel a sigh leave your lips as you finally find a place to sit, your earlier conversations leaving you drained of social energy. You don’t feel alien—it’s strange—and their compliments feel almost warm. The music playing over the speakers is something, you’re sure, from a 60’s American movie, and while it has its own strange allure, the champagne gives you a larger dose of relief. 

In fact, if you’re not mistaken, it’s quite like the ballroom in Paris, although significantly smaller. Burgundy wallpaper and lit up crystals hanging in hexagonal shapes across the ceiling—it’d look lovely on a dress too.

Taeyong’s speech, of course, gives you a spike of anxiety with the sudden announcement of his label’s future, a brand now. He smiles on the small podium, everyone admiring his radiance when suddenly he gestures at you, the glass in your hand feeling hotter and hotter.

“…I couldn’t do this without the only designer I felt was up to this—the first designer to work under my brand, as of now…” 

You try not to blush under all the pairs of eyes that turn to you. 

“(name), thank you.” 

Success feels good. Gratitude feels even better.

Everything feels natural, as if a dream gone right. You’re no longer afraid of the world you stepped into, or the accumulation of feelings that molded you into the person you are now. The confidence you so chased after as if it were morphine, you’re going to be keeping an eye on it before it can run away again.

There’s still one little problem to your night of triumph, though. 

Jaehyun hasn’t taken his eyes off you ever since you entered, a conversation yet pending. You already know he looks good in the plainest of T-shirts, so it might be a no-brainer that he looks absolutely stunning in a suit. The crystals lining the lapels of his coat glimmer amidst the crowd he’s gathered. It’s hard to come in contact, however. He’s magnetic, almost formidable in the way he attracts attention, and you know it’s something that comes with being a man of few words. 

“You’re not enjoying the party?” you ask, taking in Jaehyun’s figure on the veranda overlooking the garden. He sits on one of the mahogany chairs, swirling the glass of champagne with a look of indifference coating his eyes and lips.

“I am,” he says, turning to face you. “Needed a short break.”

“I suppose being the most attractive man in the room needs a break,” you say, taking a seat beside him.

A wry laugh leaves his lips, as he lays his eyes on you. “You don’t seem bothered by it though?”

“I believe that pretty is as pretty does,” you say, your lips twitching.

Jaehyun smiles, furrowing his eyebrows yet still. “You think multimillionaire companies are built on things like inner beauty?”

He’s right. What’s inside is beautiful—it’s too idealistic a phrase. You sigh, adjusting your sleeve. It’s a difficult life, walking the runway no one dares to step on. 

I think you’d make that cut too, you want to tell him.

“You know the best thing I got told today?” you ask, diverting the stream of conversation. You think he’s a friend. Even if it could be the champagne talking. Even if you want something more than the innocence of friendship. 

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow. “Did Cristóbal Balenciaga’s ghost show up to compliment you?”

“No,” you emphasize, laughing at his pronunciation. “It was this girl. A student. Said she wrote an essay about me.”

Jaehyun hums, dimples marking his cheeks. “I didn’t know a student could get you so giddy.”

You laugh, looking down at your hands before resting your gaze on him again. He leans forward in his seat, strands of hair falling over his face from the rest and a contemplating look over his features. He looks much, much different from when you first saw him, and even handsomer, if that were possible. He’s grown up from the awkward boy you saw in the press release pictures of the Saint Laurent Fall Collection—he looks sharp and valiant on front covers, his shoulders broad and his eyes darling. Jaehyun is still unironically the most breathtaking man you’ve ever met. He might even be one of the sweetest, inside out. 

You look to his lips, full as ever. Perhaps you have something to confess. Secrets aren’t meant to be kept so long.

“Jaehyun,” you call, bringing his attention before faltering. It’s not like you’re the only one fawning over his smile. You get up instead, excusing yourself. “I’ll see you inside I suppose.”

“You know I like you, right?”

You turn around. “What?”

Jaehyun gets up, brushing his suit and fixing the lapels. The gentle night haze and the contrasting calls of the brightly lit party inside brush over an effect you’ve never felt before. “I…I like you. It’s pretty straightforward, I think.”

You deny it, or rather, some repressed little emotion inside you denies it vehemently. “Jaehyun, really. I admit I was a complete asshole to you and- and...it was…kind of you to accompany me that night but—”

“Stop. Don’t- Don’t call that kind. You’re not seeing the full picture.”

You stand there, unsure of what to do as you feel your chest grow warmer. Jaehyun turns his head upwards, letting out an audible breath. You can see conflict on his face, the struggle of someone still mulling over the perfect words.

“I don’t hate you. I never really hated you even if I wanted to.”

You suppose it wouldn’t be the right time to say that you might have indulged in that.

“I did,” you confess. “I hated you for a very, very long time, Jaehyun.”

“I know,” he whispers, looking straight at you. “I didn’t mean to leave you hanging—”

“Jaehyun, I don’t care about that,” you say, your voice rising, “You told me you felt suffocated in bow ties and laughed when I asked if you wanted to run away with me. I just ended up thinking you were a goddamn liar.”  

“Fine,” he says quietly in his baritone timbre, sounds of the chatter from inside numbing away. “Then let me be honest.”

“When I met you, I thought there was someone like me doing just the same—so…suddenly in the midst of everything. Even if you were a complete asshole to me. You were still real.”

He phrases it delicately, lilting, as if that hasn’t been your whole purpose here.  He’s only a breath away from you, but you don’t want to push him away this time. There’s a moment’s pause.

“Between work and myself, which is more important? For once, I thought I could answer that question.”

Your breaths are soft and shallow as they fall, trying to understand his words.

“And then you just fucking stopped. You stopped flying out and I’d barely see you outside of Seoul like you- like you gave up or something. I didn’t understand—what happened to you?”

Jaehyun looks at you with a hardened expression, ears turning red as if he hadn’t expected this outburst of truth. He gulps, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. It’s not like him to open his mouth and let out words that are raw and honest; it makes you feel the weight even more. You were still kids that night. You’re not anymore.

“Jaehyun,” you whisper before reaching your hand out and placing it against his cheek.

It’s so hard to not take in the details. The prominence of the muscle by his mouth when he speaks, the fine lines by his nose which appear sporadically or the look of complete reverence in his eyes when he’s staring at you like this—everything those runway shots can’t possibly capture. Your eyes trail to his lips, your own drawn to it with a desire you don’t know how to comprehend—and don’t quite wish to, either.

You want to believe he made the first move but you give in so easy, it’s alarming. Your lips move against his in a rhythm new and frantic, his hands gripping you with full strength at the waist and you part your lips to allow a deeper kiss. Your hands are free to roam his perfectly styled hair, tousling it in a fashion that makes him groan, only to push you harder against the wall. 

“I should’ve- I should’ve let you kiss me that night,” he mumbles against your lips. “Maybe I…I wouldn’t have made you hate me.”

“Maybe you should shut up and kiss me right now,” you respond, your tongue pressing against his, effectively doing the job.

It’s not difficult to see stars when his hips press against yours, his hand resting on one thigh to pull it up slightly. You feel the impact of it head-on, almost moaning out loud when his fingers press harder against the back of your thigh.

“Tell me- Tell me you want this,” he breathes out when he breaks the kiss.

You respond with reconnecting your lips, your tongue sliding against his in fervent affirmations. You’ve already forfeited your modesty, there’s no reason to stop.

You leave early, getting into the car you’d booked for the night. It would be far more embarrassing were it not for the separation between the front and backseats, when Jaehyun’s hands are up your clothes and his lips rough against your neck. The lip colour has smudged by the side of Jaehyun’s lips, a short giggle escaping you when you notice. It’s not enough to halt the kissing, or feeling each other up —something that feels long overdue. You try to keep your sounds to a minimum but Jaehyun seems to not care about things as worthless as shame, at least for the moment.

“Well, you’re about as graceful as a sea lion when you’re off the runway,” you hiss when Jaehyun’s teeth prick your skin.

“I haven’t done this in a while,” he responds in a low tone, the rest of his retort pushed away by his lips against your mouth.

You don’t have time to take in the details of Jaehyun’s apartment because he’s already carrying you to the bed, your legs around his waist and continuing to kiss you as if making up for something. All those years, you could have been doing this. Maybe you do have some regrets.

The material of his dress shirt feels expensive but clothes are not what you need right now. His phone rings once but he drags a finger over it to reject the call, his mouth still pressing against your collarbone. The only sounds you hear are rugged breathing and you fumbling with the buttons of his shirt as you pull it over his shoulders. The city lights below you reach through the drawn curtains, all the unrelenting complicacies left behind in those faraway streets.

Jaehyun makes a sound of annoyance at the phone ringing yet again. He breaks apart from you, receiving the call while his fingers massage his temple.

“Hyung, I’m fine. I’ll talk to you later—”

“I was just wondering where you disappeared and you don’t even grace me with a hello?” Johnny’s voice rings clear in the all too silent bedroom.

“Hyung—”

“Wait a minute.” There’s a pause within which Jaehyun seems to tense up. “Are you fucking? Like did you leave the party to get la—”

“Hyung. I’m hanging up.” 

The coral pink spread over his ears is almost as pretty as the look of pure annoyance over his face.

“That—”

“Didn’t happen,” you complete, giggling. If someone were to tell you’d be seeing Jaehyun like this a few months ago, you wouldn’t know whether to be embarrassed or exhilarated.

You place your hand at the nape of his neck, pulling him into another kiss.

Sex is barely ever beautiful—even if it’s Jung Yoonoh over you, planting kisses from your mouth to jaw, neck to chest and whispering sweet, delicious words against each part. He certainly knows how to use that tongue of his, better than you’d expect from a boy so pristine.

It doesn’t matter if it’s not beautiful, when it’s just like a slow dance—in shared solace and love out of time. You bite your lips to stop smiling too often for it to feel as serious and indifferent as all the other times. Sometimes you feel Jaehyun grinning into the crook of your neck, the giddiness of love taking over the movement of your hips against his. The perfect anatomy of his, paired with his candied words makes you think that maybe you do fit together.

Jaehyun pushes into you at a steady pace, your fingers digging into his back and over his shoulder blades only to draw out sounds more pleasing to your ears. You let someone else take charge for once, his praising whispers of ‘that’s my baby’ or ‘you just look so good’ far too teasing but he follows through, your body barely able to respond apart from shaking and shuddering till you reach your high. 

The sound of skin against skin dies down well into the night and you get cleaned, still blissed out from making the summit of all your senses. It’s warm inside, despite turning the air conditioner on.

“Jaehyun,” you call, lowering yourself to press a quick kiss to his lips. 

“Hm?” He gives you a drowsy smile, arm under his head and hair sticking to his forehead funny.

“Did you really not hate me? Not even once?” You rest your cheek against your palm as you lie beside him.

Even under the dim lights, it’s not hard to spot the blush on him when he positively glows. Jaehyun reminds you of warm auburn and the touch of cool satin—it’s easy to make things, find inspiration in love.

“Oh my god, you were lying!” you accuse, sitting up straight. “There’s no way you didn’t hate me. I called your modeling as good as a coconut’s!”

“As you so love to remind me,” he mumbles.

There’s a brief moment before the two of you crack up, his deep laughter perfectly mismatched with yours. There’s hardly many sounds on the eighteenth floor, but maybe you’ve always been yearning for this privacy—this proximity in shared laughter and warm touches. 

“No, I didn’t,” Jaehyun answers your question after it’s quiet once again. “I thought...I think you’re…”

Jaehyun trails off, his eyes flickering over your face before fixing on your lips as his own tug into a smile. He gulps. “I think we’d be in trouble if the paparazzi saw us throwing choice words at each other, don’t you think? You were barely out of school then.”

“Me?” You laugh. “You were thinking about me?”

“And a little bit about me.” 

You fall asleep against Jaehyun’s chest with the certainty of kinder tomorrows, a thing he teaches you through whispers against the pillow and fingers playing with your hair. There’s something private in the way he holds your face, something delicate and homely running from his long fingers to his flushed knuckles and the rest of his hand as it presses against your cheek. It’s warm here, and safe, and maybe home is where the heart is, after all.

“Really? You’re not even a little bit sad I’m leaving?” you ask, placing your hand over your heart. “Who’s going to help you when you’re getting bullied in the workplace now?”

Doyoung huffs in annoyance, placing the box down beside the moving truck. “You’re the only one who bullies me in the workplace.”

You adjust the ugly baseball cap on your head, the one Jaehyun had pulled over your head in an attempt to stop you from complaining about his messy apartment. You hadn’t realized you’d worn it all the way to Seoul till the articles about your questionable choice of accessories had surfaced.

“Your boyfriend’s calling,” Doyoung says, making a face as he picks your phone up from the box near him. “I can’t even believe this. All those years of flirting and—”

You snatch it from him, glaring at him for the choice of words. He raises his hands defensively, rolling his eyes at your sudden movement.

“Are you sure you don’t want me flying to Seoul?”

“Unless you’re planning to work in a truck rental.”

You hear Jaehyun laugh on the other side of the line. Is it normal to have blood rush straight from your chest to your ears at the sound of laughter? You hope that doesn’t change.

You’d visited him a day before your flight. It hasn’t been all that long but Jaehyun certainly makes it out to be, just so he can use his cheesy one-liners. You try not to smile thinking about how he had flung his hair band out, immediately tousling his hair back into a pretty mess and struggling to keep a straight face when you’d visited out of the blue. Jaehyun wakes up at one in the afternoon when his schedule is empty and it had appalled you enough to help him out with basic chores before you left. (It didn’t end well. He kept putting his chin on your shoulder and sneaking his arms around you while you did the dishes.)

“(name)? (name), are you daydreaming again?” 

You sigh. “You can’t wait three more days, Jae? It’s, what, one in the morning there!”

“Do you want me saying something cheesy?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I don’t think I can sleep without waking up to your face.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, unable to grace him with a response. The dreamy languor in his voice is more than recognizable and if you’re not mistaken, he’s going to be saying something highly inappropriate.

“Do you know what dream I had last night?” he asks, the smile almost evident with how suggestive it sounds.

“Jaehyun, no,” you warn before lowering your voice. “I swear if it’s another dirty dream—”

“Come home and I’ll tell you all about it. With demonstrations.”

This time you can’t help the laughter, trying to mask it with a cough only to fail. You push the back of your hand against your cheek in order to soothe the involuntary blush. Your perfume smells just like him, and you realize suddenly why he’d gifted it to you.

“That definitely makes me want to leave faster,” you quip.

“I certainly hope so.”

It’s different now, especially if you remember your feelings just last February. Change feels easy for the first time in your life. You check off your list of items, counting the boxes as they’re lifted onto the truck. It took a good amount of thinking, and a bunch of fights before you could decide. New York isn’t so bad. Not when you have reason to be there. You’d like to call it love.

A list of things you do appreciate: Jung Yoonoh. Jaehyun. Whatever.

[tazanna-blythe]

Done

Chapter 1

Marinette had an awful week. A week full of Marinette we need this, Marinette can you make this?, Marinette plan this, Marinette schedule this , Marinette fix this and etc. And when she'd say no or that she's busy they call her lazy and petty. And this is just her so called classmates and miss bustier did nothing to help her and just said to do it.

Oh and let's not forget the constant bullying and abuse they do outside of school and the constant taunts of lie la and the dismissive looks Adrian give her when ever she disagree with him on something.

She can' t take this anymore . She's exhausted mentally and physically and this is affecting not only on school but on ladybug most fight's she had with akuma's last only minutes now its almost an hour which is bad and its taking a toll on her.

She needs this to stop , she needed a plan. A plan to stop all this ,a plan to finally give her the peace and relaxation she so deserves not only for her insanity but also for her future.

While Marinette ponders on tikki is furious ,so mad that she's wishing someone's death! Which is not like her, she's the type that believes that everyone deserves a second chance to redeem themselves. The caring, loving and forgiving kwamii never gets truly mad at anything is now bloody red from thinking of how everyone treats her chosen to the point that she readily helps her chosen on her plan and a wicked plan it was.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The 2 of them finalized there plan until they saw the sun rises and the hurried foot step of her parents preparing for the morning rush of the bakery.

"Well tikki if we need this plan to succeed i need a lot of money, time and patients. Which the first 2 don't have"

"yes , we do!"

"What?? Where ?? When? How??"

" Marinette did you forget I'm the goddess of creation, i can just create some money for you easy peasy" . As tikki was getting ready to create money out of thin air.

"Tikki no!!! This is wrong and we don't know how long its gonna last and how much energy your gonna use and the money we need isn't small you know! And most of all this is ILLEGAL!"

"Then what are we gonna do??"

"How about you make me mini camera with Hd quality lenses and audio?"

"Sure Marinette?! I can do that, how many do you need??"

"Just 2 and make it look like my hair tie???"

Just as Marinette orders 2 identical hair tie's appears in thin air that looks the same as her old one's . Without any hesitation she opens it and saws a mini camera in side with 2tb (terabyte) SD card each inside. With that she gets ready for the day and went down stairs with a new hair tie and confidence .

Marinette left the bakery with no one noticing her and hurriedly walk to school. while she was almost at the top of the stairs.

"How could you!" Alya screamed at her " you were supposed to babysit my sister last night so Nino and I can have a date!!"

Marinette raised her eyebrow "Babysit? How can i babysit when no one told me to and I was busy"

"What can you be busy of? You don't do anything special and you have a lot of free time and most of all I'm your best friend and friends have each others back !!"

"Bestfriend so it means i have to do your job??"

"Yes! And where's the interview with ladybug you promised me? Its been weeks all ready and I don't have anything new about ladybug."

"First of all I didn't promise you anything second why don't you just ask Lila about the interview she's ladybug's best friend I'm sure she'd love to help you"

"Oh that's right ill just ask her at least she'll help me unlike somebody i know" with that she walks inside looking for Lila.

*sign* Marinette slowly but surely walks to the classroom and sat on her sit, puts her head down and fallen asleep.

*Rings*

Lunch break its lunch break and no one even notice Marinette was sleeping alone at the back . Slowly Marinette opens her eyes and walks out of the classroom and see's most of her classmates surrounding Liela and telling a new tall tale about who knows what. At this point she doesn't care anymore.

She walked to the vacant table and starts eating her croissant.

"Yes, damiboo loves me so much that he even bought me this beautiful bracelet, i told him not to buy me this but he insisted on it so who am i to say no hahahaha" everyone started looking at her bracelet in awe.

" ahhh Lila this is beautiful and is this damiboo your talking about is Damián Wayne right?" Alya ask with twinkle in her eyes

"Aw yes but please don't tell anyone this is suppose to be a secret we don't want people getting the wrong idea"

"That's so sweet ,where did you meet Lila" rose said sweetly

"We are childhood friends I've know each other since we were 6 yrs. His family just adores me and practically wanted me to just move in with them but my mom said we were to young so she'll have to keep me for the time being"

"Awwww...that so romantic I wish I have that" rose send with hearts in her eyes

While everybody flocks on Liela there's 3 people looking at the group in disbelieve. And the 3 would be Marinette, Chloe and Adrien all 3 of them knows with one look that the bracelet is fake and by the looks of it very cheap mostly likely a fashion jewelry.

" I cant believe people actually believes utterly ridiculous "chloe said seriously

Marinette looks up from her table and saw Chloe approaching her and sitting down at the table right next to her.

"What are you doing here Chloe"

" I know I'm grade a bitch but i can't stand stupid people i mean look at it with just one glance you would know that bracelet is fake and it's not even that beautiful i just don't get why their flocking at her. And i rather be here with you than hear another ridiculously story about who knows what"

"You and me both Chloe"

"So are you going to exposure or what"

"Yes of course I just need time and help"

" I'll help you in one condition you need to sign the contract to work in my mother's company ezpz right a win-win for both of us"

Marinette raised eyebrow "Joking right! Why on earth would you want me to work with your mother, do you know what that means ha Chloe. It means will be together a lot more than usual"

"Do you think I'm stupid? Of course I know that and I think its better actually. Your a dork who know fashion has talents ,hates liars and my mother likes you. And unlike those stupid and so called friends of ours I know who is better and real people and most of all you never gave up and loyal and that's hard to find"

"What about Sabrina?"

"She's was loyal to me of course then she suddenly believes everything Liela said and you know the rest"

"So all I need is to sign the contract and you'd help me?"

"Yup"

Marinette ponders a bit "Deal! As long as you are not allowed to call me anymore weird and awful nickname ,no more mocking, no more trash talk, be your real self with me and I have to read the contract first" and I reach my hand to her for her to shake

"Deal, so later after school come with me to the hotel" Chloe said with a real smile plaster on her face

While the 2 of them have a heart to heart talk someone's watching them from a far with a confused face but he dismissed it and just eat with his friends while trying to listen to what everyone's saying. This is for the better and when Marinette finally sees what he means everything will be back to normal and everyone's gonna be happy again. With that thought he had a funny weird smile on his face imagining his perfect world while plagg's busy trying to contact tikki or ladybug.

When lunch is over everybody's going back to their classroom. Marinette sits at the back without even giving a glance at her classmates then Chloe sits next to her and giving her a small smile. Everyone's shock of what just happened then just gossip with each other in hush tones about how weird its is which is still heard by Marinette and Chloe. Which they just ignore.

The class end everyone's starts packing there things then Alya stomps her way to the back of the class

"You!!! What do you think your doing?" She points aggressively at Marinette with a fierce glare.

"I'm packing my things"

"Don't be pretend you don't know! you threatened Lila in the bathroom"

"Why would I do that and when did I do that?"

"Your just a jealous bitch you know that ,Lila never did anything to you and you just can't stand that's she's more cooler than you"

"Alya you didn't answer me when did I threatened her?"

"At lunch, Lila said so!"

Marinette looks at Alya disbelievingly " How can a threatened her when you guys where with her all the time??"

"Are you calling Lila a liar?"

"No I'm telling you to use your head. Come on Chloe lets go" just before there leaving

"And why the hell are you hanging out with Chloe? Don't you remember your sworn enemies and don't you there bail on me again you are babysitting my sisters today!"

Marinette looked directly into her eyes then said "she is my friend and I'm not your slave so get away from me"

Alya was taken by surprise by the sudden coldness of Marinette eyes "No she's not and I'm your best friend "

"Are you really?"

"Yes !!"

"Then tell me when was the last time you called me or texted me?"

Alya smiled and directly opens her phone and looked ........" last night! I texted you multiple times you didn't answer me"

"Try calling me again"

Alya was skeptical but called her anyway

"Sorry the number you have dialed is invalid please try again"

Everyone was stunned at what the phone said. Alya called again and the same thing happened ,automatically the other students followed suite and called Marinette but the same result . Adrien tried to but no luck.

"If you are really my friend you would know that my phone brooked 3 weeks ago so would you excuse as we have some business to attend to"

With that both Chloe and Marinette left the classroom with their stunned classmates. before they even walk out of school Adrien stopped them

"That wasn't nice of you, I'm disappointed in you Marinette you are our everyday ladybug your supposed to make everyone feel safe and happy that's your job and it is your job to keep our classroom in order. didn't we already discussed this Lila is a liar but she never hurts anybody. you need to get your priorities straight do you want Lila to be akumatized again. I know you you are better than that"

While Adrian was taking he had forgotten that Chloe was their with them listening to every word he said.

"You knew and you didn't do or said anything at all you just let that slimy, ungrateful, psychopath wag her disgusting tongue about this and that and creating rumors tall tales about Marinette that isn't true and would most likely end her career in the future . don't you know the meaning of slander? or toxic friends?, abuse?. because as Marinette had said just now she's not anybody's slave she has her own life she can fucking do whatever she wants to do and you nor anybody in that classroom can say anything about it capisce.... so if I were you I would get my head out of my ass and wake up from that fantasy of yours because this is the real world …. come on Marinette we're leaving"

Chloe grabs Marinette's hand then pulled her into the limousine while leaving a stunned Adrien at the top of the stairs.

In the limousine:

"Thank you"

"No problem"

"Are you ok? I thought you like him?"

"I did but that was a long time ago . You?"

"Same"

Both *sign*

"At least know I have a really friend"

"Friend? You want to be friend's with me?"

"Yes and I already forgave you a long time ago so friends?"

"Friends... so tell me about that plan of yours" smiling evilly

While the 2 talk's Jean Chloe's butler smile at them and thanks the heavens above that now his mistress has a real friend and maybe she'll help her mend the rift between the mother and daughter.

Previous ~ Next

[mousehole5000]

the rest... of... book 4..... through chapter 225

i sad.

“He was lying to himself and lying to others! All nothing but deceit! No matter what, it was impossible to pretend nothing had ever happened, and it was impossible to return to before!!!” - i know :(

“Before Feng Xin went, he was afraid. Now that Feng Xin had gone, he wasn’t scared any longer. But, even though he wasn’t afraid anymore, he was in deeper agony.” - ah yes. being afraid of your friends leaving so you do things to drive them away so you can have something to point to and say that you were the one who made the choice and you dont have to fear it anymore. except that has never once worked out ever and turns out losing people just means you lost them and it still hurts. not that i would know or anything.....

“He saw upon the table there were a few plates of horrid-looking dishes that were now cold. They were what he made the queen take away without eating a single bite the night before. Now, he pulled them over absent-mindedly, and ate everything, not daring to leave behind a single leaf, afraid to miss a single grain of rice. After he ate he started puking.” - this broke me and the bad cooking isnt funny anymore :(

all this happens after they have money again. no further commentary on this chapter

i know for a lot of book 3 i just wanted hua cheng to go away but now i would give anything for wuming to come and interrupt these interactions with white no-face

“Lang Ying, a brute commoner, led an army and destroyed Xianle. With the aura of the king enveloping his body, ordinary evil wouldn’t be able to come close to his person. However, at this moment, what Xie Lian brought with him were millions of souls of those who died on the battlefield!” - interesting to think about this story from lang ying’s point of view. the bit about his wife and child... oh my god... the things we carry with us...

“Will it really be alright to leave him like this? How about, I give him a cup of water?” - cup of water motif is back... ouch

“One person. Just one. Really. Just one person was enough!” - for like 20 minutes after reading this i really was just sitting here thinking about every time a stranger did me a small a kindness and the times i did the same it just made me cry harder i love people and they really can be awful and choose to be cold and cruel but it means that when they choose to be kind..... it doesnt negate the cruelty but its still indescribable.. and being able to see that and remember that even after all the pain..... 

ugh still just thinking about the times ive gone through something that changed me and having the cold numb fear that i would never be the same as i was before that i would lose some precious part of me forever and wondering if this would be the thing that finally did it... i dont know if ive ever actually experienced a piece of media that really make me think about that tbh

“Stop thinking so highly of yourself! I don’t need you to teach me anything, I can learn on my own. If you represent heaven’s will, then something like heaven’s will should be destroyed!” - why is defying the heavens so sexy.... keep it up (edit after white no-face identity reveal: HOLY SHIT!!!!!!!!!!!)

the fact that xie lian went through what he did and got nothing out of it and in fact lost everything he had left due to the trauma,,,,, but just one person is enough for him to willingly offer to do it again, even if all he could save is one person,,,,,, crying again.... and who it is who takes it all on instead... ok...

“After all, everyone knew that Mu Qing ascended because he cleaned up all the remaining stubborn resentful spirits in the old capital of Xianle, so to understand it as “generous and kind” wasn’t unreasonable. In any case, everyone in the old capital of Xianle were all very grateful for him.” - its not unreasonable at all!!! this boy picks cherries for his mom and the neighborhood kids leave him alone

“Shaking his head, Xie Lian contemplated, then he ladled two large bowls of rice, one offered inside the Temple of Ju Yang, the other inside the Temple of Xuan Zhen. Finally, feeling that everything served its purpose, he clapped his hands close, completely satisfied.” - please i just want them to be friends again

ruoye........ xie lian bidding farewell to the tiny red flower.... ok i feel a totally normal amount about all these things

book 5 time!!!

xie lian king of taking a third option.. no one dies in the kiln at all we’re just leaving bitch

“Xie Lian didn’t know why he had to use his hands to cup Hua Cheng’s cheeks, but he did so subconsciously, probably so he could comfort him, but also because Xie Lian was afraid Hua Cheng’s face would be frostbitten by the snowstorm.” - gay people.....

“This giant stone divine statue must’ve been sculpted when Hua Cheng was trapped inside the Kiln, when he was severely beaten down and in intense suffering.” - ohhhh my god. okay. okay. look. i get it....

“The divine statue obeyed his command and took off with a gigantic, wide step, going along with the rolling current of snow. One slide was several miles, and the snow waves it created crashed around its body. Because both its arms were open, even though it was a body of a million tons, it still maintained good balance.” - HELL YEAH!! HELL YEAH LETS FUCKING GO LETS GOOOOO

the statue that requires transfers of spiritual energy... statue of make you kiss me i see how it is.....

“Hearing this, Hua Cheng raised his brows, his expression seeming to say, please have them beat each other to death, that’d be great.” - when you dont like your SO’s friends and they dont like you

“With a sharp sword in hand, Xie Lian was like a tiger with wings added, his might increasing exponentially, and he struck out!” - YES!!! GET EM!!!!

“No one could blame him for not knowing what was going on. Perhaps, he was confused the entire way: Why was he beaten? Why was he buried inside a wall? Why was he turned into a daruma doll? And why did he have to turn into a sword, too? There was not a single point where he’d figured out what was happening.” its okay qyz its okay i know honey me too

HELLO?? SQX IS BACK???? omg what a development omg omg okay okay interesting... okay so shi wudu would have rather died than lose everything but shi qingxuan is still trucking

“Hua Cheng responded lazily, “Oh? So you mean to say, beggars can’t save the world? Is it because they don’t have the ability to, or because they’re not worthy?” - KING okay i know this is a motivational tactic but also... who was it who took on all the souls for the human face disease and did in fact save the world back then hmmm?

absolutely enthralled by the fact that in chapter 207 we find out that the guoshi is in fact just. still here. and the name of the chapter is "Seeking Affection; Ghost King Fakes Displeasure” which i mean that happens too but fjasdlkfajsld

bruh okay. okay. okay. everything is happening okay. okay. chaos in the heavens okay. ling wen is still invited to kiss me on the mouth tho idc

“Indeed Yin Yu didn’t have enough confidence, and said weakly, “Chengzhu has shown me grace, he saved me…” “I know,” Jun Wu said. “He even helped you pacify and send off the resentful spirit of Jian Yu, who died during banishment, am I right?” - awww im glad they resolved that bit that whole situation was awful also give me the forbidden hua cheng ghost king lore...

“Yin Yu finally couldn’t take it anymore. He clenched his fists tight, his knuckles cracking, and he whipped around. “I DO RESENT HIM! I DO HATE HIM!!! BUT, SO WHAT??” - yin yu kiss me on the mouth right now

“Xie Lian hugged him. “It’s alright, it’s alright. These are all small matters, really. Your Highness Yin Yu, just live in this world for another few hundred years and you’ll know that none of that really matters. Either driven to madness or really wishing someone would die, whichever. Who in the world has never had such thoughts? I’ve even thought of massacring all in the world who had wronged me, it’s true, and no lie, I’d almost done it. But look at me, haven’t I shamelessly lived until now? You haven’t actually done anything in the end, and that’s the most important thing.” - he’s right im crying again

“But…in the end, I…still think…it’s so unfair,” Yin Yu sobbed. “If I was already destined to be no one remarkable, then at the very least, I…wanted to be a kind and perfect person. But…I couldn’t even do that. It’s really…so unfair. And truth to be told, even in this moment, just thinking that I’m dying for Yizhen, this little dummy, I still can’t get over it. I can’t even let go and die with a heart with no resentment and no regrets, what is that.” - YIN YU YOU CANT DIE NOOOOOOO youre the only man in this whole book i would kiss why does this always happen im actually really sad ;_;

“If the Rain Master was killed directly, and a better heavenly official couldn’t be found to replace her, the people put food above all else; if agriculture isn’t running smoothly, the world will be thrown into chaos. You don’t let people eat, people won’t give you a job. Besides being displeased with the Rain Master, the people of the world might also begin to be dissatisfied with the great god above Rain Master’s head. Which means, if he isn’t careful, the fire can burn all the way onto him. If things aren’t controlled adequately, it might incur riots to topple gods.” - rain master my friend rain master... also yes!!!!! food production!!!! critical!!!!!!! theres a lot you can get by without but food is not one of them!!!!!

“Feng Xin was Xie Lian’s servant, his good friend, but not his slave. He could’ve built his own home, had his own family. And he had actually already met those people, but the encounter just had to be during Xie Lian’s first banishment, the toughest days they suffered back then.” i am very sad about all of this

hua cheng in the palace of ling wen looking for the brocade immortal while the heavens are in complete chaos as the world turns on its head and STILL taking the time to beg for kisses is making me lose it fjalkdfjlsd

oh my god the guoshi and the cards thing..... hmmmm

delighted that mount tong’lu has such great significance beyond just being the kiln or whatever

hmmm crown prince of wuyong... its truly sad... but dude.....

the way that the heavenly capital is literally built out of previous gods... wow

the outright attempt to continue to cycle of trauma that failed simply bc 1. xie lian is his own person and 2. xie lian recieved kindness and gave it back to the world even to the people who refused to help him im ;_;

the absolute mess of xuan ji/rong guang/pei su/banyue/ke mo going down in the palace of ming guang... entertainment

okay i think im to a point where i dont have any possible spoiler knowledge in my brain about what happens next (only thing i have is theres a joke about he xuan eating that i dont understand yet and i think we might get like an emily corpse bride moment but if we do i dont know why) but oh my god things have escalated

[normal-thoughts-official]

How do you think a TWI magic reveal would go

I mean it could go many ways but my personal favorite is Magnus deciding to tell Alec, like, possibly after a moment where it became too obvious he was hiding something, and he's super nervous, because alec's a mundane and Magnus literally lived through the witch trials, he knows how they feel about magic, especially demonic magic. plus alec is a very, like, rational kind of guy if that makes sense? like hes a practical guy, he's objective, he likes structure, and he's very sure of what he wants? like he knows what he's about and what he wants and he's very no-nonsense in that sense, he likes party planning, he has his own little company, hes just very sure of himself and steady and magnus doesnt want to like shake him to his core and make him doubt everything he knows, i guess? and the fact that Alec has such a well structured, skeptic, well-rounded life and vision of his future makes him a good candidate to react to the reveal with disgust, hatred, violence, etc

like if Magnus is being honest with himself he doesnt think Alec would be violent, but it might be too much for him and drive him away and Magnus is scared, because he's spent so long alone and now he's finally not anymore, and he doesnt know what will happen to him if is first attempt at opening up again after centuries ends up backfiring spectacularly. assuming he still went through the Camille shit in twi, he knows very well how rejection of this sort can get to him

i mean, he's not as fragile as he was at that time, so he doesn't think he'll crash and burn like he did that time, because he's stronger now, but the memory of so many years of hiding away and being terrified because of one terrible lover still haunts him and he doesn't want to be there again PRECISELY because he remembers how painful it was to claw his way back from there. so he's feeling this mix of confidence and fear, you know, on the one hand, he knows he's strong enough to move on if Alec reacts badly, he's done it before, just the fact that he's considering this at all is proof that he's not at the same vulnerable (in the bad way), dependant place that he once was. but also he still has scars from when he was and a part of him cant help but wonder, what if I'm thrown back to that depressive state? what if i close myself off again? what if i lose everything I've worked for?

so in a way he's taking a leap of faith even if he knows he's strong enough to catch himself. besides, he's not truly opening up to alec if he doesn't let him know about one of the things that make magnus who he is, quite literally a part of him, of his identity and his daily life, even more so now that he's taking control of his powers again.

so he psychs himself up and plans how he'll do this, how he'll prove to Alec that it's true without risking scaring him and getting an intense reaction that neither of them will want, etc, etc. and he goes to Alec all like "we need to talk" and Alec of course immediately drops everything because that's how he be, and it's a little overwhelming because he just stops everything without a second thought and Magnus knows he has his undivided attention even before be opens his mouth and okay this is happening

and he did have a better plan to ease alec into this but he's kind of like "you know how i work with tarot? i can actually do magic" and alec's like "oh that's what you wanna talk about okay lmao i thought something had happened" and Magnus is like "no, you don't understand. i can do magic, i can make portals and levitate things and-" and alec's like "yeah Magnus i know? every time we have sex you change the color of the sheets or explode something im not stupid" and magnus is like i do what

because like listen. if canon Magnus who's high warlock and is not struggling to control his own magic and who definitely hasn't been abSTaiNinG literally lost control of his glamor, the most simple magic spell ever, after Alec kissed him and only barely started to remove his shirt, you cannot tell me that twi!Magnus who hasn't had a relationship in centuries and who's only starting to regain control of his magic has any chill. at all. i will not listen to such a lie

especially considering that twi!Alec canonically has a lot more experience than shadowhunter!Alec, so even in that sense he probably has a better headstart than sh!Alec did. so like. I'm just saying. homeboy didn't stand a chance

and maybe he genuinely didn't realize that he was doing that because he was so lost and overwhelmed and unused to having to control his magic lashing out lmao, also he's just a horny dumbass. Magnus and Alec are starting to get it on, Magnus' magic lashes out and summons some handcuffs and he just doesn't question it because he's lowkey lost in the sauce and if suddenly his wrists are bound like he wanted what is he gonna do, complain? please

also smaller things like sending jolts of magic through their bodies, like, i assume since magic is a part of magnus' body it only makes sense that it's also an active participant during sex? and usually he'd be able to pass this off because its just a bit of sensation enhancing and all, but Alec comes from a shadowhunter lineage, which means that he has the Sight, which means that he very much does see the blue sparks running through them. and Alec might be the skeptic no-nonsense type, but he's also not an idiot and he knows what he sees, so by the time Magnus decides to tell him he already knows and made his peace with that

also I'm a slut for Alec thinking magic is the coolest thing and being just in awe of Magnus' abilities and taking that very seriously and with a lot of respect in all universes. so hes just like "okay can i see for real?" and magnus is like okay and summons a little hologram of his cats like he did with clary because idiot, turns it into a little magic ball, twists it around. and Alec just like very breathlessly and intensely asks Magnus if he can touch it and when Magnus lets him he takes it so delicately and he's all like "this is so beautiful" and i just djbdjdndkdnssisjdidn im a soft corny bitch idk what to tell you

[rendiggitydog]

In which Evil X isn’t very evil:

"Ugh, I need a vacation," Evil Xisuma sighed and leaned against his rock. The cave was quite nice, since Ex had lived there for quite some time. The floor had been swept that morning, and the walls were warmly lit with small torches. "Where could I go on a vacation?"

He dug his old, yellowing map out of a box, and smoothed it across the floor. The map displayed the area above his cave in faded greens and browns. There was a forest, some hilly mountains, and a bay opening into the ocean.

"I loved the mountains last time I went out, but it's been quite a while. Maybe I'll go back and see if it's changed." He sang to himself as he packed a small box of food and armor, and a make-shift sleeping sack. "Let's go!"

—

Stress hummed a tune as she strolled through the shopping district. The sun was shining, and the birds chirped, covering the valley in a muted blanket of peace.

"Oh my days!"

Stress heard Xisuma shouting from the base of the mountain, under the Sahara Project. She quickly ran over, and peeked down the slope, spotting an armored figure at the banks of the river. The sunlight glinted off his armor, but she could have sworn the armor appeared red. "Oi! X! Are you alright?"

He turned to her, but didn't seem to recognize her. "Hello! Who are you?"

"Why I'm Stressmonsta! Are you not Xisuma?"

The man scoffed as he hopped across the river, making his way up the hill towards her. "Don't call me that name! I'm Evil Xisuma!" He stood proudly beside her, giving a clear view of his outfit. It was nearly identical to Xisuma's suit, except red, with a black cape draped over his shoulders.

"Oh," She thought for a moment. "Didn't you nearly blow up all of our Season Five homes?"

"Well, yes, but then I was banished. Do you know where I am now? Because last I thought I was leaving my base to head to the mountains!"

"Hm. Well, this is our Season Six shopping district, and you just came out of that hole!" She motioned to the hole in the side of the mountain.

"What!? Are you telling me you moved Hermitcraft right on top of my cave?" Ex looked around in disbelief.

"I suppose so! Would you like a tour?"

Ex blinked in surprise. "...I don't see why not!"

—

"What is that?" Ex stared as two hermits soared overhead.

Stress laughed. "That's Grian and Iskall!"

"But- they're in the sky!"

"Well, yeah! They're using their elytra to fly! Have you neva seen an elytra?"

Ex paused. "Maybe...? I was in my cave for a long time.."

"Well, this cant stand!" Stress found an ender chest and rummaged through it, triumphantly pulling out a spare elytra. "Let's teach you to fly!"

"Ah, I'm not sure.. I'm more confident on the ground..." Ex stepped back, eyeing the elytra.

"That's because you've never tried it! Cmon!"

—

After a long, painful process, the two were in the sky, gliding (somewhat) gracefully over the ocean.

"See, flying's not bad!" Stress laughed.

"I suppose." Ex laughed nervously. "Where are we going?"

"I figured we could stop by Mumbo's base. It's real pretty!" Stress motioned to the giant sphere appearing out of the fog.

Stress landed gracefully on the catwalk, and helped Ex land without taking too much damage. He could only stare, jaw dropped, at the bright, futuristic base.

Just then, Mumbo strolled around the beam in the center, shrugging on his suit coat. He smiled when he noticed Stress, but jumped a mile when he spotted Ex. "E- Evil Xisuma!" Mumbo squeaked. He shuddered, fumbling for his sword, which dropped with a clang.

"It's okay Mumbo, he's a friend!" Stress threw her arms around Ex, who stood awkwardly.

"But- But- Last season he ruined my redstone!"

"That was a long time ago! He's better now, right Ex?" She looked expectantly at him.

Ex shuffled his feet. "Yes, I'm doing much better now."

Mumbo visibly relaxed. "Oh good! How are you two doing then?"

"I'm fantastic! I'm taking Ex on a tour, and it's really fun, right Ex?"

"Flying is... different."

"I totally understand." Mumbo laughed. "Well I was just grabbing some observers, so I'd better head back to work!"

Ex perked up. "Observer? What does that do?"

"Ah ha, I- I suppose it's difficult to explain! Can I show you?"

"Yes please!"

Mumbo taught Ex and Stress about redstone, both entranced by the unique element. After a while, Ex developed a headache, and decided it was time to go.

"Thanks Mum! Good luck!" Stress waved as she and Ex flew off.

"There's so much I didn't know about redstone..." Ex sighed, holding his head.

"Me nieva! It's really difficult, but Mumbo's a helpful fella. I'm much better at buildin!" She swooped in front of Ex, proudly displaying her ice castle.

"Wow..." He breathed. "You're really good!"

Stress giggled. "Thanks love! I'm fond of the stone bricks with the ice!"

"Stone... bricks?" Ex curiously followed Stress to the base of the castle.

Stress stifled a laugh. "You don't even know stone bricks? You've been in that cave a while!"

"I'm sure I've seen them, it's just been a while!" He defended. "How did you make these out of cobble?" He ran his fingers over the uniform bricks.

"Not cobble, silly! Stone! You have to use silk touch!"

Ex's blank expression said it all.

"You've really forgotten everything, huh? Cmon, let me show you."

-----

"Thank you for the wonderful day, Stress! It was so nice to meet you!" Ex thanked Stress as they strolled arm in arm down the lane.

"I forgot we only just met today! I hope you'll come visit again soon!"

"Who's visiting?" Grian zoomed past, soaring straight up in the air before drifting back down. "Who's this?"

"This is Exy! Exy, this is Grian, our newest member!"

Ex went in for a handshake, but Grian, beaming, pulled him into a tight hug. "So cool to meet someone new! Speaking of which, are you a hermit? I've never met you, but here you are!"

"I, uh..." Ex rubbed his neck. "Well..."

Just then Jevin glided in, waving to the small group. "Hey Grian, have you seen Mum-" He froze. "Uh, what's goin on here?" He looked between Stress and Grian's cheerful grins and Ex's anxious stare. "I- I'm not even gonna ask.." He shook his head, flying off.

"Well he was rude! He didn't even say hi!" Grian folded his arms.

"I know why..."

Suddenly, Xisuma strolled around the corner, pulling his helmet off and shaking his hair out. Ex tensed, clenching and unclenching his fists.

"I better go..." Ex murmured to Stress, eyes darting to find a good direction to run.

"How did you get here? I thought we left you in Season 5?" X's commanding voice cemented Ex's feet to the ground.

"Left him? Last season? What are you on about X?" Grian unconsciously took a step forward, blocking Ex from view.

"Do you know who this is Grian? Or why he looks and sounds just like me?" X stepped forward, making Ex flinch.

Grian couldn't read X's tone, and now he was conflicted. Why was he defending a stranger that X clearly knew better than he did anyway? Why were they so similar?

Grian's hesitation allowed X to step around him, approaching Ex, who squeezed his eyes shut.

"...just ban me already..." Ex muttered.

"Ban you? Now why would I do that?"

"It wouldn't be the first time." He gritted his teeth, awaiting the dreaded feeling of his body dissolving into the void.

X's laugh cut through the tense air like a knife. "And never get to see my favorite brother again? Never!" X threw his arms around Ex, who seemed paralyzed with fear and confusion.

Stress seemed just as confused, as she made a little squeak noise.

"What just happened?" Grian rubbed his head in confusion.

X stepped away from the hug, but kept one arm around Ex. "This is my brother, Exy!"

Ex finally came to his senses and shoved X away. "You are not my brother! I'm your evil clone!"

X shrugged, not phased. "You've always been around, and we used to get along just fine! Have you decided you actually want to be evil now?"

Ex froze. "Wait, no. I'm not evil." The gears turned in his brain. "But if I'm not evil, then what's my name? I can't just be Xisuma Two!"

"You're right!" The small crew contemplated the strange situation for a moment.

"Harold?" Stress offered. Ex stuck his tongue out.

"How about Poultry Man?" Grian suggested with a chuckle, earning him playful glares.

"I've always just called you Exy, I can't imagine anything else!" X ran his fingers through his hair.

"I like Exy, it's kinda cute! And it still sounds a little like Xisuma." Stress smiled.

Ex shook his head. "Fine, but it's cool, not cute."

"Whatever you say. Now, how on earth did you get here?"

Ex showed Xisuma the cave he had made in the hillside, and recounted his experience that morning.

"Huh! I must have banished you here, and then subconsciously used the same seed for our new world! Well, welcome to the hermit family, I suppose!"

"Welcome yes, family no. I'd rather hang out in my cave over you guys. Except maybe Stress." He threw her a bashful glance, and she instantly wrapped him in a tight hug.

"Anytime you wanna hang out, text me! And don't forget to polish your armor, it looks much better that way. Oh, and take some cookies I made, they're really good-!"

Ex smiled as Stress fussed over him. "I'll be fine. I'll text you, I promise."

Stress held him at arms length. "Love you hun. Come back soon."

"I will, I promise! I've got to go now, bye Stress!" Ex glanced at Grian and X, who were giving the friends some space. He gave a wave and a short smile, and returned to the safety of his cave.

"I hope he'll be okay.." Stress wrung her hands.

"He'll be fine, he's very independent." X put his arm around her shoulder.

Grian raised an eyebrow, pulling out his magnifying glass with a grin. "Now, about those cookies you gave him..?"

[taleen777]

do you think Lucy loves natsu? i cant really tell with her, but natsu on the other hand i think he does, can you do an analysis on this if you have time, thanks :)

Let me just say two things before I start:

1. Thank you SO MUCH for sending this ask!

2. I’m sorry I’m late with the answer, but I hope you see it nonetheless! ^_^

Edit:

3. I’m  VERY LATE. I know. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I couldn’t post my answer earlier, but with Fairy Tail ending, I had to do it. So here it is, my take on Lucy’s feelings for Natsu. It’s a bit long (and a bit all over the place), but I hope that’ll compensate for its delay.

To me, the best way to define Natsu and Lucy’s relationship is as a solid friendship which has begun to turn into something more. Or as Mashima likes to label it, “more than friends, less than lovers”.

I’ll start with something that I believe is a very important aspect of their relationship.

Before Lucy and Natsu met each other, they were only close to people from their respective families (in Natsu’s case that’s the guild, in Lucy’s case I consider the servants in the Heartfilia mansion a part of the family). Natsu had spent 10 years in the guild, going on missions and meeting new people, but it wasn’t until he met Lucy that he made a friend outside of the guild. As for Lucy, Natsu is also the first friend she’s made that isn’t somehow connected to the Heartfilia business and house. So I’d like to think of them becoming friends as coming out of their respective shells and I consider it something very special and important. It’s a turning point for both of them. And if either of them didn’t feel they could trust the other, this wouldn’t have happened.

Lucy’s childhood. Lucy grew up witha loving mother by her side with whom she shared a deep and strong connection. IfLayla hadn’t died just before her daughter was of the age when kids start toget curious about love, Lucy would’ve had someone to guide and help her understandthe complicated feeling that love is, while also letting her make her ownmistakes so she could learn from them. Unfortunately, Lucy was left to grow upwith an emotionally-distant father. Yes, she had servants who loved andcherished her deeply as shown at the end of the Phantom Lord arc, and she alsohad Aquarius. But, after all, the bond she shares with them would never replacethe bond she shared with her mother. On top of everything, Lucy didn’t have anyfriends around her age. She had no one to talk to about love. So, naturally, Iimagine she learned about it from books (it’s canon she loves books) andmagazines (she was a Sorcerer Weekly reader.

This is where things clash. On one hand, books usually represent love as pure, romantic,all-consuming, eternal. On the other hand, magazines tend to go for “what sellsbest”, which, yes, is very similar to the image love has in books, but moreoften than not, is beauty and sex appeal.

Lucy’s first months in Fairy Tail.Lucy keeps the idea of pure love in her heart. We see that in episode50 when Mirajane suggests Natsu has feelings for Lucy. The Celestial Mage thenstarts to imagine a fairy-tale-like scenario where they’re in love, their eyessparkle when they look at each other and Natsu is the perfect gentleman.

The first time we see Lucy, though, back in episode 1, she’s trying to use hersex appeal to get a discount at a Magic Item Store. The girl’s way ofconnecting to people her age was through Sorcerer Weekly. It’s the coolmagazine with cool mages (many of them her age) giving cool interviews andhaving cool photo shoots. It’s trendy. It’s cool. Lucy’s influenced by itwhether she realizes it or not. The way she sees love is also influenced by it.

Long story short: Lucy’s idea oflove is a mix between what she’s read in books and what she’s seen in magazines.She has never experienced it first-hand. She doesn’t really know what real loveis like, with all its ups and downs. Realizing the true essence of her feelingsfor Natsu, or any other possible love interest really, would take time.

Joining Fairy Tail hasundoubtedly changed Lucy’s life. She went from being uptight, often irritatedby Natsu and Gray’s antics, to a more chill and calm person. She grew up in anisolated household with no friends her age and almost no one to talk to. As thesole heir to a huge conglomerate, she grew up having to behave, follow somestrict rules and basically be a good girl.

In contrast, Fairy Tail lets Lucy be who she actually is. It sets her free. Herguildmates are loud, often act immature, sometimes destroy whole buildings(*cough* Natsu *cough*), but they are true to their heart. As someone who neverhad the freedom to truly be herself, enjoy youth and go on adventures, Lucyneeded some time to get used to her new life. It’s what she wanted and needed,but such drastic changes always take time to get used to. That’s why I believethe first few months the thought of love rarely, if ever, crossed Lucy’s mind.

Lucy and Natsu’s relationship. Natsuhas always had a huge impact on Lucy. The moment they met was marked by Natsu’sbreaking the Charm spell that had Lucy under the fake Salamander’s influence,which implies Natsu is the one who’s gonna help her break free from her oldlife. This fateful encounter is celebrated in a later episode, because it isimportant to both characters. Although at that point in the series I thinkneither of them thought of the other as a love interest, their friendship hadbecome very important to their development as individuals and I’ve alwaysbelieved that people in a healthy relationship should be able to retain theirindividual identities while building their relationship.

We often see Lucy irritated by Natsu and his antics during her first monthor two in the guild. It’s usually used for comic relief (Lucy violently kickingNatsu in the face when he breaks in her apartment for example), but itgradually disappears with time to the point where she accepts him for who heis, with all his flaws and the annoying habit of destroying buildings (thatcost a lot to repair). That by itself is not enough to show Lucy’s in love withNatsu, but it is proof that their relationship is changing.

The realization that you’re in love with someone usually takes some time. It’sthe little things that add up and mark this whole process as “falling in love”. Thingslike Lucy shouting Natsu’s name when jumping off the tower in the PhantomLord arc, her comment on how cute he looks when he sleeps after they returnedfrom Edolas, even her getting all nervous about a possible date with him (ep.50)show that although they are still at the friendship stage, Lucy’s starting toacknowledge her growing feelings for him and to consider him as a loveinterest.

The Tenrou arc showed that both Lucy and Natsu seeeach other as “more than friends, less than lovers”. By that time, Lucy’salready realized her guildmates are incredibly strong, has received some decentcharacter development (mostly in the form of her bonding with her CelestialSpirits, helping Cana in the S-Class exam and emphasizing FT’s favorite nakamapower theme) and is doing her best to become even stronger and confidentlystand next to powerful mages such as Erza. Even though they start off as “enemies”,Natsu and Lucy reform Original Team Natsu halfway through the arc to defeat oneof the real villains. The fight shows just how far their friendship has come.Although it wasn’t labeled as such, I consider Lucy’s fire attacks a unisonraid with Natsu.

When it comes to Lucy’s feelings for Natsu as shown in this arc, it allstarts with Lucy refusing to leave Natsu to fight Kain Hikaru alone. It’smostly her character development and kind nature speaking here, but the factthat she’s in a life-threatening situation (her skull is about to get crushed!)and still doesn’t want to leave her friend alone that subtly hints at somethingmore.

The fight against Hades and Lucy’s actions when all hope was lost hint even moreat the Celestial Mage’s changing feelings. In a dire and hopeless situation,she’s tightly hugging Natsu. It’s a moment where she’s vulnerable, afraid, weakand it is Natsu’s presence right beside her that helps her go through it. Runningafter and recovering the Dragon Slayer’s most precious possession, the scarffrom Igneel, further emphasizes how important Natsu has become to Lucy.

After the 7-year time skip itlooks like it’s mostly Natsu’s time to acknowledge his growing feelings for hisblonde friend. But he’s not the only one who has some acknowledgement to do. Lucy’s character undergoes even more development and thatincludes the feelings she has for the Dragon Slayer. The GMG arc was veryimportant for Lucy, because she was doing her best in her fights, but keptlosing because her enemies used underhanded tactics. During those times, Natsuwas there for her. She could rely on him to help her move on and shake off thefrustration of such unfair losses. At this point of their relationship, it’sclear that Lucy trusts and relies on Natsu (especially evident in the f!Lucy’sscenes), cares about and believes in him (the hospital scene before his fight againstSting and Rogue) and is grateful to him (the sweet back hug at the end of thearc).

While we’re on it, the back hug isvery special to Natsu and Lucy. In the earlier arcs, Lucy does that to try andstop Natsu from doing something reckless (the first time she did it was in theLullaby arc to stop him from hurting himself; she also did it in the Edolas arcto stop him from blowing up their cover). The end of the GMG arc is the firsttime she hugs him like that to simply show gratitude. She’s thankful this isover. She’s thankful everybody seems to be alright. She’s thankful f!Lucy foundhappiness in the afterlife. She’s thankful to Natsu.

The Tartaros arc was a painful experience for everybody in the Fairy Tailguild. It was an arc in which many people lost someone important to them. Whenit was all over and it was time to face the future, it turned out Natsu’sapproach to things was different from Lucy’s. In order to not lose anyone elseanymore, the Dragon Slayer left the town to train and become stronger. Lucy, onthe other hand, while not explicitly stating it, wanted to once again feel safeat the guild and rebuild what was destroyed during the Tartaros conflict. It’swhen Natsu was gone, not just the fear of losing him, he was actually gone, whenshe realized exactly how much he means to her.

I consider the year before the Alvarez War a year meant for healing, comingto terms with yourself, acknowledging your strengths and weaknesses and(possibly) working on improving. During that time, Lucy worked hard as areporter, trained even harder and got on a whole new level with her stardresses and tried to deal with her loneliness by keeping track of where herguildmates were and what they were up to. While she and Natsu never really talkedabout his sudden disappearance, I think the tension between them was somewhatresolved throughout the last arc.

After Fairy Tail had once again become a guild, we all noticed how Mashima startedusing some old elements (like Natsu infiltrating Lucy’s apartment; Lucy gettingangry at him; Lucy Kick) with some changes in them. It was attributed to himtrying to convey the feeling that everything’s how it was in the beginning(with some small changes here and there), but I also believe it was a necessaryprocess Natsu and especially Lucy had to go through to rekindle theirrelationship.

During the war, Lucy had to face the fear of losing Natsu, but this time thedifference was she was not quite helpless. Albeit indirectly, she first helpedNatsu by being kind to Brandish, which made the Spriggan reduce thesize of his tumor, thus saving him. When later she enlarged it and Natsu’s lifewas threatened again, Lucy fought fiercely to protect him. She will keeprelying on him, and he on her, but what makes things different is that now theyare equal. More importantly, Lucy considers them equal. Yes, she might not(yet) be as powerful as he is, but she proudly stands and fights next to him –a change in her attitude that started back on Tenrou island and that is very important for a healthy relationship between those two.

I want to end this post with a recent panel of Lucy that brought a couple ofhappy tears in my eyes.

Lucy’s heard what other people said: Natsu is END, Natsu is a monster. Butshe sees through this and realizes that he’s not defined by that. He’s a normal boy. He’s the Natsuthat brought her to Fairy Tail; the Natsu she went on so many adventures with;the Natsu who can’t handle vehicles; the Natsu who has a tendency of destroyingbuildings; the Natsu who often breaks in her apartment; the Natsu who is loud,energetic, and supportive of his friends; the Natsu who’s always been there forher; the Natsu who left her for a year; the Natsu who helped her reform FairyTail; the Natsu who spent the last few hours before the war goofing around withher and Happy; the Natsu who will always support and help her; the Natsu shefell in love with.

[qdtquietdownthere]

Day 10- Baked Beans for breakfast and an afternoon of volunteering.

DAY10

Crack of dawn and the amber sun sits low on the horizon. 

I walk the streets looking at my feet. The pavements are not quiet, like I had expected. They are busy, but a different kind of busy, they are suit busy. People flocking to work. 7am streets are not my streets. 

I walked past Regents cafe earlier in the week, it looked proper London to me. A proper greasy spoon cafe with those seats which are bolted to the floor and each other. My Grandad ran a cafe a long while ago, and I will aways remember that smell of bubbling vegetable oil. Everything cooked from one pan. Honest food. Mums comfort food, but grandads. We used to call my grandad ‘grandad Pops’ because he drank lots of pop. They kept shelves of cans and 2litre bottles of pop in their garage. Proper British, wipe clean table cloths, chips and a can of pop. Thats what the cafe looked like when I walked past.

Today it is hectic, there is a long line and a woman shouting with the deepest loudest voice i have ever heard. There is a menu behind her, which looks like chefs specials, these include eggs Benedict and fish cakes. No one seems to be ordering these. Maybe they are for a different crowd. The most popular seems to be toast, black pudding, beans, chips and bacon. There are plenty variations of this, and everyone seems to know their order by heart. I go for beans, toast and mushrooms. This place seems like an institution. I put up an instagram about it and friends from Leeds and Glasgow tell me they have been there. I like my breakfast and its deliciously cheap. I feel comfortable and curious, so I'm not sat with my head down, I'm just watching. I have learnt to just sit and be and watch since starting the residency, which is a great thing. It is also a place I wouldn't walk into if I had to choose where to eat breakfast. This has been a fundamental-ditch avocado on toast. Im sure these places exist in Tottenham, and I'm sure there are delicious places to eat, i just wouldn't go. Now, well I would go.

I wander along to the market, which is still asleep when I get there. Its mainly food places. Japaneese burgers, falafel and a giant fish stall. There are a few locals chatting to the fish monger and I shout at someone “that looks good” but i don't get much interaction here. The wider area is very connected though, lots of coffee shops and charity shops. Once again, it is an area which feels like a little village.

From here I decide to go wander around a new estate and fall asleep lying on the grass in the sun as I watch the jumbo jets come in to land. The space is social, green and alive with movement. Parks for people to hang out and lots of benches. There are a few bee hives and i notice the area has received an award for this. Each flat seems so unique yet they are all identical. This is apparent in Churchill Gardens. The unified individualism of the flats.

I am anxious about volunteering this afternoon. I will be doing food distribution with Mike and ‘Helping the Homeless’. It is one of the best things I have done so far in the residency, despite me being initially, but internally so cautious. I think I am cautious because I'm scared to upset anyone. I don't want to be seen as this young girl rocking up for one session then fluttering away again. Its present, it is serious and the rates of homelessness is increasing. The amount of people relying of food banks is increasing. The food distribution comes out from a tiny little shed hidden in the corner of a housing estate. Its a beautiful housing estate, which once again cuddles around a lively, and busy playground. On one side of the estate is a building completely covered in tarps and scaffolding. Its being turned into luxury flats, despite being in the same square as a community reliant on a food distribution service. Im in shock. I am also, and once again in shock of the contrast. Walking to meet Mike i took many wrong turns and saw many beautiful streets and beautiful people. The streets smelt like flowers and perfume and everyone seemed to be living as it was a Saturday afternoon. This was happening just around the corner. I am saddened and in disbelief. 

Walking in to start the afternoon I meet wonderful Mike who shakes my hand very nicely. He is wearing high vis and is the centre of attention. Surrounding him are several people; Dolly, Charlie, Dee, Naomi, Claudio and an Irish man who speaks so fast I don't catch his name. He wishes me a happy life in his soft Irish accent many times and talks about his times living on the streets near Stonehenge. He also asks to inspect my hands and tells me I need to stop biting my nails. While speaking to him and hearing the sadness in his voice I am caught up by a worry about what to say. His world is so different from mine and I worry anything I say would seem stupid. Later Mike and I have a good conversation about how to cope and deal with listening to stories and information which is heavy. We've just got to be human. I find this day valuable on so many levels. 

Mike and I load a trolley full of several bags of food. They are bursting with fresh veg, fruit and nuts. Mike tells me that the work he does is not voucher based but based on real needs. Each household is only entitled to visit a food bank three times a month, at which most of the food on offer is purely tined or dried food. This isn’t good enough. I ask Mike how he works out who needs the food and how he reaches these people in the community, especially when they can be hard to find. He answers very simply “I just know my community”. Something which really sticks with me. 

We push this really heavy trolley along main streets towards Churchill Gardens. Mike uses a walking stick, which is unbelievable given that he is basically pushing something the weight of a large elephant along the pavement. The first stop we make is to deliver food to an elderly gentleman who's wife recently passed away. He doesn't leave the house much anymore and Mike tells me he often gets caught chatting to the man for a while. I wait outside out of courtesy but wish I had gone in with Mike. Eventually he reappears despite the elderly man showing him photographs of the grandchildren and asking mike to stay for a cup of tea. I cant help but think of the importance of Mikes role in this gentleman’s life as both a means to eat and as social interaction. This is the theme of the next few deliveries. Social isolation due to illness and age and confidence which prevents an individual leaving their house. One woman never answers the door and I cant help wonder if she is inside but is unable to come to the door for whatever reason. We leave the food on the doorstep. We end the deliveries on Churchill gardens with a family who thank Mike and give me the warmest Hello. 

Mike is everywhere in the community and even while we are gone for delivery he is getting phone calls every two minutes. He giggles so much and talks about all the groups and initiatives he has set up. I ask about younger people in the community and he names a few places and people who are doing wonderful things for them. Yet they are still no where to be seen to me. Yet again I haven't been with any young people since church or choir. I cant help but see the need for young, energetic people to help Mike, or simply interact with other people in the community, for everyone sake. The separation of age is continuously apparent.

We spend the rest of the afternoon sat on the plastic chairs chatting in the sunshine. We sort 50 black bin liners of crisps into the shed and blabber away as people come and go. It is an inclusive space once again. It is run by the community so there isn't this separation between user and service. The people helping are service users, yet there is no distinction. I forget this and ask Naomi if she lives close by, to which she answers with the story of how she got to be someone who was homeless and how she got to be someone who both uses the service and hangs around with Mike. This is empowering and I value this anonymity. I feel valuable in the conversation, as just another person bringing my experience into the chat but not being defined by it. We talk about so many things while mike goes back to visit the first elderly man to spend more time looking at his pictures of the grandchildren. 

This experience is brimming with generosity and inclusivity. Once again, it is about being a local and a regular. At its core it is about being someone who is guided by human connection and friendship, be it fleeting or permanent. I walk away from today with a further confidence in myself and in the power of one individual deciding to take action and make a change. So often before doing this project I would have overthought how to engage and make a difference in communities, including my own. I would have almost been crippled by trying not to upset anyone, make something effective and change driven. I always believed in the power of simply talking but todays experience set it in cement. The food distribution service isn't just about getting the most vulnerable and forgotten people in our community food, it is also about building a community and having a laugh and being validated through being given a space to talk and be listened too. 

I walk to the tube station and bump into Mike who is having a natter with the newsagent. I go home and have an ice cream and a swim in the pond at Hampsted Heath. 

[oncerpotter2018]

Time will set us Free: A Cherik Fanfic

Dedicated to @the-charles-to-my-erik

Chapter 1

Erik and Charles had settled themselves on their bed, their arms had wrapped around each others making sure it was tight enough. Charles who had reach no taller than Erik shoulders had his head rested in Erik’s neck, the smell of his scent made Charles smile. “hey, wake up, time for breakfast” whispered Charles softly, this lips kissing the small area of Erik’s neck. “okay but you’ll be making the breakfast” mumbled Erik still sleepy from last nights activities.

They got up and had made their way down stairs. Erik had once insisted that he wanted to carry Charles bridal style going down the stairs, but after one attempt that sent them both falling down the stairs Charles denied him the promise to do it again. “what do you want?” Asked Charles, he’s hands placing pots and pans on the stove, a smile glistened on his face. Erik walked over to Charles, his arms around his stomach kissing him passionately on his neck. “ the usual” he whispered in Charles’ ear. This made Charles smile wider, his mind drifting over to Erik.

~

They had been in a long term relationship ever since Charles’ sister Raven had decided to throw a class party at their school. Charles had been forced to go only to go on saying that exams are next week but Raven insisted on making him go anyway. “ come on Charles, you’ve got to go” pleaded Raven as she gripped onto his arm and pulled but Charles won’t budge. “no Raven, I don’t want to go. You and Hank just go on without me” said Charles, his mind wanting to focus on his studies but the real reason he didn’t want to go was that Erik would be there. Charles had been crushing on Erik Lehnsheer ever since he came to his school, the new guy came from Germany and had been very quick to make friends.

Charles still remembers how shy he was unable to utter the words that he had in his mind. His abilities as telepath though allowed him to enter other peoples minds especially Erik’s which was in face beautiful. Raven had tried to tug Charles out off his chair but he wouldn’t move and after many attempts of pulling at his arm Raven gave up. Her make-up running from the sweat and her dress washed with a glow of bright white had been crinkled. “ugh, Charles!.. Oh fine, but I might as well go and tell Lehnsheer that you aren’t coming” she said, her hands on her dress trying to flatten the folds. The words that come from his sister’s had captured Charles’ attention.

Charles looked baffled by the words for a moment but soon had regained his conscious. “you invited Erik?” Called out Charles, his hand gripping tightly around his chair turning his knuckles as white as Raven’s dress. “Raven, how could you?”. Raven stopped what she was doing and had looked at her brother in the eyes. “oh come on Charles, you think we haven’t noticed. The way you look I to his eyes whenever he walks by, the way you cant keep your eyes off him whenever you meet him in class. That moment when you…” Raven was cut short. “ I get it Raven” he said he’s breath restoring back to its normal pace.

Raven smiled and carefully placed a hand on her brother’s shoulders before pulling him into a hug. It was awkward yes but it was hug never the less. “ don’t worry he’ll love you, and for your information I didn’t invite him, Emma did. Now come on, Hank and Alex is waiting for us in the downstairs” said Raven, her hands pulling once again at his arm. Charles sighed and decided to finally accept the offer. He smiled as he got up and had walked towards the door before a hand grabbed him back again. “what?” Asked Charles slightly annoyed, his eyes trailing towards Raven. “ you cant go out like that…this is a formal dance, you can’t dress like that. Even Hank is dressed for the occasion” said Raven, her head shaking at her brother’s appearance.

Charles had worn a clean white shirt, a blue jumper and a pair pair of jeans. His hair in a mess; the stress getting the better of him. He looked her in the eyes, he’s ow narrowing at the sight of her, his hands on the door handle. “don’t, don’t you dare” said Raven, her arms raised to take a hold of his arm again. Charles mocked and soon as quick as Raven came in he stuck out his tongue like a child and ran out of the door. “CHARLES FRANCIS XAVIER!” screamed Raven, the heels digging into the carpet of his dorm room. Both of Raven and Charles ran down the stairs their breaths fast and strong and out before they knew it. Charles had reach the bottom before Raven, he’s hands on his knees from exhaustion, the same goes with Raven. “whoa, you two alright? You seem out of breath” said Alex, his blonde hair combed perfectly well back and had worn a traditional black three piece suit.

Hank stood beside him wearing exactly the same as Alex but in the shade of maroon. “Raven. Charles, are you alright?” He asked like Alex, he’s eyes reassuring to both of his friends. “yeah, we are okay. Charles was just being childish again, now come on before..” “where have you been?” A voice said through their minutes of silence. The voice belonged to a tall lean women whose dress is similar to Raven’s but was decorated in glowing diamonds. “sorry Emma, had to get Charles out away from his desk. Anyway, like I said lets go” replied Raven, her hand grabbing Charles’ as Hank, Alex and Emma followed their pace.

The dance was in the cafeteria, the long tables and chairs have been pushed back so the main floor was completely empty expect the many students who attended. Raven went in arm in arm with her brother as Hank and Alex had appeared beside them. Emma who had been a few steps behind them had squeezed passed. “So what you’d think?” She asked a beaming smile on her snow white face. Her hands on her hips and her hair in loose curls. “It’s beautiful Emma” said Raven. The sound of music was blaring in the background. The sound of feet hitting polished wood to the beat o the music was what made Emma so popular. Everyone loves a party when Emma Frost threw them. Hank and Alex looked at each other the same identical smile were etched on their faces. “ brilliant” they said in unison. Charles have never been or seen a party, he’s always cooped up in his dorm his business never seeing the living daylight. “So Charles, what do you think?” Said Emma her smiled growing wider but something from all the noise and lights had caught Charles attention. Right in the middle of the dance floor was the new kid, he was tall and lean and like him he to wasn’t addressing the formal wear. Instead he supported a black turtle neck, skinny jeans and a leather jacket. Erik Lehnsherr.

Charles haven’t noticed that he’d been staring at Lehnsherr for awhile for a hand had waved over his face. “Charles? Charles are you alright? Charles where are you…” Raven stopped her eyes scanning the area where Charles’ stopped and to no surprise she have out a giggle. Emma, Hank and Alex gave a strange stare as had to follow Raven’s finger to find the direction it was pointed at. “oh, me and Hank will just go and meet Moria and Sean” said Alex, his hand patting Hank’s shoulders leading him to where Moria and Sean sat. Emma giggled slightly with Raven and soon enough Charles wasn’t prepared for what was next. “HEY LEHNSHERR!” Screamed Emma, her voice load enough that the music stopped and the other students stared puzzled at the sudden interruption.

Charles blushed with embarrassment, his face turning bright pink from the quietness of the dance hall. Emma pulled Raven alway noticing the slight change in Erik’s posture, his body straighten and a small smile was printed on his face. Erik walked towards the source of the shout of his name, his strides quick and fasted paste. He approached Charles with confidence and had been so well preformed that Charles couldn’t believe his luck. “Hey, you the kid that shouted my name?” Asked Erik with a slight smirk. For a moment Charles couldn’t believe his eyes, Erik Lehnsherr speaking to him, the school nerd that not many people talk to, more likely to ignore. “actually it was..” “You don’t need to I knew it was Frost. So what’s your name?” He answered before Charles could and this stunned Charles. Why now? Why today? He thought to himself as he tried not to read Erik own.

For a few minutes Charles wanted to run, to escape the room but something has a grip of his heart. “It’s…um…it’s Charles. Charles Xavier” “What a beautiful name, well you don’t need to know mine” he laughed, and to a surprise to Charles he had nice teeth, shark like even. The next few minutes was awkward, both Charles and Erik stood there, their head turning wanting to avoid their faces. The awkward silence was broken by the blaring of music that filled the once empty room. This time the music was softer.. A slow dance. Charles and Erik were still feeling awkward but not as much as before, and after so many years of being ignored Charles had finally got someone talk to him.

“You wanna dance?” Asked Erik, his smile back again, he had offered his hand for Charles to take and he had smiled a little as he took Erik’s offered hand. Charles placed on hand on Erik’s one hand and the other on his waist. Erik did the same. Charles and Erik had considered themselves bad dancers but this dance proofed them quite wrong. “ you are a pretty good dancer” says Erik, he feet moving at the same pace as Charles. “ you too” replied Charles and they both laughed. The dance lasted till midnight and like a fairy tale Charles and Erik had dance all the way through the night.

Raven didn’t bother to break up their dance, she was pleased that her bother was happy. “So..um… I’ll see you around” “Yeah, I guess so, we’ll see you soon Lehnsherr” “ just call me Erik” “okay Erik, see you around” said Charles. His face glowing a brighter shade of red and his bright baby blue eyes stared directly at Erik’s eyes tinted with the mix of green and blue. Then shone brilliantly like a painted canvas, and that’s the kind of feature Charles likes. He leaned in close, his lips almost touching Erik’s and his breath warm on his neck. Erik had thought the same thing for those cherry red lips of Charles was drawing him in, he’s baby blue eyes was like the ocean by the beach and to Erik it was mesmerising. “Sure thing” replied Erik but before Erik left Charles pulled at his arm and gave Erik a tight hug wanting to never let go and squeeze the life of Erik.

Without thinking Erik hugged back unaware of the meaning of this hug and how it would soon come back as a little more than just a start of a friendship. So much more. As they were still in a tight embrace it wasn’t long before a flash of light, a click and a giggle went off in unison; both of the young men turned around to find Raven her hands on her phone still in fits of laughter. “ I was only taking a picture, remember it’ll last longer” said Raven as Emma leaned in beside her taking a long time to analyse the photo. “RAVEN!” Shouted Charles but Erik pulled him back before he could move any sudden movements towards his sister. “It’s alright, it’s good to have memories. Especially when their with you” sad Erik, he’s hand in one side of Charles’ shoulder. Charles blushed once more.

Raven and Emma had gestured Hank and Alex to join them. They had brought along Moria and Sean and they too took turns to see the two photos. “You two are adorable” said Moria her face filled with her sweet smile that Charles too admired. “Man, that is a good photo” said Sean he’s eyes staring directly at the phone screen. As his friends and sister plus Emma endures the photo Charles had buried his face into Erik’s chest without realising. “It’s okay, come on I think they are selling photos of the dance” said Erik’s with a smile and with this Charles lifted his head and agreed to go waning to leave the others to wonder where they had gone off to in a night like this.

~

Charles made the usual breakfast with egg, toast and bacon just the way he and Erik love them. “Hey, what’s wrong?” Asked Charles his free hand holding on to Erik’s strong hand. He looked stressed and bothered but Charles want to know more, despite his intention to enter Erik’s mind he made a promise to his boyfriend that’ll he’ll never do so. “Nothing, just eat up because I have a surprise for you when j get him from work” said Erik, drinking the last sip of his coffee before kissing Charles.

Charles smiled and laughed a little. He was sure that he would already know what he would do after work. They got up once more and started to clear the table before going to work. Charles worked as a Professor at a school for gifted mutants like him and Erik whereas for Erik, he had worked for a long period of time at the centre of town at his own business. The manufacturer of metal goods. As they were loading dishes the post arrived. “I’ll get it” said Charles as Erik washed the dishes. “Okay” said Erik. Charles came back with two letters in his hands. “Charles?” Erik asked as Charles waked in. “Raven is coming over to visit and secondly…” He paused and smiled as he walked over to Erik. “There’s a class reunion party at our old College. We should go, what do you say” asked Charles his smile beaming right at Erik.

Erik wondered for awhile and nodded. “Okay let’s go but we come as ourselves no more pretending” said Erik as he placed the last plate on the drying rack. Charles screamed for joy and hugged Erik tightly just as tightly as the day they first danced and it do bring back good memories. “Thank you so much” said Charles his head looking up at his lover, his soulmate. Erik gave him the same smile also and in return he placed a passionate kiss on Charles’ lips and Charles too returned the favour. It was long and warm and passionate making sure they kissed more intensely then the day before. “I love you Charles Francis Xavier” “ I love you too Erik Magnus Lehnsherr” Their foreheads touched and they each gave each other a quick kiss before heading to work that very morning.

~

Also available on my other accounts:

Archive of Our Own: Oncerpotter_2016 Tumblr: Cherik Fanficmania

[leader-of-the-thotobots]

Personally I do not like making my own posts on this website but I just wanna lay my own thoughts out since that's a thing on here.

Some of my best memes have came from this app, the coolest fan art, and also some fun AU fuckery from my fav game universes

Out of all other social media outlets this one has probably given me the most joy during my downtime when I need to scroll down something.

Speaking for myself; after seeing a lot of the people I follow make personal text posts about their own emotional well-being/status and also their viewpoints on controversial issues, I realize more and more to the people I follow.... We are very different people when it comes to things like. I can read it in their post we were not raised the same way, we did not face the same struggles and we handle our frustrations differently. I know not everyone is the same and not everyone has their shit together (I definetly don't) so when I see "personal" posts from the people I follow that concern me, irritate me or straight up confuse me i don't let that ruin my day.

Maybe I'm late to the game but lately (past 3 months) I've seen people reblog memes and posts that are basically "I hate myself so much I wanna die lmfao" or "I'm piece of shit person and we're all gonna die in like 4 years so not like it matters" kinda vibes. As a homosexual male growing up without a father (mostly) and dealing with unchecked Bi Polar disorder all through school I can confidently say I have a decent grasp of what depression and frustration can feel like to a person who is not outgoing, especially when those feelings get too much to handle and they start teetering on the bounds of suicide. Coping with memes is a very common method to go by off but I feel like the culture on this site honestly can turn that method into a huge pity party.

The more I see those posts (like the 9 in a row I just saw from 4 of the peeps I follow) the more irritated I get with just "Tumblr people" in general

People are beautifully articulate on here, and hilariously clever, shits fun sometimes. But when it comes to "doomsday talk" or "when the depression is bad you laugh and you cant feel anything (memes)" it's gotten to the point for me where I can't help but read those in a very passive-aggressive overtone. It's so easy for people to get caught up in a victim mindset and those kind of threads can be so damaging I feel.

People start flooding in a text post telling their own stories dealing with XYZ but nowadays I can't tell who's venting and who's floundering around trying to get "sadboi points".

I know for a fact a lot of these poeole are well above 20yrs but are still adopting and embracing a victim mindset and (this is definetly my opinion) that is something I cannot feel anything other than frustration towards. Seeing vent posts on here opens so many doors for drama queens to spray their toxic thoughts all over the fucken place. There is a HUGE difference between venting and then just being angry while typing, because the latter is gonna be filled with shit like "EVERYBODY is like this" "we gotta get used to it cuz it's ALWAYS gonna be like this" it takes me a good 3 mins to shake myself off that shit everytime I run into it

I never been too involved in this site other than the stuff I find fun. and I know fully well that there are some beautiful people here. Tumblr isn't the only site to have this issue I know, but I really REALLY do hate this "victim culture" that's been floating around.

We all wanna be here for each other and I'm down for that 100% but a lot of us need to grow up and start handling ourselves better. The world is always changing and we are all getting older, hurting is okay and it's easier in groups, but I don't believe in making pain you're identity.