#i just really care about art and want people to succeed you know

[snapdrake]

General Art Tips :)

I kinda went off on twitter about this but figured I’d put all my thoughts into one post, and on a site OFF twitter lmao. I know some people ain’t there anymore.

Anyways! Some thoughts from a long time artist, aimed at newer artists or anyone struggling with motivation. A lot of this has to do with brushes, which I don’t?? See touched on too much I guess????

Obviously this is aimed at digital artists. That’s all I know, I’m afraid! 

I am most familiar with CSP but really, all of this is true for other programs too!

-Find a brush you vibe with. Find MANY brushes you vibe with! 

When your brushes feel better, and by extension, drawing feels better, you’re more likely to do it.

I know it sounds a bit silly to say that brushes feel different from one another when they’re all controlled by the same pen on the same screen, but trust me.

Play with every brush in the program you’re using. Draw out some scribbles. Increase the brush size, scribble a bit, decrease the size, scribble some more. if it has blending properties, grab another color and scribble on that scribble and see how they blend. If you’re still liking it, doodle out a cat or a leaf or a little bug with a knife or.. you get it. You’ll get a feel for a brush as you use it, and you can tell if you like it. If you don’t like it? Move on to the next one!

This is true for every stage of drawing! You found a brush you like to sketch with? Great! Sketch something so you can play around with lining brushes! The worst that can happen is you get half way in and don’t like how the lines look or feel. You can delete the layer and start over with a brush you like better. You’re getting practice with lining! 

As you’re just playing around with brushes, you’re ALSO practicing drawing. Cool, huh? :3

-Ask other artists for their brushes/brush settings.

This one is obviously on a case by case basis, and you should be respectful of what an artist has said beforehand, and their response after you ask. Some artists aren’t comfortable sharing for one reason or another, and those boundaries should be respected.

There are just as many of us that are more than happy to help, though! Some make their own brushes are are happy to share, or sell their brushes publicly already. Some of us (like myself) have bought our brushes off personal sites or sites like gumroad and would be happy to point you in that direction towards what we personally use and can recommend. 

-Grab cheap, or even better, FREE brushes when they show up!

Occasionally, people will reblog/retweet brushes they’ve found on the clip asset store or have put up themselves on aforementioned sites. They’re usually only a few bucks at most, and very often free with the original creator leaving it open to what the person wants to pay. It’s a very risk free way to pick up brushes to play with! At worst, you don’t click with it and you can delete the brush.

You can obviously also go browsing through these resources yourself for brushes and brush packs that look interesting to you!

-Just because something is labeled a sketch/lining/painting brush, doesn’t mean you have to use it that way.

This one is a bit sneaky, so don’t tell anyone, but you can use any brush however it feels best to you. No one will get mad. No one will get mad at you if you use the same one brush for every single stage of a drawing, even.

If that hard edged lining brush feels great to sketch with? Do it! If the soft edge on your lines that that shading brush offers makes you happy? That’s what art is about.

-Have multiple brushes of any one kind.

This one is a very loose suggestion, and just one that works for me, so don’t worry about it too much, but I figured I’d include it anyways! 

Sometimes, a brush just... Feels Off some days and nothing you draw comes out well. Sometimes, a solution is switching to another brush. That can be hard if you haven’t taken the time beforehand to find a couple extra brushes, and you’ll just... lose motivation to draw entirely, and that sucks.

I currently have three sketching brushes and swap between them freely depending on how I’m feeling, and how they feel to me!

*The exception to this is if you’re a commission artist, doing commissions. Your customers are expecting a quality and style from you, so do your best to give them what they’re paying for. If you can’t work with brushes you have before, talk to them! Most people won’t really notice much of a change and are there for your overall style anyways, but it’s most polite to be transparent that something will be different than assume it will be fine. It really is better to ask permission than forgiveness, turns out.

-Use the tools at your disposal!

This is referring to both in-program tools and art tools in general! CSP has a built in 3D model program that you can use to help with posing. It exists to help you. Stabilizers on brushes aren’t cheating, symmetry rulers aren’t cheating. If it exists in the program, use it.

Out of program? Use references. Use pictures of real people, of real animals, of real cities and plants and water and clothes and crystals and and and

If you don’t know how to draw it, look it up. 

There are tutorials on how to paint digitally, and how to do 3D modeling.

You can teach yourself... just about anything. The tools are there, and they’re there to help you. Don’t be afraid to use them.

-Practice, and have fun!

I know this one is kinda hard sometimes, but art really is supposed to be fun. 

Draw the things you love. Draw your ocs, and your favorite cartoon characters, and things for your friends. Watch them light up. Draw the things kid you never could. Draw things to make them happy. Draw things to make you happy. 

If you’re unhappy with something in your style, it means: A) You’re good enough to see that something’s wrong, and B) You do have the ability to fix it. You have resources at your disposal to improve. You have time to improve. You just have to let yourself, you know? 

Don’t give up on this. It’s so worth it, I promise.

[neowinestainedress]

wave | lee donghyuck

pairing: lee donghyuck x fem reader genre: college au, academics rivals to lovers, kinda fake dating, forced to work together on a project, smut, fluff, humor (idk), music major!haechan, music major!mc | not really requested but thank you 💌 anon for the inspo summary: your indifference toward Lee Donghyuck, also known as Haechan, becomes rivalry when he decides to sabotage you. The battle turns into a war, the war turns into a plan, and the plan, well, the plan fails miserably... or succeeds wonderfully. After all, it’s all about points of view. Or, Haechan thinks he found a way to distract you and be better than you, but doesn’t think it thoroughly and screws it up. warnings: smut, mentioned weed consumption, alcohol use, fingering, oral (receiving), unprotected sex, public sex, jealous sex, bickering, teasing, etc | inclusivity notes: reader wears different hairstyles (no mention of texture, type and color), no mention of body type (but haechan lifts her a few times), no mention of skin color, no use of y/n wc: 22.4k (out of 42k)

a/n: finally i’m back! i started this fic more than a year ago so seeing it finally come to life means everything to me. i had so much fun writing it, so i hope you’ll love it too. please, let me know with comments, reblogs (that also help reach more people), or anon. i love knowing what you think. enjoy! also if there are formatting mistakes please let me know cause i’ve been having problems posting this and i copied it without editing it once again.

masterpost (with visuals and playlist) (i can’t post the link or else the post doesn’t show up in the tags, but you can find it on my profile)

Being number one in your academy isn’t a want, but a need.

You didn’t spend your entire life crafting your skills and splitting yourself between the books and the training room for all of that to be swept under the rug when you finally made it to your dream university; Neo Arts Academy.

Surely, with the prizes promised to those on top, you aren’t the only one with that racing passion to drive you through each day. Tons of people try their best, and even put their health at risk to reach the biggest success, but you manage to focus on yourself and keep your life in a pretty healthy balance.

You managed to focus on you… until something, well, somebody, started to come into your way.

Lee Donghyuck, also known as Haechan, his stage name —if he ever made it big in the industry he wanted to be already known.

You never paid him much attention. Honestly, you never paid attention to anybody, your only goal was to take care of your small garden and top everybody else, but when his competitiveness got the best of him, you just couldn’t push him in the back of your mind.

Apparently, his goals are the same as yours, and that isn’t a nice thing considering how competitive your world is. You first truly glanced at him during a songwriting lesson, when he huffed a bit too loudly behind you while he announced to his friend, probably named Mark, that he sucked at writing songs. However, you only chuckled mindlessly that time and went on with your day.

That was your first year there and everything went fine. Then the second year arrived and you applied for your minor degree in dance and that was when Donghyuck’s presence started to be louder. You had nothing against him, but you quickly learned he couldn’t stand you for some reason. Rumours were quick at flying around, being passed from mouth to ear and you knew them.

You simply couldn’t care.

Yet.

Haechan doesn’t hate you. He could never do that. After all, he doesn’t even know you. But he does know something about you. He knows your name, and how it is always on top of his in any ranking. He knows you will always win the contests he wants to win so badly. He knows you are good at theory and practice. He knows he just can’t win with you.

He also knows nothing can touch you. Not because you are unreachable and believe you’re superior to others. Actually, you are very modest about all your academic success, but you always walk straight on your road with the goal perfectly in the line of view.

Haechan doesn’t hate you. Though, lately, he has a strange feeling in his body every time he sits at his desk to study and his only motivation is to surpass you. Nothing different than the first months there, he got pretty soon you were going to be a tough but nice competitor, but fuck he never imagined you would be so hard to beat. Now that after a year he never won or got the top grade and always came second after you, you aren’t motivating him, you are driving him insane.

He doesn’t have many distractions, but he has friends, some hobbies outside of university, and even a part-time job. But you? Is there something that is distracting you? Is there anything that could distract you? He has no idea, not now that he is watching you walk into the room, ready for the classical ballet history class —yes, of course out of all the minors, you had to choose his— and sit a few rows in front of him, all alone as always, taking out your lilac book note and your pen.

Haechan has no idea, but he is going to find out something that can easily distract you and push out of your path.

You know people think of university as a moment to socialise, but being on your own has never been a problem for you. You have contacts with some of your hometown friends, and most importantly, you don’t mind doing things alone; you can go to the cinema when you want, you can pick whatever restaurant you like, you can take a walk, or stay at home.

You’ve always been comfortable in your bubble, and you’d like to keep it that way, but life has strange plans.

“Damn, always on a rush.” You recognize Haechan’s voice, but you don’t bother turning around because you’re sure he’s not addressing you. You think it’s weird he’s sitting next to you, but you blink the surprise away and grab your tablet from your bag. “Whoever put music theory at 8:30 in the morning on a Monday needs to go to jail.”

You chuckle at his comment, subtly rolling your eyes before opening the note app to go where you left it in the previous lesson.

“You write a lot.” This time you’re quite sure he’s talking to you, so your neck turns to look at him and you find him closer than you’d like him to be.

“I annotate, it’s just the essentials.”

He scans the notes quickly before scoffing. “The essentials? I don’t write as half as that.”

“Well, I think this is essential, but we all work differently,” while you’re answering him, you don’t even notice that his friend is not beside him, and you get lost in him for a second, mostly in the scent that’s filling your nostrils now that his brown jacket is so close to you.

“The professor talks too fast, how the fu— how do you get everything?” He stops himself from cursing and backs away, finally making you breathe some air that is not filled with his intoxicating perfume.

“I rewrite phrases. And, to be sure, I record the lessons, so I can re-listen to them in case something doesn’t make sense when I study them. And then I also re-write the not—”

“You record the lessons?” He almost snarls with his eyes bulging out of his skull as he, once again, stands too close to you.

“Is it illegal?” Your head tilts to the side as genuine curiosity blooms on your face.

“No, it’s… it’s…” he sighs, throwing his head back and cursing something under his breath in a tight dialect you don’t recognize. “I never thought about it.”

“Oh, well, it helps me a lot. Sometimes when I’m too tired to read I just play the lessons and memorize stuff while I do other things,” you smile, moving your hair to one side of your neck before grabbing the pen when the professor walks in. “You should try.”

“Oh, you can be sure I will.”

Haechan can’t be so stupid. He can’t believe he can be so stupid. Why didn’t he ever, ever, think about that? That’s a smart idea, better than crying and cursing when he tries to understand what he wrote down on paper when he revisits the notes, or asking Mark if he wrote some phrases he had marked down with several question marks or dots to fill —dots that he never fills.

But he’s still sure he can’t be a terrible student, he had always been on top of his classes, always aced them and his study method worked… but what if yours worked better? Given the results of the past year, and the start of this one, the answer is clear: yours do work better.

But he doesn’t think that it’s the only reason you are beating him in everything. What if you have other tricks?

Haechan is going to find out.

You always believed your only competition was yourself. You never liked to engage with other people and fight them or fear them. But Haechan had given you no choice.

It was an open threat at you when he purposefully told you a different day to turn in an assignment when you were sick, you had no choice but to fight back.

That was when Haechan truly became your rival. He had always been, you two were always at the top, fighting for the first place and the big prizes, but now it was a matter of pride.

Haechan had officially made it on top of your blacklist, at least he could arrive number one in something, not like there was a big competition to be in there, in fact, you didn’t even have one before he pushed your last nerve.

Fucking it up with you wasn’t Haechan’s plan, he wanted to befriend you and trick you into giving him some magic tricks, but things went… wrong. With Mark by his side, it was impossible to sit next to you. During songwriting you got up and sat on another seat in the middle of the lesson with the excuse of ‘not seeing from afar’, and he couldn’t approach you in any other circumstances. So, when you got sick for three days, he thought he could, for once, steal your spotlight.

He wasn’t sure you were sick, but he was sure enough you weren’t going to miss lessons days to study or work on projects; you never needed extra time, unfortunately, he knew it well. So the only thing that could lock you in your place was an illness of some kind. He did feel bad when you came back four days later and asked him if you missed something, he could see you still weren’t at your best, and he could’ve tried his luck by telling you the truth, hoping that the precarious state you were in was going to make you come up with a terrible essay on an instrument of the 18th century, but his eagerness got the best of him, and he lied.

So he had officially screwed his plan of getting closer to you.

“You are an asshole,” you scream, slamming the books in front of him on the table in the garden, not caring about his friends staring at you in shock. “And don’t look at me with that face of ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’ because you know what I’m referring to.”

“I don’t, though…” he whispers, trying to keep a distance between you because you look scary —half bent on the table, furrowed forehead, pointing finger— and he thinks you are very motivated to reach over his neckline and strangle him.

You roll your eyes, groaning in annoyance. “You told me Professor Kim left an essay for Monday, I thought I could use the weekend to do an amazing job and he called me to his office because I was three days late.”

Haechan gulps, and the table goes silent, you feel his friends’ gazes on you but they are the last thing in your mind.

“Mind to explain?”

“I… I didn’t do it on purpose?”

“You have to ask me if you are an asshole because your mother didn’t put a brain in your skull?”

“Hey, take it back!” He warns with a pointing finger, glaring at you.  

“No,” you retort, crossing your arms on your chest and standing up straight. “You sabotaged me.”

“You are making things up. Maybe you should be in the creative writing major,” Haechan taunts, a shit-eating grin on his face.  

You gasp offended, clenching your fists to avoid wrapping your hands around his neck. “You — you — ugh,” you huff. “This paper was graded! And you knew it, it’s part of the mid-course work he adds to our final grade. Why would you do that to me?”

“You think I did that on purpose?”

“When did you turn it in?” You ask and when his eyes widen you scream at his face. “See! You turned it on time. I fucking hate you!”

“I didn’t answer,” he tries to defend, a challenging edge in his voice, getting to your nerves more than the look on his face.

“First of all, I can see it in your face. You’re trying to look surprised and even scared, but you’re having the time of your life because, guess what, you can’t surpass me if you don’t play your stupid games.”

He snorts offended, gulping before leaning closer. “You think I can’t beat you?”

“It’s not what I think, it’s what the rankings say, it’s what our professors say, and it’s what all the external opportunities I’ve got say. But if you want to try to prove facts wrong, bring it on,” you shrug, grabbing your things and taking a step back. “No more dirty games from now on, Lee Donghyuck. Trust me, you don’t want me to start playing them too, you might not even see the top three if I do.”

The months to come are fire. You should keep minding your business but as soon as he opens his mouth in class you can’t press your lips together and fake it. You try, every time, but you fail.

“I just mean that the melody is what attracts people,” he argues during a discussion in the songwriting class.

You huff, shaking your head. “People care about the lyrics more.”

He scoffs loudly and the professor glares at him for the reaction but he still goes on. “People won’t listen to a song if the production sucks.”

You turn around, eyebrows pressed in a furrow. “And they won’t listen to a song if the lyrics are dumb, or tell a bad message.”

“Really? Catchy pop music is a thing even if you want so badly to maintain the purity of the art of music with only lyrical depth.”

“I love catchy pop songs, but there’s something objective in music and something subjective, if you paid attention to any of our classes you should know, right?”

The class holds back a laugh and the professor coughs, making you utter an apologize, more addressed to her than your enemy.

“Oh, trust me, I paid attention to class,” he retorts, mockingly smiling at you. “And we’re not talking about the quality but the appeal. People remember the rhythm of the song or the tune more than they remember the words.”

“And words can hold so much meaning for someone they will stick to them forever. Also, lyrics can have different interpretations and if you’re a good writer you can make one song fit for more occasions.”

“That’s dumb,” he says, looking at you up and down after scoffing. “Notes can transfer different emotions, what you said just doesn’t make sense, please.”

“Can we tone it down?” Professor Park warns, glaring at the both of you.

You nod and mutter another apology before speaking up again, “I believe that a good melody can easily attract people at first listen, but if we talk about the long run, a memorable song also needs good lyrics. And Mariah Carey herself said how being a songwriter makes your career last more, so I think it’s telling coming from one of the best voices ever.”

“I think you both make a great point,” the professor cuts the conversation off before you can jump at each other’s throat again. “It would be interesting to make a deeper analysis and maybe break down songs and compare data over time. If it was possible to keep the decorum…” she whispers the last word and you want to disappear because you hate the scene you gave. “But we need to move on with our lesson, so, as I was saying…”

Out of all the heated discussions you had in class, the one about the importance of production and lyrics, led to your worst nightmare, working on a project with him. Professor Park was so nice to pair you together because she wanted to see how your different points of view would’ve worked in the song you had to write and produce and even if you smiled and said, ‘it will be really motivating,’ to avoid yelling at her face, now you want to die.

You’re sure the first two knocks on the door don’t even reach the other side; your hits are too weak and the small apartment in that complex is too loud for anyone to hear. Is this the environment you have to work in today?

You roll your eyes and knock again, this time making sure it’s impossible for them not to hear you. You wait there only for a few seconds and then the door opens, revealing a boy your age you can’t remember.

“Oh, hi,” he cheers, big toothy smile beaming at you. “You must be here for Hyuck, right?”

You hum, nodding and murmuring, “Yes, I have to work on a project with Haechan.”

“Come in.”

You step inside the house and look around briefly before your eyes fall on the table in the small living room; there are books everywhere, headphones on the ground, boxes of food and empty water bottles, and most importantly talks too loud for four boys that were supposedly studying.

“Mark, can you lower the music?”

“Music is what I’m studying, I can’t,” the man you know well replies. “Why don’t you keep your pencil close to you? Jesus, there’s graphite everywhere.”

“You’re so annoying, I can’t go in my room, Jeno still didn’t take down the light boxes,” the brown-haired replies, sending a death glare to the boy at his side who quickly replies to his defence.  

“Hey, I finished shooting half an hour ago and now I have an essay to write, leave me alone.”

“They’re entertaining, aren’t they?” Haechan’s voice brings you out of the haze of his bickering friends, their conversation fades in the background while your anger level rises just seeing his face when you turn around.

“Surely more entertaining than you,” you retort before taking a step forward, pretending to know where to go in that house.

Haechan rolls his eyes, thanking his friend who opened the door —Jaemin— and coming next to you. “You don’t know where my room is yet, so if you’d like to follow me.”

You trail behind him, waving at the men around the table but it’s clear that none of them even noticed your presence. Luckily for you, Donghyuck’s room is at the end of the corridor and the mess that goes down in the other room is not hearable enough to make your day a living hell.

“So, do you have anything in mind?” He asks after you sit at one of the chairs at his desk.

You shake your head, fixing your skirt and pulling out some things you might need from your bag. “Wanted to hear from you first. Since the melody is so crucial, we should start from that,” you mock in a fake-sweet tone, and you feel his glare on your skin.

“You truly are a pain in the ass, you know?” He scoffs, moving his hair out of his face, gaze fixed on you.

“And for what? Because I agreed with your theory?”

“If you have a melody in mind it’s easier to make the words flow.”

“If the melody has nothing to do with the idea, you only have some notes and not a song.”

Now that there aren’t rows of chairs dividing you, the heated argument has led you face to face, literally. And you feel your heart pound in your chest from the anger and, also because it’s weird to be this close to a stranger you can’t stand.

“Okay, Miss Taylor Swift, why don’t you enlighten me and show me what you got?”

You glare at him but he’s unfazed, holding the eye contact proudly. “My lyrics will be better than your production.”

“And are those lyrics in the room with us?”

“God,” you groan, throwing your hands in the air and your head back. “You drive me insane.”

“And you are pretentious and still never prove all the things that that little, bratty, annoying mouth of yours says.”

Deep creases show on your forehead, and you have to turn around because if you see his face for a second more you will slap him. But you want this project done, you have four weeks to turn it in, but you want this torture to be over as soon as possible, so you know you have to put the pettiness aside.

“If we want a great result and good grades, we need good lyrics and a good melody,” you say, calmly facing him again, slowly watching as his face softens. “My words and your production. I don’t care what comes to us first, if you think it can be useful, we could even brainstorm some tunes and catchphrases and then build it around it.”

“Now you’re making some sense,” he exclaims, smiling widely before patting the top of your head. “So that head is not empty.”

“Oh, seriously? I’m trying to have a truce, and you fuck it all up again?”

“No, sorry, I just think you’re really smart when it comes to college but a bit annoying when it comes to life.”

“You’re just mad you can’t beat me.”

“I can,” he retorts smugly.  

“Then why don’t you do it?” You tease, cocking your head to the side.

Haechan scoffs, lips twitching in a quick smirk before he wets them. “I didn’t yet, but are you so sure I won’t?” He whispers, breath colliding with your lips and nose brushing yours, your brain doesn’t even register his hands on your legs right away, only when his fingers caress your bare skin right above the hem you wake up from the haze of having him so close.

“Time will — time will prove us,” you say, turning to the desk and scratching your neck. “Time will tell us, not prove us.”

Haechan snickers, moving closer to see on your tablet where you opened the notes, and smiles smugly. He thinks he found a way to distract you.

The project isn’t done in the first week, and to put a cherry on top, Professor Park decides to make it the big project for the end of the class, adding a cover for the single, a plan to sponsor it, and, if someone feels brave enough, even to record it. Even if you wanted to, a thing this big, and now with so much weight on the final grade, can’t be done in one week.

Yet, you think you’ll have to deal with Haechan only on your weekly meet-ups for that project and during lessons, you never imagined you would have to deal with him even during your library study on Wednesday.

“Why are you studying in the middle of the week?”

“You know, if I had to replicate a sound every time we start a conversation it would be ‘and now, I just want to sit back and relax and enjoy my evening, when all of a sudden I hear this agitating grating voice,’ and that is the sound that plays in my mind, actually.”

“Grating? Really?”

“Well, it’s the quote but it fits,” you reply sternly, bringing your attention back to the book. “Also, the question is not, why am I studying, but why aren’t you? How will you beat me if you don’t?” You wink, laughing under your breath. You don’t even need to see his reaction; you know his jaw tenses and his nostrils flare for a brief second every time you tease him.

You hear the chair in front of you scratch on the floor, and deeply hope he’s not sitting on it. But Haechan is sitting on it, staring at you as if he could steal the information from your brain and pass it to his.

“I am studying.”

“No, you’re not,” you reply, eyes widening when he rips a page from your notebook and a pen from your case. “So, what have you learned since now?”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes to the sky and instead run a hand on your face while sighing deeply. There’s just no way to get rid of him, right?

“You don’t even know what I’m studying.”

“Sound design,” he replies promptly, and you look down to see if he could’ve gotten a grasp from your books but there’s a paper on it and there’s not much written on it. Haechan smiles and moves to the chair next to you. “It’s because I started it too, there are too many notions, it would be a suicide to wait for the finals.”

“Oh, so you do something else other than think about me,” you tease, nudging him with your leg.

“Hey! I don’t think about you,” he replies firmly, frowning.

“Sure,” you huff, waving him off. “So, what do you know?”

“Well, all the basis we learnt last year, so the definition of sound, the path it follows, how it’s perceived based on the medium and how fast it travels through them, slowest through gases, faster through liquids, and fastest through solids, and that temperature effects it as well.”

You smile, content with the reply but you want to test him more. “What about the five characteristics of sound?”

“You think that’s a difficult one?” He asks, almost disappointed at the easiness of your question.

“Well, if you want to impress me so bad, I could ask you to list all the types of compressors?”

“You already know that?” He questions, quirking a brow, trying to think why he doesn’t remember them. “Wait, we didn’t do that in class.”

You laugh. “See, you’re witty. No, we haven’t done that yet, but since you love producing so much, I thought you knew it as personal knowledge.”

“Why do you talk as if you don’t want to do the same job as mine?” There’s a bit of annoyance in his tone, but there’s genuine curiosity in his eyes.

You shrug, pressing your lips together before diverting your gaze.

Haechan gasps. “Don’t tell me you don’t know what you want to do, yet, because I won’t believe it.”

“It’s not that I don’t know,” you reply, a low huff leaving your lips. “I’d like to try different things out, being a PR manager sounds interesting too. And I’m also pretty good at dancing, so that could be a career path.”

“It’s a shame we didn’t start practical courses, I would love to see you dance.”

“Yeah, sure, so you can mock me some more,” you groan.

He shakes his head. “No, you wouldn’t enroll in a program if you weren’t absolutely perfect at it, so I can’t come at your skills.”

“You’re so kind, I think I might love you,” you mock, moving closer to him and pouting before pushing him away with a light push on his chest and focusing on your papers again.

“And by the way, I know the characteristics of sound,” he says, right next to your face.  

You smile and think to yourself that this might be fun. “Good, go on and tell me.”

You don’t get why Haechan’s roommate bicker so much. Not that you could lecture them when, as soon as you walk inside his room, your talks won’t be much different than theirs (worse, probably). But you think you and Haechan, at least, have a reason to fight so much. His roommates are… weird. They are close. They all are, in an annoying way almost, always moving in packs and breaking their back to meet up even if their institutes are scattered around in the Academy. Yet, they get heated pretty easily when they sit in the living room, and you can only blame it on stress as you chuckle, standing against the countertop with a glass of water in hand.

“Donghyuck left you all alone?” Jeno enters the kitchen, distracting you from Renjun screaming at his painting and Mark cursing while he tries to come up with a melody for a small assignment you decided to not worry about —you have Haechan to worry about now.

“Yep, told me to be here at 2 pm just to be in the shower instead,” you reply with a tight smile on your face that makes him laugh and scroll the black hair out of his face.

“My fault,” he explains while pouring himself a glass. “I convinced him to stay at the basketball field when we finished and he couldn’t meet up with you smelling like rotten leftovers forgotten under the august sun.”

“Creative writing?” You ask after you chuckle at his description.

“Nope, photography, Renjun’s worst nightmare.”

You laugh. “It’s because you leave all those big things around his room, right?”

“Our room,” he says, empathising on the first word.

“Okay, communism king, your room but I don’t think your comrade is happy about it.”

Jeno laughs, and hums before gulping down a sip of water. “I’m not rich yet to afford a studio so he’ll have to deal with his bestie working, sweating, and crying his way to the top.”

“You could’ve been a nepo baby and have everything handed to you.”

“Sucks not to be one. I wouldn’t even bother being in Uni, just leaving my best life with my camera and daddy’s money.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Haechan says entering the kitchen, hair still damp and casual housewear on.

“None of your business,” you reply, placing the glass in the sink and walking to the door. “Come on, we have a song to create. It could be our first Billboard number one.”

Haechan sighs, snatching the bottle of water from Jeno’s hand, briefly confused at his grinning face, and then follows you quickly.

“Are you trying to hit on my friends?” He asks, closing the door behind.

“Would you mind?”

“Yes, I’d hate having to deal with you in our group hangouts.”

“You already deal with me. More than you should since you always come to me even when we could not be together,” you say, tilting your head to the side, and sitting on your assigned chair. “Are you perhaps jealous? Do you want me all to yourself?”

“Nah, you can go and fuck all of them right no—”

“Okay,” you don’t even let him finish and you’re at the door, but he springs after you and stops you.

“What are you doing? I was kidding!”

“Why? Since when you can tell me what to do?”

Haechan groans and drags you back to your place, but he doesn’t sit just yet, he’s bent over to be close to you. “I need you here with me to work on this goddam song, and then you can go and have a gangbang in the living room, I don’t care.”

“You’d be mad you won’t be part of it,” you joke, having the time of your life watching his pissed-off expression as he stomps loudly back at his place. “Accept that you will never win with me, and maybe you won’t be so triggered every time we talk.”

“Shit, it’s late,” you murmur, lifting your head from the lyrics you’re trying to write down. Now you got the theme —it’s a love song that you hope won’t turn lame— and even a faint idea of a tune, and while Haechan tried to get inspired by other songs and tried instruments he wants to add to the track, you worked on the words.

“Don’t you think we’re trying too hard?” He whispers, placing the guitar on his bed before standing up and stretching.

“What do you mean?” You ask, lifting your neck so you can look at him after you turn around on the rotating chair.

“Music should come to you, it should be… spontaneous.”

You’d want to roll your eyes, mostly for the spontaneous part, but he’s right. Most artists don’t think about the songs they make, the song comes to their mind when they’re not thinking about it.

“Yes, but do you think we’re doing such a shitty job with this?”

He shakes his head, walking closer to you. “Not totally, I just think that if we want to be on top, we have to work around it differently.”

You gulp when he hovers over you and grips the side of the chair tightly. “Like?”

“We should… relax. Take our mind off of it and just wait for it to come,” he glances at the desk, studying the crumpled tries you gave up on and the only three phrases you were happy with written on the tablet. “We should get inspired,” he whispers, and you’re once again so focused on his face that you don’t feel his hand on your thigh, under the long black skirt you’re wearing, it surely must’ve been on you for a while if the fabric was already crumpled up and his fingers teased the hem of your panties between your hips and stomach.

“Is — is this how you inspire people?” You ask, glancing down with a rising chest but for some reason not pulling away.

“Don’t know, I’ve never done it before,” he chuckles, slowly moving closer to your core, observing the small signs of your body. “Should we see if it works?”

You hate him. You should be working on that lyric for the last half hour you have left. You hate him. He’s making it impossible for you to stick to your ‘minding my business’ plan that had worked through all your school years. You hate him, you do, and yet you nod, humming a feeble ‘yes,’ in response.

“Good,” rolls out of his lips, and it sounds so different from his usual tone, you can’t help but feel hot.

Your nails sink in the chair when his fingers slip right against your clit after he had your consent and starts teasing it.

“So, it’s a love song…” he says, and you frown, heart pumping louder as for a second you think he led you on and you looked like a pathetic horny loser, but his hand is still playing with your pussy and his face is still close to yours. “Chose that because you have somebody in mind?”

“We literally picked it for a reason last week, you —”

“God,” he shushes you up, pushing the panties to the side and teasing your entrance, it’s already damp, but not enough how he wants it. “Can you stop being so rational for once? I know why we picked it; remember I’m trying to inspire you.”

“Wait, you really think some fingering can inspire me to write a love so—” your words shut down when he places a hand on your mouth, eyes widening but pussy leaking an embarrassing amount of cum.

He quirks a brow in surprise and, shortly after, a smug smirk curls his lips. “Oh, so you’re into that?”

You can’t reply, but even if you could’ve, you’re not sure you would’ve said anything.

“So, anybody in mind?”

You shake your head. Your love life has been anything but exciting, and after a few tries, you were sure it wasn’t what you needed to focus on, especially because nobody sparked your interest. Nobody was worth moving your focus from your studies.

“Great, so I guess that’ll have to be me.”

“What?” You mutter muffled, closing your legs and moving on the chair.

Haechan rolls his eyes in his skull, keeping you in place. “Oh, come on, you can fake it for a few minutes. Don’t act disgusted, I’m knuckle-deep inside you,” he says.

“Not yet.”

“I’m knuckle-deep inside you,” he retorts after he pushes into you with two fingers, staring right into your eyes.

You bite back a moan and a curse under your breath. “Fine, but I don’t want to think,” you say. “Just, prove it to me. If you’re good, I’ll be inspired and I’ll come up with the lyrics, if you suck, we’ll go back to our original method.”

Haechan hates that he constantly has to prove things to you, and he hates even more that he does it, almost as if he’s your dog and he has to follow your orders while you keep him on a leash. But if this will work to come up with a great song, and in his outer-songwriting-course-plan to distract you, he won’t complain.

Honestly, he couldn’t complain even if it only meant to finger you. He might want to fight you every time he sees your face but, damn, what a face.

“Shit,” you moan. You don’t want to give him too much satisfaction, but he knows what he’s doing and it’s been way too long since someone touched you like that. Damn, even since you touched yourself like that. Maybe the whole ‘staring at your goals’ was taking some funny things away from you.

“Do you want to turn the song into a Hozier song?”

You huff, you just asked him one thing and his mouth is running again doing the opposite. “You wish you were this good to inspire a Hozier type of song.”

“Really?” He taunts, pressing his thumb on your clit, starting to tease the throbbing nub in circles.

“Yes,” your voice trembles, but your face shows confidence.

Haechan snickers, quickening the pace of his fingers, watching you fight against yourself to not show how much you’re loving it. “One second of this mouth on your pussy and I’d make you change your mind,” he whispers right against your ears, hot breath fanning your skin. “It’s a shame you don’t deserve it.”

You groan, head rolling back in disappointment, and that makes him laugh.

“You have to think twice before running that mouth, babe. Especially with me.”

“Never,” you talk back, opening your eyes and regretting as soon as they meet his. His gaze is too intense, and your brain is too far gone to keep it up.

Haechan only grins, enjoying your wrecked face and the sounds your pussy is making as his fingers keep working on you. You might try to deny him, but your body is speaking to him, and deeply so are you. It’s in your eyes, and your lips trembling, and in the beautiful moans that are rolling out of your tongue.

“Are you close, brat?”

You don’t have it in you to complain, or retort, the orgasm is right around the corner and you fear he would ruin the experience if you said something out of line.

“Answer me,” he orders, lightly slapping your thigh.

“Yes,” you breathe out, biting your lower lip to prevent the whole house from hearing you.

“Good,” he replies, smiling proudly and starting to move faster in and out of you, hitting your sweet spot every time he reaches the base, and torturing your clit with his thumb. And when it’s too much for you, you come. Body trembling against the chair, and legs pushing up as the shocks of pleasure run through you.

“Acid when you talk but sweet to taste,” he hums after pulling out his fingers from his mouth and you only glare at him as you quickly try to get yourself together again. 

“It’s late,” he says, staring at the clock. “Go home and let me know if this was useful somehow. And not by replaying it in your mind at night wishing I was there with you.” He winks and you slap his shoulder hard. “What the hell!”

“I won’t come up with anything on purpose, and I swear if you keep being so annoying, I’ll be terrible at this.”

“You would never, this makes up like 80% of our final grade.” He challenges you with a glare.  

“If I go down, you go down with me,” you retort, face to face, fiercely looking into his eyes.  

“It’s not smart of you.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” you smile sweetly before it drops from your face. “It’s a threat.”

It’s not like you’re trying to avoid him after what happened, but that’s exactly what’s going on. You don’t regret the act per se, you just can’t believe it was so easy for you to agree to do that with him. And you know he will use it against you for eternity.

A very dumb move from your side to give him the possibility to tease you even more and about something you couldn’t defend yourself from.

But if you try your best to change corridors when you see him from afar, walk quickly back to your dorm room, and sit on the opposite side in class (you fail at keeping your mouth quiet, but you need to discuss with him during lessons), it seems like he’s doing everything he can to be on your path.

“I’m starting to believe you’re a stalker,” you huff, clearly scaring him when you stop abruptly in the middle of the library and make him stop in his tracks.

“I’m not.”

You raise a brow, staring at him until he huffs and throws his hands up in the air. “Fine, fine, I was following you but only because I wanted to know what you will study.”

“Why do you care so much about what I study?”

“So I know how to beat you?”

“Isn’t it more exciting if you beat me only using your brain by putting some knowledge in it without seeing my cards?” You say, pushing a finger on his chest and making him walk backwards until his back hits the bookshelf behind him.

“I think sneaky games are funnier, though,” he whispers, hand moving to rest on your side. “Especially with you.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, and taking a step back, freeing yourself from his hold. “The games you’re playing are not sneaky. Why are you always in my business?”

He shrugs. “Why not? So, what are we studying today?”

“We are not studying together.”

“Why? Isn’t it funny? The same study method, same hours, but one of us will be better than the other. That’s a truly equal comparison.”

You run a hand on your face and keep walking to find what you need. “If you didn’t distract me every two seconds, I would’ve already been like five pages into my studying session.”

“Oh, please, you are wondering around the library anyway. I’m just keeping you company.” His body follows yours like a shadow, his heat radiating so close to your skin that you think you might go insane.

“I don’t want your company,” you say, moving your eyes swiftly over the books in front of you as you try to find what you are looking for in the sociology section. When you finally find it, reminding yourself you have to buy it so you can annotate directly on yours, you walk back to your table, but Haechan is still beside you like a puppy on a string. “Can’t you just leave me alone?”

“I could, and I’d want to, but I can’t,” he says, sitting at your side, smiling widely when you glare at him.

“This is a useless lesson for you,” you try to dismiss him.

“Is it? Because we have the same ones.”

“Jesus, okay, fine,” you give up, throwing your head back and raising your voice enough to make some heads turn in your direction. His biggest talent is to exasperate you. “But we give ourselves a timing, and then when we’re done, we’ll have to answer five questions.”

“And who answers to them all?” He asks, there’s a taunting edge in his voice, and a grin on his face.

“Is the best,” you reply as if it’s obvious.

“Yeah, but there should be a prize.”

“Being better than you is the prize.”

Haechan scoffs, and he hates to admit in his mind that he finds your snarky remarks so fucking hot, if you weren’t in a public library and if his job on earth wasn’t to detest you, he would’ve already had you bent on the table.

“I love how you’re always so sure of being better than me.”

You snicker and send him a flying kiss. “Honey, I am better than you.”

“Wait, I just left out a detail!” You almost scream when you compare your answers for the nth time because you can’t believe he has done slightly better than you.

“That detail is important,” Haechan replies unfazed by your indignation.

“No, it’s not. We would have the same score if this was graded,” you insist, feeling more angered than you should. It’s nothing serious, it shouldn’t be serious, but with him, there’s your pride on the line.

“But this is between me and you, so I win. Also, my phrasing in the second answer is better than yours.”

“Shut up, it’s not.”

“It is, and you just have to admit you lost,” he insists, leaning over, staring at you with a challenging raised brow.  

You swallow, eyebrows furrowing, and then you sigh. “Your advantage is minimal. And you only won a battle, because I’m winning a war.”

“Fine, Napoleon, I still won and you’re coming to my place even Saturday so we can do this some more.”

“Hey, Napoleon sucked! He lost the most important battles, the only ones he should’ve won.”

“That’s why I called you that,” he winks, clicking his tongue mockingly.  

“Oh, you think you will win the war? You’re wrong, honey, Waterloo is yours.”

Haechan laughs, standing up after putting his things in his bag. “I’m waiting for you on Saturday…” he says and before you can complain he starts singing, “Waterloo, I was defeated, you won the war…”

“Oh, shut up!” You say, hitting his arm as you push him away, but he giggles and walks away continuing with the tune.

“Waterloo, promise to love you forevermore. Waterloo, couldn’t escape if I wanted to…”

And you think that if only he didn’t try to sabotage your final grades in Music History, you might even find him funny.

Haechan hates you.

If he was sure he didn’t before, he is sure that he does now.

He can’t wrap his head around the fact that you, Miss zero social skills, and negative 100 friends, can be so good at debating. On every fucking topic. You’re well-spoken, witty, smart, somehow it looks like you know everything about everything. And even when you don’t know (and you always specify it — which he shouldn’t find so hot, but he does) you always come up with perfectly thought theories and analyses coming from the small knowledge you have on the topic. The thing he also hates is that you never sound like you’re showing off your skills, it’s just really nice to listen to you and —when he’s not the one intervening against you— you’re the sweetest person ever and everybody in every class absolutely adores you.

He wonders if you’re a robot. Maybe you’re some sort of artificial intelligence sent there to conduct studies on humans’ stupidity, and he was unlucky enough to start a fight with you. You just don’t seem real. And he’d love to dig deeper but he doubts he will find anything relevant.

You might be smart, but you also look incredibly boring. He tried to find out if you had interests, or anything that could distract you, but his research led nowhere. The biggest problem is that he hates you, but not to the point that he wants to get you suspended from University, so he has to find another way to make you slip.

Apparently, you’re playing the same game, but even at this, you are thinking faster and smarter.

“Where the fuck are all my anthropology notes?” Haechan mutters as he looks through his library, moving books and notebooks around, thinking he has gone insane. “Mark!” He screams, rushing to the desk to search again but he knows where he left everything; on the second shelf of the small library in his room, on top of the music theory book that hasn’t moved since a week.

“Yes?” His housemate peaks from the door only with his head.

“Did you mistake our notes?”

“What notes?” Mark furrows, backing away from his friend who looks out of his mind.

“The anthropology notes,” he says, voice full of annoyance because, why does Mark never know anything? He’s in the same course and, yet, he’s always somewhere else with his head. 

“Man, I don’t even take notes during that lesson.”

“What do you mean you don’t? Ugh, never mind,” Haechan groans, rolling his eyes because he can’t believe he can’t count on anybody. “Have you seen them somewhere?”

“Nope,” Mark replies, entering the room. “I mean, I don’t know what they look like.”

“You know right we have a test tomorrow? The winter break is close, and some courses have it. You are studying, right?”

“Yeah, just not every…thing…”

Haechan rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “Why don’t you like it? I mean, I know it’s not really music related but it teaches you so much about other cultures and there’s a whole part about how music is different from culture to culture.”

“Next semester, we didn’t get there, yet. It’s a bunch of complicated terminology and theories I just don’t get,” Mark defends. He never understood why Haechan loved studying so much. He is only there for the music, and a few other theoretical lessons, but some courses don’t make any sense to him.  

“So you plan on being terrible tomorrow?”

“I just want a decent result; I don’t strive for perfection like you and your girlie.”

Haechan almost chokes on his saliva. “My girlie? Who’s my girlie?”

“That girl in class you always get into heated arguments with, and then she comes here and I’m pretty sure you make out when no one’s watching,” Mark says so calmly it infuriates Haechan more than if he was teasing him.  

“Shut the hell up! She’s my mortal enemy and while you have been paired with Yangyang for the song project, Professor Park thought it was nice putting her and me together.”

“Yeah, you can still make out with your mortal enemy,” he snorts, hitting his friend with a playful elbow hit.  

“Mark, shut up and leave, I have to study,” he tries to cut short, pushing his friend out of the room.  

“With what notes?”

“I don’t know. I left them on the shelf, and nobody entered my room since Saturday when she — Oh, my God.”

When your name resonates in the empty classroom after you’ve taken the anthropology test, your blood freezes for a second.

“Haechannie,” you cheer cheekily, turning around and pushing your tote bag far up your shoulders.

“Don’t,” he warns, lifting a finger to stop you from starting anything. “I have to talk to you.”

“Sure, the test was easy, right? You might have beaten me this time,” you say but you have to hold back a laugh when you scan his furious, pissed-off expression.

“Yeah, if you studied, it was,” he retorts venously.  

“And you surely studied,” you say, faking innocence.  

“You can study when you have something to study on,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Yes, and you do,” you still play dumb, but when he calls your surname, you know he’s not joking anymore. “Yes?”

“Do you, perhaps, know where the fuck my notes are?”

You look around, shrugging. “Where are your notes, Donghyuck?”

“I don’t know, I’m asking you for a reason,” he retorts, plastering a fake smile that doesn’t reflect in the darkness of his pupils.

“They might’ve mixed up with my stuff when you invited me over Saturday?” You sing-song, tilting your head to the side and shrugging.

“Might’ve,” he repeats, a hint of bitterness in his tone. “It was just a coincidence.”

You shrug again, pushing your lower lip in a pout. “Sometimes… things happen.”

“And if it wasn’t on purpose, why couldn’t you just text me?”

“Because I didn’t notice,” you reply innocently, batting your lashes, knowing it will get on his nerves even more.  

He groans, closing his eyes to calm himself down before he speaks again, “then how do you know?”

“Don’t know, just making assumptions,” you say. “It turns out I’m really good at it.”

“I swear, I — I want to… I want to —”

“To what? Choke me because I got my revenge? Oh, it turns out it’s really not that funny when someone plays with you?” You mock, and in doing so you get closer to him.

“Goddamn,” he groans before your back meets the hard wall of the room and his lips meet yours in a heated kiss, his hands on your body and yours limp at your side as you’re too shocked to react. “I want to — I want to kill you, actually.”

You smirk, chuckling straight at his face. “Filled the space with the wrong letter, ‘cause you’re kissing me.”

“Maybe my kiss is lethal, maybe there’s poison on my lips.”

“Oh, you’re so romantic you’d die for me?” You coo, placing a hand on your heart.

Haechan groans, throwing his head back. “Why are you always so, so, so, God,” he curses, running his fingers in his hair. “I want my notes back, now.”

“I don’t have them,” you say, grinning because he looks wrecked. You know it wasn’t very morally mature for you, but it was only fair. Also, you know he doesn’t arrive last minute with anything, he had already studied everything and you’re sure he had answered everything on that paper, he just couldn’t revisit.

“My notes back when you pass by for the project or it’s war.”

“It’s already war,” you retort when he walks past you to leave.  

Haechan turns around, locking his gaze with yours. “Oh, honey, it can get so much worse than this.”

You felt like testing your luck when his notes weren’t back on his desk, but you had no idea it could get worse than that, until it got.

When he deleted an essay from your computer and you had to remake and finish the work of five days in five hours, so you cancelled a project he was working on for another assignment you had. And then he erased the recording of a course from your phone, so you ripped his notebook in front of his eyes (and his roommates too). The list of petty things is long, and you’re not really proud (you’re sure not even Haechan is) of what you did, especially when things started becoming personal. You two want to destroy each other, but you are honestly just killing yourselves in the meantime.

Your book slams closed so hard that you almost zip your hands in it, and by protecting your fingers you lose track of where you’ve been. “Get lost,” you whisper bitterly as soon as you recognize the hand that did that.

“No thanks,” he replies, sitting next to you.

“I’m trying to read a book in the quiet of the library, so can you leave me alone?”

“It’s a public space, I can sit wherever I want,” he replies, leaning back into the chair, and widening his legs under the table. You know ‘cause you feel his knee push against yours and you have to retract your leg to avoid the contact.  

You glare at him, breathing deeply through your nose because you can’t make a scene here. You two almost got kicked out of a class two days ago, and that was humiliating enough. So, you think that ignoring him is the best thing you can do.

“Wow, so you have a bit of self-control and don’t talk back. Never thought I’d see that day,” he replies sarcastically to your silence with an amused grin that curls his lips.

You hold back a scream and huff loudly, “I truly need you to get fucked right now.”

“Nevermind,” he jokes, pulling a tight forced smile and you close the book again, now too annoyed to even focus on the words on the paper. “I came here in peace, by the way.”

“Yeah, your peace is war in my country,” you reply bitterly, trying to shift away but those damn chairs make the loudest sounds at the smallest movements.  

“That’s because you’re full of prejudices.”

You inhale deeply, rubbing your temple to soothe the headache you know is about to arrive. “Haechan, tell me what you want and then leave me alone.”

He smiles, happy you are finally willing to listen, before he clears his throat. “Okay so, I have to say that some of this is funny. I mean, only the debates and these random talks, but I’m not the biggest fan of all the other stuff we’re doing, so why don’t we bring it back?”

“Bring it back? As in?” You question, raising a brow in confusion.

“I liked it better when we would just compete without tearing ourselves down. If you cancel, ruin, or save one of my projects with the word boobs in it before sending it to the professor another time, I will go insane.”

You hold back a chuckle. You have to admit it was your lowest move, but it was quite funny when Professor Choi had a whole talk in class about being careful before sending out finished projects and exposed him in front of the class.

“No, it wasn’t funny,” he mutters sternly, watching you fight with all the muscles of your face to don’t break into a laugh.

“No, sorry, it was,” you defend, voice trembling, threatening a chuckle to come out. “Like Iloveboobsdemo1 is the best thing I’ve ever come up with. That could be the title of our song.”

“If you want to get expelled from all the academies in the world that would be a perfect idea,” he says, trying to be serious because seriously it wasn’t funny, but when you stare into each other’s eyes for too long none of you two can hold back the laughter anymore. “Okay, fine. It was funny, but I don’t want that to happen again.”

“So? Do you give up?” You taunt, tilting your head after placing it on your palms.

“I’m not giving up, we are changing strategies of our combat.”

“Oh, okay. You will lose anyway in the end, so if this can be more beneficial for me in the meantime, it’s fine.”

He sighs, rubbing his temples, and you chuckle. “Don’t laugh,” he whispers distraught. “I… could you sometimes at least pretend to give me some kind of chance of winning with you and not feeling like you’ll always have the last laugh?”

“I just replied.”

“No, a reply would’ve been ‘Yes, Haechan, don’t worry, we can change it.”

“Too wordy,” you comment, waving him off with a movement of hand.

“You said like ten words more,” he replies, voice breaking in his throat in a whine, but you decide to act as if you don’t notice.  

“It still flowed better. See, that’s why the lyrics are in my hands. You’re really not good with words.”

“You keep doing that,” he groans, slamming a hand on the table, attracting some curious eyes on you before you glare them away. “But it’s fine, okay, so… no more dirty games? No more sabotaging?”

“Yes, no more. Well, not like this, but we can still play a bit, right?” You ask, retracting your hand right when you’re about to hold his to seal the deal.

“Yes, but nothing weird, or you know what I mean.”

You hum, reaching out again and shaking his hand. “It’s a deal, then?”

“It’s a deal.”

The deal somehow turns into Haechan always being next to you. He’s like a shadow, sitting next to you in class, studying with you in the library, and so on. You don’t mind him when he minds his business, but he rarely does. Especially during lessons when you need to focus on what the professors are saying.

You roll your eyes when Haechan sneaks a paper next to your notebook and you read ‘how would a dog wear pants’ with two badly drawn different options on it.

“Does it look like the right moment?” You whisper under your breath, side-eyeing him, and trying to keep your focus on the lesson. You see him nod and decide to mark the second option, thinking that he’d be happy with it, but he has the urge to hear a whole dissertation on something that will never happen, right now.

“Why?” He asks as if you’re not in the middle of a lecture.

“Not now.”

“But this lesson is boring,” he whines, poking your side with his elbow.  

You huff, covering it with a cough when you realize it is too loud, and then take a sip from your bottle of water.

“You didn’t answer,” Haechan insists, this time poking your arm with the cap of the pencil. 

“I picked one,” you mutter, pointing at the paper with your head.  

“Elaborate and change my mind.”

“You think it’s the first one?” You say in disbelief, the utter shock causing the tone of your voice to be louder than you expected.

“Any problems there?” The Professor asks, and you feel your blood freeze.

“Mh, no, nothing, my pen has no more ink, I was asking for another one,” you lie, thanking God you two are sitting far in the back of the class and the Professor can’t hear and can’t see that your pen isn’t dead at all. So, with a suspicious nod, the middle-aged man goes on with the lecture while Haechan giggles beside you.

You glare at him, and he shrugs raising his hands. “If you kept quiet, it wouldn’t have happened.”

“If you let me concentrate on the lesson instead of asking dumb questions, it wouldn’t have happened,” you retort, and he laughs under his breath again, but doesn’t ask more questions. He still ruins your notes with ugly flowers and other drabbles and you let him be because at least he’s being silent and paying attention.

“So, you really are giving up,” you say when the bell rings and the class starts emptying.

“What makes you think that?” He asks, putting his things in his bag, just like you.

“You didn’t write anything down.”

Haechan shrugs. “Why would I? I have your notes.”

“No, you don’t,” you say but before you can realize he rips the notebook from your hands and snaps a picture of the two pages you wrote. “Hey! That’s not fair. That’s my work.”

“Your amazing summarizing skills and my artistic skills. I don’t gift beautiful sunflowers to just anybody.”

“Beautiful sunflowers?” You snicker, starting to walk down the stairs, pushing the notebook into your bag as Haechan follows at your side. “If Renjun saw them he would have a heart attack.”

“Can’t compare Vang Gogh to Picasso.”

“Keep Picasso out of your mouth,” you say threateningly.

“Still, aren’t you happy you will think of me while studying?” He bats his lashes, and you hold back an entertained grin.

“Can’t wait to go through the absolute most painful ulcers every time I glance down on those things.”

He gasps offended, bringing a hand on his chest. “See, this is what happens when you spend all your days on socials and your brain doesn’t know how to appreciate real art anymore.”

“You are so annoying, and distracting. Next time if you sit next to me, I’ll push you off the chair,” you warn, and only when a colder blow of wind hits you, you realize you’re walking back to your places together.

“Right!” He says and you think it’s the good time he leaves you alone, but no, he’s not done. “You didn’t explain why the dog would wear it only on its hind legs.”

“Is it really that serious? Why do you want to know so badly?”

“It’s funny. I’m sick and tired of hearing you only discuss music, sociology, and the media and other stuff.”

You sigh. But you still have a bit to walk, so you might as well have to deal with him and his hypothesis about dogs. “Because pants have to cover your lower body, so legs, and ass and everything else. If you wear them like the first option, half of the ass is out. And also, the back limbs correspond to our legs, we’re divided in half horizontally, not vertically.”

He doesn’t reply right away, processing your answer. And you think you broke him.

“Oh!” You exclaim. “Zootopia, animals wear clothes like the second picture.”

“Really? You had a whole statement that made perfect sense and then you added a cartoon to your thesis?”

“But it still makes sense,” you argue back. “And, most importantly, I made you agree with me,” you wink before stopping when you reach your complex.

“Fine, fine, you’re right,” he gives up before looking behind you. “You live here?”

You nod, searching for the keys in the tote bag, and you think it’s time to stop pretending that’s Mary Poppins’ bag and throw away some useless stuff.

“I thought there were only rooms here,” he states, looking at the big complex a few meters away from the university.  

“There are common dormitories, and then there are some one-room flats. I got one with a scholarship when I graduated. It’s less expensive than an apartment and I get a small place all to myself.”

“Oh,” he whispers. He doesn’t know why he thought you had roommates. “So, you’re alone, alone?”

“No, you can’t come in,” you say.

“I didn’t ask that,” he frowns, offended you would even imply that. “I thought you… well, oh, never mind.”

“Yes, I’m alone, so I can do whatever the hell I want. If I want to cook, I cook. If I want to stay up all night to study, I do that. If I want to dry the clothes in the middle of the living room, that is also the bedroom and the kitchen, I do that.”

“Is it really that small?”

“It’s decent, I guess. It’s spacious enough to live in it comfortably but not big to the point I have to waste days cleaning it.”

“Maybe we could study there, no loud roommates screaming in the living room.”

“I like the mess of your place, and I’ll be there Friday.”

Haechan rolls his eyes. “Come on, I hate the library. Can’t we for once study at your place?”

“I never invited you to my studying sessions,” you groan.

“But you love it.”

“No.”

“Yes, you have an orgasm every time you know something better than me.”

“Please, shut up,” you wave him off, starting to walk away.

“I don’t care, I’ll be here tomorrow,” he screams when you’re too far, clearly running away from him.  

“And I’ll be at the library!”

You never go to the library, to be honest, you were just unlucky enough that the washing machine thought it was the right moment to leak all over the floor and Haechan found you at home with your coat on the couch, the tote bag next to the door and your jeans half soaked as you tried to fix the mess on the pavement.

From that moment, your meet-ups become more and more periodic, whether it’s at your place, his or at the library. You hate to admit it, but the competition drives you forward, and you love seeing his face every time you defeat him somehow.

“Are you busy this Saturday?” He asks while he strums with the guitar to come up with a chord progression for your song.

“Yeah, why?” You reply, poking the cap of the pen to your cheeks, drifting your eyes on him.

“Want to go out with me?”

“What? Saturday is my day to study and do my things like I want to,” you say. It was the only day, along with Sunday, you had to fix all your notes without being wrecked from the lessons of the day, or listen to lessons while cleaning the house, and so on. You tried to squeeze everything there so Sunday could be your free day and you could dedicate it to your hobbies and to write for the magazine you worked for, nothing too serious, just some money to add to the survival costs that your parents would send you, and the monthly entrance you had when you would get called to help a dance studio downtown.

“Great, we’re going out tomorrow.”

You huff, slumping back on the chair. “No, we’re not. I’m busy.”

“You can take one afternoon for me,” he replies, placing the instrument next to him. “Come on, it will be fun.”

“Where would you even take me?”

Haechan smirks. “It’s a surprise.”

When Saturday afternoon arrives, you don’t know how to feel. You spent the whole night trying to find a positive thing about it, and the good thing is that for once you are leaving the house to do something funny —you hoped so— not all by yourself. The bad thing is that the person you are going to do this thing with is Haechan.

You try not to worry about it too much, he’s not that bad when he wants to, and he’s funnier than you’d like to admit, so maybe taking a small break from the obsessive studying and tidying, will do you some good.

When you hear the knocks on the door, you grab your coat and your bag and head to open it.

“Hi,” he says. “Anything to fix before we leave?”

“Don’t say that, they will hear you and break all together.”

Haechan laughs, briefly looking at your body, mostly covered because it’s still cold outside and you have way too many layers on you. “Toy Story for home appliances?”

“Yeah, that would be my life,” you reply, closing the door behind you and walking outside of the complex. “So, where are you taking me?”

“I told you, it’s a surprise,” he says. “Don’t expect anything big, I just don’t want to hear you nag about it.”

“Hey, I appreciate almost everything.”

“Yeah, it’s the almost that worries me,” he says. “Hop in the car.”

“You have a car?”

“Yeah, it’s right in front of your eyes,” he answers, gesturing to the space next to you.  

You turn around, holding back a laugh when you see the old blue car, it’s surely a Hyundai, you have no idea about the model, but you know for sure it’s falling apart. “This is the car?”

“Yes, I’m sorry I’m poor.”

“It will get us killed,” you say opening the door, letting out a breath of relief when the handle doesn’t stay in your hold.

Haechan rolls his eyes and sits in. “Can you don’t be overdramatic for one second?”

“I’m stating facts. Are the airbags still working? Is the oil level high enough? The battery? And the water for —” Your eyes widen when his lips crash on yours. At first, it’s a harsh attempt to shut you up, but then his lips shily go for more, moving along yours with a small flame of need.

“I won’t kill you, but please shut up,” he begs when he pulls away, sooner than you want to, later than he should’ve.  

You gulp, trying to shake the dizziness and the way his kiss made you feel lightweight. You might occasionally still want to wrap your hand around his neck but he’s quite good at being a charmer.

“I’m giving you the privilege to pick the music,” he says once you’re on the open road, the lights of the city shine against the windows and the other cars pass beside you.

“Yeah, can I connect my Spotify to the car? Oh, wait, this model from the future directly brings the singers into your backseats so you can have a live concert,” you joke after seeing the car radio.  

“Wanted to take the metro?”

You laugh. “No, I’m just… why did you say that as if I could connect the aux or the Bluetooth? It was funny.”

“Fine, you’re forgiven,” he says. “Just play it through your phone.”

You hum, already deep into the scrolling of your music catalogue. “Can I put my driving playlist?”

“You have a car?”

“No, I have a driving playlist.”

“Why would you have a driving playlist if you don’t have a car?”

“Because right now it comes useful,” you wink, pressing play without waiting for his answer.

Haechan smiles, quickly glancing at you before his attention is fully on the road. “Baekhyun?” He asks with surprise when the second song starts. “You listen to Baekhyun?”

“Everybody should listen to him,” you reply, already getting defensive because his next words could be the last straw of your ‘relationship.’

“Oh God,” he whispers.

“If you tell me you’re a hater I’m jumping out of the running car and changing the trajectory of your life forever,” you warn, turning to the side to have a better view of him.

“Me? A Baekhyun hater? He’s my father! I just can’t believe you have some sort of sense and taste.”

You slap his shoulder, making the both of you break into a light-hearted laugh.

“You scared me for a second,” you say, placing your hand on your beating heart.  

“Sorry. So, it turns out we have one thing in common,” he jokes, creases creating at the corner of his eyes as his features soften and a genuine smile blooms on his face.

You shrug. “I mean, we have many things in common, actually. That’s why we get along so badly. Maybe it’s true, opposite attracts and that’s why we don’t attract.”

“I think we do attract… proved it a few times.”

“Once,” you reply immediately.

“Twice, with the kiss…”

“You did that to shut me up.”

“I don’t shut up just…” anybody… “I felt like kissing you.”

You smirk, loving watching him struggle. “Nothing wrong to admit you find me attractive,” you tease.

“Unfortunately, your mouth ruins everything.”

“My mouth is the thing that attracts you the most about me, or else you wouldn’t keep lingering around me like bees on honey.”

“Bees make honey, they’re not attracted to it. Bears are.”

“Yeah, you look like a bear, you know?”

He glares at you, and you laugh. “Bears are cute.”

“And attracted to honey.”

“And do I look like honey?” You ask teasingly. “Wait! You always call me honey!”

“It’s a mockery honey, not a sweet honey. You’re not my honey.”

You think about it. “You’re not my honey… could be a line of our song.”

“No academy talking today. It’s forbidden. You have to forget about uni.”

“Fine, I’ll forget about it just for today.”

The dates with Haechan, you can call them dates, right? Well, anyway, whatever they are, they become more common. At first, you tried to reject his weird, most of the time, last minute, proposal, because they would throw in the air all of your plans, but after a while, you somehow still found a way to go back on track without screwing up your academic goals.

“Why don’t you stay?” Haechan asks. It’s another Friday afternoon, and you two met up to go on with the song’s project. Much to your dismay, you have to admit you are the one who’s holding you two back. It’s like words can’t come out of you, not like you want to, at least. But Haechan’s not mad at you. Actually, you like the atmosphere around you when you lock in his room for those sessions. One time, he even made you try edibles to see if you could come up with something, but you ended up making out on the floor instead, so you stopped going for that path.

“I don’t know,” you say, huffing when you glance at the words in front of you and remind yourself that they don’t make sense. “I was thinking of going home and maybe listening to your tracks and…”

“Come up with something?” He drags the chair closer to you and steals your papers to read them. “It’s not as bad as you made it to be.”

“Yeah, it’s a good song, but it’s basic. And I feel like it’s a bit… cliché.”

“You do know that everything has already been written?” He jokes, but it’s not a teasing remark, it’s the truth, and he’s genuinely trying to lift your spirit.  

“I know, but it’s not my style, this is not how I usually write, I —”

“You write?” He stops you and only then you realize what you said. “Like, you have written songs before?”

You nod, shame pervading you when he stares at you with an expression you can’t comprehend. “Are you going to make fun of me?”

“No, I just thought you preferred lyrics over production, but I had no idea you were a lyricist.”

“Now, lyricist… I try, sometimes…”

Haechan smirks, poking your tummy making you cover it with your arms. “So there is something you’re insecure about.”

“Oh, I knew you were going to have a ball about this,” you groan, rolling your head back.

“No, hey, it’s just… I’ve never seen you like this about something you do. You are confident, usually,” he explains with no hint of mockery in his voice.

You sigh, looking at your feet tapping the ground and then look back at him. “It’s just… very personal,” you confess. “I think it’s clear I don’t have lots of friends. I used to, back at home, but here I’m alone. But even back then I’ve always felt like there was something I couldn’t completely let out. That’s why I love dancing, I can express myself in a different way, but I found out it still wasn’t enough and when I started playing the piano again I… started writing. It started almost as a joke, and it was a cheesy break-up song when my ex cheated on me, like the cheap version of drivers license,” you joke and he laughs with you.

“But it was still better than this, I guess?”

You hum, shaking your head. “Nah, my first song was a mess, but then it was like I just couldn’t stop writing, so my songs became my diary. Every time something happens, I write about it.”

He hums, moving the chair closer until your legs intertwine. “So, to write a love song you would need to fall in love?”

You’re taken aback by his question, and don’t reply right away. “No, I just need to be inspired. I’ll watch some movies, and it will come to me.”

His face twists in mild disgust as he shakes his head. “Movies are fake, it’s better to live things on your skin.”

“I don’t have time to date, and I can’t just find someone that easily,” you say laughing. “But don’t worry, I won’t make us fail. I’ll try to edit this and make it work if I really can’t come up with anything else.”

Haechan is not convinced, it’s clear in his face and the way his leg is bouncing nervously, but he doesn’t get back on the conversation. “Are you staying?”

“I have some notes to edit and —”

“You have tomorrow,” he cuts you off. “Come on, I have to do it too.”

You groan, hating the way you can’t say no to his big eyes staring at you. “Fine, but not too much.”

It’s useless to say that none of you get those notes written better.

“God, are you fucking Professor Kim?” Haechan growls, grabbing your wrist and stopping you in the college corridors right out of Music History class, the last lesson of Tuesday.

“What?” You babble out, surprised by his angry tone and his speculation.

“No cause you’re his favourite and it’s driving me insane,” he utters under his breath, glaring at you.

“I’m his favourite?” You tease, tilting your head to the side, loving the fire that turned on between you two. It had been three calm months, the bickerings were too intellectual and you missed this.

“Yeah, I gave him the exact same answer and he found the tiniest thing to say I wasn’t right, just so he could hear yours instead and praise you.”

“Oh, poor baby boy, Professor Kim didn’t give you head pats and now you’re mad?” You pout, patting his head in a mockery gesture. 

Haechan groans, throwing his head back, and pushing you into the nearest empty class, closing the door behind.

“Haechan, what are y—”

“Shh,” he says, shushing you with a stern gaze and a squeeze of your wrist. “You passed by his office the other day, didn’t you? Needed extracurricular help ‘cause you didn’t understand something,” he mocks with a high-pitched voice. “Taught you how to play his flute in a historically accurate way?”

You’d love to laugh at his terrible blowjob-music reference but when his gaze darkens, you only chuckle, and that’s enough to drive him mad.

“God, for you is just a game, isn’t it?”

“You really think I fucked Professor Kim?”

“No, but I’m pretty sure he fantasizes about having you bent over his desk and, fuck, it drives me mad.”

“You wish he fantasized about having you bent on his desk?” You joke, smirking.

He groans. “No, I hate the way he looks at you, and talks to you, the last thing he had to do today was to call you a good girl in front of the whole class.”

Your lips curl in an amused grin, but your heart —and something else— flutter at the way he says ‘good girl,’ you try not to show it and go on with your teasing. “Not my fault I’m good, and I’m interested in his subject.”

“Your fault you lick his boots,” he groans, pushing you flat against the door, standing so close to your nose. “I know you’re smart and you don’t need to ride a dick to be first in class but…” he stops, inhaling your scent, and leaning against your forehead.

You lift his head with two fingers under his chin, and lean in, whispering, “you still want to see me bent over a desk, and you want to be the one railing me, isn’t it?”

He doesn’t reply, not verbally at least. The only answer is a guttural moan and two arms lifting you, making your legs wrap around his waist as he kisses you roughly.

“Hyuck,” you moan into the kiss when he starts walking toward the desk, sitting you on the edge.

“Yeah?”

“We can’t — we — this is, we can get expelled…”

He snickers. “Be quiet and nobody will even hear us.”

“What if they lock us inside?”

“Shut up,” he groans again, kissing you another time as his bag drops on the floor. “You drive me so fucking mad, you have no idea.”

You snicker under your breath, but your heart loses a beat when his hands roam on your thighs, moving closer and closer to your heat. “Wait,” you whisper.

“Wait, what?” He hums, cupping your chin and lowering your head, staring straight into your eyes. Haechan scoffs when your thighs squeeze against each other and he can see you gulping. “Don’t act like you don’t want this,” he whispers, leaning closer to your lips, making you believe he’ll kiss you, but you only get a taste of his thumb rubbing over your full lips, “don’t act like you don’t want me.”

“Haechan!” You scream when he rips off your tights, the tear of the fabric resonating in the room as you look down in shock. “I’m gonna kill you,” you groan but he’s not bothered in the slightest.

“They were getting in the way, and I get rid of everything that gets in my way,” he says with a smirk.

You laugh mockingly. “Then why am I still here?”

His brows furrow and a small pout forms on his face but he shrugs it off. “I’m taking care of you, I told you,” he groans, kissing you harshly. “You’re not winning the war.”

“Oh, and your military strategy is to fuck me?”

“Yeah, until you forget everything.”

You huff loudly when he finishes ripping the tights from your legs, the only pieces left the ones trapped in your shoes, and you’re glad the skirt is long enough to don’t make you freeze on the way back home.

“So much better,” he says proudly, staring at his work of art, letting his hands wander on your now bare skin. “And, now, let’s find out if there’s a way to shut you up.”

You look at him in anticipation, waiting for his next move as if your life depends on it. And you hate to be so eager, you hate you fantasized on it more than you should’ve, but you want to know what his lips feel like. And it’s almost as if Haechan hears your secret thoughts.

“What do you want, sweetheart?” He taunts, kneading his fingers on your flesh.

“Nothing,” you mutter, trying to sound more confident than what you are.

Haechan laughs at you, shaking his head as he slowly gets on his knees, looking up at you. “You are always so fucking proud and annoying.” His hands rest on your knees before he pushes them far apart, forcing you in place as you uselessly try to close your legs. He tsk, shaking his head. “Don’t act ashamed, I’ve already felt you, and tasted you.”

You don’t reply. It’s hard to keep eye contact but this is bigger than sex, this is a game between you two and, he might not beat you in class, but he’s beating you right now.

His laugh brings you back to earth and you hate the smug smirk that’s sitting on his face. “So you do get quiet, thought I needed to give you a taste of my mouth to shut you up.”

You open your mouth to retort but the stern glare that flashes on his face is enough to put you back in your place.

“Good girl,” he says and your body trembles before you can even try to hide it. “Should I get a better taste of you?” He stares at you, waiting for an answer that doesn’t come, not like he wants to at least. “Use your words, babe. You know how to run that mouth when you want to, so, beg for it.”

“Fuck, no,” you retort, trying to move away but his hold on you doesn’t give any signs of loosening up.

“Okay, then,” he says, slowly standing up, and grabbing his bag. “See you around.”

“What?” You squeal, grabbing his wrist. “What are you doing?”

“Leaving,” he replies, shrugging.

“That’s not fair,” you reply, and he snickers.

“What? Are you wet? Do you want me?”

You don’t expect that reply and struggle to find the words, even more now that he’s standing between your open legs, keeping them apart, and his eyes are staring down at you, pinning you down in place. “I don’t want you,” you lie, swallowing the gulp in your throat when his right hand sits on your waist. “I just… I want to fuck.”

“Oh, do you? Well, there are plenty of people here, I’m sure many of them would want you. You know, even if you don’t pay attention to anybody, people look at you,” he whispers, caressing your jaw with his other hand. “First on the list is Professor Kim. Don’t you want to feel the thrill? Come on, go to his office now, so I can have something to hold against you forever.”

You chuckle. “Yeah? Want to blackmail me so I can do all the essays for you? Maybe you’ll get the best grades like this,” you tease, pulling him closer by the collar of his shirt and making him groan.

He licks his lips, staring at yours, and you smirk. “I don’t need you to be first, and you know it.”  

“Do I?” you tease. “Want to be first at something?”

“Don’t,” Haechan warns, eyes darkening even more while the tent in his tight pants becomes even more evident.

“What? You can be the first one who fucks me on a desk if you quit playing hard to get.”

“I’m not playing hard to get,” he replies, leaning even closer, your bodies are pressed together and you can feel his hard dick press against you. “I won’t be the one begging, especially to eat you out,” he groans, cupping your chin unexpectedly. “Don’t act as if you didn’t think of this before. I’ve seen the way you get lost in my fingers when we study together. You see me twirl a pen in my hand and you wish I was inside you, don’t you? And when we argue? There’s always a small fragment where you lose focus and stare at my lips. Where do you want them, honey?”

Your brows furrow but your entire body reacts differently, a small shake, while wetness pools down your panties, soaking them even more, and your eyes close because you can’t bear his smug glare.

“I said,” he urges, giving a quick squeeze to your chin, “where do you want my lips?”

“On — on me,” you breathe out, voice muffled by the firm hold on your face.

His lips twitch as he leans closer and kisses your cheek. “Here,” he says, holding back a laugh when your eyes widen. “That was where you wanted them, right?”

“Oh, fuck off, you know what I meant,” you huff.

“No, I’m the dumb one, remember? You are smarter than me, you know everything. I’m always a step behind, I need you to guide me step by step,” he mocks in a condescending tone, pouting.

You take a deep breath. “I hate you.”

“Oh, I know,” he laughs. “But if you use just three magic words I’m sure you’re going to love me for a while.”

You don’t want to give up but you’re on fire, and you fear that the more time passes by the more someone could find you out.

“I’ll ask nicely one last time,” he whispers against your lips. “Then I’ll ask you to do something for me and you’ll lose my lips for the second time. Where do you want them?”

“On my pussy,” you whisper, not meeting his eyes.

“Fucking finally,” he laughs. “Was it so hard Miss big brain?”

“Stop mocking me!”

“Mocking you?” He asks, getting on his knees again before grabbing your panties to pull them down. “I might hate you but it would be dumb to not recognize your qualities, right?”

You don’t reply, you have other things to worry about. For example, your mortal enemies kneeled between your legs in an empty class of your Academy, staring into your soul, ready to eat you out.

“So, since you’re so good with words, here we go again. Beg.” Haechan craves putting his lips on you just as you do, but this is the only moment he can have some power over you. And after the humiliation of today’s class, he has to make you pay for it a bit. Or maybe he just wants to hear that even if you’d choke him and slap him, you still want him.

“Please, Donghyuck, please,” you plead, looking into his eyes.

He’d love to hear you beg for him more, but the way your cunt is dripping on the desk is already enough to tell him how much you want him, and for now, it’s enough.

When his lips come in contact with your skin your legs immediately hook around his shoulders and you can feel the chuckle on your wet folds.

“Eager, honey?”

“Just, please, eat me out already,” you barely have time to finish that he stops playing around and starts moving his mouth on you. Your head falls behind while your thighs squeeze tighter around his face. Your hands clench on the edge of the desk as you try to keep your balance, but it gets harder with every lick of his tongue.

“Keep quiet, the door is closed not locked,” he reminds you, pulling away from you just to pick up again.

You try to don’t be too loud, but he’s better than you expected and maybe this was the wrong time to try this out. You should’ve simply begged him to fuck you, but now that you’re in the middle of this, the last thing you want is to stop him.

One of your hands is brave enough to let go of the hold on the desk and reach his hair to push him closer to your body, surprising him.

Haechan always thought you were much more shy than this, honestly, he didn’t even hope much for this to happen. But you surprise him, not only you let him have you in a random class at your university but you are also pushing him closer.

“You are eager,” he muffles against you, he can’t pull away when you’re pressing him down with so much force, but the way you’re acting is setting him on fire. He loves hearing you moan and whimper, not a word coming out of your pretty lips to confront him, just bliss on your face and voice. And that pushes him to give you even more, putting his entire self into eating you out until he almost drags screams out of you, making both of you forget where you are.

You’re not sure how many minutes pass by but when the orgasm rushes in your body you feel it’s too close. You’d probably force him down for another round if you were in any other place but you don’t feel brave enough.

“So? Disappointed?” He asks, cleaning his chin as he stands up, reaching you again. “Don’t lie, you’re still dripping down the desk, you’re even more turned on than last time.”

“I’m not,” you lie. You know you are, and Haechan knows it too.

“What is it? The thrill of being caught? My skills? Just me, or something else?”

You don’t know why you reply with what you reply, but you do. “Maybe someone else,” you tease, not even sure he’ll take the bait, but he’s too caught up in you to see the games you’re playing.

“Yeah? And who’s that?”

“See, I always believed you were perspicacious and could catch details, I can’t believe you didn’t get it. You’re so sure Professor Kim wants to fuck me, ever thought I want him too?” You bat your lashes and Haechan tries to silence a groan, but you feel his fists clench at your sides.

“Don’t play with me, I’m not falling for this.”

You shrug. “Fine, I’ll still think about him while you fuck m—” he shuts you up with a rough kiss, pushing you down the desk with a quick movement that makes your heart jump to your throat.

“He’s not even that hot,” he groans, turning you around before bending you on the desk, and pulling your skirt up around your waist. “And he’s not even that old, there’s not even the charm of the dilf.”

“He’s smart,” you talk back, not sure how much you can pull your luck.

Haechan scoffs, slapping your ass. “Not smarter than me.”

“You’re not the professor so…”

“A degree means nothing,” he says, his chest pressing against your back. “What’s that you like so much about him?”

You chuckle. You’re not sure if he’s playing into your game or is just so easy to fool, but either way, you decide to keep going. “Everything. Don’t you see him?”

Haechan groans. Out of all the people, out of all the professors, he has a very personal beef with him that started at the start of the year and the way you just praise him so much —even outside of this specific situation where he got you’re messing up with him— drives him insane.

“Because he’s the best at everything? Isn’t he?”

You nod, expecting him to talk back but the only answer you get is the sharp sound of his belt being pulled away from his pants and smacked against your ass. “Fuck,” you curse, hating the way your body buzzes with pleasure at the impact.

Haechan chuckles. “I wonder what he would think of you if he saw you like this.”

“He wouldn’t think,” you say. “He’d act, fucking me like I deserve instead of wasting time like you.”

When his cock fills you up with no warning you almost scream but his hand is quicker at reaching your mouth.

“Yeah, would he fuck you better?”

You groan in his hand, but your brain goes blank with each thrust into you, pulling his hips back before he snaps them forward, so forcefully that you slide upward on the desk and he has to pull you down so that your hips don’t hit the wood.

“Answer me,” he urges, making a makeshift ponytail with your hair to force you up. “Would he?”

“I… I don’t know,” you cry out, feeling him deep inside of you, filling you perfectly.  

“You just have to test me until I snap, don’t you?”

“He seems —fuck— fitter than you.”

Haechan snickers mockingly. “Yes? You want to be thrown around? Like you’re worth nothing? Do I have to do that to make you feel good?”

You shake your head, ass perking up, your feet on their tips as you try to keep balance.

“No? Is being fucked in a class enough for you? Does it satisfy your needs?” He hisses, eyes rolling back when he focuses them where your bodies meet, your cum dripping down his length and balls. He can’t believe how turned on you are. “Thought you were innocent but look at you.”

“Not my fault you don’t catch details,” you retort with a small bit of sanity —not really— you have in you.

“Details? Or maybe you’re just an actress. Making everyone believe you only think about grades and studies and here you are, drooling while I fuck you over a desk. Begging for my dick.”

You don’t even realize you are drooling down the desk and when you’re about to clean your chin, Haechan grabs your hands and pins them in place behind your back.

“No,” you whimper, falling flat with your chest pressing down the wooden table.  

“Yes, honey,” he mocks. “I want to see you become a mess for me. Should I take a snap of you like this? Send it to Professor Kim so he can see he will never have you like this?” He whispers against your ear. “Think I don’t know it was all a play? Not only you don’t like him, but you wouldn’t risk your reputation for a terrible fuck when you have a brain like yours.”

Your pussy clenches. It’s the way his voice sounds like velvet, it’s how deep it’s hitting you, it’s in his words, and the way it turns you on that your number one rival, the one that despises you, still knows your value.

“Still, I’m pretty sure he wishes he could see you like this,” he adds, biting your earlobe. “A shame he can’t, right?”

“Y-yes,” you mumble in a pathetic wail.   

“But maybe I could still keep it to myself,” his hips start moving with more force and you can’t hold back your moans as you clench around him. “Yeah? Want me to take a photo of you like this?”

You wish you could reply but words just don’t come out of your lips, brain emptying and eyes rolled back in your skull.

“Maybe another time,” he says, breath getting ragged as he keeps fucking into you with determination. “Don’t really want to pull away to take a pic of us.”

“There — there won’t be —fuck— another time,” you reply, forcing yourself to speak.   

Haechan snickers. “The mess between your legs tells me otherwise,” he mocks, reaching in front of you to play with your clit, making you shake. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, you deserve good things, even a good fuck from me.”

“Too much,” you cry out, feeling your eyes getting wetter as the orgasm starts choking you.

“No, you just haven’t had a decent orgasm in ages,” he retorts.

“Shut up! You know —shit— you know nothing.”

“Honey, I can only imagine you playing with yourself, but your hands or toys don’t come close to me,” he says, so smugly you can feel the smirk on his face.  And you can’t even retort because —as much as you hate it— he’s right.

“Come here,” he says, putting a hand over your shoulders to pull you closer to him. “Are you close?”

You nod, biting your lower lip until it bleeds because you’re sure the sound of your ass slamming against his hips is already a giveaway of what’s going on inside this room. You clench around him when he bites down your shoulder to muffle a louder groan as his hips start moving faster as he chases his climax.

You feel your legs give up as the second orgasm hits you and you hold against the desk again because you don’t know where else to hold on to. Haechan tries to keep his curses low, sticking his face in the crook of your neck and you feel you could come again just by his voice alone; his moans the pretties sounds you’ve ever heard.

“Oh god,” you breathe out when he gently lets go of your body and you can relax on the hard surface again, squirming in discomfort when he pulls out of you.

“I hope you didn’t tear my panties apart, too,” you say, rolling on your back, making him laugh.

“Don’t move, you’ll stain the skirt, it’s the only clean thing on the table,” he says, grabbing a napkin to prevent you from making even more of a mess.

“And who’s fault is that?” You ask, glaring at him.

“You should just thank me for the orgasm, better, two orgasms, I gave you.”

You huff, rolling your eyes, but still letting him clean you up, after all, the cum was his, so it’s his place to clean it. After you’re sure you won’t ruin the last untouched piece of clothes you have, you sit up, taking your —uncomfortably— wet panties to put them on.

“So…” he whispers as he cleans up the rest of the mess on the table and shoves your broken tights in his bag, “it was just for fun, right? You have no intentions with Mr…”

You break down laughing. “You’re so easy to fool. You seriously think I’ll ever let him see me like this?”

Haechan scoffs, finishing fixing his clothes before walking to the door. “It’s not about what you would do, is if you think of him.”

“I don’t,” you reply, following him even if you feel like your legs could give up any second. “I wonder if your jealousy was also a play,” you tease, nudging him as you two walk down the corridor to leave.

“It wasn’t jealousy, you would just have terrible taste if you truly liked him, and I have beef with him.”

You chuckle, deciding to believe him.

“Wait,” he says, stopping to search for something in his bag.

“I’ll go for the door, reach me,” you say, starting to head on, you’re not even sure you two could be there at that time. “Lee Donghyuck,” you curse when you try to push open the front door. “What did I say?”

He walks toward you nonchalantly and shrugs. “Yeah?”

“They locked us in!”

He smiles, shaking his head, and grabbing your hand. “Can you run?”

“What?” You blink a few times, trying to understand how his question fits the situation.

“After I fucked you like that, can you run?”

“Shush,” you scold, fearful someone might hear, you’re not sure who since you seem to be completely alone, but better safe than sorry. “And no, I don’t know, I… why would we run?”

“Do you trust me?” He asks, reaching out his hand for you to take.

“No,” you say resolutely.  

“Good,” he smirks before he starts running into the corridors, giving you no chance but to follow him, cursing and damming every life decision that led you here, with cum threatening to leak out of you after you finished having sex in the class of your Academy and are now running to go God knows where, locked inside the institute.

“Hyuck!” You scream when he runs up the stairs and you swear you never felt so much adrenaline rush in your blood but when he looks back for a second and shows you his big bright smile with his hair falling in his face perfectly, you swear the world stops and all your worries are lifted from your shoulders. Maybe you trust him. Maybe you need to be this carefree sometimes.

Your heart jumps in your throat when he pushes open an emergency door and the mild breeze of March runs over you. You breathe in deeply, pushing into your lungs the air and the first early spring scent, letting the wind play with your hair and your clothes while your hand never lets go of his.

And then you both start laughing. Never looking back, and terribly looking forward, watching your steps as you run down the emergency stairs. You laugh, and you’re happy and you can’t believe your fingers are still intertwined with the ones of your mortal enemy.

When you reach the ground floor, hidden in the back of the palace where the sun doesn’t shine, there are still some tears spilling out of your eyes. You two pant, trying to catch your breath, and look at each other before you have to look away or else you will start laughing again.

You can’t believe you followed him blindly.

Your hands are still intertwined.

With each passing day, Haechan is convinced he has a perfect plan. It’s all part of the original plan, but if he gets you to try out romantic things, not only will he distract you from your perfect grades but he will also make you come up with a song that will give him a perfect score.

There are some small details that Haechan didn’t even consider. Detail number 1: where this could lead you two and your relationship. Detail number 2: that while distracting you, he will inevitably distract himself. But he doesn’t get it until it’s too late.

Haechan can’t remember when you started to dress up so much every time you hang out. You always dress well, or maybe he is biased for thinking that even the most basic white turtleneck shirt and cargo pants when you are too done with life to put up your skirts, dresses, or cutely styled other types of outfits, look amazing on you. Yet, during these last few dates, you started doing more, playing more with your hairstyles, trying different make-up, and always looking perfect in whatever clothes you put on your body.

Haechan hates you. Now more than ever because this was supposed to be your silly little race to the top of your second academic year and yet here he is, feeling his heart pound in his throat as you walk toward him. With your hair in a slicked-back ponytail, a freaking heart-shaped side part, your short red dress, while the white cardigan covers your arms and shields you from the light breeze, and your red short heels tap on the asphalt and bring his attention to the white socks that reach you right below your knees, while your hand clench around a heart-shaped bag.

He hates you because he wants you too badly and he’s terrified this is crossing the lines of bland and stupid physical attraction.

You smile, calling him Hyuck and he’d love to scream because he can’t be so smart and yet so dumb at the same time. But he tries to ignore it, and smiles back at you, addressing you with your surname so he can put some distance between you. You don’t even get mad anymore, it makes you smile tenderly as you lower your face to the ground and tangle your arm with his to walk to the car. Now he hopes that the old sardine can will make you two blow up, not to kill you, but to don’t make you accept a date from him anymore.

But that old car struggles but doesn’t crash, and drives you to the restaurant safely.

“This place is so pretty,” your voice rings in his ears, bringing him out of the thought he’s struggling with since you walked out of your apartment.

“Yeah, it’s musically themed, thought it was a good idea.”

“And the dishes also have song names? That’s the best thing I’ve ever seen,” your face lightens up when you scan the menu and in reflection, he does too.

What the fuck are you doing? He curses when he catches himself lost on you, too focused giggling like a child as you catch the references between the songs and the plates. You look like a cliché embodiment of love, and he thinks you’ve done it on purpose. It’s way past Valentine’s Day, but he feels that Cupid is flying right above you, ready to play him a dirty trick.

“So? You picked?” You ask, bringing him out of his thoughts, and he shakes his head, coughing while glueing his eyes on the menu.

“Nope, I’m a bit uncertain,” he says, pretending he wasn’t just too busy staring at you a few moments ago.

You laugh, humming. “Oh, I know.”

“What did you get?” He asks, meeting your eyes above the paper in his hand.

“I wanted to get the Summer 69’ appetizer first,” you reply and he smirks.

“Are you hinting at something?”

“Oh, shut up, you perv! It just looks tasty, there are different appetizers from different parts of the world and it’s a cold start.”

“Then we can take the big one so we can share?”

“Sure,” you reply, smiling at him. “Oh, and then ‘I wanna dance with somebody’ as the main dish.”

“Do you?” He winks.

“I’m not sending you signals, I’m just starving,” you reply, rolling your eyes, but he hears the low giggle that you try to hold back.

“Fine,” he smiles. “I’ll take ‘Maneater’ in your honour.”

“I’m a maneater? Oh, thanks, the best compliment ever actually,” you say playfully.

He smiles, stopping for a second after he hands you his menu. “You look beautiful tonight, by the way.” And when your mouth parts and no sound come out of it, he thinks he screwed it up. It’s not the first time he compliments you but well, the other times didn’t sound so serious.

But then your face breaks in a smile, and your eyes light up, shily diverting the gaze as you thank him before the waitress saves you both from the embarrassment that’s tangible in the air.

“Karaoke? Are you being extremely nice, borderline perfect, tonight so you can show me the biggest twist ever?” You gasp when the karaoke downtown enters your line of view. You’ve been walking for a while now since he couldn’t find a spot nearby, but he never mentioned where your next stop would be.

“I’m always nice to you when we go out on da— like this,” Haechan replies, opening the door of the place for you to get in first. “Also, since we’ll have to record the song soon, I think it’s time to test our vocal abilities.”

You giggle, waiting for him before you start walking to the desk to book a room.

“Karaoke is for fun, never to show off you’re like Celine Dion.”

Haechan chuckles, nodding in agreement while you reach the booth that the lady at the counter assigned you.

“Right, I’m more like Ailee, actually,” he jokes, closing the door behind you.

“Prove it to me, I always hear your mouth run to talk shit but never to sing melodies, so…”

“Should we go for a duet?” He asks, starting the TV to scroll down the songs listed.

“Nope,” you say, sitting on the couch. “A solo song first.”

“Fine,” he says, humming as the titles pass in front of your vision. “Mhh, what about Dean?”

“Love him, would love him more if he came back from the death and dropped another album of the year,” you say, sitting back to fully enjoy Haechan’s performance.

He chuckles at your comment. “This one was a painful reminder,” he says before clicking on “Instagram,” making the logo of the place appear before the countdown, signalling the beat was about to start.

You never thought you would find yourself so caught up in him but when he opens his mouth, you feel like you’re being taken to another world.

His voice sounds like honey, so raw yet so lovely. And as he keeps singing, you think that he would be wasted as a producer, a voice like his deserves to be heard by everyone. But when he finishes, you don’t show any of the emotions you felt.

“Your performance was very touching,” you say while standing up to grab your mic, “but I’m a performer, so I’ll go with Queen Britney.”

“Can’t wait to see your Superbowl worth it performance,” he snickers, sitting back against the small couch in the room as he watches you getting ready.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” you start, winking at him and swinging your hips to follow the rhythm of the music.

Haechan would love to find it as funny as he does at the start, but when you start singing for real, and moving around in the small boot, he gulps, feeling the air around him starting to dim. And it only gets worse when you turn around and start to perform for him. Of course, you know the song by heart, you don’t need to read the words, and you don’t need them to change colour to know when each verse, chorus and bridge starts.

“Oops, I did it again, I played with your heart,” you wink, tilting your head to the side, still moving your body to the beat. He can’t tell, not right at the moment, but he thinks you’re replicating the choreography. That’s the last worry in his mind.

I played with your heart.

And Haechan thinks you really did that. This doesn’t feel like a game anymore, and not even like sex. He looks at you, even right now, that you’re sensually singing a Britney Spears song, and he can only fucking smile like an idiot.

“Wow,” you exhale when the song ends, fanning yourself with your hand, “it’s really hot in here.”

“It definitely is,” he whispers, drifting his gaze from you.

“So? How was I?” You ask, head tilted to the side, and a big, bright smile on your face.

“Good,” Haechan mutters, catching himself staring at you for too long again, shaking his head, the red blush on his face is humiliating. “You were good.”

“Yes,” you cheer, clapping your hands. “Should we duet, now?”

He hums, grabbing the remote again and searching ‘duets’ in the search bar. “Sad, sexy or silly?”

You roll your eyes. “Really?”

“What? I’m trying to understand the vibe we want to go with.”

“I’ll let you pick,” you say just to regret it when you see the song choice on the screen. “Seriously? Anything you can do?”

“What? It’s fitting for how relationship,” he says nonchalantly.

“That’s a crazy choice.”

“Worried you can’t actually do better than me?” He winks, passing you the mic as the song loads on the screen.

“You’ll see,” you challenge with a glare.

One minute into the song you regret having agreed to that, not remembering the last time you sang like this, but the look on his face when it’s time for you to hold a long note for 15 seconds is worth it. And it keeps going until the end, as you both surprise each other with all the skills that this song requires.  

“Wow, you’re good,” you both say when the song ends and you break down laughing, a sound that grows bigger when the screen lights up to show a perfect score.

“Maybe we make a great couple together,” you say, laying back on the couch, tired from the singing.

Haechan turns to you, smirking and nodding. “I guess we do.”

You sit up, resting your chin on his arm. “Can you take another one?”

“Oh, don’t test me, baby.”

“So, ice cream is good for vocal cords?” You giggle as you walk to the side of the Han River with the ice cream in hand. It seemed like Haechan didn’t want to end the night anytime soon, but you don’t feel like complaining.

“Yeah,” he hums with conviction, licking another stripe of chocolate.  

“On which book you’ve read this scientific fact?”

“The ice cream ghost came to me one night and whispered the secret to my ear,” he jokes, making you laugh.

“Uhm, yeah, I think that ghosts are much more reliable than old men in white coats in a lab,” you joke, but then you remember something you wanted to talk about since you’ve walked out of the karaoke. “Mhh, you know what I was thinking?”

Haechan shakes his head, waiting for you to talk.

“I think we’re going down the wrong path with our song,” you voice out. “Especially me. A warmer, darker, I dare to say more sensual vibe, fits us better.”

Haechan chuckles and you glare at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” he giggles, but he can’t lose against you so he goes on. “That’s the production, you know?”

You huff, rolling your eyes, and jumping on the handrail to sit. “I never said it wasn’t important.”

“Whatever,” he snickers. “So I have to scrap everything I’m working on?”

You shake your head, cleaning your hands after swallowing the last bite of the cone. “No, I was thinking about the second base you were working on, the one with the guitars and violins, remember?”

He hums, but he’s dangerously close to you, and you don’t understand why his hands wrap around your waist.

“I think we could use that and —” you gulp when he places his feet on the handrail under you and reaches your height, “and then I can change small things of my — my writing to fit more. What do you think?”

He smiles before it turns into his usual smirk. “I still think you’re worrying too much and you’re not letting it come to you,” he whispers, and the air of his breaths puffs on your lips before he erases the space between you and kisses you.

You feel your breath taken away as you feel like you’re falling behind in the river as the wind blows harder and your hands immediately leave the handrail to reach for him.

You’re not sure that wasn’t an attempted murder from him, but you can’t care when you feel your heart flutter and your legs give up as he deepens the kiss.

“Let it flow,” he whispers, kissing you again, whispering against your lips, “and the song will come at you.”

You know it’s not what he’s talking about, but you kiss him again, this time pushing him down so your feet are on the ground again. Your hands are holding tight on his sweatshirt as you pull him even closer and he does the same wrapping his arms around your frame tighter.

You find yourself in the same position in the living room of his apartment, struggling to make it to his bedroom without waking some of the others up. Not that you care much, it would be fair payback for all the chaos they make when you and Haechan are studying together.

The clothes fall on the floor as quickly as he’s on top of you on the bed.

“I hate that I have to ruin your pretty face,” he whispers, fingers deep inside your sopping wet cunt, pumping in and out painfully slowly as he stares at your face, a cute mix between ecstasy and annoyance because he’s giving you something but not enough. “The red eyeshadow looks really good on you, you know?”

You groan, rolling your head back. “It’s not time for compliments.”

“I’ve been complimenting you all night,” he says, teasing your clit with flicks of his thumb but without giving you much. “It is a shame you will look like a mess once I’m done with you.”

“We can’t be loud,” you say, hating that, for one reason or another, you two always have to keep quiet.

“Nah, Jeno has his headphones on playing games with Yangyang. Renjun has headphones on with music to don’t listen to Jeno. Mark’s not home and not even bombs wake Jaemin up.” The explanation is particularly non-sexy now that he has his fingers inside of you and it doesn’t make you relax much, but you hum nonetheless and beg him to keep going.

“Patience, honey. We’ve got all night,” he smirks.

“Yeah but —”

“Ah, ah,” he says, clicking his tongue and silencing you with a finger on your lips. “What did I tell you before? Let it flow.”

“It was different it was —ugh,” you mumble when he covers your mouth with his hand, eyes widening before they narrow to send him a deadly glare, but he only smirks. He has control now. He always does when he has you underneath him, he still has to fight with you a bit, but you both know this is the only time he can ever win against you. And tonight is special, he wants you to let go of the reins completely, he wants you brainless, because even if your brain is the sexiest thing of you —yeah, yeah, and the thing that is making his college years hell on earth— your brain is also the thing that makes you obsess over the smallest thing and doesn’t make you follow your heart so freely.

Yeah, tonight Donghyuck wants you free, but for the sake of the dirty talking later —and to fool himself he doesn’t care about you that much— he’s going to say he wants you dumb.

And he’s starting strong tonight, his beautiful, long fingers reaching deep inside you, hitting right against your sweet spot, causing so much cum to pool around them and drip down while your pussy clenches hard and your hips buck up to ride the pleasure with him. And you don’t have it in you to fight; it feels too good, especially when he starts rubbing your clit and whispers dirty talk about how well you’re taking him.

Your eyes flutter open, just in time to catch the proud smirk on his face as he stares at your body, you dare to say, in awe. It shouldn’t warm your heart, but it does. You don’t even care if he sees you like a prize he won, right now, because even if he does, you know he only fights hard to win the trophies he cares about. He wants you, he likes you, even. Between the hate and the tension, something about what attracts you two together makes this work. And it’s fine.

“Hyuck,” you breathe out, chest panting and toes curling as you feel the familiar knot in your stomach. But you don’t expect the next words that come out of your mouth. “Kiss me.” When you realize what you said, you anticipate him mocking you, your ears already hear the snicker you know, oh so well, but it never arrives. What arrives are his lips on yours as he leans down, pressing his chest against yours while his fingers keep working wonder inside you.

The kiss is passionate, but not rough like the ones you’re so used to sharing. There’s no anger in it, just need and greed, and chemistry. So much chemistry, your hands have to run in his hair and tug them, making him moan and his dick throb against your thigh.

“I want you so bad,” he slurs against your lips. “I will do some dumb shit one day for you.”

You don’t get what he means. You don’t even know what he could mean by that given the nature of your bond, but his words, mixed with the sultry tone of his voice, are enough to make you come. You barely register the orgasm, hitting you like a singular explosion of a firework, leaving you gasping, exploding as quickly as it came yet slowly running through your bones as the feeling tones down.

Haechan snickers softly. “You love it when I get in trouble for you, don’t you? Even when it’s just a promise.”

Your lips part to reply but he shuts you with a kiss. “No talking, not unless I tell you to. I know everything I need to know, your body tells me that,” he says, grinning like an idiot when he shows you his cum coated fingers, tapping them against your lips, silently ordering you to taste yourself. You would never do that, but tonight it’s like he’s commanding you like a puppet on a string, and you obey. Closing your lips around him and sucking hard.

He smirks, feeling his dick get even harder as he stares at your lips. “That’s what I do to you, pretty girl. And I’m not even started.”

Your pussy throbs in anticipation while he pulls his fingers out. You know he’s one to keep promise, and you can’t wait for what’s to come. But he’s taking too long, and you can feel his hard dick against your leg, so your hand creeps down to touch it.

“You’re not in command tonight, angel,” he says, grabbing your wrist to stop you from moving your hand on him.

“But I want you,” you whine, trying to win him with a pouty look on your face.

It doesn’t work as he pushes your hand over your head and leans in. “Patience, princess. Keep quiet, don’t be greedy and just trust me. Can you do that? Or is it too hard for you?” He groans against your ear, making your hips buck up.

“I — I can,” you whisper but he stops with a glare and your brain replays his words ‘quiet, no words from you tonight,’ and he means it. So you nod, breathing in deeply as you feel weak in the knees for the way he looks at you.

“Good girl,” he says, pushing up to stand between your legs, pushing them open.

When he slips inside you, you gasp, dragging your nails on his back. “Are you alright?”

You nod, forcing yourself to look into his eyes.

“Good, and now,” he whispers, kissing your lips, and dragging out of you, “I want you to give into me and completely turn your brain off. You have me, that’s all you need right now.”

When he starts moving in and out, your body succumbs to the pleasure. Your muscles relax as you let him take care of you. His lips trace over your sensitive skin, leaving kisses on your neck and chest. His hands run over your body, touching and squeezing every inch. And he reaches so deep inside of you that you feel you can barely breathe.

“Just like this,” Haechan whispers close to your ear, gently biting the skin on your jaw. “Don’t think about anything,” he groans, hitting you deep after pulling out of you completely. “Not a single worry in that pretty brain of yours.”

You rarely let him win, but you have to admit that the way he makes you feel, the way he can lift all the stress off your shoulders, is a talent. He knows what he’s doing, and the scary thing is that he knows how to get you. So easily wrapped around his fingers, crumbling into nothing at his tiniest touch.

You whimper loudly when his fingers press against your clit, seeing stars at the new stimulation.

“You can take it,” he groans. You’re about to talk but he traps your lips in a messy, wet kiss as he pulls you closer by your waist, hitting even deeper. “You’re a good girl, right? You can take it.”

You’re doubtful, but you do take it, over and over again. You lose track of time and stop counting your orgasms after the third. There’s no need for that. All you need is the pleasure Donghyuck gives you, fucking you until both of you can’t do it anymore.

There’s nothing left once it’s over, no strength to talk or clean up the mess, just the warmth of your bodies cuddled against each other.

“Good morning, I will kill Lee Je — what the hell,” Renjun exclaims, entering the kitchen, making you turn around as if you’ve been caught stealing, holding the mug full of coffee in your hands and giving him a shy smile. “What are you doing here?”

You gulp, pushing your hair out of your face before coming up with a lie. “We studied too late.”

Renjun steps further into the room, staring at you with a raised brow before he tilts his head and studies how you’re dressed. You’re wearing Donghyuck’s sweater and pants.

“Oh, now they call it studying? Last time I checked you’re not med students, didn’t know music had anatomy in the program,” he taunts, grinning at you as he comes to your side.  

You choke on your saliva and don’t have time to come up with a reply because he strikes again.

“Oh, no, maybe you were exercising vocalization, it’s better when it’s done together, right?” He winks and you glare at him.

“It’s not what you think,” you lie, but honestly you feel so embarrassed about everything. You didn’t think anybody else would be up this early on a Sunday, but it’s clear you don’t know Renjun well. You could’ve left, but you didn’t want to. It was slowly starting to sink in that you didn’t like the solitude of your life anymore.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody,” he says, sitting in front of you. “Come here, don’t stay up.”

You do as told, and smile when he offers you a pack of biscuits. “I would’ve cooked something usually, but Jeno kept me up all night.”

You chuckle. “It’s fine, normally I don’t even have breakfast.”

“You don’t?” He gasps, and you nod.

“Yeah, just coffee.”

He looks down at you, shaking his head in disappointment. “It’s not healthy.”

“I know, I know, I’ll try to eat more, okay? For you.” You reach out your hand and he takes it.

A fit of cough brings both of your gazes to the door and you see Haechan stand against the frame. “Once it’s Jeno, another time it’s Renjun. I bring you home to study and you flirt with my friends.”

“Drop the bullshit, Hyuck. He knows,” you say, rolling your eyes.

Haechan’s eyes widen, but he slowly fakes indifference. “Knows what? That you don’t have time for a relationship so you can’t date him?”

“That you two fuck,” Renjun answers instead, making him cough.

“That’s not true,” he defends. “I hate her,” he says, laughing, but when he meets your eyes and sees them sadden, he feels pain in his heart. “No, no, I don’t hate her, but we’re… you know our relationship, why would we fuck?”

“Who’s fucking?”

“Not you, Jeno. Not you for sure,” Renjun says, rolling his eyes.

“Hey! Why do you always gotta be so rude,” Jeno whines.

“I doubt he’s not getting laid,” you chuckle, and Jeno winks playfully.

“See, words of a wise woman,” he brags, walking to the fridge to grab something.

Renjun sighs loudly. “A woman that doesn’t know you.”

“Would you fuck him?” Haechan asks out of nowhere and you glare at him.

“I just said that he’s hot and smart, I don’t see how he can have a hard time finding somebody,”

“’Cause he’s annoying,” Renjun answers, but Haechan’s not listening.

“I didn’t ask that,” Donghyuck says instead, his attention is all on you as if there’s nobody else in the room.  

“I don’t answer stupid questions,” you reply before sipping from your cup and drifting your gaze away.

“Wait, why are you here?” Jeno asks, only now realizing you’re not supposed to be at their place, not in the morning at least… wait… “Wait! Are you two fuck—”

“No,” Haechan answers sternly, glaring at him. “We’re studying. And it got late, so since we were closer to my place, I let her stay the night.”

“I thought you left yesterday saying you had a date, though,” Jeno says confused.

You chuckle under your breath before you feel Haechan’s hand wrap around your writs to pull you out of the room, not even giving you time to finish your coffee. “A studying date, and now drop it.”

When you reach his room, he groans loudly, walking to the closet to pick something to wear. You watch him move for a while, but then you can’t keep your thoughts inside your head anymore.

“Are you ashamed of me?” You ask and he turns around with wide eyes.

“What?”

“Am I something to be ashamed of? Do I don’t fit in the standard of the people you would usually fuck?”

He sighs, shaking his head. “No, I don’t want them to get invasive, they don’t let me live once they know something. And with you, it’s more embarrassing because of our history…”

You giggle, trying not to show the relief you’re feeling because, for a moment, you thought he was one of those types of men.

“Why can’t you ever make things easy for me?” He asks, annoyance in his voice. You have so much power over him, more than he likes to admit, and he feels like he can’t even be too mad at you about it.

“Sorry, it’s just, it’s funny having a history with you,” you explain. “My mortal enemy, always ready to steal my number ones, and my good grades.”

“You’re so annoying, you’re never sleeping over ever again.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I won’t let you fuck me ever again.”

“Liar,” he says. “And now move, I’ll drop you home.”

you can find part two on my account on the story masterlist or haechan’s masterlist (i can’t link it because if i do the post won’t appear in the tags)

general taglist: @froggyforhyuck, @wingsss45, @tddyhyck, @technologyculturedneo

fic taglist: @hcluvie, @gusgus0517, @multifandomania, @413cl, @odgsuji,

@hey-hey-heybitch, @nctrawberries, @n0hyuck, @haechoshi,

@girlwholoveslpreppyattire, @viciousdarlings, @hyuckmoon,

@jaeymark, @hqech, @xntlax, @milkyway-vxm, @fullsunahceah,

@beomgyusonlywife, @toroufriteh, @yesohhsehun @shxnz

@haecastor, @hyucksaint, @sk8ermark, @midnightrained

@maiteeeeesstuff, @smwhrinthehaze, @yoursyuno

© neowinestaindress ; all rights reserved. do NOT repost, modify, or translate any work from this blog on any other platform and claim it as yours. 

[bitchy-craft]

What Kind Of Beauty You Possess | Pick A Pile

Hello and welcome to this Pick A Pile! In here you'll find out what kind of beauty you possess. I hope you guys enjoy and find this useful. Do make sure to leave comments down below on your experience! I do want to remind you all that this is a General Pick A Pile which means this is for a lot of people: therefore keep what resonates and leave what doesn't.

Masterlist > Questions > Paid Readings

Pick A Pile!

Pile 1:

You have the beauty of visuals. Your face is perfectly balanced and makes everyone want to take a look at you. If you sit down with confidence, you’ll be the most endearing of all.  You have a hard time getting close to people and being able to trust people. This could give you a sense of insecurity and hide your natural beauty.

Because you are insecure or don’t have the need to stand out like that your beauty can be seen as a mysterious one, a one that is looked over. Which can be something you can enjoy as well, a mysterious form of beauty can be something one would want, if that’s the case; keep it like that, just leave that insecurity behind. You are beautiful and have a humble personality. Of course, becoming confident in your own self and finding yourself beautiful can be difficult, it’s a hard task and journey to go on, but you’re able to do it.

You have the mind and calmness to do it, the potential to grow and love yourself. Try it out, look in the mirror and find little things you find beautiful, what you like about your face and body, you’ll find more and more beautiful things the longer you are busy with this journey of self-love.

Pile 2:

You have beautiful legs and a classical form of beauty, a classical energy that is around you. All the little things about you are beautiful and attractive, they make people want to go to you and talk to you, even if they can’t fully place why. Your energy in itself is endearing and gets people to come to you and want to be with you.

Your personality may come over as feisty or direct which can get people to stay away a bit, but the awe they feel when they see you doesn’t leave. The energy around you is immaculate and there’s a possibility that you love this silent attention and the idea of people thinking good things on you, you love the silent praise and that confidence you gain from that makes you even more desirable.

You know how lovely you are, how pretty you are, but you’re still aware of the fact that you are able to grow as a person, learn new things, that you aren’t perfect and that there are still flaws when it comes to you. You’re aware that some people might not love your personality, but you’re completely okay with that. Not everyone can love everyone, and that’s completely fine.

Pile 3:

You possess the beauty of intelligence and creativity. You can think of so many ideas with such depth it’s art on it’s own. You could be an amazing and successful writer or inventor. You can be passionate about things to an amazing degree, something people look up to once they realise you have this characteristic trait.

You can make decisions with much thought yet find the answer quick. Your brain goes really fast, and that can be very chaotic, but also amazing when you get in situations where you need to think and act quickly. You are able to explain things to other people in great detail and understanding. You are good at comparing other ideas to your own and see which one is more defined, and are able to explain why you believe so.

You are open to sharing your knowledge, ideas and intelligence with other people, and love to see people you care about succeed around you. You see potential in people, you are able to be serious but there’s also a playful side to you that you’ll show when you’re comfortable enough, when you feel like you can. You are a beautiful person.

[theoneandonlycoralinejones]

Some General Ericson's Kids Headcannons

Louis

Despite it being the zombie apocalypse, he still takes a great care in his appearance. Maybe this could be tied back to his insecurities, but he generally just finds comfort in looking nice. He kept a few colognes from before, and maybe even still has a few hair products. Of course he’d had to be resourceful to make them last this long, probably pours water into the almost empty cologne bottles to make them last longer. He also just dislikes being dirty in general, always wiping down his clothes and typically taking breaks to freshen up. 

He wants to keep the artistic spirit alive, even in the apocalypse, and he really admires people who feel the same. Everyone knows he loves piano, but when somebody actually shows interest in it he can't help but get giddy. He can ramble about musicians and songs for hours and hours and hours, and if you ever found him some new records or sheet music you'd officially be his new favorite person; ever.

Definitely was an only child; his parents put all of their focus on him, watched his every move. He was expected to get good grades, go to a good college, get a hard well-paying job afterwards. He was definitely spoiled money-wise, but his family lacked in the love and affection department. 

Violet

I’d like to think that if she ever got the chance to, she’d try to give herself a piercing. Obviously it’d be unsanitary and sort of implausible during the apocalypse, but if you think about it, all she’d need would be a needle, the piercing itself, and some sort of disinfectant, so it could possibly happen. If she did get one, probably an eyebrow piercing or a septum. She definitely isn’t the type to care too much about her appearance, but she would feel super cool having a piercing. (She wouldn’t say it though, lol)

Violet lacked any sort of hobby in the game, and this upset me. (Ruby has gardening/being a nurse, Louis has music, Tenn has art, Mitch has weapons, Omar has cooking, Aasim has writing, etc.) I feel like if she had a hobby it'd be something she'd do in secret, maybe poetry or writing songs. She definitely is the type of person to bottle her emotions up, so writing poems about it would definitely be a nice way to cope with them. She’d never share her poetry with anyone though, it's just her thing; she's way too embarrassed of it. 

If she was able to listen to any music she would definitely like indie or punk music. (Pavement, she would LOVE pavement) She’s definitely the type of person to crush on more alternative people, so I could see her trying to get into goth music just to impress a girl she likes. 

Marlon

It's obvious that he's definitely got some hefty mental issues going on, he's the type of person to bottle things up forever till he just blows up. He panics a lot in tough situations, scrambles to fix things himself, but has a hard time making things work out alone. I'd imagine his parents were probably perfectionists of some sort; who pushed a lifestyle he didn't want onto him and he tried hard to succeed for them but could never be enough. Eventually one day he acted out, sick of being forced to live a life he didn't want to live, and then was sent to Ericsons's.

A lot of people hate Marlon, for reasons that are obvious, but I really don't think he was a bad guy. He was simply misguided, and made mistakes. 

Seems like the type to smoke or drink as a way to cope. Did it more often before the apocalypse and when it first started but cigarettes and alcohol are pretty much nonexistent near Ericson’s now so he was forced to quit. 

Mitch

I see many people sort of stereotype Mitch as just this guy who likes carving knives and making bombs, which definitely is true, but I think there’s much more to him. He has a very rebellious personality which leads me to believe he probably grew up in a home where being rebellious was necessary to get any attention from his neglectful parents. They are in the boarding school for a reason, so he probably was the type of kid that almost burnt down his house or something.

Definitely seems like the type to be a big softie once you get to know him. Certainly not the type to be all soft in public, but if you're spending time one on one his more gentle side will show. 

Ruby 

She has such a motherly vibe to her, so caring and sweet. Even hands out some tough love when needed. I think that's one of the reasons why she likes the greenhouse so much, she loves to take care of things; plants included. (Obviously she also liked it because of Ms. Martin, but yk)

She's certainly not the type to accept compliments easily, she just can't imagine that when people compliment her they're telling the truth. I'd imagine that the reason she punches Aasim If you dare him to kiss her is because she thinks he's playing a prank on her or something; she just finds it hard to believe that somebody would like her. (I love her, Ruby is my bae omg)

[mollyrolls]

stop the clock 𖦹 matsukawa i. x reader

introductions: cloud 20 + kumonoue market

pinterest

taglist: open! fill out here

mlist. / next

ln yn

𖦹 yn is a recent art school dropout, working at the shop to pay rent. been there for about 6 months, is no longer the baby of the group. 𖦹 her dream job is to be a cartoonist or animator of some kind. she has a somewhat popular strip called lost planet. her fanbase is niche and small but they would die for her. 𖦹 heavily inspired by krazy kat's art style, calvin and hobbes' humor, and cul-de-sac's eclectic characters. 𖦹 she drew the short end of the stick and works graveyards a lot, so she draws a lot of her stuff during work. ukai doesn't care. 𖦹 is a satin black regular despite the obvious canonical problems. shes one of omis very few clients.

nishinoya yu

𖦹 got hired at kumonoue a week before yn did, so he was never really considered the baby. he contributes the most to the newbie jokes though, which makes yn so mad. 𖦹 he doesn't really have a reason for working here, he just needed a job and they were hiring. he likes it though, because there's always something to do or someone to watch. 𖦹 noya and yn are the definition of opposites attract. they cling to each other like parasites. he's floated the idea of splitting an apartment and once yns rent is up she is absolutely taking him up on that. 𖦹 he is lost planet's biggest fan, and has a bottle of very cheap champagne waiting for the day she gets a deal. one of the only people that gets to see yns personal comics.

akaashi keiji

𖦹 doing an unpaid internship at an editing company, so he got this job so that he wouldn't have to live with his parents. he lives with bokuto because they are canon in every universe. 𖦹 been working at kumonoue for a year and a half. he's been there the longest and is technically a manager. he loves the job but CAN'T STAND BEING MANAGER. 𖦹 he edits lost planet! they have a mutual exchange; she doesnt pay him for his work but he gets to use it in his portfolio (he would have done it anyways because he truly believes in her talent and wants to see her succeed).

hinata shoyo

𖦹 works here because ukai was complaining that he needed more workers during a practice one day. hinata took that as volun-telling, so he applied that night. 𖦹 he's the only part time worker, full time during the off-seasons. he doesnt really need the job but he loves the cloud 20 group so even if he did quit nothing would really change. 𖦹 he desperately wants the group to hang out outside of work events or in the group chat. he's getting very close to wearing them all down!

bodega cat

𖦹 kumonoue has an adopted cat. yn loves the cat. no one else likes the cat. the cats name is bodega cat. they do not work at a bodega. 𖦹 yn had a bad day once and got bodega cat a collar with a tag. the contact for if bodega cat goes missing is akaashi. he does not know this.

ukai kenshin & kumonoue market

𖦹 is the owner of kumonoue, but he's barely there. he trusts them all enough to not burn it down, so he spends his time at other locations or coaching.

fun facts!

𖦹 ukai's store in canon is named sakanoshita, which means 'under the slope'. kumonoue means 'above the clouds'.

𖦹 this is how the cloud 20 gc got their name. yn asked if ukai smokes cigarettes or joints, which lead to a joke about naming the store while on cloud 9. noya elevated that to cloud 10, but hinata didn't think that was dramatic enough so he made it 20.

𖦹 they have several jars for the counter. swear jar, stupid customer jar, failed flirting jar, bodega cat knocking over the jars jar. you name it, they've had it.

𖦹 despite the sometimes intimidating workers, kumonoue has a really great reputation in their community and a lot of lovely regulars. yn is the best at remembering orders and can ring people up before they approach.

mlist. / next

an: yes i will be using yn as a vessel for me to spout my ENDLESS NERD KNOWLEDGE about old newspaper comics. i am not sorry about it in the slightest.

comic art used in this chapter: krazy kat by George Herriman.

taglist: open! fill out here.

@bakingcuriosity, @nobodybutnnoorr, @ciderscape, @lilchubbyyy, @soulfullystarry,

@interstellarz, @wakashudou, @myromanempiree, @notverymarley, @froyaoya,

@lllaw, @eggyrocks, @cnnmairoll, @cosmiicdust, @reignsaway,

@wyrcan, @garfieldissocool

[luminouslywriting]

Hii wanted to request a Bob headcannon, them with a French risistant

Ahh this is a super fun idea! Admittedly, I don't know a ton about the French resistance, but I'll give it my best go! Reminder that my requests are open for BoB, MOTA, and the Pacific!

More under the cut, cut for length:

Dick Winters:

-Really impressed with your work and works with you well.

-The relationship is born from a mutual respect and friendship—combined with shared goals, it makes it easy for the two of you to connect and fall in love.

-You promise to take him to Paris one day and you are the one who accompanies him on his leave :)

-Admittedly, he does worry about you because your job puts you in the line of fire, but he trusts you and your ability to handle yourself above all else.

-Does his best to learn some French and it's very very American sounding still, but hey, he's trying haha

-Waits until the end of the war to make a move because he doesn't want to mess things up with you

Lewis Nixon:

-Enjoys getting to know you during intelligence reports and other espionage acts. Is very impressed by you. -Loves talking French culture and appreciated your music and art a ton….he’s an educated man, after all haha. -Thinks you need to let loose every now and then with a drink and definitely offers it more than once haha. -Comes to talk to you about the most random things; from strategy to drinking to his marriage problems to your life story. -Always expresses gratitude and appreciation for the sacrifices you make to help Easy Co along. -Probably hooks up with you at least once and then admits he’s fallen for you shortly before the war ends lol

Ronald Speirs:

-Pretends not to listen to any of the stories about you and mostly succeeds. He just figures out the truth and has mad respect for you and your job. -Scary girlfriend with scary dog boyfriend privileges?? Sign me up. -Loves getting to work with you in any capacity and will swap tips and tricks for taking people down haha

-Please just have a hot spar session with him. It’s life changing, I promise. -Learns French quietly and on his own to better communicate with you. -Probably comes back to Europe after the war to sweep you off your feet and admit his love.

Buck Compton:

-In awe??? You’re very cool and he’s very aware of that haha. -Compliments you very sincerely and probably tries to get into whatever sports teams that you have in France. -Also a college boy who is considering doing college in Europe solely so he can see you after haha

-Learns all of your body language so he can better understand how you’re feeling about things without having to ask you plainly. -Is a great support system so please be a great support to him as well. -Invite him to come recover in France, he’ll love that!

Carwood Lipton:

-Painfully shy about being impressed by you and your skillset. But he’s also paying close attention and praising your work. -A great friend and ally to have wherever you travel. He’ll always have your back. -He’s quietly harboring a crush that he would be mortified if anyone found out. Easy Company does find out and ships you two quite a bit. -Is not going to make a move until Austria though because he knows that the war is a messy situation and relations between countries are already stressed. -Very sweet about supporting you and always checks in on your emotions and how your family is doing. He CARES okay??? -Everyone is convinced you two are going to be married one day haha.

Joe Liebgott:

-Love at first sight?? Like DAYUM he is impressed and starry eyed and immediately flirting with you the first chance he gets. -It does not go well and he needs a whole redemption friend arc where he proves himself to be a good friend first. -Has cute German pet names for you that he will never speak aloud lol. -Probably invites you to his foxhole for warmth (there’s only some slight innuendos in that instance)

-Makes a move shortly after Bastogne because that was sobering to realize mortality was so frail and it all just works out. -You are the only person he will share his chocolate with haha.

Donald Malarkey:

-Meets you on D-Day and is just ???? Shook??? Bc who are you and where did you come from and how are you so cool? -He’s super easy to talk to and connect with. He loves talking to you and hearing about your life. -Also just wants to introduce you to American food and sports haha. -Writes home to his family about you in passing and they are sus as hell about that haha

-Really gets to know you after his friends die and leave after Bastogne and relies on you a lot. You’re a great strength to him. -Probably asks you if you’d like to come home to the US with him :)

Eugene Roe:

-HE SPEAKS FRENCH, YOU SPEAK FRENCH, instant besties, if only because he understands exACTLY what you’re saying haha 🤣

-You two gravitate easily towards each other for this reason but also, it’s really nice to have someone with actual medical training on your side. -He loves hearing French folktales and legends and he’ll share some American and Cajun ones with you

-Always is the first to check on you after espionage missions or after you’ve been on the line. He wants to make sure you’re doing okay. -Honestly very devoted to you but knows that the timing isn’t right and you both have jobs to do. -But a hand hold here or there wouldn’t hurt…and neither would inviting him to France and to meet your family after the war haha

Bill Guarnere:

-An Italian American and his French S/O walk into a bar….truly the start to an iconic joke….except you two are great together?? -He falls for your devotion and the way in which you are so passionate about things. And he definitely lets you know that. -He starts planning things out pretty early on and if you don’t have any family left, he’d be happy to make an honest Italian American out of you lol. -Consistently had your back in battle and watches out for you. -Go home with him to the US after he gets injured and he’ll take care of him. You’ll get a home and a family and someone who will love you forever. -Honestly?? Too cute.

Joe Toye:

-Not about to admit that he thinks you’re badass but he certainly tells everyone else that haha

-Likes to see you relax and have fun with the guys and prioritizes making sure you feel included

-Is a great listener if you ever want to talk about how you’re feeling or what’s been going on lately

-Trains with you on shooting and hand to hand combat and is eager to learn from you as much as he wants to teach you too

-Definitely wrote back home to his family about you and admitted his feelings before Bastogne.

-Go home with him please :) he’ll love you forever

George Luz:

-This man probably has so many nicknames for you (a la Tony Stark style) and it’s a witty banter filled friendship. -He’s not afraid of telling you how he feels and is very good at watching your six in the field. -Is the type of guy to attempt horrible flirting in broken French. It’s painful for everyone haha. -Everyone is aware that you two like each other and they’re coming to with increasingly deranged ways to get you two together. -Loved hearing you talk about history and your culture and hobbies. It’s one of the few times he’s completely quiet and attentive. -Comes back to Europe in a romantic grand gesture after the war to sweep you off of your feet.

[acefictionwriting]

Scout’s Med Bay Stay (TF2 Bang)

-Hi! This is my contribution to the TF2 Big Bang Event! Scout wakes up after being injured to find some new strange people he’s going to get to know.

Made with Artists

@ermg33 - here is their Art Post

@sicc-nasti - here is their Art Post

As the man awoke, he had no idea what was happening. He had no idea where he was, no idea what was going on, or why he was here. It started coming back to him, but before he could put everything together, the pain shot up his legs.

Ow. Right, the enemy grenades. Shit, I hate enemy Demolition bombers. What did you get yourself into, Jeremy? 

Jeremy opened his eyes and looked around, discovering he was in a med bay. The Scouting mission must have gone wrong, really wrong, since the other scout wasn’t there. He didn’t recognize anyone in the room.

“Ah! You are awake! I was hoping to harvest your organs, but at least the replacements worked!”

“What?” 

The Scout looked at the man, and he nearly pissed himself. 

Oh no, not the medic guy again. 

“Uh, I don’t—” Jeremy tried to make an excuse for the man not to get too close, but before he could, the Medic was pulling him up from the bed to sit him up. 

“You stay here Späher, I will get you the new medicine. You will make a great first test!!”

Jeremy didn’t have time to stop the man, nor did he really want to. He also didn’t ask why the American medic was German. 

His legs were still killing him, and despite the dread he felt thinking about everything that could have happened to him, he ripped off the sheets anyway out of impulsive curiosity. They looked perfectly fine, besides the fact they had been cut off and reattached and left a giant scar. That’s probably OK. He moved his foot to find out if they still worked and jumped up in pain. 

“He is brutal, but he always succeeds. Your legs work alright, Erreur?” 

Scout looked to his right, and a man he hadn’t noticed before was there. The man had a bandage covering most of his face and was standing in the shadows enough that the rest wasn’t showing. It sounded like he smoked enough to kill him twice a day. 

“Jesus, man, didn’t see ya there. Yeah, they work. If they didn’t, I dunno what I’d do. I’m a runner. I do the Scout work, finding out where the Germans are gonna be and making sure there’s no trouble. And if there was trouble, well, I took care of it.”

“You aren’t supposed to do that on scouting missions.”

“Well, I did. And that’s gonna make me a hero or something when it works out. Then I’ll go home to my girl, and she won’t be able to resist me!” 

“WE WILL GO HOME TO OUR WOMEN WHEN WE WIN THIS BLASTED WAR. KEEP AT IT SOLDIER. WE’LL KEEP THOSE GERMANS AT BAY AND—” 

Scout turned his head to see a man in full restraints on a bed, wearing an oversized helmet over his eyes. The Medic seemed to know this man and definitely didn't like him.

“Nein… not again. You are not a soldier. How do you get in here…” 

“I AM AN AMERICAN SOLDIER THROUGH AND THROUGH—” 

“You have a head injury, du verdammter Idiot.” 

Scout turned his head away from the half-shouting match, half-desperate argument. The bandaged man in the shadows had disappeared, which Jeremy thought was fucking weird. 

With nothing else to do, he pulled out his locket with a blurry picture of Pauline F. Pauling. 

She’ll like me for sure now that I’ve got manly scars and stuff. I’ll come home her hero, and we’ll get to kiss and— 

“MMMFF MMMH MMM.” 

“GAH— WHY ARE YOU ALL SO QUIET UNTIL I’M TRYING TO FOCUS?” 

Scout turned to the bed on his left, seeing the not-a-soldier and the medic fight in the background, and someone entirely wrapped in bandages in the bed close to his. 

“Jesus, what happened to you?” 

“Mmmhff mmmhb mffhh mmmmffhhhh mmm MMMFF mmmh.” 

“Ja, we don’t know who that is. Don’t even know what side they’re on. I’ve just been using them for my experimental injections. Beyond that?” The medic shrugged and resumed his argument with the American. 

“I gotta get out of here. We gotta get out of here; you gotta be real messed up from that.” 

The burned patient muttered a muffled something that sounded like a verbal shrug. They then pointed to the locket. 

“My girl? Yeah, she’s a real beaut, huh?” 

“Is that ‘your girl’ mon étrange collègue enfantin?” 

“OK, we’re getting you a bell.”

The French man sighed and stepped away from the shadow of the door. He stuck to the shadows and the wall, but stood next to the scout. Despite not knowing the man, Jeremy felt like a stray cat had sat next to him while not getting close to anyone else. It would be some sort of honor if the stench of cigarettes wasn’t so overpowering. 

“Écoute, mon ami, you have been injured. Is there anyone you would like to inform? This girl? Perhaps your mother?”

“Well, I gotta tell Ma about this. I bet Pauling would love to hear about me and my cool battle wounds now.”

“Right… I’m sure. I will get the communications officer.”

Even Scout could see the man just wanted to leave the conversation.

Why’d he look so uncomfortable? 

There was silence then, or as much of a silence as there could be in the overcrowded room. Scout never liked not being part of a conversation in a group of people. He felt left out. His brothers always seemed closer to each other than to him, so he was pushed out of conversations often, even when they did not mean to exclude him. Scout looked around the room. He supposed the same thing had kept happening in the army. He had had brief conversations with everyone in the medical area, but they all ended suddenly. He preferred the chaos of everyone popping up suddenly to the emptiness of everyone ignoring him. Jeremy looked over to the burn victim to his left, but they had fallen asleep, it seemed, as they made a cartoonish mimimimimi sound from under the seemingly infinite bandages. The silence was uncomfortable, but not uncomfortable enough for Jeremy to wake up someone with severe injuries.

“Ah. You’re no help.” 

The Scout briefly considered talking to himself, but remembered when he was caught and teased by his brothers for that. Ma had said they meant well, but even so, Jeremy never wanted to seem crazy. At least not in a nonviolent way. Instead of talking to himself, he decided to do what he usually did when he was nervous or unsure. He counted all the ways he was the coolest person alive who would totally live the most incredible life anyone ever had. He was on reason number seven (he had miscounted severely. It was the 16th reason) when the door opened again. 

“Hey, face guy! You’re back! Is this that letter guy? Make my injury sound really bad so it looks better when I go home. Hey, wait, there's two guys.”

The first man was tall and had an eyepatch. Scout thought that was awesome. He had a bottle of… what smelled like 100% alcohol in his hand and was leaning against the doorway, half asleep, half on high alert. Scout thought it best not to disturb this man until he became more aware of his surroundings. Instead, the scout turned his attention to the other man, with papers in his hands.

The second man was short and had other features that Scout immediately ignored in favor of the robotic arm the man had. 

“WOAH, ARE YOU A ROBOT?”

The man laughed warmly, as if he’d heard it before from others. 

“Well, I’m technically a cyborg,” said the man, with a warm smile, “and I’m also the correspondence officer until we find another guy who isn’t dead to do it. I’m Dell, but they call me Engineer most of the time.”

“Can I ask, like, a bajillion questions about the—” 

“No, you may not! But my friend here is gonna ask you a few questions before we get this letter written. Tavish, I think you’d better do the talking.” 

Scout had thought Dell was friendly, and he generally seemed to be, but there was a tone to the man’s voice that said another question about his arm would make him far less friendly. So Jeremy decided to do the most difficult thing he’d ever done, and be quiet as the Engineer stepped aside to make room for the hulking man with the eyepatch. 

“My name is Tavish. I’m a demolitions expert addicted to alcohol and explosives—” 

“Wrong speech, buddy,” said the Engineer encouragingly, as though this had happened many times before. 

“Aye, right. Ahem.” 

Tavish took out a piece of paper from his back pocket that was surprisingly pristine. He took a stick of dynamite out from the other, put it back, and looked around for something else. The French guy handed him a small gun as though knowing what he was looking for. 

“Right, thanks.” The demolitions expert shot the ceiling twice to gather everyone’s attention. He handed the gun back and took reading glasses out of another pocket. 

“You are all hereby requested for a special secret mission. The people hiring you will not reveal their names or the mission’s purpose, but we assure you that it is of utmost importance. You will be relocated to a strategic and secret area that may turn the tide in this war. Each of you has been selected due to the special skills you possess, as well as a general lack of morality. Also, we will pay you. We know some of you are here to be paid. We implore you to consider this opportunity and join our team.”

“Hey, where did your British accent come from there, weren’t you Irish or Scottish or somethin’? Also, yeah, I’m gonna do that. Can I tell my Ma?” 

“Aye. Any other questions?”

“Ja, will there be room for my experiments there? Also, mein vögel, can they come? I can go with du all if I’m not taken from my work.”

“Aye, your experiments are why you're here, and experimenting with test subjects is encouraged.” 

“Oh, then Ja!” 

Each person asked questions, but since Scout had already accepted, the Engineer gave him one of the papers to sign and started writing Jeremy’s letter on another paper that was not a contract. Jeremy let everyone else fade into the background as he told his mom and his girl all about his injuries and how much he missed them in the letters. He took a while to sign his name, struggling with the letters, but Dell was quite understanding. Jeremy decided that he enjoyed the Engineer’s company. 

The only thing that seemed off was the Spy. He did not seem excited about the contract, but he did sign the papers. 

Each of the men, now called The Teufort Mercenaries, were helped out to the vehicle, except for the burned one, who was driven in a personal ambulance since they couldn’t move. 

Scout wondered how they signed the paperwork. He wondered how his Ma would take it, with him being gone even longer than planned, but how much longer would it be? A week? Probably a week. Ma would be alright, he explained everything in his letter. She had his brothers to take care of her. He smiled, excited to drive off to a new, exciting, and important life. 

The Spy, Demo, and Engineer stayed behind longer than the others. 

“These letters, they will not be sent, non?” 

“No, unfortunately, we have to burn ‘em. Gonna tell everyone these guys died in battle.”

“What about ze medic?” 

“Oh, we don’t know where he came from. He just started saving lives by making abominations to god, and we let him.”

“What ze fuck is wrong with you all?” 

“Ask the higher-ups.” 

Meanwhile, Tavish was getting paid by a woman who addressed herself as P. He assumed that was because of her purple attire. 

“So you’ll take them all to the desert location, right?”

“Aye.” 

“And you won’t ask questions?”

“Aye. Not my job.”

“You’ll be perfect. Here’s the hundred. Go take them to Teufort.” 

The woman then started calling her boss and walking away, and Tavish walked away as well. He thought he had heard, “They’re out of our hair now,” but he did not question it because it was his job now not to ask questions.

They all rejoined the group in the van, everyone having been ignorant of their absence. The lively chatter continued as everyone awaited their trip to a new life. A life that was not the heroic one they had expected, but simply a way to rid the world of these strange people. 

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Passion

Could you write Roman angst / hurt/comfort that’s a human/college au? Roman wants to major in something related to the arts (theater, art, creative writing, etc). However he’s constantly reminded by his family that he should pick a major that will lead to a career that pays well. So he just settles for a major that will lead to a well paying job, but is clearly stressed out and sad by how his college life is going. So the other Sides step in a comfort him; they are determined to help him follow his dreams and not go down a life path that he’s not happy with. – monkeythefander

Read on Ao3

Warnings: insecure!roman, poor bb

Pairings: none

Word Count: 4045

Roman's parents are very encouraging. They want him to succeed in life, they want what's best for him. And what they think is best for him is for him to have a major that sets him up for jobs that will provide him with a steady paycheck, stability, and plenty of options for growth. Never mind what he wants.

Roman glances down at his phone as it buzzes again. His hands clench and unclench as he reaches for it. He looks at the text.

Mom: Doug said he's happy to help you when you do figure out what you want. Just a reminder of all the people that care about you <3

He flips the phone over and looks at the mountain of textbooks stacked at the edge of his desk, just barely on the edge with all the folders of homework and printed articles he has to somehow get through by the end of the week. He looks down at his hand, the callus on his finger flattened from how hard he's been pressing his pen to paper just to try and struggle through one more project, one more class. He swallows, mouth dry, and reaches for the water bottle only for it to be way too light—how long ago did he finish it?

With a grunt, he gets up and goes to the bathroom, jamming it under the water bottle filler and waiting until the light turns green. He slumps back down at the library desk and buries his head in his hands. He can't afford to be doing this right now, he knows it, he has to get back to work. He's got three deadlines looming over his head and the persistent growl of his stomach isn't doing him any favors.

The 'starving artist' cliche is really overblown, Roman. There's no glamor in it. I know it sounds like it's romantic and it'll all pay off in the end, but the truth is that's not how the world works. I'm not trying to crush your dreams, honey, I just want you to be prepared.

He'd stayed up all night making his art about that, and he's never going to show that particular piece to anyone because it will get back to his parents somehow and they'll want to know what inspired this, this seems really dark, Roman, are you alright? Is there anything we can do?

He wishes he'd never shown them some of his art to begin with. God, he's never going to get his mother's face out of his head when she'd looked at him over breakfast like he was a complete stranger and said I wish I'd known how to love you better when you were younger.

What the fuck was he supposed to do with that at 9 in the morning?

He shakes himself. He can't be doing this right now. He has work to do. He grits his teeth and picks the pen up again and starts struggling through the pages and pages of homework. The characters on the screen fuzz and blur and he has to keep blinking, keep squinting, keep trying to parse them out through the fog in his brain that just doesn't want to. He's rarely felt more useless in his life than when he'd seen the word count for a paper and failed to do it until he was shaking with frustration at how hard it was to make the words go.

Any writer will tell you that writing isn't as simple as sitting in front of a keyboard and just letting the words fall out of you. It's called a discipline for a reason and it takes discipline to do. It takes practice, just like anything else, it takes work and it takes more than just someone glancing over it and thinking oh, nice, you wrote a story. It's never wow, the amount of time you must've taken to practice your craft to do something like this is admirable. It's never I really like how you've used this particular technique or this particular style to do what you wanted. It's only ever yeah, you've improved and they don't even have the vocabulary to specify how or what it is they think is better. Not when it comes to writing, and in Roman's case, certainly not when it comes to his writing.

Sure, some of his professors think he's good. But those ones were from his other classes that he actually wanted to work for. Now? Now he's lucky if he gets one word of decent praise in between all the other suggestions and criticisms for how his style isn't appropriate or he's missing key parts that mean the rest don't count for anything and—

And he blinks and realizes the reason that he's struggling to read so much is the tears now rolling down his cheeks.

He doesn't have time for this. He has studying to do. He has projects to finish. He has work that has to be done to be worthwhile and make sure that he's doing it right and he's impressing his class and he's also managing his life in a way that gets him a high-paying job right after graduation and he's making his family proud and—and—

And he's not forgetting that he has people who care about him.

He blinks again. He stares unseeing at the screen as a tear hits his computer. He thinks, if he were in another major, he might be able to do something with the fact that the first thought he has was I can't cry on my computer, I have too much work to do.

But this work doesn't care about his emotions or his feelings, so he sniffles, clutches his water bottle like it's a cuddle toy for one, two, three seconds, then he gets back to work.

***

"Alright," Virgil announces, plopping down on the edge of the sofa almost in Roman's lap, "what's wrong?"

"I'm not a ventriloquist, get off my lap!"

"I'm not on your lap, Princey, I'm next to it." He leans down and flicks the side of Roman's head. "Talk to us."

"'Us?'" Only then does he look up and see that yep, the rest of their friend group has gathered around, Logan sitting slowly on the other side of the sofa as Patton and Janus lean against the wall. "Oh. When did you guys get here?"

"About twenty seconds ago." Logan crosses one leg over the other. "But Virgil's right."

"Savor that."

"Dick." Virgil swats him. "Don't ignore us. You've been off for weeks, Princey, what's going on?"

Roman hunches his shoulders. He really doesn't have time for this. "I'm fine, guys. Just let me get back to work."

"Lie."

"Janus, I don't have time for you right now."

"Also a lie, but maybe a little less of one." Janus doesn't even have the decency to flinch when Roman glares at him—which part of him really wants to find offensive, he has a great death glare— "you're upset, sweetie, you have to let us help."

"Well, I don't have to do anything except pay taxes and die."

"Okay, he's still making bad Vine references, he can't be that far gone."

"Guys," he mumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose, "really, I'm glad you're all here and concerned about me, but I really need to finish this, can we do this later?"

"When is later?"

"I don't know, like, after dinner?"

"Done," Logan says in that way where he knows Roman's gotten himself into a trap—shit, see, this is why Roman switching majors really sucks too, because Logan kicks his ass verbally enough outside of class, he doesn't need to give him an excuse to kick it inside too. "We'll set aside some time after dinner to discuss. Thank you for suggesting it, Roman."

Roman redirects his death glare to Logan's back as he walks out of the room, trying not to let his cheeks flush too obviously when the others are trying—or not trying at all, in Janus's case—to hide their smirks or snorts. Instead, he buries himself back in his work and makes the best effort he can to getting through the nonsense so he can be present for whatever interrogation he's about to receive afterwards.

He doesn't make that much progress, but that's not new. He saves what he's done, sends emails to the groups for what he can't, and resigns himself to being quiet during dinner so he can save his energy. Thankfully, none of his friends try to make him talk during dinner itself, they'll all distracted talking about some show or some game—honestly, he's pretty sure there's both games and shows in the franchise so he'd be correct either way—and not on the very sad and upset Roman poking halfheartedly at dining hall pasta and salad.

He has about three minutes after they get back to the dorm before they're all piling into his room and demanding he talk to them.

"I don't know what you guys want me to say."

"You can start with why you've looked like a kicked puppy for the last few weeks."

"I have not!"

"You have, kiddo," Patton adds, wincing a little at the description but not denying or disagreeing, "it's not your fault, but it's…you look like someone's told you Disney's never making another movie ever again."

"Okay, maybe not that bad," Virgil amends when Roman stares at them blankly, "but you've had your little princely pout on pretty much constantly."

"I do not—"

"Yeah, you do."

"Yes, you do."

"You do."

"You kinda do, kiddo."

"Wow, fuck you guys, you all suck." Roman rubs his temples. "I really don't know what you guys want from me."

"You've been upset." Logan reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder. "We just want to know why."

"And what we can do to help," Virgil adds.

"I don't—I'm just stressed from work, okay? That's all. I'm trying to wrap my head around new stuff and it's taking me some time. You don't have to worry about it."

"Well, that ship has very much already sailed," Janus says, feigning a put-upon indifference that Roman sees right through because he won't stop fiddling with his gloves, "we're here, we're worried, so you may as well tell us."

"That's not how it works."

"That's very much how it works."

"Enough, you two." Logan's hand is still on his arm. Logan's hand better not stay on his arm for much longer because all the emotions he hasn't been able to get out of him are racing toward that one point of warmth like it's the only port in a storm and if he doesn't stop touching him now, there's going to be no more work that gets done this evening and he has a deadline to meet. "Roman, obviously we won't pressure you into sharing something you don't want to, but…we are worried."

"Why?"

"Because you seem so much less like you." Thank God that hand leaves. "You've been quiet and distant and we—well, I won't speak for everyone else, but I miss you."

A lump rises in his throat. He never thought he'd hear Logan say he missed him. "You do?"

"Yes, I do. I miss going on walks with you in the morning and talking about our readings, I miss studying in the library with you."

"I still study in the library."

"Yeah, but that's all you do right now, Princey." Virgil fiddles with his hoodie strings. "You don't come game with me or Janus, you don't watch movies or shows with us as much anymore, hell, Patton can't even get you to come to breakfast in the morning if it's not an hour before your class."

He sneaks a guilty look at all of them to see similar expressions on their faces. His chest twists. He's…he's been a bad friend, hasn't he?

"Don't," Patton says softly when he opens his mouth, "you don't have to apologize to us, we're not mad at you. We're just worried, like Janus and Logan said. We're your friends, Roman, we just want you to know we're here for you."

Right.

Right.

Roman swallows. He bows his head and mumbles something about being too overwhelmed with work and not knowing how to deal with it. Logan pats his shoulder and Patton promises to try waking up a little earlier to go and get breakfast with him and everything. Janus and Virgil manage to convince him to take the rest of the night off to watch the new episode of the show they're binging. He waits until the rest of them have vanished back to their rooms for the night to look longingly at his notebook.

He scribbles down a few lines and shoves it under his bed, cracking his laptop open again.

***

He should've known that eventually, they'd bring out the big guns. Or rather, big gun.

"Ro-bro!" Roman barely has time to move his computer out of the way before he has an armful—and lapful—of his brother, squirming to get closer. "It's been too long!"

"Ack—Re! Re, you're squishing me!"

"So? You're used to it." He wiggles his way even closer with a happy sounding hum. "Hey, there's my Roro. You've been dodging my calls, haven't you?"

"What? No, I didn't—when did you call?"

"I'm just fucking with you."

"Can you—ack—not fuck with my ability to breathe?"

Remus rolls his eyes fondly but does step back, letting Roman actually get himself together and stand up for a proper hug. Then he's right back to getting squished by a boa constrictor and…maybe he's grinning a bit into Remus's shoulder because yeah, he missed his brother too.

"I haven't seen you since you started this new bullshit," Remus mumbles in his ear, "why's it look like it aged you four years?"

"Asshole."

"You know I'm right, though." Remus pulls back, holding him by his shoulders and poking his cheek. "You look ragged, Roro. You been getting enough sleep?"

"You're worse than our parents."

"Fuck yeah, I'm worse. I can actually make you do shit still."

He flinches. It's small, but Remus notices everything, especially when it's about him, so of course Remus notices and he gets two seconds before Remus is stepping closer and bringing him into another hug—gentler this time, but still firm enough to let him know he's not running away from this conversation.

Shit.

"Now, what was that all about?"

"Nothing, Re, it's fine—"

"Bullshit." He squeezes him closer. "You're upset about something, Roro, so tell me what it is."

"I'm just stressed, okay? Switching majors is hard and I'm trying to play catch up. That's all it is."

Remus narrows his eyes. "So if I ask Janny if that's true, he'll agree with me?"

"Ask me what?"

Oh, great. He glances over his shoulder to see that everyone's apparently coming to say hi—that's not fair, they're Remus's friends too, but he'd be a fool to not put together why they're all here right now and it has everything to do with the concerned furrow between Remus's brows that isn't going away anytime soon.

"Did you guys seriously call him because you're still worried about me?"

"Yep."

"That's correct."

"We're still worried, kiddo, and we figured Remus might have an easier time getting you to tell us what's wrong."

Remus flicks his forehead and grins when Roman glares at him—what is with everyone suddenly being immune to his death glares? Has switching majors caused his death glare to weaken too?—and ruffles his hair. "C'mon, Roro, you can tell us. We'll only make fun of you if it's funny."

"No, we won't."

"Fine, only if you deserve it."

"We won't do that either."

Remus pouts. "You're no fun, Logan."

"I'm concerned about my friend," Logan says smoothly, "and I'm not in the habit of punishing the behavior I want to see."

"Ooh, kinky."

"Both of you shut the fuck up," Virgil grumbles, "we're here to support Roman, not whatever the hell that is."

"Great idea, Dark and Stormy! Roman, tell us what's wrong!"

"Oh, for crying out loud—I'm just stressed!"

"That much is clear."

"Shut up, Remus." As soon as he says it, he bites his tongue, reaching out for his brother before he can pull away—Remus wasn't, not even a little, in fact he's pretty sure he was stepping closer— "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that."

"I know, Roro." Remus gives him another squeeze around the middle, the way he knows makes Roman relax because he fights dirty and Roman hasn't cried in days. "What's going on? I haven't seen you like this in ages."

Roman hangs his head. "Why is it so hard to believe that I'm just stressed? What part of my story doesn't make sense?"

"The part where you're admitting that it's a story and you haven't told us to fuck off about it yet."

Roman groans into his hands. "Why do you have to know me so well?"

"I'm your brother, that's my job. And they're your friends, so caring about you is their job."

"Which you haven't been letting us do, so…"

Roman doesn't say anything for a long moment. The lump in his throat keeps getting bigger and bigger. He clutches Remus's arms and Remus just lets him. He can hear Patton and Janus shuffling closer, trying to gauge if this is a sort of problem that a group hug can fix. He can hear Virgil and Logan mumbling something. He can feel Remus tightening his grip on him. He can feel himself getting closer and closer to crying—

"I'm just stressed," he croaks, "I'm…that's it, okay?"

There's a pause. Then Remus sighs. "Okay, Roro. I believe you."

"You do?"

"Yeah." He ruffles his head. "While I'm here, though, you wanna make good on that promise to show me your studio?"

His studio. The one he's technically not supposed to have anymore because that's for his old major and students in his new major don't get studio space. But academic bureaucracy moves slow and he hasn't had the heart to clear it out yet.

"Ooh, wait, can we come too?"

"I'd like to see it."

"Roman, is that okay?"

"Yeah," he mumbles, turning to grab his coat, "let's…let's go."

Remus just slings an arm over his shoulders for the entire walk across campus. Roman stares at the ground as he trudges over to the once-familiar building, pushing open the door and heading up the stairs. God, just the smell is enough to bring the tears back to the corners of his eyes, that half-dried paint and the weird heat from the kiln on the first floor, the paint thinner, the stuff from the woodworking shop and the forge…

He reaches into his pocket where the keys never left and opens the door to his studio. He has to hold himself against the door for a moment at the rush of being in the space again.

It's his. It's his, it's only ever been his. Not really, the room itself has probably housed over a hundred different students' works over the years, but right now? Right now this room is his and his alone. His manuscript sits in a messy pile on the corner of a desk filled with open sketchbooks and colors strewn about. The easel in the corner still has his composition work. The walls are still covered in his projects and concept ideas that have started to fade a little with the sun. The room smells of charcoal and paint and freshly-dried ink—not so fresh anymore—and there, in the corner, is his setup for sealing wax and the letters he'd been making before…before…

Before.

"Holy fucking shit, Roro," Remus breathes out and oh, yeah, everyone's here, "this place is fucking magical."

He steps aside and watches them through his lashes as they spill into the room, treating it like it's some sort of gallery and not Roman's mind frantically spinning its wheels at too many hours of the day. Logan and Janus are already deep in conversation about one of his earlier painting hanging on the wall. Patton is trying and failing to be subtle about poking at some of the clay figures on the windowsill. And Virgil is shamelessly reading the manuscript.

His heart flutters, just for a moment.

"That's it," he mumbles, "this is where the magic happens. Happened."

"No, no, no, you don't to downplay this." Remus turns around like he's a kid in a mad-science candy store. "This place is the shit."

"I'm glad you like it."

And for a split second, he thinks that might be it. That they'll wander around in his soul for a little, see what they want to, and then they'll leave and he'll lock the door behind them. But he forgets that Remus is Remus and knows everything.

"Why're you standing right there?"

"Huh?"

"You're standing right in front of where the door is like you don't want us to close it."

"Oh, I can close the door."

"Yeah, but you're still standing there. So what's behind the door, Ro-bro?"

He shuffles in place and apparently, that's all Remus needs to dart forward and shove him out of the way, yanking the door away from the wall and—

He knows what they're all staring at now. He'd done it in the dark, so he hadn't really been able to see what he was doing, but when the sun came up and he could, he couldn't bring himself to finish it or destroy it. Not when the curve of his own face was staring back at him as the rest of his body turning to dust, scattering in the wind to turn to cold, merciless coins clanking and clattering into a never-ending void.

It's a terrible painting. One his old professors might have been proud of. One his new professors won't ever see.

He didn't really want anyone to see it, but it's too late for that now.

"Oh, Roro," he hears Remus mumble, "you really didn't want to switch majors, did you?"

"It's not worth it," Patton says too, "going after something because it might get you a better-paying job later, not if you're miserable."

"You work so hard on your art, you deserve to be celebrated for it."

"How are you all getting this from one painting?"

"Because it's your painting, sweetie," Janus says, coming close enough to take Roman's shoulder, "and you're a very, very good artist."

"I'll fucking call our parents myself and tell them to fuck off," Remus growls, spinning and snatching Roman back up in a hug, "you don't deserve to be miserable. You deserve to be the person you want to be."

"Princey, I've been here for ten minutes and I feel like I understand you better than I have for years," Virgil says when Roman goes to protest, "you're fucking great at this and you've worked hard at it. Logan's right, if this is what you want? Fucking chase it."

"Oh, sweetheart, come here," Patton whispers when Roman chokes on a sob, "come here, come here, that's it…"

It's group hug time on the floor, apparently, and Roman can't stop crying. Not when these people are standing in the middle of his soul, trying to hold him together, and not when he can't stop hearing the clink, clink, clink of metal hitting metal. He wants to stay here, in the light, in the warmth of it, not go back to cold papers and projects that feel so foreign to him.

"So do it."

"But—"

"No, if you want to do this, fucking do it. We'll talk to your professors, we'll fight the academic subcommittees if we have to. If you want this, Ro? We're in your corner."

He sniffles. "You…you mean it?"

"Of course we fucking mean it. We care about you."

And for the first time in a few months, Roman might actually believe it.

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[feathered-yelloweye]

About Oktavia von Seckendorff

There's a lot to say about Oktavia (personally I'd say it's the easiest to find interesting stuff about her out of all the witches) but here's some stuff I've been thinking about.

(I'm aware that most of this has probably already been pointed out by someone at some point, I just want to ramble)

Her name

Oktavia is more obvious. Oktavia -> Octavia (latin, "the eighth"). In music an octave is an interval of eight whole tones (it's the same note in a different pitch, I don't know if people who don't care about music know this stuff).

Sayaka and Oktavia are both music themed I don't have to explain the connection, but I also find it interesting to note that Oktavia's first appearance is in the eight episode of the anime.

The interesting part is von Seckendorff, I know. Karl Siegmund von Seckendorff (26 November 1744 - 26 April 1785) was a German poet and composer (and military officer, which doesn't seem relevant right now but considering the knight elements in Oktavia's design that might have played into it?).

I'll be completely honest, he has very few creations and I cannot get access to any of them (he really was not relevant enough, I suppose) but Wikipedia lists one of his works as Das Rad des Schicksals, oder die Geschichte des Thoangesis, which directly translates to the wheel of fate, or the story of the Thoangesis(??). I do not know what is in that text, I can't even get an e-book of it. However, the title alone reminds me of the many wheels in Oktavia's labyrinth and other depictions of her.

This is going to sound like I'm reaching but the name von Seckendorff can also be connected to Kriemhild Gretchen (Madoka's witch). Karl Siegmund von Seckendorff found inspiration in Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, translated one of his novels and composed music for some of his poems. Goethe's Faust seems to inspire aspects of Kriemhild Gretchen, and considering the inherent connection between Sayaka and Madoka I feel like this is worth mentioning. (I might elaborate on this separately but the basic connection between Madoka and Goethe's Faust is: girl named Magarete loses her innocence/purity and becomes trapped and destroyed — from that point on is referred to as Gretchen. Being a witch is loosing your innocence freedom etc, being a witch turns Madoka into ((Kriemhild)) Gretchen.)

Von Seckendorff was never really successful when pursuing the arts, by the way. (I mean, people barely know him.) There's something to be said about Sayaka's whole story, about her being destined to always turn into a witch and never "succeed".

Her design

Most people are somewhat aware of the whole little mermaid thing, but I'll mention it again just in case. Sayaka's story greatly resembles that of the little mermaid (not Disney), which could explain Oktavia being referred to as the mermaid witch (and literally being a mermaid, she has a tail) as well as the general water/ocean theme both her and Sayaka have. You can read it yourself if you're interested, but long story short the little mermaid wants a human soul and a prince's love and exchanges her tongue (yeah) for legs with a sea witch so she can be on the surface, though she can't speak. (So still similar to the Disney version) The Prince does not fall for her, she dies of a broken heart and jumps into the sea, dissolving into sea foam.

The mermaid makes a great sacrifice for her wish and the love she desires and ends up not gaining anything from it, instead loosing her life as her soul withers away in the sea. Very Sayaka.

Okay this one seems weird but I thought of it when rewatching the series again.

In the first episode Junko (Madoka's mother) notes that pink ribbons will attract affection/attraction from men. Sayaka only became a magical girl in the first place because she desired Kyōsuke's love (and Octavia is destined to appear in every timeline that Sayaka makes a pact with Kyubey in, so you could argue that the desire for love is a direct reason for Octavia's existence.) (Oktavia is stated to be all about love/falling in love so I guess that's canon.)

I think the ribbon could just be there because of the school uniform, but I don't think that's the case (or at least not the only case. Design choices can have several inspirations) When witches take inspiration from their respective magical girl's designs it's usually about the actual magical girl clothes and not casual/school clothes. So yeah, I like to think it's meant to represent Oktavia's desire to love and be loved.

There's probably a lot more to say about her but these are some of my thoughts :3

[theshoesofatiredman]

Video by Satvik Soni (@stvksn) on Instagram

Transcript:

I just moved into a new apartment and this is a letter to the girl who lived here before me. Look, I don't really know anything about you. All I know is that you have terrible taste in belts and the worst taste in wall art I've ever seen. Anyway, I was cleaning out the cupboards and found this book that you left behind. The book starts with the story of a woman sitting scared in a car while a man tries to break down her windows. of course. The man eventually succeeds, of course, and pulls her out before the car is smashed by an oncoming train. of course. The book then goes on to tell you that in your homosexuality, you are like the woman in that car. This is followed by fifty pages of convincing you to step out of it. When I rot in bed, which is happening quite often nowadays, your ghost stays in here with me. She tells me of the nights you spent reading that book. The nights you spent hoping for a man to pull you out of your car. The nights you spent apologizing to no one for no reason at all. Our landlord told me that you left this place to get married. I really hope you lied to him. Landlords don't deserve the truth. Above all, I hope your ghost finds some peace soon. I hope your God has asked for your mercy. I hope you've refused to forgive him. I hope you left this book behind on purpose and I hope you're drowning in women. You deserve all of it. Just get some better belts.

I was profoundly moved when I watched this earlier today. I found myself sobbing from the care in his message. I used to be the person in the car. For most of my life, I saw my homosexuality as the thing that could destroy me. It was my vice which, at any moment, could rise up and squeeze the life out of me. I was constantly at war with myself, seeking and destroying the parts of me that wanted other men, loved other men, yearned for other men.

In my journey to believe that I could get off the train tracks while still being in the car, I found my experience continually invalidated. What I hoped would become an invitation for the people in my life to explore other theological possibilities with me became closed doors, lectures, and bitter words. Where I hoped to be seen and heard, I found closed eyes and plugged ears.

Worse still, I found blame. I was the one who failed. My back was the one that was turned. My feet were the ones not running the race. I had become prodigal, wasteful with the riches of heaven. God was there waiting, arms open, perfect and blameless.

I've heard the car story from the pulpit before, probably read it in a book not dissimilar from the one the previous tenant had. I've regurgitated it in different contexts, wielded it as a weapon against a world I saw unconvinced of its sinful state. It cut both ways.

I can't help but feel deeply seen and loved by the fact that this man picked up only a small piece of my experience, and was able to understand the depth of the wrong done to me. He was able to imagine, for a complete stranger, the awfulness of holding homophobia sacred. And then, with a concision and precision that I am endlessly envious of, he said words I feel like I've been waiting years to hear:

I hope your God has asked for your mercy. I hope you've refused to forgive him.

[weirdmai]

doodles from today <3 (comfort doodles cough cough)

okay so uh, if you don't mind, I'll write out some stuff under the cut (something short, you can skip it, it's okay. It's just something I've been feeling lately and, I dunno, I felt like talking 'bout it lol)

Well, so, I started high school/preparatory school and, wow, it is kinda stressful honestly. Overall because I want to get good grades and I'm worried of not getting the future I want

And if I'm honest with you, as silly as it may sound, mp100 has helped me get through it; just like last year in 9th grade, and in general. This silly show has helped me through so much, and made me want to become a better person, give my effort in everything, and I can't thank it enough

All characters are so lovely and comforting, and the story itself is as well. Ahh, I can't really express how thankful I am that mp100 exists and people capable of sharing such warming stories are too

And, of course, I'm also really thankful to the people in my life. I'm so glad to have them and to know that I can count on them whenever I'm feeling down, they're my motivation to keep going as well

As I may have been feeling so much stressful and negative feelings in general lately, at the same time I've also thought about so many things and people that make me happy and feel warm and thankful to be alive.

Life, there's only one, and, as much as we want to succeed and accomplish certain things, we also have to take care of ourselves and remind us to enjoy the moment and the mere fact that, we're alive; we're breathing; we're in this beautiful planet with beautiful people in it too. Your existence alone has caused such a beautiful impact as well in other people's lives, and I think that the thing that counts the most is that, you're still alive, and that's amazing by itself

It's so hard to keep going and yet, there you are. Here we are all

I'm grateful to be here, to have the friends that I have, to be the person I am today, being capable of creating art that makes me happy and can make other people happy too. I'm so, so glad

If you went all the way down here, I hope some words I said made you feel slightly better in case you were feeling down (it is also a reminder to myself lol)

And, remember, it will all be okay. Even if it doesnt look like it, everything has a solution, and it will turn out well

Keep taking care of yourself and give your best in everything!! All efforts count!!

Remember; you're loved, you're appreciated, and I'm sure the people close to you feel proud of you

Have a good day everyone. Live your life as you want because, well, your life is your own, right?

(mai out)

[starrclown]

☆ Redesign Time: Nifty, the lovable and SUCH A WASTE OF POTENTIAL ☆

(Sorry that title got aggressive. New series though! I now have, Have Tea With Me and Redesign Time.)

Ahoy Matey's, we are here to talk about my favorite Hazbin Hotel character. Yes, Nifty is my favorite. I've loved her ever since she stepped into the pilot. She's just so fun and silly and God I love her so much. But litteraly no one cares about her and that bothers me SO much. Like no one talks about her unless Alastor and Husk are involved. There is little to no merch of her. It's just so depressing man. But I love this little bug alien and I wanna rewrite her a story and redesign her cause her design is just not it.

(Also I wanna clarify something. With any redesigns and rewrites I do, they can change. Hazbin hasn't come out yet as of time of writing so Nifty may actually get a story. Maybe. I severely doubt it. These designs are for fun and fun only. I do genuinely like Hazbin Hotel and want it to succeed. This also isn't a attack on Vivziepop or SpindleHorse productions. Vivzie has been accused of alot but I'm not touching up on that. These designs are for fun and my own personal spin on things. Please don't harass me. Seriously artists have been harassed for redesigns and it's actually sickening. These are for fun, don't take it personally. ALSO!! DO NOT TRY TO ANIMATE THESE. I don't want no comments about how these are not animation friendly. I know. These are just showing of my level of art and a coherent story. Cool? Cool.)

☆Nifty's Redesign!!

Nifty's cannon design is just not it. Let's play a game. What is Nifty?

Nifty, Wiki confirmed, is supposed to be a reference to bugs and aliens. Where? Besides her arms and legs Nifty has no bug features. Nifty also died in the 50's. Can you tell? No, you can't. Nifty is nothing like what she is described. That's the issue with most of the designs of Vivzie. They are nothing like how they are described. I've seen a couple of times that people didn't know that Alstor was supposed to be a deer, Vaggie is a moth, Charlie is based of dolls and goats, and Angel is a spider from the 40's. Nifty's design needs touching up, so let me show you my design!!

(I'm iffy on this. I think there are things I can improve)

She's a little lady!! Let me explain certain parts of my design.

1. Hair. Curled hair was a big thing in the 50's. Nifty is cannonically Japanese so she would probably curl her hair. I wanted her hair to be this messy curly/wavy mop. Why is Nifty's hair fire colored? I thought it was so cool when Nifty came through the fire. In my rewrite I want fire to be a part of Nifty. (You'll see in a little bit.) I also gave her antennas.

2. Face. I changed Nifty to green to give her a bug/alien type feel. I gave her small little bug choppers and red rosy cheeks. I kept her one eye cause it makes her face stand out.

3. Clothing. I might have to change her clothes but I think I did a decently good job with her clothing. I gave her a apron with stitches to symbolize her obsession with chores. I gave her gloves because she's also the cook. I made her dress blue instead of red to contrast her hair and it makes her dress pop.

4. Bug features. Nifty now has antennas that move along with her emotions. She has her bug choppers, I gave her more bug like legs and arms, and finally, wings. There small so I imagine she can fly for small amounts of time.

I just wanted Nifty to feel more bug like. I also wanted her 50's background to shine through!!

(I cut out a whole section on her human life cause I want to save that until I get the main cast done.)

Feel free to leave criticism in the comments. I actually really like certain parts if the design!! Nifty deserves SO much better than Hazbin has given her and I'm here to deliver it!!

(I don't know what will be next. It could be tea time or another redesign. A fic if mine is almost is finished though so if your interested check it out)

😘🫶

- ⭐️StarClown⭐️

[ohmynabiii]

𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭 :,)

Okay, so I understand that this is far from what I usually post, but I feel the need to say it:

(apologies for any writing mistakes, I had a hard time holding back tears lol) So I recently saw a clip of Bang Chan saying he never takes care of himself because he's always busy looking after the other members. It must be such a difficult balance—producing, leading Stray Kids, and enduring the immense pressure of being an idol. Constantly having to look perfect, filter every word, and manage every action. I can only imagine how exhausting it is just being a K-pop idol, but Chan goes even further. He co-produces most of Stray Kids' songs and seems to be caught in this endless cycle of trying to prove himself, not only to his members but to the world.

It's that perfectionist side of him, the inner voice telling him he’s not good enough, when in reality, he is more than enough. He shines brighter than any idol I know. He's like a warm embrace at the end of a long day, the smell of freshly cooked breakfast in the morning, the beating heart of Stray Kids. So many people see what he and the members have created as "home." There is no Stray Kids without Chan. There is no sense of comfort without him.

I wish he could see that—how many people adore him and his art. He started so young, too, never really getting the chance to grow into himself before presenting to the world. I can’t imagine how difficult that must be, having millions of people know your name before you’ve fully figured out who you are.

It's not just the music, either—it's the connection he fosters with his fans, how he pours himself into every livestream, every word of encouragement. There’s something so selfless about him, the way he gives so much of his energy to others without asking for anything in return. It makes me wonder how often he gets to just *be*—without the weight of expectations, without feeling the need to constantly achieve. I think many of us see him as this pillar of strength, but even pillars need rest.

I hope he knows it’s okay to lean on others, to take a break, to simply exist without having to prove his worth. Because his worth isn’t tied to how productive he is, how many songs he writes, or how well he leads. His worth is in who he is, and that’s more than enough.

And maybe that’s the hardest part for him—the constant push and pull between being someone’s leader, producer, and friend, while also trying to stay grounded in his own sense of self. It’s hard to imagine where he finds the time to just reflect, to listen to his own needs when he’s so busy listening to everyone else’s. I wonder if he’s ever able to truly step away from the responsibilities, the unspoken expectations that come with being the ‘glue’ of Stray Kids. Maybe that’s why so many of us resonate with him—we see a bit of ourselves in his struggle, that desire to do everything and be everything for everyone, even when it feels impossible.

But I hope he knows it’s okay to put himself first, to protect his own peace. Because without him, there would be a void, not just in the group but in the hearts of the people he’s touched. His music, his kindness, his energy—those things are irreplaceable. He has given so much of himself to the world, and I think it’s time the world gives a little back to him. We all want him to succeed, not just as a leader but as a person, to find joy and fulfillment in the quiet moments, when the stage lights are off and the world isn’t watching.

He deserves to know that he’s enough just as he is—that even when he’s not creating, performing, or leading, his presence is more than enough. Chan isn’t just the heart of Stray Kids; he’s the heart of so many people’s lives, the comfort they seek at the end of the day. And I hope, more than anything, he feels that same comfort within himself. He deserves it.

But damn, do I miss those Channie’s hugs.

🦋

[arliedraws]

Hello, I wanted to know your opinion on...If Dumbledore had known regulus death circumstances....would he have reconsidered his Sirius trust issues? Because I don't understand ....why he would do that to him....Harry is really a weapon to him...and still got attached to....he says so when he explains after Sirius died...can you believe this man....Harry just went through such a harrowing experience...and he says to that boy...sorry for getting attached to you...I can't...it just burns in my memory and crawls back up unexpectedly...to leave me more in melancholy. Sorry for ranting...I just thought you might have good insights into it.

PS: loving all your art btw...keep it coming.

Aw, thank you!!

Hmm. Let me piece together what I think you’re asking about.

1.) If Dumbledore had known about Regulus’s death and attempt to destroy a Horcrux, would it have changed how he saw Sirius? Would he have trusted Sirius?

The first thing to consider is that Dumbledore, like anyone who would have known both brothers, would have seen the Black brothers as two completely different people. Dumbledore’s thoughts about Regulus would not have influenced his opinions of Sirius. By the time Sirius had left Hogwarts, there is little evidence to suggest Sirius and Regulus ever saw each other again—they were done with each other. The second, I don’t think Dumbledore distrusted Sirius so much as he saw him as a liability. Sirius did everything Dumbledore asked of him and never gave Dumbledore a reason not to trust his loyalty.

2.) Here is my full disclosure: I really like Dumbledore as a character. I love that he is the other side of the good/evil coin—like Voldemort, he demands loyalty, he cannot fathom that someone would betray him, and he preys on the most vulnerable people to do what he believes is right. When I was in grad school and learning about teaching climate change literacy, I read an article that suggested that a movement of activism is most likely to succeed when the leader of the movement has great ambition and also an emotional detachment from those people that they lead. You must inspire loyalty but have the strength to carry on when your fighters are wounded or die. This is a callous, terrible way to live—but does this not sound like Dumbledore?

Dumbledore is cruel in his ability to overlook deaths caused by the Movement. For Dumbledore, when an Order member dies, he rarely needs to do more than mourn and say, “At least they died doing something noble.” Besides, Dumbledore does not fear death—this is what he sees is his advantage over Voldemort who, as we know, fears death above all things.

Suffering, however, upsets him. Why doesn’t he ever check in on Harry? Because he would have to admit that Harry was suffering. Why not tell Harry the truth? Because he cannot bear to see Harry bear that weight, and he would rather shelter Harry from the truth to spare him this suffering (and haha doesn’t he wait until he’s dead to ‘tell’ Harry that Harry must sacrifice himself?) . Dumbledore avoids seeing pain when he can because he is empathetic but cannot afford to be (at least, so he believes). Dumbledore loves Harry very much. He fights between being the leader he believes the world needs and his natural inclination to care about people.

I love when people have such personal, visceral feelings about liking and disliking characters, but your local literature teacher here really hates to designate a character as a “bad person” vs. “good person.” Dumbledore is neither. In the series, he demonstrates great kindness and great cruelty. That is the ENTIRE point of Deathly Hallows. Any single person is capable of being terrible.

We often consider Dumbledore’s cruelty because of how he treats our favorite characters, but also consider the things he did because he felt a sense of empathy—he saved Sirius even though it would have suited his cause to let the Dementors Kiss him; he even saves Buckbeak too (does he make children do it? hahaha yeah, so still a complicated thing). When we look at this action, neither Sirius nor Buckbeak’s survival serve Dumbledore—they are both, essentially, useless to him. Yet he cares for the people around them and hates to see the people who love them suffer.

Is this a Dumbledore defense post? Abso-fucking-not. He doesn’t need defending. The thing that makes him interesting is that he GENUINELY cares about people but forces himself not to. Isn’t that fucking delicious? It’s so twisted and awful and fascinating. Dumbledore fears love as much as he lauds it—love can make you lose your way; love can distract you. He loved Grindelwald. It was love that drove Harry and Sirius apart. Love is what killed James and Lily Potter. Love killed his sister. He recognizes the power of love because it is LOVE that has always been his downfall. Yikes!

Anyway, this got much longer than I anticipated. Thank you for the ask—it made me really think about why I appreciate Dumbledore as a character!

[felikatze]

roy is my boy. my beautiful boy who is so bad at combat which is also A DELIBERATE CHARACTERIZATION DECISION.

it's his support with lance, i believe, which questions why roy is at the front lines at all. and roy acknowledges that he sucks. he's weak compared to everyone else, he knows this, but he fights on the frontlines anyways because it's about respect. he doesn't want to be the commander giving orders from up high - he wants to fight together with his men, remain connected with the people he leads. he never wants to lose sight of them.

and it's a thing about self-confidence, too, and how little he has of it - this lad has some massive imposter syndrome. again, he knows all his faults intimately. his combat performance is poor, he's studied the art of war but lacks any actual experience, and he considers himself, well, a loser, overall. but people love him anyway, because he still gives it his all, and it's in his lance support, too - roy's charismatic. not in the bold way, but in his demure nature. he's a steady presence to draw people together, with an earnestness that inspires others to help him succeed. they can tell he just wants to make things better for everybody, and they want to be better for him, too.

also, he's not just a soldier on the battlefied. he's the tactician. you don't see mark sweeping maps, right? roy is canonically the tactical mind behind the entire campaign, and he's damn good at it, too. i forgot whether it's lalum or elffin route, but in one of the two, it's said that it was roy's decision to rebrand to the etrurian army. that name change alone shows keen political awareness. being the lycian army when you're just a hodgepodge of lycians is fine, but when a etrurian general starts backing you, and you've now got the the whole of the continent's biggest nation behind you, well - the snooty bastards from up high aren't gonna let tiny little lycia hog all the glory. roy's conceeding recognition of the war effort to etruria to appease the new etrurian soldiers under his watch who'd balk at being lead by a pheraen nobody. (they probably dont even know where pherae is).

roy's a scholar, not a warrior. he wasn't present when bandits attacked pherae's castle cuz he was on his way home from summer break at college. he's good at this shit cuz he studied it. he has elffin and cecilia as advisors later on, but the early game is all him.

and he still doesn't recognize that cuz it's not physical. he's not in the action. to him, he is just leading people to their deaths. it's his duty to prevent it. it's the inherent guilt of leadership. and how inferior he feels compared to his father and hector - both great warriors in their own right (even if eliwood's combat performance in fe7 is equally poor). this is the only way to prove himself to himself. agrh.

roy is also just so deeply deeply kind. he will give anyone the chance to change, but he's not softhearted. if he must kill, he will. still, though, he has to try. he's always searching for that silver lining, always searching for a way to spill less blood on all sides.

if there is one thing he believes in, it is the goodness of the heart. he's optimistic, but not naive. he knows the world is rotten. the history of the scouring proves that well enough. but the world is made of its people, and if people choose to improve, the world will, too. just as roy tries, anyone can try. anyone should be able to try. humans, dragons, he doesn't care. if you do good, you are good. i just. i know i'm talking vague but it's such a hard thing to pin down.

i really think fe6 is let down by it's lack of emotive portraits here. if you wanna get emotion out of the story you really need to read into it yourself and let your imagination do the work just because there's no portraits or voice acting to sell it for you.

i love my boy. if you mischaracterize him as "hehe dragon racist" ever again i'll kill you.

[elysiumblue]

Pick a card - What do you need to know? 🥴

Felt drawn to do a general reading asap so I did one. I don't really know what to write for the intro so maybe just jump straight to the reading lmao.

Remember, as this is a general reading, please take what resonates and leave the rest behind. Hope this reading can help you clear things up and provide you with the information you needed to move to a better place in life.

👇🏻 Pick a color you felt drawn to 👇🏻

And find the corresponding reading for you below!

Pile 1

You have the suspicion that someone is plotting on you and damn you're so right. You may feel that it's so draining to be with someone in your life as you always thinking that they're hating you, or hoping the worst for you. It feels like every day that the person in your social circle, or every moment you spend with that person is a torture, as you don't want to anger them or make them jealous of you (then plotting more crap on you). Even posting on social media feels like walking on thin ices. You feel really restricted and have to fight thru so many worries every time you want to do a thing, as you feel like they're watching.

However, even living in such a restrictive environment, you still want to become better. You hate to live in someone else's shadow, have the rest of your life controlled by others, or have to drag the weight of someone else's problems around for your whole life. You want to be better, be good enough to break free from the situation, and yeah, you're going to do it. And wait, even better, you're going to break free of the people or community that you don't want to care about anymore, and shine so brightly alone.

You may question how is it possible for you to pull this off, and I have to tell you that you have so much energy inside you, waiting for you to burn it and make something real big. It seems that you're always rejecting negativity, thinking that all they can do is to bring a big black fog to your life. However, the big pile of negativity can act as an excellent source of inspiration and motivation at the same time. For example, you can use your worries and sorrow as inspirations for art, and the fear of not going to make it/ pessimism to motivate you to put 120% effort, so you can make sure that you must and will succeed.

I can see that you may be deterred by the low quality of work and the lack of skills in the beginning. It seems that success is so far away and so unlikely to happen to you. However, you have to understand that you have to start somewhere, and no one is a master in the beginning of their journey. Even DaVinci needed to learn painting from someone in the beginning of his journey. Don't be deterred by the progress. As long as you keep trying, you are making progress every day. No matter how small the progress is, learn to appreciate it. If it's not motivating for you enough, then think of winning to spite those whose messing with you. Win so fucking hard so that they can realize how big of an L they're taking by not appreciating you in the past. Also, I heard that the harder you win, the faster those people will receive their karma? Is it motivating for you enough lol.

Pile 2

I can see this pile is so hopeless in getting a lover and a love reading is the least you want to hear about. But, love is on its way for you! You probably the type that believes that you will never find a lover in the rest of your life, and believe that you are absolutely fine and cool with it. However, you low key wish to get into a relationship at the same time, as you keep helping your friends in their relationships by giving them advices and listening to their vents. You kinda want to try it yourself but you really feel that it's too much effort and you're not wasting any energy on getting into trouble yourself. For some of you, I can also see that you've gone thru a real tough relationship in the past. That may even be a divorce for some of you. So getting into a relationship again is the last thing you want to do.

No matter how unwilling you want to be in a relationship, I can see that you're going to have the opportunity to meet a potential lover, as it's a reward for you for going thru and completing a cycle. You probably spent so much time to undo the pain of an event, or the thing may be so long ago that you don't even remember that it happened, and left an impact on you. No matter you remember you've done your work or not, you will be paid regardless as you did the work.

You may think that you are not hot enough for anyone to like you, and you also can't see anyone that will have the potential to develop any feelings towards you. However, it will just happen and you don't even have to do a thing to make it work. Don't sabotage it if this is actually what you hoped for. Don't complicate the situation by bringing the past to the present. You can act passive and take things slowly, so you can clear your doubt. As long as you understand that this is a whole new cycle and you're in a completely new chapter of your life, then you're fine.

Pile 3

You are obsessed with someone. If this is not your situation, then this may not be your pile, or maybe this is not even the reading for you. You are so obsessed with someone and you keep hoping and thinking that you can be in a romantic relationship with them. However, you feel that your connection is stuck, and stagnated, and you don't have the energy to push it forward even though you want things to work so badly.

Instead of pushing the connection forward, which is not an option as you don't have enough energy to pull it off, you may find yourself indulging in past memories with that person, and making decisions based on outdated assumptions. Some of you probably haven't talked for years, but you still thinking that they will just respond and go out on a date with you if you finally have the courage to talk to them, because you remember the time that you two got along so well years ago.

It may be a depressing news for you, but the thing you need to know is this connection is not going to anyway. It can be hard yo believe, but this is actually the best outcome for this connection. The obstacle, the big stop sign on the path, is to protect you from something worse. It may be the person is actually a shitty person, or you have a better future ahead of you instead of spending your time with that person.

Also, you really need this connection to die, as it's draining so much energy from you. You're lost and unable to even feel joy anymore. It seems that nothing matters anymore. You will find out that it's not the case, as you will discover lots of joy around you as soon as you try to pull yourself away from the obsession. Then, you will start to heal, and become the master of your own mind and emotions again.

It's so much better to be able to make yourself happy, instead of betting your happiness on others, as it's so difficult to make others do things the way you want them to. Having yourself to do the job instead can dramatically decrease the effort you have to spent on getting an enjoyable life.

(Some of you may be spamming that person's phone and they're thinking that you're annoying... But the real one will not feel annoyed by you. They will be so happy to hear from you... so, maybe they're really not the one.)