#i've yet to hear back from my first choice school

[gguk-n]

Chapter 2- Secret and Surprises

Unravelling Max's Mystery (Max Verstappen x Online Friend!Reader)

Series Masterlist

Summary- Y/N has lost out on a few of her publication dreams while juggling 2 jobs. Her crush on Max has only led to failed relationships. She dreams of one day meeting and being with Max. But Max has a girlfriend and a career she knows nothing about.

{Reader's POV}

I finally moved out from my parents's place a few years back when I decided to pursue Literature. It was a very difficult time for me but I had Max by my side. Trying to convince my parents that I want to understand the art of writing and then doing what I love was very challenging. I moved to a another city with my dream university. Even today, they detest my choices and hope that I would take my life seriously. It has been difficult but seeing them once or twice a year only has made it easy.

Max and I are still very close. I still have a crush on him; it got worse after we started video calling each other after I moved out. I wasn't about to get 'caught' talking to a guy under my parents's roof. The consequences would be disastrous. Max is still the same, slightly older, has a stubble. I still don't know his full name, but he doesn't know mine either and I don't mind keeping it that way.

Having Max as a friend has hindered quite a few relationships either because they weren't him or they were jealous of some guy I would drop everything for. He still has a horrible sleep schedule, I've scolded him a couple time, but he doesn't listen. However, he has the cutest cats, Jimmy and Sassy. They love their dad a lot; I really wanna get cats too but I'm barely keeping myself alive, I'll kill my pets.

My job pays shitty, I'm a primary school teacher and freelance editor. I had hoped that being an editor for bigger and well established authors would help me improve my writing and get my book or poems published; has yet to happen. All my clients are kind people and very understanding of my predicament. Alas, this doesn't leave me much time in the day; teaching, lesson planning, correcting papers, editing other's stories or poems, talking to Max. Max has gotten pretty good about not disappearing like he did a couple years back. I still have no clue what he does, not like he knows what I do specifically. But he said he does something along the lines of cars; I knew he loved cars. I hope his job pays him better since he moved a few years back when I was still at home. His place looks lavish, either he gets paid well or it's from the company. I will never know. He's seen the shit hole I live in, but has yet to comment on my poor living conditions. I have too much of an ego to let my parents know I am struggling; I would rather starve then let them know. All I would hear is that they were right and I should mend my mistakes. What mistakes should I mend when these were my choices and I'm happy with them.

I've compiled 20 of my poems and even wrote a book, I've sent it to so many publishers in hopes that it will get picked up. This is like my fourth or fifth time. I mean, I haven't exhausted my resources and till the day all the publications shut down I'm not giving up. I've been rejected quite a few time, sometimes at the initial stages or after first reading and preview. They make publishing a book look so easy on shows and movies. I wish it was that easy in real life, but it isn't.

Being on spring break makes it so much easier for a while, till I have to return. However, I can focus on my book and the editing gig since it pays better than teaching. There's this guy I'm editing for currently and he's so annoying. I want to stop working with him except he pays the best. The life of being chained to capitalism. I was fixing up his errors when my phone rang, it was Max on video call. We spoke on video call a lot after I moved out. He's attractive, blue eyes; truly all my weaknesses combined. When the screen popped up, he almost fell out of frame when Jimmy jumped on the phone. Max placed Jimmy on the floor. Max- Hey, Schat. Sorry about Jimmy. Y/N- Hi, honestly I would rather talk to Jimmy. (I laughed) Max- Sometimes, I think you are friends with me for my cats. Y/N- Yeah, I would've stopped being your friend had you not adopted them. Max- Wow! I'm hurt. (He placed his hand on his chest) Y/N- Stop being dramatic. I'm just living vicariously through you. Max- You should get cats too, you seem lonely. Y/N- I wish, I'll end up killing them since I'm so busy. Max- hmmm, I hope you find a companion. I did find a companion Max, every time I get a boyfriend, we break up directly or indirectly because of you I thought. Max- What happened to Finn? I thought he was smitten for you. Y/N- Yeah, things didn't work out. We both were too busy with work. In actuality, when we finally got close after months of talking and the first time we had sex I moaned out Max's name. He left immediately. I wasn't about to tell Max this. It would ruin everything, I believe. Max- What were you doing? Y/N- Editing that ass's book. Max- You know maybe, you should leave some blunders, not the most obvious ones but one's that would make him look stupid. Y/N- I wish Max, he pays me a shit ton to do my job. (I laughed bitterly) It's fine, honestly. I'll be done soon and I'll never have to see him again, hopefully, fingers crossed. Max- I hope so too. Y/N- Max, you should date someone. Instead of worrying about me. I've never seen you date anyone in all the years I've known you. Max- ahh, yeah, I'm too busy with work to do that. Y/N- If we lived closer, I would've set you up with someone. That someone being me, but he doesn't need to know that. We haven't even met yet; we never even spoke about meeting each other honestly. Max scratched his neck, shaking his head. Max- I'm good, schat. You should find someone, maybe you'll stop being cranky. Y/N- I'm not cranky, at least not with you. Max let out a deep laugh. Max- Well, I've got to go. My sister's visiting. I'll talk to you later. Y/N- Sure, say hi to Victoria for me. Bye Maxie!! Max- bye Y/N.

Talking to Max always brightened up my mood. But since, Victoria's visiting, he won't be available to talk as often. That means I'm gonna have to spend all my free time scrolling through Instagram. It's all fun and games until I'm on hour 6 of some random video on Youtube. I spent the next couple of days cooped up in my home, just to enjoy waking up late. There were still a few months still summer break and I intended on enjoying them to the fullest.

School started way to soon for my liking. Max would send pictures of Jimmy and Sassy to cheer me up. It did cheer me up. Max travelled a lot for work, I've seen quite a few hotels and I think they are 5 star hotels. So, his work place is rich rich. I wish Max would hire me, I lamented, maybe then we might meet. I've thought about meeting him but he never showed any inkling that he would like to meet me. I wasn't about to seem desperate; I would probably jump him if I did. I mean he is single, so it's fine.

When the school started after spring break, I got handed a new author to help edit her work. I spoke to her and she was very nice to talk to. The book she was writing was based off a sport. On further questioning, she told me it was Formula One. I had heard about it when my city hosted a Formula E race a couple years ago. I don't remember much because I'm not sure if they held it again but what I can tell you is that traffic got so bad, I hated leaving the house for a couple of days. I don't really see the appeal of watching people go around in a circle in fast cars. I think I would panic if I found out how fast they drove. The author asked me to do some research on the topic. I was a good student and I wanted to be of help, so I decided to spend the next couple of hours going through Formula One and their rules.

There's something I have to clear up, I have a type of blindness bias. If I'm not interested in a topic, it would be like I live under a rock. Nothing could phase me and I couldn't care less. That's how I ended up on the wikipedia article of Lewis Hamilton, Micheal Schumacher and then current champion Max Verstappen. Schumacher and Hamilton were very good, reading about them made me awe struck. What really shocked me was a guy named Max Verstappen, who looked awfully like Maxie. I've stared at Maxie more than I would like to admit, so I'm sure they look alike. As I went through the article, my heart seemed to beat harder; not sure why. I felt like this was my Maxie however I believed that Maxie would've told me if he was a Formula One driver. I had to lay my doubts to rest, so I ended up on Youtube with the search bar reading Max Verstappen. My doubts laid to rest in a place I didn't want them to; Maxie was Max Verstappen. I could recognise that voice anywhere. He talked a lot, I could recognise his voice in a crowd of people or in my sleep. All my suspicions were cemented when I saw a picture of 2 cats who looked like Jimmy and Sassy and were called by the same name. My heart was ready to jump out of my chest. Max had lied to me; but was it really lying when I never prodded him for answers. Worst of all, he had a girlfriend and a kid. That's when I felt I was lied too. How could he not tell me? I would've genuinely been happy for him. We would've celebrated his 2 championship wins. My throat felt dry and my eyes wet.

Life wasn't fair when I've been trying to get my book published while my best friend, don't even know if I can call him that, is a 2 time world driver champion. He never even told me, while he has been in Formula One almost all our friendship and karting all his life. I felt the ground slipping from under my feet. Was I that unimportant to not share such a crucial part of his life or huge accomplishment in his life? Was I even his friend? All these questions raced through my mind, while tears streamed down my cheeks. The pillow wet from my tears when my phone rang. It was Max on the other line, and for the first time in 10 years I did not answer his calls even though it rang for a 4-5 times. He finally stopped after sending me a couple of worried messages; asking how I was and where I was?

[Max was freaking out. Y/N never missed his calls, no matter the time or place. Worst of all, she didn't even reply to his messages; not after 5 minutes or 10 minutes or 20 minutes. Max didn't know where she lived, he didn't know who to call, or who to ask about her. His hair was a mess, he was pacing the room so much so, that his girlfriend’s daughter asked him what happened. He couldn't tell them, no one knew of this secret internet friend he had. Who was he supposed to contact to file a missing person's report? He tried to calm himself down and think happy thoughts but all his thoughts were Y/N]

[buckyalpine]

Hi love ! I have a really fluffy request for you ! Bucky and reader are married and have a beautiful baby girl about 3-4 years old .But when they first met , Bucky and Reader where always bickering , seemingly hating each other. One day , Reader gets home from work to find her husband and daughter on the couch . She’s in her dad’s lap facing him while he’s telling her a story . She smiles at the image in front of her and moves closer to hear the story . The story is how her dad fell in love with her mom . And while she expected to hear about the day they both realized what they had wasn’t hate for each other but love , she heard a completely different story . One Bucky hasn’t told her about . He told his daughter about the first day her ever saw her mom . How the moment he looked at her smile he knew he was we head over heels and wanted to be the one to place all her smiles there . Reader starts sniffling and that’s when they both notice her and run towards her to attack her with hugs and kisses cause they think you’re sad . And then Bucky tells both of you the story of how he fell in love with his wife . Just enemies to lovers and a bunch of domestic fluff

THIS IS SO CUTE MY GOODNESS I've been so excited to get to this from the moment I saw it. Amazing. This is beautiful. I hope you see this my lovely, this request was from a while back, I’m so sorry I took so long to get to it

You smiled hearing your husbands soft voice carry through from the living room while you hung your coat in the closet. Your heart warmed at the sight you saw in the living room, your sweet baby looking wide eyed at your husband while he told her a story. Her attention was completely on him, she didn't even hear the door open or your footsteps. You cocked your head, wondering exactly how great this story was, raising your brow when you heard his next few words.

"And that's when I saw your mama"

Your baby squealed, clapping her hands hearing the entrance of her pretty mommy, scooting closer so she could hear every word. Bucky grinned, letting her crawl onto his lap, letting her get settled before continuing. You silently giggled to yourself, reminiscing about the way you and Bucky fell in love. You had always bickered, never agreeing on anything. You expected Bucky to tell your baby girl about how one day you both realized all the little arguments, disagreements and quarrels were because you were both too silly to realize you were both in love with each other. 

5 years ago

“You’re a fucking dumb ass” You hissed, glaring at the smug super soldier who had a cocky smirk on his face, unbothered that you looked like you were about to strangle him across the jet. 

“No need to flatter me princess-oh shi- 

You lurched from your seat, ready to tackle Bucky to the floor, only to be stopped by a large arm snaking around your waist, pulling you back. 

“Put me down Rogers” You growled while Steve chuckled, holding you to his side like a football. “Just let me have 5 minutes with him” 

“You’re both like school children” Steve held you in place while you huffed, wishing you could swing at Bucky’s jaw at least once but alas, it wasn’t your lucky day. 

There wasn’t a day where you and Bucky got along. It was like he was sent on this earth for the sole purpose of annoying you and it had been that was from the day you met. Every since you joined the team, Bucky made it his mission to critique you and annoy you in every way possible. Your fighting form, mission assignments, weapon choice, even the way you made your damn coffee was a problem for him. 

“I like my coffee black” 

“Well excuse me for not wanting to drink hot bitterness first thing in the morning” 

“Not a fan of hot bitterness, would be difficult to drink me, wouldn’t it” 

You threw your toast at Bucky’s head while he cackled, it wasn’t even 7 am yet and Bucky had trailed behind you, determined to start your morning off with his nagging. 

“You don’t even taste the coffee when you add milk and sugar” Bucky sassed, loving every minute of you getting more and more riled up with his side commentary, there was something about you when you got annoyed with him. 

His angry little bunny. 

It had been months of your back and forth, there wasn’t a single moment of peace where you both mutually agreed on something. 

“Will you fuck off” You deadpanned while Bucky corrected your fighting stance, moving your leg back and arms up. 

“Just shut up and fix your form” Maybe I should fuck you instead-what. Bucky flicked off the rogue thought that slipped into his mind as you shuffled, brushing against his body, his muscles tensed with how close you were to him. 

****

“Y/n!” Bucky shoved you out of the way, groaning when he felt the knife plunge into his side, dropping to his knees and falling onto the floor. 

“Bucky!” You ran to his side, killing off the hydra agent within seconds before Steve and Sam came to his aid, whisking him off to the jet. You ran behind them, your heart hammering out of your chest while they helped him strip off his tac gear to give him stiches. You took over, insisting the other two could finish up the mission while you took care of Bucky; there was no way you’d be able to focus on anything else anyway. Not when he was hurt. 

He groaned, lying down in pain but alert enough to see the way your eyes were glassy, worry etched on your face. You cut off the rest of his shirt, your breath hitching looking at all the dark bruises that littered his body, a few of those hits from shielding you. 

“Baby” Your voice was hardly a whisper, not even realizing what you’d just called him, trying to hold yourself together so you could take care of him. 

“Baby, huh?” Bucky smirking, wincing in pain while you applied pressure to his cut, stopping some of the bleeding before grabbing the med kit to stitch him up. “Can I finally be your baby now?” 

“This doesn’t change anything Barnes” You snorted, bringing him to lie down on your lap while the Jet took off, your hand softly stroking his hair. “I still hate you” you rolled your eyes, trying to look as annoyed as possible but on the inside your stomach was doing flips.

“You love me” Bucky smirked, his heart beating a little faster because deep down he wished it were true. He wished there were more to all your petty squabbles.

“Hm” You shook your head, a hint of a smile flashing across your face before collecting yourself again. “Maybe”

Bucky bit his lip, nodding, not trusting himself to respond to that, closing his eyes and falling asleep. 

Maybe.

Present 

That was the story you thought he was telling her. 

But that wasn't. 

You’d never heard this story. 

“The first day I ever saw your mama, I fell in love with her pretty smile, almost tripped on my own feet seeing her. Daddy was head over heels for her” 

Your daughter’s cheeks looked like they were going to burst, smiling so hard, her eyes wide with amazement.

“What did you do daddy, did you make mommy smile? Did she fall heels over head for you too?!” 

Bucky snorted, cuddling his baby close to his chest, kissing her chubby cheek. 

“Uh huh, I wanted to be the reason she always smiled. You know Uncle Steve brought her to uncle Tony’s house and as soon as she walked in the door, I thought she was a princess” 

“Mama’s pretty”

“Mhm, so pretty baby, I feel in love with all of her. Your mama was the kindest person I’ve ever met, she was always so sweet to daddy” 

“What did she do?”

“You know how daddy gets scary dreams sometimes?” 

“Uh huh” 

Bucky’s nightmares had improved significally but they didn’t disappear. Instead of hiding that side of him from your daughter, you had insisted on letting her learn about it. Bucky had hesitated but you didn’t want him to have to hide any part of himself. Your sweet girl was the most understanding, and Bucky was thankful every single day that his daughter knew all parts of him. 

“She’d make sure I was okay after, she’d check on me. She’s so smart and brave, when we go on missions, she’d take care of me, sometimes even uncle Steve, uncle Tony, uncle Sam, uncle Clint, aunty Nat”

“ALL OF THEM?!”

Bucky laughed, nodding while your baby grasped onto his shirt, fully engrossed in this story. 

“All of them. But she was the nicest to daddy”

“Did she give you lots of hugs?” 

“Sometimes even kisses”

“Daddyyy” Your daughter burst into a fit of giggles at the word kisses, nuzzling her face into his neck before pulling away with more questions. “So what did you do?!” 

You didn’t even realize you were sniffling until Bucky and your baby girl both turned to you wide eyed when they saw your tear streaked face. You knew Bucky loved you. There was no doubt you were both madly in love with each other but you never heard his side of how he felt about you. 

How he adored you from day one. 

All the silly little things he did to get your attention. 

How beautiful he found you. 

How much it meant to him when you made sure he was okay. 

Everything just made him fall hard for you all while you also fell in love with him. 

Bucky ran over to you while your little one padded behind him, attacking you in a flurry of hugs and kisses. 

“What’s wrong darling” Bucky cooed, wiping your tears away while you shook your head, scooping your baby in your arms. She kissed your face all over, grabbing your cheeks, concern etched on her face. 

“Why is mama sad”

“Mommy isn’t sad baby” Her face scrunched while you laughed, leaning against your husband as he kissed the top of your head. “I’m happy. I heard daddy telling you a story”

Bucky grinned while your babygirl nodded immediately, her tiny hand tugging on Bucky’s sleeve. 

“Daddy you didn’t finish!!!” 

“Sorry bubba” Bucky turned to you, his heart filled with butterflies, it didn’t matter that you had already been married for 4 years, he was forever head over heels in love with you, “You want to hear the story too, doll?” Bucky smiled, brining you to cuddle with him on the couch, your daughter snuggled against his chest again. 

“Tell us the story daddy!!” 

“It all started when uncle Steve had a plan...”

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[galaxiasgreen]

📚🐦‍🔥Stay With Me

Slow burn Garreth x F!Reader romcom-mystery [T-Rated, 5.6k words]

You don't meet his eye. "I've prepared you some questions, for this... tutorship." You unbuckle your satchel and take out not one, not two, but four rolls of parchment, one for each subject, and slide them across the table. "It's simple multiple-choice so I can figure out how much you know. It won't take you long to do." He stares at them, open-mouthed. "You've set me homework?"

Garreth Weasley is good at Potions… and not much else. You, a bookish, lonesome Ravenclaw with a weighted family secret, are good at everything… except Potions. Assigned together for a mutual tutorship, Garreth is sure he won’t meet anyone more boring.

But the potions lab isn’t the only place where sparks will fly.

Tropes: romance/ humour/ drama, slow burn, fluff, tutoring together, grumpy x sunshine, strangers-to-friends-to-lovers, pining, love triangle, dark secret, sworn off love, Everyone Can See It.

[read on AO3, read on Wattpad]

A/N: Just to note, in this story Garreth and others fought Ranrok with MC. Enjoy!

He calls you Prim, mostly because you hate it.

It's not a nickname Garreth gives you for fun (though make no mistake, he loves to tease you with it). No, it's a nickname that's descriptive, deriving from your most cardinal trait. Prim, because you are. Prim and proper and academically minded. Meanwhile he's never had an aptitude for learning, preferring the freedom of exploration over the rigid structure of curriculum.

On paper, you seem like a match made in hell – but in practice? Well, he's always up for a challenge.

He doesn't get to meet you, though, until the dawn of his sixth year, when easy classes and free periods for the exam-weary older students are over. He doesn't even meet you on the day he first hears of you.

Back then, you were merely an illicit suggestion.

"I'm worried about you, Garreth."

He sinks into the chair in Professor Weasley's office. He's been here so many times now it practically feels like a second home, mostly for, ahem, disciplinary reasons, but there are the rare moments when his aunt calls him in for a quick catch-up, tea and biscuits, sometimes to discuss family news – a great grand-uncle dying or one of his cousins announcing a betrothal.

When the professor called him in this time, two days into the term, he thought maybe his parents were expanding their gnome collection and she wanted him to advise against it (there is such a thing as too many gnomes, and it's any number more than zero). Or maybe his sister Clara needed help adjusting to the school – she's a first year now, after all.

So it's like the rug is yanked from under him when she asks about his grades.

"It's two days into the autumn term, Auntie," he says, not prepared to have this conversation so soon. "What's there to worry about? I haven't even had all my N.E.W.T. classes yet."

"That's exactly what I wanted to discuss with you. You have so much potential, Garreth. You are incredibly bright and passionate, and I know you are capable of so much, but your O.W.L. scores left a lot to be desired, and I worry that you won't be able to handle the workload this year."

"Don't know if you remember," he says airily, "but I practically saved Hogwarts—"

"Yes, yes, last year in the caverns below with your friends, I know, Garreth. I was there." Her lips bunch. "But no school-saving antics will boost your grades. Your heroics are the only reason you don't have to repeat your O.W.L.s, and you won't have such an opportunity this time around."

He drops his head on the back of the chair, groaning. Imagine stopping a whole goblin rebellion... and still having to write history essays. He literally made history.

"Your father suggested something I actually like," she says, drawing Garreth's eyes back down. "It seems you need some motivation, and I know you work well when you're with your friends. Therefore he suggested you pair with someone. A mutual tutorship, if you will."

"You want to give me a study buddy?"

"Yes! Oh, I do like that phrasing much better."

"You can phrase it any way you want. Still wipes."

"Garreth..."

"Come off it, Auntie. What are they gonna' do? Sit with me doing every piece of homework I have? And I didn't flop at everything. I got an Outstanding in Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"Which were your only top grades, half of which because Hecat saw fit to reward your capabilities against Ranrok last summer," she remarks shortly, taking a piece of parchment. "You don't need a study buddy for those subjects. You do, however, need one for History of Magic, Astronomy, Divination and," she stares meaningfully over the rim of her spectacles, "Transfiguration."

He grins sheepishly. "As it happens, I know someone who's great at it?"

She sighs, putting the parchment aside and dropping into her chair. "I know you want to become a potioneer, Garreth, but even the most famous potioneers are well-rounded individuals and excelled in subjects outside of their specialty. Look at Professor Sharp! He was an Auror!"

"Okay, I get it, I get it." All this talk depresses him – all this knowing that he's a problem depresses him. "I promise I did try. I just— find revising very hard and demotivating. And you know, the whole saving-the-world thing..."

Professor Weasley gives him the look.

"I made it to N.E.W.T. classes, didn't I? I'll try this year, I will. You don't have to get me a... study buddy."

"Oh, but I think I do, and as it were, I happen to know the perfect student to match with you. A very bright young lady one year your junior, a Ravenclaw. She excels in all her subjects" – she pauses – "except Potions."

"So you want me to teach her Potions," he clarifies, "and her to teach me everything else?"

"That's right."

"Doesn't seem fair."

"I think you'll find it will be." She makes a knowing face that he doesn't like. "So, what do you say? Want to give it a try?"

"... Can I say no?"

"No."

He sighs. "Brilliant."

His schedule's already packed with classes and homework, now that his education's ramped up for sixth year, and he mulls on the extra work a mutual tutorship will bring for the next few days. Explaining it is even more difficult, when he has to tell Leander he's missing Quidditch for this.

"A study buddy?" he scoffs, as they lounge in the Gryffindor common room after classes that day. "Sounds right horrid."

"Tell me about it."

"Who're you pairing with? Do you know?"

"No idea. A Ravenclaw in the year below, apparently."

"A younger swot? Merlin's pelvis, couldn't she have put you with, I don't know, Amit? Or Everett? If she wanted a Ravenclaw?"

Garreth slouches. The sofas are so comfortable he doesn't want to move. "Bet she knew if she put me with either of them we'd get no work done, Everett because he'd be too busy trying to prank me, Amit because he'd be wasting time describing irrelevant extra stuff."

"Oh, no," Leander panics suddenly, "if this works then she might start doing it to all of us. I don't want a study buddy!"

"Relax. It's only because I'm her nephew that she's testing it with me."

He's sure his aunt wouldn't care quite so much if the same blood didn't run through their veins. After all, she has no children of her own – so Garreth and his sister are the closest she'll get. All her motherly affection, and motherly reprimand too, goes to them.

So when he gets the owl on Sunday afternoon to meet promptly in the library during lunch the next day, he sucks in his gut and resolves to at least try and have fun with it. He likes meeting new people, even if he doesn't like the circumstances – maybe he'll get along with the new Ravenclaw. Maybe they won't be as boring as he suspects.

He heads to the library the next day – late, mind, because he didn't particularly feel like rushing from Charms – and spots Professor Weasley waiting by the front desk.

That's the first time he sets his eyes on you.

Waiting placidly at his aunt's side, you're perfectly put together, not a hair out of place. Your waistcoat is straight, your long skirt starched, your shirt tucked in and top button done. You hold your books in your hand – because of course you do – and the satchel draped over your shoulder bulges with more of them.

You're the picture of a prim Ravenclaw student.

And it fills him with misery.

"Hello, hello," he says to you both, "sorry I'm late." Not.

You purse your lips, like you can detect his lie, but say nothing as his aunt gives him an admonishing glare. "That you are, Garreth. Did I not say you were to be prompt?"

"I grabbed some extra parchment, Professor," he makes sure to use her epithet in the presence of other students, "because I didn't know if I would need it."

By the way her brow loosens, it was a good lie. "All right. Come along, I've reserved a table for you both."

He decides to introduce himself to you on the way upstairs. "Nice to meet you."

You introduce yourself as well, but it's clear by your aloof eyes that you were also roped into this arrangement. "Nice to meet you as well," you repeat awkwardly, voice high with tension.

Turns out, Professor Weasley reserved an entire table, right at the back of the top floor. It seems unnecessary, the isolation, how you've obviously been coerced.

"Now, your proper sessions will take place after classes finish for the day, so for now I believe getting to know one another's style of learning would be most prudent." Professor Weasley ushers you to two seats next to each other. "I'll be sitting over there to keep an eye on you. Madam Scribner has given you both permission to have a quiet chat, so why not break the ice?"

It feels so forced Garreth would prefer to get a Howler right now, but under his aunt's stringent gaze, he plops onto the chair and tosses his bag under the seat. You draw out the seat gracefully, fold yourself upon it, and gently place your satchel, then books, on the table. There is method, he realises, to your movements.

"So..." he claps his hand awkwardly. "Where are you from?"

You clam up immediately, and he doesn't know why that's the wrong thing to ask, but he backtracks.

"Sorry, I mean – you know, where do you live?"

Your frown is still pronounced, but some relief breaths free. "London. You?"

"Devon."

"Right. I've never been there."

"It's nice. Except in the winter. Then the sea air is like murder."

Silence. He has a feeling he'll have to nudge all conversations, which is simply brilliant.

"Have any family?"

"Just my parents. They— they used to live in Asia, before coming here." You shift. "You? I mean, besides the professor."

"How much time do you have?" When you don't answer, he tugs his collar. Tough crowd. "Er, I have a younger sister. Clara, she's called. She's just started her first year. Little menace. Was hoping she wouldn't be Sorted into Gryffindor, but I guess it runs in the Weasley blood. Then there's my cousins, but there's so many that if I named them all you'd miss all your afternoon classes. Hey, maybe that wouldn't be a bad thing?"

You don't even crack a smile. This will be a long, painful conversation.

"Why don't we get started then?" he suggests instead, because the faster he does this, the faster he can leave. "I mean, discussing what we're meant to be, er, learning together? Shouldn't take very long for you if you're only failing Potions."

Your cheeks bloat. "I'm not failing. I just... need a little boost."

Touchy. Okay.

"Well, I'm not afraid to admit I'm failing."

"Yes," you say, and you list on your fingers as you go. "Transfiguration, History of Magic, Divination, and Astronomy. That's four subjects."

"Hey, last year it was five, but luckily I managed to wrangle a Kneazle before it bit Professor Howin, so she bumped up my grade." He's still quite proud of that moment. You make an unimpressed face. "What? You should be grateful we don't have collect Flobberworm mucus together."

"Okay, well, I've prepared you some tasks to complete."

His amusement drains like pus from a Bubotuber.

"What."

It's a statement of disbelief so sheer he doesn't even accompany it with the tonal flick of a question.

You don't meet his eye. "I've prepared you some questions, for this... tutorship." You unbuckle your satchel and take out not one, not two, but four rolls of parchment, one for each subject, and slide them across the table. "It's simple multiple-choice so I can figure out how much you know. It won't take you long to do."

He stares at them, open-mouthed.

"You've set me homework?"

"It's not homework."

"It's work that I have to do in my own time. It's homework."

Your lip curls in displeasure. "Like I said, if I'm going to tutor you, I need to know how much you already know. Then I can incorporate it into my lesson plan."

"Your lesson plan?"

"How else are we going to know what to cover per session?" you ask, bewildered. "You must have something planned for me, right?"

Of course he doesn't. He was just going to give you potions to brew and point out where you'd gone wrong. He rakes a hand through his hair, thinking about whether he could get away pretending to have a stomach/ head/ knee/ butt ache.

"If you don't want to do it later," you say, "you can do it now. Then I can be prepared for our first official session."

How about I run and never look back? With his aunt's watchful gaze on his back, he reluctantly unfurls the first scroll. Transfiguration. You hand him a quill and inkwell and he surfs through, ticking the answers he thinks are right.

"You're not even reading the questions."

"Am too."

"Glancing your eyes over words isn't the same as reading."

Oh, Merlin, you will be the death of him. Sniffing indignantly, he slows down, actually taking time to read the questions. How many exceptions are there to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration? He tries the rest, though not very hard, because just reading this stupid parchment has left him perplexed, and hands the scroll to you when he finishes.

He's halfway through puzzling when Geminis are born for the Divination quiz – he guesses February – before you roll his parchment up again.

"So? What's the verdict?"

You can't control the grimace on your face, and it's all he needs to know.

He's a total shambles. A failure.

"It's not— unsalvageable," you say hastily, your expression flattening. "But we have a lot of work to do."

He drops his head onto the table so loudly Madam Scribner yells "SSSHHH!" from the floor below.

When he's completed all your scrolls and falsely promises to make a list of things for your Potions O.W.L.s, you collect your belongings, slotting each book and scroll into its rightful place in your bag, give a quick word to his aunt in thanks and leave without goodbye. The whole exchange was about twenty minutes but to Garreth felt like twenty years. He tromps up to Professor Weasley in utter disbelief – and despairs in the way her grin unfurls.

"I told you it would be a fair exchange."

"She's made me homework, Auntie!"

"SSSHHH!" Scribner yells.

"Sorry!" he squeaks over the bannister. "Homework, Auntie. And— lesson plans. She told me I was practically unsalvageable!"

"I definitely heard not unsalvageable, Garreth."

"You can't be serious with this girl."

But Professor Weasley simply pets his shoulder.

"Your future is at stake here, Garreth. It's about time you start taking it seriously. She will help you. You will help each other."

But he really doubts it.

He waits for you outside of the Ravenclaw common room entrance for your first session later that week.

Dread roils through him as he leans against the bannister. Two hours of this, thrice a week, when he could be doing literally anything else. Quidditch has started again – which his aunt has barred him from playing due to his grades – but he could at least watch the Gryffindors practice, watch Leander and Eric Northcott toss Quaffles between them.

He's never had a mind for anything that doesn't interest him. History, divining the stars – both approaches. Even turning butterflies into bells doesn't capture his attention the same way potions do. There's just something about the way you can play loose and fast with the rules, with the ingredients, with the measurements, with the method, that delights his curiosity.

He wiggles his arm so it doesn't go to sleep. He's been to the Ravenclaw common room a few times, usually with Amit – for when they need to get back at Everett for catching them with a dungbomb. Unfortunately it means he's well acquainted with the eagle knocker.

"Honestly, Mr Weasley," it enunciates with that high and mighty tone, "if you sulk any harder and your expression will stick permanently to your face."

"Know from experience, do you?"

It doesn't bother to grace that with a response.

"What quandary plagues you so?"

"I'm doing a study buddy programme."

The knocker toots – literally, like a trumpet. "Hundreds of years I have guarded this tower, and never have I heard something so funny!"

"You could be more sympathetic."

"For the boy who thought it would be funny to tickle my nose with a feather when I was asleep? I think not!"

"I didn't think you had a nose!"

The door swings open then, and you step out. Prim, proper, picturesque. You startle at the sight of him.

"I thought we were to meet in the library."

"I was passing by, thought I'd come up and walk with you."

Suspicion flutters through your eyes. "Why?"

"What do you mean, why?"

"Why would you want to walk with me?"

He blinks. Is he being stupid, or has he missed something? "Er, because it's a nice thing to do, and if I have to waste six hours of my life on this mutual tutorship every week then I should at least get to know you better."

"I see."

Something not quite as strong as displeasure edges your voice, but you fall into step with him – not missing the way he makes a rude face at the knocker on the way downstairs.

"Look, I'll be honest," he begins, "I don't like this arrangement any more than you do, but I'm naturally pre-disposed to not taking anything too seriously, so even if we have to endure revision together, we can at least try to have a good time with it. Sound fair?"

You don't answer immediately. "What's the catch?"

"What? No catch. I just don't want to be totally glum each time I see you."

Something flashes across your expression, but it's too fleeting to identify it. "All right, that's... understandable."

"Great."

Conversation is stilted, however, even when you get to the library. You don't immediately warm to him, which is odd, because he's very used to people immediately falling for his magnanimous charms. You pull out your notebook – a timetable neatly journaled into the opening page – as he dumps out his parchment and quills.

"Since our sessions cover six hours per week," you say, "I thought we could work on your subjects for four of them, and then two hours on Potions for me."

"Right, fine." Sounds positively wretched. "My aunt's got Sharp's permission to use the potions laboratory this Friday, so I guess we can do it then."

"The potions laboratory?"

"Yeah. What? Did you think we could do Potions work without... potions?"

"Shouldn't we focus on the written portion?"

He frowns. "The written portion of the Potions O.W.L. is tiny. Like, miniscule. And boring."

You draw yourself up. "I don't find it boring. The essays are the best part."

Oh dear Merlin. "Well, sorry to disappoint you, but the majority of your Potions O.W.L. depends on actual potion-making." He grins. "Why? Scared, are you?"

"Why would I be scared?"

"You seem keen not to do it. Don't tell me you have some tragic backstory involving an exploding cauldron."

"No," you grind out. "I just... don't have a natural affinity for it like I do all my other subjects."

"That must've been really hard for you to accept."

He's teasing, but your face sours. Wow, you really are a tough crowd.

"Let's start. History of Magic."

This is one of those subjects he needs to know for his career choice – potioneers are expected to understand the history behind advancements in potion-making, after all – but Professor Binns makes it near-impossible to derive any sort of interest in the subject. The first topic of the year, the disbandment of the Wizards' Council in 1707, is already so dull Garreth can feel himself melting into the floor the moment the ghost opens his mouth.

"Now, I've already started the essay about the tumult of the Ministry of Magic's early years." You pull out a roll of parchment. "If we compare the key argument points—"

"Wait," he says, holding up his hand, "what do you mean, you've started the essay?"

"The essay that Binns set."

"You're doing N.E.W.T. level classes?"

"I'm doing N.E.W.T. level homework," you correct. "The professors assign it to me and I work on it with my regular homework."

"How do you have time to eat? Or sleep?"

You shrug. It's all so easy to you. You probably dream of your textbooks. It's so boggling.

"As I was saying," you continue, "we ought to start by comparing the points we've both made for the essay."

He just can't fathom it. Is there any point getting to know you when your spare time is dedicated to nothing but grades and studying? How can anyone be so academically good at (almost) everything, take on extra work, agree to tutor a frankly hopeless student... and still find time to enjoy other things?

"Right, yes, comparing essay points," he mumbles. "Sounds good."

Then again, he thinks, when neither of you move, and your eyes begin to narrow, you don't seem like the type of person to enjoy anything.

"You haven't started the essay yet, have you?"

"... Does a sphinx speak in riddles?"

You groan.

The first Potions session that Friday is a fun one – because now he gets to test you, watch you squirm and sweat. After the painful four hours together, scribbling theory for Divination and star charts for Astronomy, it's finally time to show what he can do. You're always so put together, so  he wants to see how bad you are, see what it is that justifies asking for his help in the first place.

Professor Sharp is waiting in the potions laboratory when you both arrive, seated at his desk marking homework.

Garreth grins. "All right, Professor?"

His expression curdles exponentially. "I trust I don't have to keep one eye on you for the entire two hours, Mr Weasley?"

"'Course not, sir. I'm only here to supervise my charge. In fact, you could say I'm the professor here."

"That doesn't fill me with much more confidence," Sharp mutters, then flicks his quill. "I've prepared the one on the left. Work quietly, please."

You seem nonplussed when Garreth steers you to the potions station. "Do you have a... reputation?"

"Don't know what you mean."

"You must do, by the professor's tone. You're a— miscreant."

"I'm a creative," he corrects. "Professor Sharp just doesn't appreciate my artistry."

"I can hear you, Mr Weasley."

"See? No appreciation whatsoever."

He gave you a list of ingredients to bring, and as he lights the fire beneath the cauldron, you sort them on the table – a bezoar in a mortar, mistletoe berries tied together with twine, Mooncalf tears in a phial. He notices you spend an inordinate amount of time placing them in neat, agreeable piles, rather than, you know, starting the actual potion-making, and he tucks this information away.

"Right, so, today I thought you could brew the antidote to common poisons."

"Antidote," you say stiffly. "Common poisons."

"That's what I said."

"Isn't that a third year subject?"

"It is." He smiles devilishly. "But we're going to do it with a twist."

Your brow furrows. "You're supposed to teach me relevant things, Garreth."

"You'll be lucky I'm not adding my own spin on it. No, just a simple improvement to up the ante. We're going make sure our potion can also act as an antidote to spider venom."

"Spider venom?" Your hand reaches for the textbook, but Garreth palms it away. "But— I need the recipe."

"You won't get the full recipe in your O.W.L. exams. You only get a list of ingredients and vague instructions. But it's better to learn by doing, and you will be expected to understand how the property of each ingredient affects the potion." He gestures. "Shall we begin?"

Your lips are flat as you fill the cauldron with standard potioning water – two pints of it, until it bubbles nicely over the flames. You know the first step by heart, which is to crush the bezoar into a fine powder and add four measures. Good start. With each of his thorough explanations, you fidget, uncomfortable.

"Why not just feed someone a bezoar? It works, doesn't it?"

"Why do we extract essence of dittany instead of just nibbling on the stem? Because combined with other ingredients the potion is more powerful. A bezoar wouldn't work against more virulent spider venom on its own, but it will in the potion we're brewing, because its healing properties are enhanced. Also, have you tried shoving that whole thing in your gob? Tastes rank."

"Wait," you say suddenly. "I need to write this down."

"The tastes rank part, or shoving in your gob part?"

You ignore him, grabbing your quill and scribbling furiously.

"Watch your cauldron. It's bubbling over."

You squeak, dropping the quill and stirring. A sheen of sweat coats your forehead, which is pretty hilarious. You've only just started.

"What's the next step?" he asks.

Your eyes skim the ingredients, frantic. "Erm... Mooncalf tears?"

"Try again." When you grimace, he says, "Begins with Stuh. Ends with andard ingredient."

You glare at him. "This doesn't make sense. Why add that now?"

"It's a stabilising agent. It emulsifies the ingredients together."

"Like eggs in a cake," you murmur, which surprises him. "But we've only added the bezoar to the water. What's there to stabilise?"

"Bezoars don't dissolve in water, and this will help the ingredients we add next."

He can see your frustration. Suddenly it makes sense why you hate Potions so much. You don't understand the science behind it – ironic, for someone who seems so methodical, and so proficient at other more technical subjects like Transfiguration. You pour the herbs into the brew, watching cautiously as the liquid thickens and changes colour from grimy brown to forest green, and notes of saltiness waft into the air.

"Good." The potion isn't looking too bad – maybe a little too green, but not unworkable. "Now, what next?"

"... Mooncalf tears?"

"Nope. You need to desaturate the brew."

"So turn up the heat?" He gives a firm nod. "For how long?"

"Well, you've added standard ingredient, which acts as a thickening agent already, and bezoar powder burns easily, even in water. Do you think much heat should be applied?"

"... Maybe?"

"Bet your examiner would love that answer."

You scowl. "Just tell me."

"Bring it to simmer," he instructs. "But only for a few minutes. For the aforementioned reasons."

After you write this down, you nudge another piece of wood into the fire pit below, then adjust the knob for heat. After a few moments, the bubbles pop ferociously on the surface. He watches you watching it, transfixed, eyebrows sloping in intense concentration. It's clear you desperately want this to work – but something holds you back, whether it's just disinterest in the subject or not. You lower the heat after three minutes, leaning back.

"Now do we add the Mooncalf tears?"

He laughs. "Merlin's beard, you're desperate to get those tears in. No, now you wave your wand and let it stew. Do you know for how long?"

"I remember this," you say. "It was about thirty minutes."

"Are you sure?"

"Well now I'm not."

His grin only grows. "What type of cauldron are you using?"

"Pewter."

"How will that affect the time?"

"Isn't pewter less conducive of magical properties than the others, and therefore makes brewing time slower?"

"I don't know. Is it?"

"Garreth."

"Yes, you're right," he says. "You're a right laugh, you know."

"You're not," you remark tersely. "So it stews for more time then?"

"Probably about forty-five minutes, though I reckon with how you bunged all the standard ingredient in, it'll probably need a few minutes more. We'll eyeball it."

You squeak. "We can't— eyeball it!"

"'Course we can. When it's reduced enough, we'll take it off the heat."

Still, it's about a fifty-minute wait, and unfortunately you decide to get him back for all the fun he's having by asking how his History of Magic essay is going (... it's not). Even Professor Sharp laughs when he stumps at the first bullet point.

When the fifty minutes slog by (and they do slog – probably because Garreth dies a little with each legislative policy he has to know by name), you check the potion again. The water has boiled down to a gooey liquid, half the size it was before, and the colour has deepened.

"Now you have ground unicorn horn to add. This is where it gets interesting." His voice dances with glee, but you look like you'd rather get punched in the face. "The recipe for the regular antidote calls for a pinch of unicorn horn, then two clockwise stirs. But to work against a more potent poison like spider venom, you need at least two pinches, and double the number of stirs, to let everything combine."

You hunch over your unicorn horn powder. "Are you sure this isn't one of your creative exploits?"

"Hand on heart, this is all by-the-book," he says, then calls out, "In fact, I should really get some house points for it!"

"Don't hold your breath," Sharp calls back.

Garreth winks at you. "Worth a try, right?"

Your brow drops in exasperation.

Still, you follow his next instructions carefully. Two pinches of unicorn horn powder, then four stirs of the cauldron, and it hisses and pops as the powder melts into the solution. Finally you add two mistletoe berries, careful to keep the toxic leaves away, and wave your wand to finish. It's as expected – not bad for someone who claims to struggle at the subject, though he had to coach you through most of it.

"So... how do we know if the potion works?"

"Funny you should ask." Garreth reaches for his bag. "I have a spider I keep in a jar—"

You scrabble away at once. "What?" you shriek – it's the first explosive emotion he's seen from you. "No, no, no—"

"Merlin, that was a joke! 'Course I don't have a spider in my bag!"

Your shoulders drop. Your expression storms.

"Not. Funny."

But he giggles. "Come on. That was kind of funny."

"You really are a miscreant."

"Not a fan of spiders, are you?"

"They're detestable." You shudder, crossing your arms. "I don't know how anyone can stand the creatures."

"I think they're kind of cute. You know, in an ugly sort of way."

You step back to the station, gesturing with your chin to the potion again. "So? How do you know if we succeeded?"

"Colour, consistency, smell. Is it teal? Yes. Is it thick, and the bottom of the cauldron is only visible when you scrape it with a spoon? Yes. Does it smell like Graphorn dung?" He sniffs. Winces. "Oh yeah."

"How do you know what Graphorn dung smells like?"

"You don't want to know." (It involved Everett, naturally.) "So, with all those factors, we can safely say the potion was a resounding success. Huzzah!"

Yet you don't seem particularly pleased. He's not sure why, given that his aunt implied you were so poor at the subject even a mediocre brew was unthinkable. But maybe your bar to success is much higher than his. He helped you a lot, after all – maybe you'll only consider these tutoring sessions a win if you manage to brew an entire potion by yourself, without his ogling over your shoulder. Without someone literally telling you what to do.

And if that's what you want, okay. He's happy to help. The quicker you pick up these potions lessons, the quicker he is freed of your prickly company.

"Wait," you say suddenly, "what were the Mooncalf tears for?"

"Oh, those?" He chuckles. "They're not for anything. They're just to bamboozle you."

Your glare is potent enough to set him on fire.

"I am trying to learn here, and you fooling around is not helping."

"Who says this isn't helping? You'll never forget Mooncalf tears aren't in the antidote now, will you?"

"But— that's—!" You let out a groan. "You're being insufferable."

He just laughs harder. "You're so prim, it's hilarious."

"If wanting to learn things the proper way makes me prim, so be it."

"The proper way? Oh ho ho, no. There's no proper way."

"Written study is the proper way."

He leans on the potions station, grinning villainously. "Then I'll prove to you that it's not all about textbooks and words on a page. You're going to learn so hard you won't know what hit you. You'll see."

Your raise your chin, derision clear.

"Very well then, Garreth."

"All righty then, Prim."

He sees how it digs. "What? Don't— don't call me that!"

"Only calling you what you are, Prim."

When the session ends, he agrees to start that essay – or at least think about starting it – and you agree to review your notes for the antidote, but no matter how many times you remind him of your real name, he teases you with the moniker until you part ways. Unfortunately for you, insufferable doesn't quite have the same ring to it, and you wouldn't dare deign to his level of immaturity.

So at the end of the first week, you still call him Garreth.

And he calls you Prim.

[Next chapter coming soon] <3 [Divider credit, gorgeous art by Lyworth]

[schoolhater]

it is election day. i wrote a little essay to share with my IRLs who can't fathom why i might want to abstain from participating in the bloodshed by putting holocaust harris in power, or giving the transpbobic and anti-abortion green party federal campaign money. i've reposted the entire thing under the cut for anyone who wants to read.

but before i begin: donate to mohammed al-habil. he is recovering from surgery, his little sister is chronically ill. the genocide ruined his senior year of high school. it’s his birthday today. he should be celebrating and instead he’s begging on an internet full of people trying to justify the continued destruction of his entire people.

learn more + donate

i keep hearing from people defending their choice to vote for the genocider that even though the democrats are bad, the republicans are worse. or that this election is the most important one. i often see trolley problems that declare that the *only* people who would suffer under the democrats would be palestine, and, because *americans* would suffer under the republicans, we have to put aside our grievances about the potentially-three-hundred-thousand-and-thiry-five people who have been murdered in the past thirteen months and offer our full support to the person who did it.

nearly every time settler colonialism has occurred in history, the first wave of settlers is some vulnerable yet radicalized population who believes they will achieve prosperity in the new world. the uae-backed rsf is establishing settlements using refugees from other african countries in southeast sudan right now. the first wave of israeli settlers were poor. even herzl planned this in the 1890s, in 'the jewish state' he writes that the first wave of settlers should be poor farm workers. and now, the modern settlers in the illegally occupied west bank live in and they are the most radicalized most. despite facing extreme racism within israel, arab israeli settlers are among the most radical zionists. the first settlers in america were poor and tired religious extremists from britain. when they came here they didn't have shit except the military backing of the empire and the carte blanche to commit massacres of indigenous people.

imperialism needs these vulnerable people. it needs to funnel the oppressed populations it creates back into the machine to enact further violence. these people are effective cannon fodder against the indigenous population. they are vulnerable enough that they cannot resist, but their lives are comfortable enough thanks to subsidized housing and special treatment that they begin to identify wholly with the imperialist entity, so they don't even want to. if you're stuck thinking 'well, of course kamala and trump are the same to palestine, but trump will be worse for us!' you've taken the bait. that's exactly the kind of attitude that is allowing this genocide to happen right now. do you know why the usa gives subsidized healthcare to israelis? why we give so many benefits to veterans? why do thousands of people risk their entire lives to come here after we destroy their countries? the usa wants to recruit you into participating in the genocide of gaza so you never oppose it, because it would mean opposing yourself.

even kamala harris knows this. multiple times she's repeated some version of "sure people care about the genocide, but they also care about the price of eggs" as if these things are remotely comparable. because to her supporters, they are. to americans, the rest of the world does not even exist.

i said this on my instagram story and i'll say it again - we understand that the israeli elections are just a performance of democracy to pacify criticism of a violent genocidal apartheid system. none of us would really care if netanyahu stepped down tomorrow because we would see the bombings continue. well, america is the world's "israel"! to the rest of the world, america is that attack dog that only ever brings death and suffering. and regardless of which party is in charge, that doesn't change. and the democrats arent even hiding it anymore.

what the discourse around this election and seeing so many people i once respected voting for the genocide has taught me is that there is no red line for the majority of americans. we are the most self centered, narrow minded, backstabbing group of settlers on this earth. we have seen the terrorist organization that occupies the land we live on fund 70% of the most vile horrific crimes against humanity - the most nightmare inducing rapes, tortures, kidnappings, incarcerations, concentration camps, people being burned alive, people being ripped apart, rendered unrecognizable as human bodies, literally vaporized, killing over three hundred thousand people over thirteen months - and we still want the entities that did all this to exist tomorrow. we want to invest into a future in which all of this still exists.

and when asked to stop, we will threaten to do worse. a greater evil is imagined.

what does this make us?

....

i refuse to participate in this bullshit even to support a third party candidate. i refuse to be bought. i refuse to invest my time and energy into an institution that kills children. i don’t care who runs it.

i wanted to push back against this idea before the polls close as a sort of last ditch effort to be heard. i am not being heard right now. i have gotten into way too many arguments with people i once respected over why voting in favor of a genocide might not be the best idea. and every time i am met with utter disrespect - i am not treated as a person with a political perspective based on my experiences and learning, i am treated like an idiot. and the people voting for genocide are pragmatists, somehow. in lieu of a reason to disagree with me they resort to belittlement. i feel betrayed. i hope this rant changes some minds; if not, let it explain why i treat you differently now.

[gabessquishytum]

i keep typing out asks to send you but stop working part way through 😔 so instead of letting them sit in my google docs, i'm just gonna send what i've written and just summarize what i wanted the rest to be 🙃

so. here's one of them lmao

---------

loosely inspired by Abigail (2024)

---

Hob is a reformed criminal, ok; he got out of that life when he met Eleanor and created a new life for himself when they married, identity and all. He didn't want any children they had to have to deal with any of that. He was even going to school to become a teacher.

And then Eleanor died and Robyn was taken and now Hob is being forced back into that life to get him back.

It's a kidnapping job, some rich fuck, with a large payout and Hob doesn't fucking care, he just wants his son back.

When he sees it's a 12 year old boy who's scared out of his mind, though, that's when he snaps.

He can't do anything, not yet, not when they- whoever they are, he still isn't sure- still have Robyn. All he can do right now is wait and protect the boy.

--

so it eventually gets revealed that the kids name is Orpheus, that his father is Dream (who's known to be incredibly dangerous, there are stories about him, most of which Hob doesn't believe because hello, vampires aren't real!!!)

except Hob gets proven wrong when Orpheus gets scared (and hungry) enough (he's just a baby!!!) and starts killing off his abductors. he only leaves Hob alone because he was nice to him and confided in Orpheus about his son.

Dream finally shows up at the end of the bloodbath (he was out of the country or something, idk lmao) with Robyn, who had been taken by Burgess (he wanted to force Dream into turning him and that's where Dream thought Orpheus was at first) and is all "you protected my son in the end and ur hot, i'm gonna turn you and make you my bride :)"

and Hob is like "!!! I don't want to get murdered if I say no so I guess I don't have a choice!!!"

and so Hob gets turned, he and Dream are now vampire married and fuck often, and Robyn and Orpheus bond over having weird dads (and when he's old enough, Robyn chooses to be turned as well; no way was Hob gonna make him go through puberty AND deal with being a vampire) (really Hob just didn't want to deal with the angst that came from it all, it's like the normal teenage angst bullshit got doubled and he was NOT doing it, thank you very much) (Orpheus was bad enough, and he was a born vampire; he definitely got the dramatics from his father)

Awww so cute! I remember the trailers for Abigail and thinking that the young lil vampire killing people was a cool concept.

I think the vampire family with Dream and Orpheus and Hob and Robyn would be so cute 🥺 like they live in a big spooky chateau with lots of vampire servants (who are also their friends tbh. Cori is their terrible terrible butler and Matthew is meant to be a valet but hes honestly just Dream’s weird friend at this point) and they go on hunts to kill bad people and eat them, and sometimes they go into town and do normal human things (Dream is really not very good at pretending to be human, but it makes Hob and the kids laugh a lot to see him try). Of course Dream hosts fancy vampire balls sometimes, and persuades Hob to get all dressed up in flowing red ballgowns because they're vampire married and Dream wants to show off his bride to everyone!!!

Orpheus and Robyn have to get Matthew to help them in solidly soundproofing their bedrooms because their dads are having NASTY sex every night. Orpheus has it worse because he has super vampire hearing - he did NOT want to know about his dad and step-dad's kinky strapped to an altar drinking each other's blood sex. But he gets his revenge eventually with a fellow vampire called Eurydice when they fuck on Dream’s favourite red velvet couch. DEFINITELY dramatic just like his father, honestly.

But next time someone tries to kidnap literally anyone in the Endless-Gadling family, they're in for a big surprise. Dream and Hob are protective of their baby boys, and Orpheus and Robyn are soon fully grown vampires ready to protect their dads. They really are the cutest family! As long as you're not squeamish!

[kaypeace21]

[The future of this BLOG]: SHOWS I'm planning on analyzing here & on YouTube

Interview with the vampire

Invincible

House of the dragon

The boys

Umbrella acadamy

Bridgerton probably (still haven't had time to watch part 2 yet)

stranger things: I have mixed feelings about reviewing it given what certain staff has said and done. I oscilate between wanting to review the final season or wanting to boycott it (especially as someone who has been part of the BDS movement for 1/2 her life). But, on one hand, It's not the fault of the underpaid (and talented) writers and staff who don't have these views. And I do believe some of the writing staff may have good intentions and want to give us a positive and powerful message to the audience about healing from childhood tr*uma. However, other members of the writing staff may just want to go down the stereotypical and popular-easy route. We'll just have to wait and see what happens in the last season. If I hear the ending isn't simply another re-hashing of prior seasons and it's more like s1-2 (without the cliches of s3-4). I'd be more inclined to review it by *cough* and watching it elsewhere. Once I was logged back on to tumblr: I did have a whole draft saved about my politics since I was a kid and why I still feel so strongly about such conflicts, today . But, I shouldn't make the topic about me- and I'm not sure anyone wants to hear my life story XD. So, the big point (to my followers) is regardless of whether I chose to watch it or boycot it-

I'm not deleting the old ST content: so do what you want with it (like, reblog, add details to reblogs I didn't notice). Have fun :D !

Analyzing ST certainly helped me improve in terms of media literacy (and it'll be beneficial for the future content I make). So even if it sometimes got messy here, I do appreciate all the positives the ST blog and followers brought to me.The kind words meant a lot. For those who want to unfollow me for my political beliefs , that's totally fine. That's your prerogative. For those who want to unfollow cause again ST was pretty much my whole blog: again I TOTALLY understand and I wish you the best :). I'm not going to judge, take away, or guilt anyone, for their choice of media they like. Enjoy it (I truly mean that).

For those who continue to follow my blog . I appreciate you SO MUCH! I've been gone from this blog for such a long time cause of school (and I appreciate those who stayed and were excited to see me again). The positive words meant a lot over the years. Everyone have a lovely day. Take care of yourselves.

Sincerely, Kay

ps: I'm open to other media suggestions too so you can drop them in my message box (recent films/ shows, mini/limited series, animation, heck i'm open to comedies and foreign media too).But, analyzing them will most likely be after the shows listed above .Right now I'm focusing on my national exam and my mental health. My first video will probably be in late August or early September. My test is August 20th. Hope everyone is doing well .I'm feeling much better mentally. Hope everyone is feeling the same way :)

for my 1st video I’ll just post it to youtube . But for other videos I may make a early access patreon (like a week before the next video comes out free on youtube). Have to google how all that works (or if there's better alternatives) . Totally fine if you can't afford it (you'll get to see it for free on youtube regardless :D) . I'll be honest . I'm primarily thinking of doing it cause I need to pay off those student loans and I'm trying to hopefully move out of state in a few years. Plus, I love analyzing media anyways (so making it a part time job would be a dream come true .

[cheegu3]

Enhypen - the glory (part 5)

summary; after rejecting one of the most popular boys at your new school, you soon realised that you'd done the gravest mistake of your life; these weren't ordinary boys, and now they were set on making your life a living hell - heavily based on the kdrama with the same name

warnings; yandere, bullying, swearing, alcohol, hospital scene, mentions of murder & suicide, affair

genre; yandere

wc; 4.8k

pairing; enha x f.m reader

note; this is more of a chill chapter, we get someone's backstory :D but yeah u won't be as stressed after as the last chapter lmao, also I've changed the narrating a little based on this poll I did, if everyone hates it I will change it lol, but I felt it added a little more flavour ??? to the characters.

masterlist

The sound of the phone hitting the floor echoed in the empty hallway. You backed away, slowly while never taking your eyes off of it; as if it had a camera inside and whoever texted was watching with a grin on their face.

It started ringing, vibrating violently on the floor. You ran up and picked it up, only because you were afraid they were still in the building and could hear it. But when looking down at the screen, you breathed out in relief. It was the number that Soobin had texted with.

‘’ Hello? ‘’

You waited in silence, not wanting to risk revealing anything in case that number wasn’t him either.

‘’ Y/n? ‘’

It was his voice, thankfully.

‘’ Soobin! I think they have my number. I got a text from someone else and I thought it was you. ‘’ you said in a hushed voice, starting to walk towards the entrance while hunched over.

‘’ What? Did you say anything? ‘’

‘’ Not anything that would make them think I was talking to you. But who do I say I thought it was? They will probably ask tomorrow. ‘’

Soobin quietened for a moment.

‘’ Maybe it’s best you don’t come to the academy tomorrow. ‘’

‘’ No, that’s a terrible idea! It will make me look really suspicious. ‘’

‘’ Will you really be able to lie to their faces if you see them though? ‘’

‘’ I have to try at least. But if I don’t succeed, a backup plan? ‘’

You heard him hum on the other side of the line.

‘’ We can use Yeonjun then. ‘’

Your face scrunched up, doubt written all over your face. You were pretty sure he’d reject it, rather rudely, based on him telling you to stay away from his brother the last time the two of you talked.

‘’ Or…Yena. ‘’ you suggested.

‘’ Yena? Who is that? ‘’

‘’ Jungwon’s sister. I’ve met her and she gave the impression of almost hating him. It’s a long shot bu- ‘’

Soobin sassily agreed, ‘’ It definitely is. ‘’

‘’ Backup plans don’t have to be super solid. I’m just gonna bet everything on plan A working out. ‘’

You didn’t have many choices after all. Yena was risky and uncertain, Yeonjun was almost certainly a no and you weren’t sure about Sunoo yet. With no other friends that could be undercover right under the noses of your bullies, all that was left to do was to believe in yourself and be confident; which was definitely a first.

‘’ What do I do if they text again? ‘’

‘’ Pretend like you knew it was them from the beginning. If they question it, say you were…drunk? ‘’ 

Your loud laugh echoed. ‘’ Soobin, your suggestions suck. ‘’

‘’ Sorry…’’ he mumbled back.

‘’ I might have to resort to that though, if it all goes to shit. ‘’

‘’ I still don't think you should go. ‘’

‘’ My parents want me to get good grades. I can’t lose my scholarship at this prestigious school. ‘’

‘’ But you already went today. Just use an excuse so you don’t have to see them. We can hang out instead, if you want? ‘’

Your phone vibrated again in your hand.

‘’ Hold on, I’m getting another call. I’ll let you know though. ‘’

‘’ Okay, bye! ‘’

You pressed answer on the incoming call after having hung up on Soobin. It was an unknown number again, so mentally you prepared yourself before putting the phone to your ear.

‘’ Hello? ‘’

‘’ Did you guess right? ‘’

The voice sounded familiar, but admittedly it was one of the last people you expected.

‘’ Sunghoon? ‘’

‘’ Well done! ‘’

‘’ How do you have my number? ‘’

‘’ Took your phone while Ni-ki was busy with you in the gym. ‘’

Ah, of course. It would’ve been almost impossible to divide your attention between all seven of them to catch them in the act if they went through your stuff. You were thankful for having changed your settings so you actually had a password now, making sure they couldn’t go through your phone and see Soobin there.

‘’ Do the others have it too? ‘’

‘’ Not yet. ‘’

You weren’t sure what to say next, letting the silence settle. You felt like there was something else, but he was taking his time saying it.

‘’ Oh, right! I forgot about that. ‘’ he shouted out abruptly as if talking to himself.

‘’ Forgot about what? ‘’

‘’ You texted me back, almost like you were waiting for someone to text you. ‘’

You panicked and was forced to come up with a lie on the spot in just a few seconds. Luckily, since he couldn’t see you, it was much easier to lie. Your face didn’t heat up and you didn’t have to maintain eye-contact with basically one of the living lie detectors out of the group. 

You were incredibly lucky today. If you were face to face, he’d be able to figure out you were lying very fast.

 ‘’ Yeah…my cousin just got a phone and said she’d text me today. ‘’

He went quiet for a moment, scaring you. Was he trying to assess your voice because he wasn’t sure if he believed you? 

‘’ Are you lying to me, sweetheart? ‘’

You froze but managed to press out an answer through clenched teeth, ‘’ No. ‘’

‘’ Are you sure? I can easily check up on your family, you know that. ‘’

But you had already made up your mind, it would be cruel and very stupid to throw Soobin under the bus now. The only option was doubling-down and lying until your nose turned red.

‘’ Yes. I’m sure. ‘’ you tried to put a little irritation to your tone to make it more believable.

After some time, he ticked his tongue and reluctantly answered,

‘’ Okay. ‘’

You waited with bated breath, for what he’d say next.

‘’ You’re coming tonight, right? ‘’

‘’ Tonight? What’s tonight? ‘’

‘’ Just hanging out. Jungwon’s house. Come over. ‘’

‘’ But- ‘’

Your protest was rudely cut off by the sound of the call ending. Looking down at the phone, a scowl formed on your face and you huffed. Another party? What was wrong with them?

You stood in the corridor, feeling completely dumbfounded. Could you even run away now, no- you glanced down at your arms, remembering what happened last time you did and cursing them for giving you such a permanent reminder.

Taking a deep breath you cautiously made your way to the entrance. Despite him not mentioning anything about the hospital, it was still pretty smart to be on your guard on the way out. Who knew if that girl had texted them as soon as you and Soobin left her room, and they rushed there to ambush you.

But it was fairly quiet when you reached the front desk. If they were hiding, they probably would’ve come out a long time ago, since you were just meters away from the entrance now.

You shrugged off the random burst of paranoia and sprinted to hail a taxi outside. Maybe they would let you go home quite early just like last time. There wasn't much you could bring to the table anyway.

You fished your phone out and texted Soobin, telling him that Sunghoon had called and told you to come to Jungwon's house. It felt a bit unusual. You’d never hung out with them after school up until the day before, when Jay dragged you to the party.

‘’ Miss, we’re here. ‘’

‘’ Thank you. ‘’

You got out and hurried inside as it was still snowing, albeit a lot less than earlier. They were standing in the entrance, all eyes on you when the taxi drove away. The gate stood wide open this time, and the front door was open which gave them a perfect view of the driveway.

‘’ Hey. ‘’ Sunoo smiled at you.

You groaned mentally, whole body screaming for you to turn back around and go home. They didn’t even give you a chance though. As soon as you had put your stuff down, you were dragged by the waist to the living room, where all those people had been last time.

However, this time the couches were empty except for when they started sitting down in them one by one. You shifted uncomfortably, being the only one still standing.

It was obvious that there was no party. No music and no other people, only the alcohol in the red cups was the recurring theme from the day before. Why did they make you come there all alone? You felt anxiety start to brew at the pit of your stomach. 

‘’ I-uh…can I use the bathroom? ‘’

It was the oldest trick in the book, but hopefully they had already had so much to drink before you showed up that they wouldn’t think twice about it.

Jake was the only one who answered, with an uninterested grunt. You went right away, in case they would change their minds. Locking yourself into the bathroom you texted soobin. 

6:00 pm

You: Soobin? They’ve dragged me to Jungwon’s house.

The phone pinged almost immediately, you panicked and turned off the sound, looking around in the silence to see if they might’ve noticed. Nothing moved around outside and no noises or footsteps got closer. 

Next you had to suppress a laugh as you noticed you named him cousin so the others wouldn’t notice anything. Naming him ‘’ baby ‘’ would’ve made all hell break loose if they had just spotted it once.

Cousin: What? Like a party? 

You: Not really, I’m the only one here.

Cousin: Can you get away? 

You sucked on your lip while thinking. There wasn’t really a way out of this unless you wanted to have more wounds on your body. The whole thing felt like a very annoying headache.

Cousin: Y/n? Hello? Do you need help? 

You: No! We have a plan, remember?

Cousin: Sorry :(

You: I’ll text you later

Cousin: I live close by, just run over

You: Will you drive me home? :) 

Cousin: ofc!

‘’ Princess? ‘’

You jumped and almost dropped your phone clumsily in the process of getting up from the toilet seat. The phone slipped into your pocket again. You unlocked the door and stepped out, coming face to face with Heeseung.

He only looked at you briefly, then pushed past you to get to the bathroom. You went back to join the others. Sunoo and Ni-ki occupied the only couch that wasn’t full so you went to them.

Sunoo lit up when seeing you and Ni-ki only said something under his breath before moving so you could sit next to him. Sunoo handed you a cup and you poured alcohol in it, downing it almost immediately in a poor attempt to fix your uneasiness.

‘’ Not drinking? ‘’

‘’ Not a fan. ‘’

Ni-ki sounded moody, resting his elbows on his legs so his whole form was slumped over. His head didn’t raise when he talked, indicating he wanted to be left alone. You looked at Sunoo for answers but he just shrugged, mouthing ‘ bad day ‘.

‘’ Do you still box? ‘’

He finally raised his head to give you a very vehement look. ‘’ Yeah. ‘’ 

Sunoo tried to avoid it when his eyes averted to him, knowing he was looking at him in disbelief over what he had blurted out when he was alone with you. Whistling innocently he looked away and pretended like he was interested in the intense and lively conversation Jake and Jay were having next to him.

Now that Sunoo was turned away from you two, you leaned in a bit closer to Ni-ki, asking what you’d been wondering for a long time.

‘’ Do you even like me? ‘’

He frowned and then looked a bit caught off guard, pulling his hood further up to cover more of his face. ‘’ Yeah? I…think so. ‘’

‘’ But like, as much as the others or…’’ you trailed off.

He glared at you through his bangs which made you close your mouth again, regretting saying anything at all.

‘’ Y/n? ‘’

Sunghoon called you over, patting on the empty seat next to him where presumably Heeseung sat in before. Reluctantly you sat down, glancing at Jake and hoping you wouldn’t catch his attention any time soon, since he was extra bad when intoxicated.

Sunghoon must’ve noticed, his long fingers came up to your jaw, turning your head towards him. You stared into his bleary eyes. He looked very drunk, long gone with his pupils struggling to focus on you. But there was still some tenderness in them.

Sunghoon was slightly anxious. He’d never been alone with you before, and not this close in such an innocent way too; they all acted as a group and stuck together as one, agreeing to not be alone with you for too long.

While leaning his head back on the couch the two of you were sitting on, he turned his head to look at you. It was embarrassing how nervous you made him, as if you were some crush he had in middle school. Just looking at you made his throat close up.

‘’ Do you like this house? ‘’ he randomly blurted out, through slurred speech.

You laughed lightly which made Sunghoon smile widely.

‘’ Yeah, it’s nice. ‘’

He wanted to say more, maybe the way to your heart was to make you laugh. But he didn't get the chance to before Jungwon plopped down on the other side of the couch, next to you.

He didn’t seem at all interested in flirting with you, instead going straight into a rather serious-toned conversation, a dead-pan look on his face.

‘’ Do you know why he invited you here? ‘’

‘’ No. Not really. ‘’ you tilted your head.

‘’ From now on, we want to see you outside of school too. ‘’

You turned to him. ‘’ Why? ‘’

His lips were licked as annoyance flashed across his face, his cold eyes piercing through you. ‘’ Because we said so. ‘’

The alcohol had started to rush to your head already, making your speech a bit slower, vision blurrier but also lips bolder. 

‘’ Why are you always so blunt with me? You’re kind of mean. ‘’ 

He grimaced at your whiny tone and got eye-contact with Sunghoon, who probably knew what his friend was thinking. But he could never really stop Jungwon, since he was the leader after all.

‘’ Because, you’re a brat. ‘’ he calmly said, although his eyes were anything but.

‘’ A brat? ‘’ 

You stood up and almost stumbled into his lap when the dizziness hit you. Tauntingly, you looked down at him while swinging your cup in one hand.

‘’ You’re the ones who fucking bully me, you piece of shit! ‘’

‘’ Y/n. ‘’ Sunghoon warned, seeing Jungwon’s eyes narow.

‘’ Don’t talk to me like that. ‘’

You groaned and almost ripped your hair out in frustration. His calm exterior always made you feel crazy; it made you look hysteric in comparison, and wrong when you had all the reasons to be acting like that.

‘’ Shut the fuck up! ‘’ you yelled.

He snapped. Standing up so fast you flinched and lost balance, he was there to jerk you towards him with a harsh grip around your wrist. You lost your chance to talk as he hurried to drag you upstairs, Sunghoon running behind. 

You get pushed into a bedroom and Sunghoon got the door slammed in his face just as he was a few seconds away from it.

The tension in the room is high. Even though your back was turned to Jungwon, you could almost feel how he seethed of anger, but it was controlled and calculated, he was in control not you.

‘’ Face me. ‘’

You shuddered at his low voice, taking as much time as possible to turn around. The door was locked, who knew what he was going to do to you, away from the eyes of others?

‘’ I’m sorry. ‘’

You finally turned, and immediately your eyes unwillingly welled up with tears. It was the last thing you wanted to happen, but you became that girl in the gym again. Just one look at him and you wanted to cower away, beg for mercy or cry like a helpless child. 

You felt like a different person outside of the school. Because when the day was over, so was the torture. Seeing him look like he wanted to tear you apart in a different environment than the bleak walls of the gym reminded you of your grim future; they would torture you in your safe haven now too. It wouldn’t be over as soon as you passed the gates. They demanded you meet them at their houses and text them. What would happen if you answered just one second too late?

Jungwon stared at you wordlessly. He felt his chest swell with pride due to the sadistic nature of the situation. He liked that you were so afraid of him and that he, more than the others could elicit such a strong reaction from you - only a puppeteer could know his toy that well, know exactly what strings to pull for what; and what is that if not love?

You saw his face unmoved by your sniffling, so as a last resort you pathetically went down on your knees, hands clasping together while incoherent pleas left your mouth.

‘’ Please…please- don’t hurt me. ‘’

He crouched and was careful not to show any emotions. ‘’ Say you’re sorry again. ‘’

You looked up at him and he almost became entranced by the look of your teary eyes, glimmering while looking up at him, only him.

‘’ I’m sorry. ‘’

‘’ Good. ‘’ His lips twitched. ‘’ Stand up. ‘’

They tugged upwards momentarily when you obeyed. You kept your head down, scared to provoke him, even by doing the slightest of things.

‘’ I’m gonna give you my number. When I text, answer. When I call, answer. ‘’ 

He turned his back on you to dig his phone out from a bag thrown on the floor. You got the sudden urge to attack him and then make a run for it, but that wouldn’t lead to anything but short satisfaction.

You recollected yourself in time for him turning back and handing you his phone. When you’re done and he took it back impatiently, he stared at the screen for a while. Then he pressed the number and your phone vibrated.

‘’ Save it. ‘’

You gave a fake smile and nodded. However, seeing as it didn’t seem to satisfy him, you quickly did what he asked on the spot.

‘’ You can go now. ‘’

‘’ Already? I haven’t really talked to the others, and they don’t even have my number except for Sung- ‘’ you pressed your lips shut.

Although it was slowly starting to wear off, the alcohol had made you ramble again and by the look of dissatisfaction on his face, you could tell he wanted you to shut up.

‘’ You don’t need those yet. Am I not doing you a favor? ‘’ he stepped closer, making you automatically back away.

There were only a few meters until you’d back into the wall. You prayed to God that he wouldn’t force you to back into it entirely, so he could creep over you.

‘’ Do you want to be here? ‘’

Your mouth fell open at the horrible accusation. Why would you want to be at the house of one of your bullies, where they all hung around you, taking turns to poke their sticks into your skin to get a reaction?

‘’ No. I’m leaving. ‘’

He didn’t stop you, but you heard the arrogant scoff and saw the smirk when passing by him anyway. Your angry stomping down the stairs caught the attention of the other guys.

‘’ You’re leaving already? ‘’ Jake shouted, hurrying to get up so he could follow you.

Ni-ki and Sunoo watched you curiously, not saying anything.

‘’ You basically just got here. ‘’ 

He tried to pull you into a hug, which you quickly slipped out of, seeing Jungwon standing at the top of the stairs. 

‘’ I said she could go. ‘’

His stern voice made Jake freeze and he moved away from you, giving you a small smile which made you raise your eyebrows awkwardly.

‘’ Bye. ‘’ you mumbled, closing the door behind you.

Well that was…weird? 

*******

‘’ I’m here! ‘’

Soobin ran over to greet you, a big grin plastered on his face.

Footsteps approached the hallway and rounding the corner, the owner of them, Yeonjun popped his head out. His smile dropped when seeing you.

‘’ Y/n. ‘’ he said, rather formally.

‘’ Yeonjun. ‘’

Soobin chuckled. ‘’ No need to be so awkward. You’ve met before. ‘’

You took off your shoes and he strolled off in front of you, making you hurry to follow as you didn’t want to be alone with his grumpy older brother.

‘’ Are you okay? ‘’

‘’ Yeah, it wasn’t too bad. ‘’

He looked relieved and started walking further into the house, waving at Yeonjun to come with and ultimately stopping in the living room.

‘’ Maybe we can watch a movie. ‘’

‘’ I’m fine with anything. ‘’ you smiled.

‘’ Is this the part where I leave? ‘’

‘’ Yeonjun! ‘’ Soobin gasped.

His cute attempt at trying to look stern made you snort.

Meanwhile, his older brother threw his head back and groaned in discontent, plopping down on the couch and crossing his arms in protest.

‘’ For how long? ‘’

‘’ I don’t know yet. Don’t be rude. ‘’

Soobin pressed on the control and the large flat TV screen lit up. You almost ticked your tongue and shook your head. Of course he was a Disney nerd.

He turned around, looking childishly excited, and came over to sit down next to you. The movie quite quickly became forgotten, serving as background noise while you and Soobin passionately fought over the snacks.

‘’ I’ll go make you kids some food. ‘’ Yeonjun said, rolling his eyes at the two of you, and leaving you and Soobin alone in the living room.

Soobin craned his neck to check that his older brother had really left before turning to you. There was something he had wanted to tell you for a long time.

‘’ Does he not like me? ‘’

He smiled knowingly and shook his head. ‘’ It’s not that, I promise. ‘’

‘’ Then…did he have a rough childhood or something? ‘’ you sarcastically joked as you didn’t like when people used that as an excuse to be rude.

‘’ Something like that. ‘’

You caught the way his tone sounded borderline uncomfortable so you cleared your throat awkwardly. ‘’ Sorry, I was just joking.

‘’ His friend got bullied when he was in middle school. I’m sure he just feels a bit- well, vulnerable around you. ‘’ 

You weren’t sure how to respond so you just hummed, it was your turn to feel uncomfortable as Soobin was determined to continue no matter what.

‘’ He really struggled to see him like that. There wasn’t much he could do. When he went to the principal he was shut down, told that it was just ‘ friends playing around ‘. Later he found out their parents were pretty rich though, and at least one of them was a part of the anti-bullying committee. ‘’ Soobin shook his head, sighing while a sour expression overtook his face.

‘’ If he confronted them, they wouldn’t beat him. No, they were different, almost psychos despite being kids. They would bully his friend harder instead, knowing it would push Yeonjun away from him because he wanted to protect his friend. In the end, he was lonely. Everyone he loved watched from a distance, knowing that if they intervened it would get even worse. ‘’

‘’ What happened after they graduated then? Did he never get his justice or revenge? ‘’

Soobin looked away from you, his heart felt heavy.

‘’ No. He never did. ‘’

Silence filled up the living room. Hearing that both made you feel incredibly sorry for Yeonjun and also anxious for your fate. Would it be the same as that boy? Would Soobin have to suffer the same way - by the sidelines watching helplessly just like his brother?

You raised your head, noticing he wasn’t completely finished with his heartbreaking story. He had to hurry because the rummaging in the kitchen had stopped, indicating Yeonjun was on his way back.

‘’ It had a very unhappy ending. Remember when I said I recognized the look in your eyes when you were walking to the rooftop? ‘’

Your heart sunk. ‘’ Yeah…’’ 

Did you even really want to hear the next part? 

‘’ He saw that one night. While walking home from school. So just like I did, he followed his friend to a rooftop. ‘’

‘’ He wasn’t as lucky as you were? ‘’ you filled in when he got quiet again.

He nodded, a somber look on his face.

‘’ But, he didn’t jump though. ‘’

You frowned.

‘’ What? What do you mean? ‘’

‘’ He was pushed. ‘’

This time the silence was deadly, stretching on for several minutes. On the other side of the wall, Yeonjun was leaning against it, a single tear rolling down his cheek.

‘’ Did he get justice?

‘’ No. Of course not. The rich and powerful always get away with it. Yeonjun went to the police station but when they arrived, a bunch of black cars were already there. Took about ten minutes of inspecting before they concluded it was a suicide. ‘’

You felt nauseous. 

‘’ Did he…did he see who pushed him? ‘’

‘’ Yeah, it was them of course. The worst out of them all did it, and while they all freaked out, he barely flinched. As a solution, they were transferred to different schools in Seoul and it was swept under the rug. Even if Yeonjun wanted to get revenge, it would be almost impossible to find them. ‘’

‘’ Fuck, that’s heavy. ‘’ you leaned back on the sofa and stared at the ceiling, taking in everything that had been said.

‘’ I think the worst part is that nobody believed him. ‘’ you turned and saw that he was crying now, his knuckles were rubbed due to the rage he felt on the inside.

Breathlessly you watched him. You hadn’t seen Soobin like this yet.

‘’ What do you mean? ‘’ you softly whispered and tried to reach out for him.

He let you take his hand, and you rubbed his knuckles instead, but in a more calming and loving manner.

‘’ Since those fuckers cleaned it up neatly, his parents fought a lot about it. When he told them, crying out and looking for support, his mom didn’t believe him, but his dad did. So they got divorced. Then, his dad met my mom. ‘’ 

He ruffled his hair and scoffed. ‘’ Turns out his dad didn’t really believe him either after all. One night he got drunk and confessed he had an affair and just wanted a reason for divorce. ‘’

Your other hand wrapped around his shoulder.

‘’ But you believed him. ‘’

Soobin nodded. The endless tears had started to stain his shirt.

‘’ Of course I did. He’s my brother. ‘’ he mumbled, pain coloring his voice.

‘’ Is that…why you were so quick to help me? ‘’

‘’ I thought that if I couldn’t help him then, well…’’

Struggling to find the words, you filled in for him. ‘’ Then you could help others, to prevent it from happening again? ‘’

He grimaced. ‘’ I haven’t been successful so far. People don’t really believe in me. ‘’

You felt his words sting. It hit a little too close to home and you found yourself feeling guilty for doubting him like everyone else had.

‘’ I’m sorry. ‘’

Soobin let out an airy laugh, knowing what you were thinking of.

‘’ Don’t apologize, you let me in the end, didn’t you? ‘’

You smiled shyly. ‘’ Yeah. I guess so. ‘’

He smiled too, warmth spreading all over his face. But it faded quite suddenly as he had to look away. Why was his heart beating so fast?

-

-

I can't tag some of u and idk why tumblr is being a bitch??? does anyone know how I can fix this??)

taglist; @peaceout97, @ayadikreino, @beoms-sugar, @keikeu, @sunghoonnsupremacy, @lilyalone, @roses-and-blue-perennial-salvia, @eunchaesmileyface, @nunugget, @seunns, @nshmrarki, @huening-ly

[soobrat]

fuck up my life; hjs

milestone celebration masterlist

MINOR CHANGES MADE TO PREV ACT!

˗ˏˋ🎧´ˎ˗ pairing; han jisung x afab!reader

˗ˏˋ🎧´ˎ˗ words; 9.7k

˗ˏˋ🎧´ˎ˗ genre; this isn't your average every day angst, this is... advanced angst (+ a smidge of smut)

˗ˏˋ🎧´ˎ˗ warnings; very toxic relationship, two deplorable dirty cheaters, violence, graphic descriptions of injury (not for the squeamish), vague PIV, flashback mini smut, let me know if I missed anything, they're just cruel okay?

↻ ◁ || ▷ : I've never rewritten something as much as I've rewritten this. It's a big chapter (in terms of what happens) but it's still... well you'll have to read it. There's a reason the only smut is a flashback.

act ii ➻ glimpse of us

“Are you sure about her, Minho?” Something about Chan’s tone told you he wasn’t going to respect Minho’s decision either way. 

Minho sighs, you can tell he’s already sick of this. “Her and I have been together since we were freshmen. You guys don’t know her like I do.”

“I know her.” You inch a little closer, dangerously close to the doorway. Is Changbin there? Why the fuck is Changbin there?! “The amount of times I’ve been in detention with her, I know her plenty. I know she used to flirt with every guy there. Including me.”

Fuck, fuck. Minho doesn’t know about that, he doesn’t know about any of the shit Changbin saw. They never crossed paths in high school, so why the fuck is he here?

“That doesn’t matter, it’s been years since then. Ever heard of maturing? Bet you haven’t.”

You wince. You’re happy he’s sticking up for you, but his tone reminds you of your first time meeting his family. The way they reacted to his tone showed you this wasn’t normal for him. You gut clenches. Was his mom right?

“I know her, too.”

Your heart had effectively fallen out of your ass at the sound of Seungmin’s voice. 

“I probably know her better than you. I say get out while you can. You can’t fix whatever she’s got going on.” 

Your eyes glaze over, facing the wall but not focusing on anything. You’ve never heard Seungmin talk about you like that. This is it. There’s nothing he could use to paint Seungmin as unreasonable. Chan was an unlikable, judgmental asshole far before you came into the picture and Changbin was a drunken imbecile who flunked out of high school. But Seungmin… Seungmin was the only thing you and Minho had in common before you met. He’s a great person and even better friend. Not the type to talk shit about people or judge them unless it was truly warranted.

The type to properly convince Minho that his mother was indeed right about you changing him for the worse.

“Hey Seungmin,” You hear a chair get pushed back, the legs screeching against the wooden floor agonizingly slow. You hear the impact and the sound pulled from Seungmin because of it. You hear all of Minho’s friends react in shock and anger. You hear them order him to leave, hissing that he’s throwing his life away for a toxic bitch.

You stand there stunned, forgetting to skitter away before Minho walks out of the door. He looks down at you numbly, but you can see the regret seeping into his expression. He throws an arm around your shoulder and the two of you walk away from all his friends.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

Jisung thought this would be the perfect environment.

“What compelled you to make that choice?”

Jisung asks himself that every day. He couldn’t dig for an answer, so it wouldn’t magically come to him now. But when he looks around after several minutes of quiet introspection, he sees a circle of impatient faces. It doesn’t distract him enough that his brain will stop flashing images of what Jiwoo will look like once he tells her this, but the words materialize nonetheless.

He’s anxious yet determined while he reevaluates these words before he speaks them into existence.

“Jisung. Jisung wake up!” 

He shoots up, brain on red alert as he looks around. Jiwoo’s jaded sigh sends fury coursing through Jisung’s veins. He looks down at his soiled underwear.

“Again?! It’s so– it’s so fucking disgusting! Clean it up!” Jiwoo kicks the comforter away before storming out of the room. Jiwoo has gained a lot of colorful language lately. Despite that, she is still shaking him awake for a drizzle of jizz. The two of them don’t even face each other in bed anymore, so she doesn’t have any on her. She wakes up at the crack of dawn, fucking rolls him over to check if it happened, and sounds the alarms like it’s defcon goddamn one. And if it’s that urgent for her and only her, why doesn’t she go sleep on the couch and leave Jisung the fuck alone? Now he’s going to function on less sleep at his job that provides sorely needed income for their new home.

Jisung snatches the bedding off the mattress, obeying her wishes like he always does. Fuming silently.

The memories crackle under his eyelids like torturous fireworks. All the moments that nudged him again and again and again until he was teetering off the edge of his admiration for Jiwoo.

After a quick inhale and beat of hesitation, the words are close to flying free like newly unshackled birds dancing in the wind. 

“My fiancée is a... m-my fiancée and I just need work.” Jisung cracks an awkward smile, reeling those angry thoughts back in and locking them up. He can't say things like that in a room full of strangers.

He looks around to see a room full of confusion and indifference. The instructor gives him a sympathetic look.

"Any one else wanna share?"

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

“We might as well get some bleach.” Jiwoo gestures half-heartedly at a bottle of bleach on the shelf. Jisung glares at her, knowing she’s not going to even look at him to give her demands. He rips the bleach off the shelf and drops it into the cart with a loud, heavy thud. She finally looks over at him, agitated.

“Why don’t you get extra detergent while you’re at it? Maybe two bottles since the washing machine has been working overtime.” Jiwoo is looking now, her eyes posing a challenge. She’s noticed the pissy attitude that Jisung has by now. Instead of getting upset that he is constantly annoyed in her presence like he thought she would, she goads him to do something about it.

Jisung tongues his cheek, knowing he could drop a bomb on her that would send her crumbling to the floor in tears. She’s gotten too comfortable with disrespecting him. It started with the sheets, but there were certain jabs and insults that revealed her true feelings.

“Maybe if you went for a jog or even to the gym, your brain would have something else to think about other than sex, sex, and sex.”

“Look at the bags under your eyes. It’s 9 am for god sakes. You didn’t work late yesterday either, you’re just sleeping half the day away.”

“This house is a mess every time I get back! I mean— how hard is it to put the cereal box back on top of the fridge? And your snack wrappers are beside the garbage can. Trash goes in the can.”

“What happened to those hobbies of yours?”

He should’ve told her then, but he really wants to tell her now. He goes to look her in the eye but notices she’s looking past him in confusion. He turns, flinching when he sees a face he recognized. He couldn’t pretend he didn’t know who he was after such a reaction, but he couldn’t fool himself into believing he didn’t recognize him either. He could never forget a face that exhibited such rage, pain, and regret.

“Do we know you, sir?” Jiwoo asks, voice losing its intensity from earlier.

Minho… that was the name you pleaded for in your sleep. The one you whispered in fear when he found out about the two of you. Right now he just has rage in his eyes.

Minho walks away without a word. When Jisung looks back at Jiwoo, her face is softer. She looks at him with doe eyes, the ones that appear when she’s not aware she resembles a fawn. Moments like these twist Jisung’s stomach even more. Times where Jiwoo is like her old self, no defensiveness or agitation. It’s the Jiwoo he fell in love with, whose image is eroded through his eyes in favor of someone else. No matter how much he forces himself, he doesn’t remember that moment when she broke his favorite anime figure when she makes that face. He remembers the first time he caressed your face after he finished doing unspeakable things to you. The way you looked at him in adorable horror, horror he couldn’t really decipher then.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

You could kind of smell his body wash, but the smell of mildew was overwhelming. Not enough for you to peel the towel off your pillow. 

Minho left the house spotless. He cleaned up after your tantrum, and despite hours of back and forth with yourself, you can’t figure out whether he did it before or after he decided to leave. Did he clean it out of empathy? Picking up the glass with his bare hands and not caring if it cuts him because he’s so torn up that he hurt you? Or did he do it with a smile he couldn’t hide, skipping as he moved around the apartment he’d finally be abandoning for a better life?

You took a lot of time opening cupboards and drawers trying to find one sign of him ever being there. The only thing you found was a towel he used after a shower and left on the sink.

After some time in a psych ward, you decided to leave that house before it killed you. So you never did find out if he came back for it. 

You let the older woman who owns the complex know you’d be moving out. She was confused, unaware that Minho had left. 

“I speak to him all the time and he never told me.”

Light swam in your eyes for the first time in months. You take a quick inhale, darting your tongue out to moisten your cracked lips as you think through your next move. You could ask her to tell him that you’re okay. That you miss him. That you love him so much. But he wouldn’t be able to see your face, that there’s no shit eating grin or feigned regret. 

“Tell him that I’m moving out, so he doesn’t have to pay for the apartment anymore. Please.” The smile you force flickers off your face immediately after. You breeze past her with your bags before she can pry.

The view from your window is less bleak, and you’re no longer faced with empty areas that used to be filled with Minho. This is the place you and Minho used to talk about leaving to. He was frantic because his friends were urging Seungmin to press charges. You saw Seungmin not long after that, one side of his face swollen and bruised. That visual made you sick, so you didn’t mind Seungmin glaring at you and turning the other direction. 

Thankfully, Seungmin never pressed charges. 

You laugh, the silly manner in which you do so pushes you to laugh more. You spoke about leaving to this very place with two different men and you’re still here alone. You’re truly amazing.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

Another day, another useless, petty fight. 

“It’s not normal, the way you are. I don’t care what your bros say, I don’t care what those dude movies tell you, most men aren’t like this. They aren’t animals who go feral at the sign of a tit!” 

Jisung chuckles, he can’t help it. Jiwoo uses her new naughty words like a child. He gets more pissed off looking at her smug face, so he’s glad it’s fading after he laughed.

“Something funny? There’s nothing funny about you being a pervert.”

“You don’t even know.” Jisung mutters before laughing again. 

Jiwoo moves closer, her brows lowering until they are perched right on top of her eyes. “What did you say?”

“I said what is the goal here? You bitch at me every day and I’m still the same.” The words fly free and Jisung feels lighter because of it. Jiwoo looks offended, the goading she’s been doing for weeks now finally working. 

“I bitch? Is that what I do?”

“Yes! You bitch at me at the crack of dawn–”

“9 am isn’t the crack of dawn!”

“I work late! My sleep schedule doesn’t just change because I don’t work two days out of the week! I’m! Tired!” Jisung’s volume goes flying against his will. Jiwoo flinches, this sudden change from Jisung pushing her to be incensed. She opens her mouth to fire back but Jisung is on a roll. 

“You call to bitch at me at work, you bitch at me when I come home, you bitch to yourself about me when I’m in the other room. All you do is bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch.” It’s Jisung now that sounds like a child discovering naughty words as he hurls them at his fiancée.

The breath Jiwoo exhales is shaky, her eyes glassy. She raises her hand, jaw dropping open to say her response but she stops. She hesitates in silence and Jisung’s anger builds while he watches her. Is she really hurt because he retaliated? Isn’t that what she’s egging him on to do?

“Go on! Say what you were going to say.” His volume still high, he causes Jiwoo to flinch after standing in silence for so long. 

““You don’t even know”... That’s what you said, right?” Jiwoo’s goading face is back. It’s mixed with hurt, and she doesn’t even know what to be hurt about yet. But she’s asking for it, and he’s going to give it to her.

He does what he always does, imagine her reaction. He’s entertained the scenario that she crumbles to the ground and begs to know why, shatters every dish against the ground, guts him like a fish, et cetera. Whatever happens, there’s only one way to find out, right? He just hopes he’s able to go in his room and read comics in peace without her–

His room. Their room. Suddenly he’s thinking back to the day they bought this house. She was only a little snippy then, so Jisung was a little excited. He could stop seeing you sprawled out, completely exhausted on his bed as he crawled over you. No amount of exhaustion ever stopped you from begging for more. Because of his guilt he didn’t accept Jiwoo’s offer to let her family pay for the house in full. He felt that weight off his shoulders for a little while. Then they move in and all traces of you move to Jiwoo. Even now, the hurt on her face only aches his heart because he sees you the moment you realized he was going back to Jiwoo. He only soiled the sheets more often after they moved and his thoughts of you became more shameless. Of course Jiwoo would be aggravated by him. Telling her the truth will morph that aggravation into something that could get him kicked out.

“What don’t I know, Jisung?” The look in Jisung’s eye makes her ask with more urgency. Jisung wonders about you in this moment of pressure. He wonders if you were serious about your proposition, or if it was just the two of you fantasizing that you betrayed your significant others just to get off. You asked the night after Minho ended things and he laughed mid stroke. If you were serious, you were probably hurt at that moment and somewhere alone right now. Would you let him stay with you after Jiwoo kicks him out? After he chose her over you?

“Hello?!”

“I get off on you being disgusted by me.” Jisung shouts, rendering Jiwoo speechless. This is what he’s been waiting for. She’s silent, the bitching has stopped, but he can’t help the disturbed feeling he has. Words leap from his turbulent stomach, stumbling from his lips.

“I… hump the bed thinking about you with semen on your body… and being distressed by it–”

Jiwoo gasps in horror, rushing away from Jisung like he’s a monster and not the man she’s marrying next month. She shuts herself in their room. The slam of the door and her shocked sobs echo torturously in his brain. He sits on the couch and clamps his hands over his ears. He should be consoling her, she’s going to be his wife. 

What can he say? He told her the truth and now she’s sobbing because of who he is. That’s how all this shit started. She yells at him at the beginning of every day because of who he is. Because he’s dreaming about you. About how your eyes light up when he reveals who he is. 

Next month he’ll be stuck in a constant state of being ashamed.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

You press “play sound”, following the beep until you find where you tossed your purse before passing out last night. You fetch it from the bathtub, picking up all its contents that spilled into the basin. You fiddle with the case of the airtag, flipping it over and brushing your thumb over the exposed metal. You peer at your phone, noting the “shared with Minho❤️‍🩹”.

Can he willingly remove himself? Did he even remember that your tag is in his phone? Would he look for you–

You close the app, inhaling deeply to distract yourself from your thoughts. In your mind you reopen the app and hit the “stop sharing” button. You replay the action over and over. It’s the healthy thing to do, right? And it’s so easy. Instead, you go back downstairs and lie on the now dry towel. The smell of mildew has gotten stronger now. There isn’t even a hint of his body wash anymore. Looking at his pictures was a little too painful, this towel was the only thing that comforted you. Now it was just smelly and empty.

The emptiness left room for the thoughts to come through and terrorize you. Would Jisung come? Unlikely judging by his and his fiancée’s social media. The wedding was full steam ahead. Maybe if the two of you had kept in contact during all this time it’d be different. But you deleted all your socials and changed your number. There’s only one way for him to see you, it was perhaps too much to fly here for someone he just saw as a booty call. 

You shiver, pulling your blanket up over your shoulders and clenching your eyes shut.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

“I’m staying at my friend’s house.” Jiwoo emerged from the room hours later. Not half asleep and asking him to come to bed, fully awake and with a duffle bag of clothes in hand. He thought maybe they’d be able to cuddle it out. He always loved cuddling Jiwoo. But that’s just like her. She’s not vulnerable, and if she is, she doesn’t show it to him. She’ll come back in a few days with her eyes nearly puffed shut from crying the entire time she was there, pretending like things are normal.

She was never the pitiful one.

The next morning, she’s not back. Jisung decides to head to the grocery store since their last trip ended early after Jiwoo got spooked by Minho. He walked around aimlessly, trying to think of things Jiwoo would get. Every item he picks up, he imagines how Jiwoo would scold him and make him feel stupid for buying it.

He ends up storming back out of the store and storming toward the bus stop. Jisung loses steam once he notices he’s heard footsteps right behind him since he exited the store. Footsteps are a normal thing to hear when you’re walking down a sidewalk. Even if they seem to keep speeding up. That’s what Jisung keeps telling himself. 

He’s afraid to face the truth and even more afraid to turn around. Because of this he’s shoved into an alley, already receiving a strike to the face the minute he recognizes who’s doing it. His glasses fly to the ground which accentuates how unfocused his vision becomes. Jisung staggers backward, shakily trying to use the brick wall behind him to straighten himself back up. Minho delivers another punch straight to Jisung’s jaw, sending him to the floor this time. Jisung writhes in pain, muttering ‘stop’ while moving his sore jaw as little as possible. His feet slip against a rancid liquid seeping from the dumpster and he lands on his bare forearm, scraping it as he raises his other arm in a vain attempt to stop Minho.

Minho digs his fingers into Jisung’s much frailer arms and flips him over with ease. 

“You moved out with her? Gave her a ring? Hm?”

Before Jisung can even begin to understand or ask what or why, Minho continues his onslaught. Minho grips his shirt with one hand and balls the other, sending it into Jisung’s face over and over.

“How long have you two been together?” Minho grits, but his tone still has this faux questioning tone. His brows are furrowed, trying to hide the fury in his eyes with the confusion he’s trying to sell.

A punch to the eye has Jisung’s vision fading to black. Fear for his mortality sets in as he tries to block strikes from this deranged man.

“What?! What do you want?! I’m not with her anymore!” Jisung yells incredulously, his voice cracking through his bleeding lips.

“Your fiancée?” Minho responds breathlessly. Through the fog in his brain and the throbbing pain, confusion sets in. His brain isn’t focused enough to decipher why he’s asking about Jiwoo. 

“Are you sleeping with her?” Asks Jisung dumbly. He doesn’t mean it and it doesn’t come from jealousy. He physically can’t think and it’s spiking his anxiety even further. He wants Minho to get to the point but unfortunately Jisung just pissed him off even more. Minho’s nostrils flare, eyes blown completely wide as he shoves Jisung to the floor. Jisung’s head bounces off the pavement, sending him even further into a haze. 

He’s brought right back with yet another punch. Blood fills his mouth. Minho mutters something about how he’d never do something like that to you. 

“She’s not going to change because you want her to.” Jisung shouts urgently. He seems to have said the magic words since Minho lowers his fist. Jisung is wary, but his body relaxes anyway because it needs it. Any more agitation and Minho will induce a heart attack. 

“She told you about us didn’t she? She told you what she put me through?”

“Yes! And I’m sorry–”

“Apologize to your fiancée, motherfucker.” Minho spits, raising his fist again. 

“What do you want?! I can’t take back what happened!”

Minho lowers his fist to grab Jisung’s shirt with both hands, pulling him forward. 

“I want you to be a horrible person on your own. Don’t drag her into it. S-she fucks random men because she doesn’t know how to properly ask for attention.”

If Jisung’s brain wasn’t practically mush right now he’d roll his eyes. This is how she got away with it for so long, because he treats her like a child. She’s a woman he couldn’t handle. 

Jisung wasn’t aware he was glaring at the man until Minho yanked him closer. His breath was hot against his face and Jisung felt fear flood back into his body.

“But you,” Minho grabs Jisung’s face, one of his fingers digging into a cut on his cheekbone. Jisung whimpers helplessly. “You ruined everything! I could’ve helped her. She was close to tiring herself out and giving in. I would’ve taken her back to therapy… you made her comfortable.” Minho’s grip loosened the more he spoke, tears pooling in his eyes as his words lost their bite. As Minho got less angry Jisung felt more and more pissed, like it was transferring to him.

“That’s all bullshit. She told me the two of you have been dating since high school and you think she’d change now? You’re ruining your own life trying to fix who she is.” Jisung’s heart is beating rapidly like last night. He feels like he could take on the world. He’s already been glared at in disgust by his fiancée and beaten to a pulp by his mistress’s ex. Nothing can stop him from saying what the fuck he has to say, and they can divorce or kill him to stop. Jisung smirks.

“You don’t know shit. None of you know! She would never actually look at anyone else…” Minho loses more and more confidence and Jisung laps it up. He feels his body buzz once he realizes the information he has. Minho has no idea. Jiwoo has no idea. Nobody has even a fucking clue but they’re about to find out.

“Do you know that place she dreamed of moving to with you?” Jisung whispers, barely able to contain the laughter threatening to bubble up. Minho sports that look of sorrow from that day. If he thinks the fact you told Jisung about the secrets that were just for you and Minho was bad, he had another thing coming. The words rush out like a wave, sending a rush of sadistic joy through Jisung in its wake.

“She asked to run away with me too.” 

Jisung drops the bomb and gives Minho a little time to process. Only a little, because laughter bursts straight from Jisung’s chest, spit flying onto Minho’s face. Jisung watches with vindication as Minho struggles to process his words. He grapples with the fact that you’re not here to confirm, but also the fact Minho knows that with you? It’s possible.

Minho’s fist trembles around the soiled fabric of Jisung's shirt. A tear breaks free from Minho’s eye as he sends his fist into Jisung’s face with a pained grunt. Jisung’s smile slowly fades as he feels his face be mashed in. If he dies here, he dies an innocent victim and Jiwoo’s memories of him are never sullied by the full truth. Minho will be punished by his own naivety and you…

“Hey! Stop!” The frantic voice sounds distant. “Someone help!! Call the police!”

Jisung is dropped to the ground. The impact is hard enough that his vision is slowly fading.

“There’s a beach right in the backyard! Ngh-!” You point to your phone, your hand falling to the bed as Jisung sinks in deep. He pushes in deeper, grinning at how hollow your noises sound when he does that. He leans over your shoulder, reaching for the phone to bring it closer to his face.

“This is niiice.” He purrs next to your ear. You roll your eyes at his exaggerated intrigue, unable to see how focused his eyes are. 

“Give it back.”

Jisung bites his lip, swatting away your hand and grabbing your throat to keep you still. 

“Don’t get distracted, now…” He warns with a roll of his hips. He grins at the wanton moan he earns. “But um… how are you planning to pay for this?” His tone wavers, his authority becoming hard to maintain the more he stares at the photo.

“I don’t do shit with my life. No hobbies to pay for, no dinners with family or friends, no girls’ trips.” Jisung flinches, glancing at your pinched features to see if that last part was pointed. Your eyes flutter shut as a pleased, wispy moan floats from your lips.

“Minho takes care of the bills and rent so I started to consider quitting my job. Instead I started saving. The only thing that kept me going was the fact that…” You trail off, Jisung can feel your body stiffening under him. Your peaceful noises get caught in your throat.

“T-that I wanted to do something nice for him–” 

“Shhh…” Jisung clenches his hand tighter around your throat, trailing wet kisses on the shell of your ear. The light catches the tear that rolls down your cheek. Jisung tears his eyes away from it and returns to the listing. He takes note of the brick wall and black wood accents, how he can already hear the crashing waves while looking at the beach, how the house looks in the winter, the fairy lights, Aewol-eup, Jeju-si–

Jisung is hoisted up onto the stretcher. Whatever the people around him are yelling is beyond Jisung’s grasp. He coughs, blood gurgling in his throat. He blinks, his eyelids suddenly heavy. His body feels heavy. He exhales shakily, giving his body the rest it’s begging for.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

Your eyes blink open, aching from the brightness of the sun. You groan, cursing yourself for not closing the curtains before passing out again. Flashes of last night play in your mind. A guy propositioned you yet again. You couldn’t find it in you. Whether it was because you associate one night stands with hurting Minho or because you only crave sex the way you and Jisung did it now, you don’t know. Possibly both.

You groan again, rolling out of bed and straight onto the floor. Getting drunk without the follow up of sex was not nearly as gratifying. None of this was gratifying, though. Too many loose ends and questions unanswered.  

You start your scavenger hunt for your bag. You don’t even bother using your phone, it’s always in one of three places. Not the bathroom, not the bedroom floor, so it must be the kitchen. You peer behind the island and surely enough, there it is. You pick it up, grasping at the airtag case out of habit. Horror floods your body once you realize the case is hollow. You turn it around as if the tag will magically be there. You turn your house upside down searching for the tiny thing, playing the sound over and over to no avail. 

You sink to the floor, unable to come to terms with your burgeoning emotions. A tear crawls down your cheeks. You usually reserve crying for getting drunk on wine over the weekends, but it’s out of your control. Nothing comes after. No sobbing or anger. Just emptiness. You look back at your phone, seeing that the tag’s location was updated. Someone else is carrying it god knows where as it moves along the map. Further and further away from you.

Your eyes flit down to the one person the item is shared with. You click the tab and then his name. “View Friend” and “Remove” are the options presented. You feel another tear roll. Your finger hovers over “View Friend”. It slowly moves down, your thumb thudding heavily against the “Remove” button.

You remain on the floor, your vision blurry with tears as you go through and delete every remnant of Minho from your phone. You get to an especially old one, a laugh bubbling from your throat at the way Minho is attempting to block the camera with his hand. You smile, a bittersweet feeling slowly peters out as you delete the last image.

“Goodbye Minho.”

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

“Can you hear me Mr. Han?”

Jisung blinks, squinting at the bright lights above his head. He wriggles his fingers and toes, inhaling shallowly and painfully at the realization that he’s alive. A feeling of gratefulness washes over him as he clenches his eyes shut. He sees you behind his eyelids. He smiles, a warm feeling radiating from each memory of you that plays. He’s alive.

“Mr. Han?” Jisung vocalizes in response, wishing he wasn’t hooked up to fifty million machines so he could turn over. But he’s alive. You don’t have to be shocked by the news and have your getaway ruined. He imagines you getting the call and clenches his teeth. If you saw him like this… would you think differently of him? Have any doubts that he could dominate you? Take care of you? Or would you only see Minho that way? Minho… was he arrested?

Jisung’s eyes snap open, the pain suddenly peaking. The pulse reads 153 as the monitor beeps incessantly. 

“Jisung?!” He hears a woman’s voice and smiles through the throbbing pain. Now he can apologize to you, ask you if you still hate him. Tell you you shouldn’t because you left him. Tell you not to look at him.

“Jisung oh my god!” Jiwoo leans over him between the rush of nurses. She covers her mouth with shaky hands as she’s pulled away. Some of Jisung’s tension eases away upon seeing her.

“He’s my fiance!” Her piercing shrieks grow distant as Jisung’s brain gets foggy again.

The next morning the fog is lifted. Jiwoo’s figure to his left nags at him. He strains his neck to look at her, unable to disguise the contempt on his face. Luckily the bandages on both his brows does that for him. He got a couple stitches for the cut on his cheek, a bandage on his nose, and gauze shoved up both nostrils. A dull throbbing ache becomes increasingly apparent in his skull.

“I spoke to the police.” Jiwoo speaks, deepening the throb.

Jisung continues his tried and true method. Met with silence, Jiwoo continues.

“His name is Lee Minho. He’s the same guy who was staring at us in the grocery store. The same guy outside our old house. He hasn’t said much, just that he’ll cooperate with authorities. That throws getting a motive out the window.” Jiwoo’s eyes are trained on nothing until the last part, when she shoots a pointed look Jisung’s way. He rolls his eyes to a different direction. 

Jiwoo sighs shakily.

“I will be pressing charges. Our lawyer says we have a case since we saw him twice before the battery happened.”

“I don’t want to press charges.” Jisung says carefully, loaded with vexation.

“And I wonder why that is.” The urge to cry Jiwoo tried to suppress breaks free, her words unstable as her eyes moisten. Jisung craves the fog.

She waits again for him to explain. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t know where to start.

“Answer me Jisung!”

”I don’t know him, okay? Think about it, a strange man keeps appearing and just staring at us. Did he seem like he was running an errand and just happened to stop outside of our house? Was he shopping that day? Clearly he’s not right in the head, he needs help. Not to be incarcerated.” Before each word, Jisung’s mind threatens to stumble. "Even when we spoke the day he assaulted me... something wasn't right." His confidence skates along thin ice but still sails eerily smooth. He hazards a glance her way. She’s shocked, but her concern has considerably diminished. Her confidence slowly drains away until her head droops.

… Was that it? Is she back to thinking he's just a pathetic pervert instead of a sinister one?

“Well,” Jiwoo straightens her blazer, clearing her throat with a look of slight embarrassment on her face. “He’ll still face charges for the crime witnessed. There’s nothing we can do about that.”

The two sit in silence again, but Jisung can tell she isn’t waiting for him to speak. He can see her fidgeting in his peripheral. 

“I-I’m sorry, it’s just… you really scared me that night, Ji.” Her voice wavers and Jisung stirs uncomfortably in his hospital bed. “I was scared that I somehow didn’t know you after all. I know I’m being paranoid. I just want you to know that I love you so much.” Jiwoo reaches for his hand and in a split second of horror, Jisung flinches away. She looks at him, confusion and hurt taint her features so harrowingly. Every second he doesn’t remedy this is painful but he can’t. Especially not when Jiwoo adds to it.

“Haseul and I talked about it, and I was being too harsh. Sex addiction is a real problem, and you can’t control what you do in your sleep.” Despite feeling like their relationship was hanging by a thread mere minutes ago, he watches in awe as Jiwoo’s expression becomes more… chipper. “I want us to start off our future on the right foot. I mean, we have a house now. Ji… we’re getting married.” She sits on the side of the hospital bed, grabbing his hands with glassy, hope-filled eyes.

“This is it.” She whispers. Her voice sounds sweet. She means well, but Jisung’s hands stiffen in hers. This is what he wanted. Things will be better from here, she finally sees how she was smothering him. They’ll go home, cuddle, maybe have sex with a little more understanding and communication. Have a healthy marriage. One where she willingly ignores the fact that he finds pleasure in her displeasure. Where she doesn’t know how deep that dynamic runs.

She looks a little worried when he doesn’t respond. She strokes the side of his head. His hand twitches, wanting to swat her away as if mere contact with him will speed up the destruction of her that he’s sure to cause. 

“The doctor said you might be disoriented for a little while.” She forces a quick smile, to not worry him he assumes. An assumption that triggers nausea. The feeling builds until he’s jerking upright and covering his mouth. Jiwoo briefly panics before grabbing one of the emesis bags the nurse left. She hands it to Jisung just in the nick of time. She rubs his back, unaffected by the foul nature of it all. She collects the bag after confirming that he finished. The thought of getting out of there is unsubstantial. The lethargy overtaking him is anything but. 

Sleep whisks him away and wraps him tight. He thinks he’s waking up but it’s another dream. He makes his bed, goes to work, pours a cup of coffee, takes a jog. He cycles through many mundanities before reminding himself that he’s still asleep. He cycles again and winds up in the snow. The cold burns his hands. He looks down to see them shaking and bright red, as if they’d just been pulled from the snow. His subconscious distantly tries to wake him, too distant to penetrate his unconscious. 

It hurts, his hands are pulsing but he’s standing outside a house he has no clue how to get into the house. Rooted in place, he cranes his neck to try and find an entrance. His head reaches far enough that he can see inside. There’s a fire going, the room glows a comfy orange that his frigid body longs for. He sees a figure on the couch, huddled up as if they’re as cold as he is. He reaches his hand out, accidentally knocking against the window. When you look at him it brings about an incomprehensible feeling of dread. 

You’re sobbing, yet still shooting him a bitter glare. You call out his name. His brain rattles, apologies spilling from his lips while he’s still rooted in place. You call him over and over, each call of his name makes his body jolt. He can hear his subconscious now and he’s sent into a frenzy to escape. Trying to wake feels like he’s being pulled apart in all different directions. 

He wakes with a gasp, the fog over his brain too thick to bring him out of the snow. 

“I’m sorry.” He sobs, realizing he’s being held by Jiwoo, still in the hospital bed. As she hugs him, chanting about how happy she is that he woke up, he’s punching himself for not speaking to her. Letting her know that he wasn’t disoriented when he didn’t speak to her. He should make up for leaving her hanging after she apologized and bared her soul to him. His brain might be foggy now but he has the ability to comfort his girlfriend in this time of concern for him. 

“I know it’s hard, you don’t have to say anything honey.” She whispers tearfully, sniffling as she pulls away from him. 

But he doesn’t comfort her, or come clean about willingly ignoring her.

The doctor explains to him and Jiwoo that he needs more time in the hospital. More time in what feels like purgatory.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

Jisung isn’t sure what all this activity in his brain means. Is his anxiety active because he doesn’t want to see Minho or because he wants him to come out already. He bounces his leg quietly as he looks around. The only other visitor stands from the chair in tears, leaving him completely alone. While his eyes are trained on the person leaving, Minho sits on the other side of the glass. 

“You look like shit.” He speaks into the phone. Minho’s voice focuses Jisung’s attention back to him. Seeing Minho makes his face ache. 

“You do too.” Jisung says with a sigh of irritation. When Minho narrows his eyes at him he wonders if they’ve already started off on the wrong foot. 

“Coming here to gloat some more?” Minho asks, his eyes actually requesting information despite his retort. Jisung sighs as his eyes dance around the room. He reevaluates why he’s even here, if it was a mistake, and if he should just leave.

“We’re not pressing charges.” He starts, figuring he should at least tell him that. He doesn’t know how long he’ll be in there, or how waiting for the news of whether or not he'll be taken to court felt. He hopes that giving him the news now eases whatever concerns he’s hiding away.

“Is your head still a little fuzzy?” Minho smiles crookedly, looking him up and down. 

“No, I’m completely conscious.”

The quick answer catches Minho off guard, his smug attitude dissipating as he readjusts in his seat.

“Well, thanks.” He glances briefly at Jisung, his expression reading confusion. “And wipe that worried look off your face. I think I deserve a little time in here if I’m honest.”

Jisung doesn’t want to unpack the sound of reflection in Minho’s voice. The fact that it sounds like Minho is referring to more than the aggravated battery. As far as Jisung knows, you were the only wrongdoer in the relationship. The deeply troubled look you sported whenever anything slightly related to her boyfriend was brought up made Jisung assume you were being abused. You quickly shot that down. He can’t even begin to understand how Minho came to the conclusion that he belongs in there.

“I want to tell her the truth.” Jisung blurts out, shame overwhelming him and casting his eyes to the floor. Minho is quiet for a moment.

“I only did it because I was so worked up, but it’s nice to see that I knocked some sense into you.” Jisung looks up to see Minho with no smile on his face. Jisung feels like he’s being looked down upon despite being on this side of the glass.

“So I should do it? What if… what if it just ruins her faster?” Minho continues to hold Jisung in his judgmental gaze, either torturing him or reflecting on his answer.

“Do you care about her?”

“Of course I do.” Jisung says, a little disappointed by such shallow reasoning. “She’s my fiancée.”

“Not her.” Minho hisses, as if it’s obvious. Jisung’s eyes slowly widen as it dawns on him. He thinks of you, spreading noisy color throughout his mind. Thinking of you is always so complicated but when faced with such a simple question, Jisung feels like he can finally make sense of it. He looks at Minho, cowering away soon after realizing what information he just relayed and to whom. 

“Then don’t.” Minho states bluntly, a pinprick of venom piercing Jisung. It’s slow acting, leaving Jisung in a daze as he tries to make sense of his visit.

“And since you hit me with a truth bomb, let me help you out.” Minho cuts his reflection short, causing Jisung to look at him cautiously. "Stop acting like you care about your fiancée. You’re just lying to yourself.”

Minho watches Jisung process the truth, satisfied when no signs of fighting it crop up. Jisung hangs up the phone, slowly standing from his seat and leaving the room. Minho goes to stand himself after sitting in a little silence. 

“Not so fast, Lee. You got another visitor.” The guard says, pushing against his chest. Minho turns around to see someone standing where Jisung just was, their head cut off by the wall above the window. He feels his heart fall before finally moving his feet. He sits down hesitantly, finally meeting your nervous gaze. Your eyes dart around before you grab the phone. 

“I-I wanted to come in long enough after him that you knew I didn’t come with him. I wouldn’t do that.” You rush out, still standing and fisting your t-shirt. Minho smiles lazily, tilting his head toward the chair.

“Stay a while.” He jokes. Your stiffness melts only a little, offering a stilted smile before sitting down. Just like Jisung, your eyes don’t linger on him long, bouncing around the room. 

“So?” He says, hoping he reminds you that you have a time limit. Your eyes finally linger, and the look on your face suggests Jisung wasn’t lying when he said Minho looked like shit. He sighs.

“Listen, don’t worry about me–”

“You’re a good person.”

Your words give him pause. His chest starts to ache and the sensation makes him grit his teeth. What are you doing here?

“I know that you’re probably looking back at… us and what I did to you and obsessing over everything you think you did wrong. Just know you did everything out of love and empathy. That’s who you are.”

It’s Minho now who can’t keep his eyes on you now. He balls his fist, huffing out of frustration. “You can’t fix this.” He warns.

“I-I know. I know we’ll never get back together and I know you’ll probably always hate me. In fact, I hope you hate me. Because you should.” Your voice creaks, your brows furrowing as you squeeze your eyes shut. “I used to look down on you for drinking yourself to sleep on the couch when you could’ve done much worse. You could’ve given me a taste of my own medicine, stooped down to my level. But you never did. And you hung on for so long.” Your voice gives way for the tears and the mucus that coats your throat. 

“None of that makes you weak or stupid.” You take a tissue out of your pocket, drying your face and clearing your throat. “I know how it must’ve felt when you picked me up that night, after the news.”

“Stop.” He warns lowly. The ache deepens and threatens to make him cry himself. He tries not to think about that night. The way you looked after being utterly crushed and considering giving up on the world.

“I had no one left and you were there for me. But that was never your responsibility. I’m my own responsibility.”

Minho’s jaw quivers from clenching it so tight. Your eyes are steadfast, he can see that you mean it. That you’re not just saying this for sympathy or to pull him back in. His head droops over, unable to look anymore.

“If hating me helps you feel less responsible for me, please, replay every shitty action I’ve done until you think of me as the dirt beneath your shoes. But please never beat yourself up. You should’ve never had to deal with that.”

The silence seems to throw you off, judging by the way your eyes falter. You look down before standing from the chair.

“Wait.” Minho says just before you take the phone away from your ear. The way you look at him suggests you think he’ll take your advice and tell you how much he hates you. 

“Thank you. Good luck with everything… I hope you find support.” He looks up at you, the both of you share an assured but hopeful look before you hang up the phone.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

Unforecast rain spooked Jiwoo earlier according to one of her younger brothers.

“Don’t tell her I told you this, but when Chuu gets all anxious it’s hilarious.” He elbows Jisung, his laughter faltering once he realizes Jisung is staring into space. “Are you nervous too?”

“Huh? No. Tell Jiwoo it only sprinkled for a little while. And we’ll be in the garden conservatory for the ceremony.” Jisung says in the robotic manner that has gotten him this far into this day.

Her brother rolls his eyes. “Okay, but I’m not going to be you guys’ messenger because of a stupid superstition. I’ll literally tell you what her dress looks like right now.”

Once he leaves, Jisung’s ears begin ringing again. People think he’s getting ready, when he really just holed himself up in building's office for some peace and quiet. Would he be able to slip out without anyone knowing? Should he leave after the vows? Or just before they sign the marriage license?

The sigh he lets out does nothing to ease him. He hasn’t had enough time to think on what Minho said. Should he have broken up with her? Or should he disappear quietly? Leave a note?

Jiwoo has been a wreck for the past few days leading up to the wedding. It’s been mostly happy tears, being so wracked with excitement to marry Han Jisung. To have Han Jisung’s children. To be with Han Jisung forever, happily ever after. Will they have kids before or after they stop speaking to each other around the house because she’s so hurt by what Jisung has done, but loves him too much to leave him?

It can’t get to that point. It can’t get to the point that Jisung is visiting her in jail after she murders you in a fit of rage. That she looks gaunt behind the glass with no light in her eyes anymore or no cheerful smile. Her family will hate him, his kids will hate him, he’ll hate himself.

“I’ve gotta get the fuck out of here.” He says shakily. He bursts out the door staggering to exit the building when her other brother stops him. He pats him firmly on the back.

“It’s that time, big man!”

He feels like throwing up again. There is no concussion this time to maybe break him out. Make him actually sick so he can trick someone into taking him to hospital. The color leaves his face as he’s guided to his spot at the end of the aisle. He can hear people whispering about him in their seats. 

“How cute! Look how nervous he is!”

“Watch how his face changes once he sees his wife.”

“I’ll get a picture!”

He stands there, jittery and struggling to breathe as he debates if it’s too late. If he should just give in. Be complicit in her downfall.

The crowd stands and cheers as the doors open at the other end of the building. She pulls her veil out of her face, looking at him with tears welling in her eyes. Cameras flash as she slowly makes her way to him. All at once, Jiwoo’s expression flickers from pure joy to hurt confusion and everyone in the crowd looks at him. The music continues as people begin whispering again. This time there is no aura of excitement.

“Why does he look like that?”

“That’s no way to look at the love of your life.”

“What is wrong with him?”

Jiwoo cautiously walks forward, standing in front of her ghostly white soon-to-be husband. She looks into his blank stare begging silently for an explanation as to why he doesn’t seem happy in the slightest to be seeing her for the first time in her wedding dress. Why he’s continuing to just stare at her when he should obviously sense the atmosphere. 

“Please be seated.” The officiant speaks. Whispers continue and Jisung’s eyes feel dry. “Thank you. Friends, family, and loved ones, we come together today, in the sight of you as witnesses to join Han Jisung and Kim Jiwoo in marriage. We gather around them now in this wonderful place, and we look on with love and hope as these two begin their new life together as one.”

As he stares into her face of horror, he imagines that this will be common in their lives. He feels disgust upon hearing the officiant describe their future. As one he says. His mind forces the image of Jiwoo being meshed into a grotesque amalgam with him to begin the rest of her miserable life.

“Jisung?” Jiwoo’s voice is frail as she jolts him back to the present. 

“Huh?”

The murmurs get louder and unabashed in their condemnation of Jisung’s behavior. 

“Ahem, I said. Han Jisung, do you take Kim Jiwoo to be your lawfully wedded wife? Will you honor and cherish her? Love, trust, and commit to her, through joy and pain, sickness and health, and whatever life may throw at you both, until death do you part?”

Jiwoo looks miserable and sickly on her deathbed, contradicting the stereotype of women always outliving their husbands. No, Jiwoo drank her days away, smoking two packs of cigarettes everyday. She withered her soul away in tandem with her physical self by entertaining her husband’s cruelty with her own. Dedicating more time to that than her kids. She wastes away in front of him, dying in the home she shared with the man who ruined her life. 

As if to make a point, his mind shifts to Minho’s face. He’s looking at him as if to asks:

“Is this what you want?”

“No!”

The gasps that come from the crowd and Jiwoo herself jolt Jisung like a bolt of electricity. 

“What the fuck?” Her brother grabs his shoulder and yanks Jisung from behind. He ignores his mother scolding him for his behavior and language. “What the fuck did you just say?” He shouts, this time shoving him.

“I-I…” Jisung stutters.

“Please! He was just recovering from a head injury. Jisung, tell them!” His own mother stands from her seat, her eyes pleading with him to get it together. His mother and father told him time and time again that Jiwoo was someone he should hold onto. That she’s a great girl who would make a great mother. They’re right. But there’s a reason he hasn’t stopped thinking about you since he last saw you. 

It starts with one step backward, the crowd silent as they wait for his response. He takes another step. And another. Then one forward. Then he’s running.

He hears Jiwoo scream after him in anguish, the crowd erupting in protest. He keeps running and running. He turns to see her brothers and her father tailing behind. His heart pumps with fear. The look on their faces is something he’s familiar with. It’s better this way, better than finding out he’s been in love with someone else the whole time. He tails a taxi, slapping the door for it to stop. It screeches to a halt and he nearly trips getting in. He falls over onto the seats, fearfully reaching for the door to slam it shut.

“Lock the doors!”

The driver looks startled, even more so when three men come banging on the window. He hears them calling him a coward, threatening to give him another concussion. He catches his breath, entering a coughing fit as he tries to calm down. 

“Where are you going?” The driver asks incredulously. Jisung says the first thing that comes to his overwhelmed mind. He clears his throat, feeling hoarse after exerting himself. His head pounds as he leans back on the seat.

By the time the driver gets there, the Eve is open. Jisung fishes his wallet out of his pocket, his only belonging now. He pays the driver and stands in front of the building. He slowly walks in, drenched in sweat in an outfit way too formal for a place like this. He sits in the same spot he did when he first came here. 

He remembers how he felt, and then thinks about what Minho told him. He wonders if he ever actually cared about Jiwoo or if he felt like she’d be good for him. If he was the same guy he was when he first sat here, he’d probably go camp outside of the house and wait for her to come home. Try to explain everything and hope selfishly that she’d forgive him. She’s better off never seeing him again.

Now what, he thinks as he orders a drink. He pats his pockets for his phone, wanting to look up nearby hotels. Or maybe he should look for ones far away. Maybe in Jeju-si…

Where’s his phone?

His heart drops, remembering that he set it on the desk in the office of the venue. How stupid of him to just run out like that. 

“Can I use your phone?”

The bartender laughs at him, jokingly asking if he’s lamenting his lost freedom as a man. 

“Tch,” Jisung smirks, accepting the phone with a shake of his head. He’s not the one who should be lamenting right now. Even if he did go through with it.

Instead of looking up hotels, he finds himself looking up a certain jail.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

“I guess I didn’t knock sense into you after all.” Minho’s voice crackles through the speaker of the phone.

They could go back and forth all day about how Jisung acted too late and in the most destructive way. Jisung already spent all of last night doing that. He chews on his lip, looking down, trying to quickly find a way to bring this up. You’re the only thing that makes sense right now.

“Have you uh… spoken to her about any of this?” Jisung silently prays, peeking at Minho to try and guess his answer before he says it. He doesn’t expect to see Minho smiling to himself. He feels a distant ache in his chest.

”You didn’t see her on your way out from seeing me?”

Watching Jisung’s expression wither into dismay, Minho decides that he is truly fine. The possibility of you running to Jisung stings a little less knowing you weren’t lying about not visiting with him.

You were in Incheon? You… didn’t reach out to him. Maybe you forgot his number.

Jisung tries to find peace with that answer but anger bubbles up in his abdomen. He hangs up the phone, running out of yet another building. Are you even in Jeju? He laughs bitterly. He thought you said it as a way of putting your walls up, but maybe you did mean it when you said you didn’t care if he died.

After everything? After all of that?

Jisung has to find out for himself.

-> end of act ii

skz masterlist

milestone celebration masterlist

[chiarrara]

the core idea i'm working with concerning the jjk finale discourse is that people are mad about the wrong things.

I have had serious problems with the writing in jjk since at least shibuya, and I even found criticism in the hidden inventory arc and the sister school exchange arc (though the main problem there is that it was boring pre-disaster curses and the characters suck).

Similar to Game of Thrones, some people were criticizing the broken writing choices as far back as seasons 3 and 4 while most people were glazing the series until the cracks in the foundation caused the entire story to crumble right at the end, leaving most of the fanbase confused how it "suddenly" got so bad.

The commonly held sentiment is that JJK fell off after Shibuya. I disagree. I think it fell off during Shibuya where the entire worldbuilding, power system, and plot broke irreparably.

HOWEVER where JJK never fell off was in character writing, relationship writing, and the overall themes of the story which were all consistent, had strong throughlines, were well integrated into the action (another strength), and were in my opinion, the core appeal of the the entire project.

And yet, most of what I hear people complaining about is either a) missing or dissatisfying character moments and a lack of satisfying exploration of the themes, or b) contradictory outrage over plot and worldbuilding elements not lining up as if these issues haven't been there from the start.

I know a lot of people don't operate this way, but when there are fundamental problems with the storytelling, but there are other parts of the story that I find incredibly meaningful and impactful, I find it really easy to glaze over those problems and even justify and rewrite them in my head so they make more sense. When good character writing shows up in JJK, I stop caring that the plot sucks.

The finale chapters of JJK had amazing character writing, delivered on the main themes of the story, and made literally all the broken plot elements, lack of focus, and shoddy worldbuilding secondary concerns for me. They don't break the important parts of the story, I don't care that they aren't wrapped up because I didn't like them in the first place, and their lack of exploration just cedes more ground to fan creation allowing the story to thrive for years into the future.

If you were reading JJK for the complicated plot, complex scheming, or intricate worldbuilding, I can see why you're upset, but you made a mistake a long time ago because that stuff has sucked for ages. But I know most of you fuckers on this website were reading for good characters, impactful themes about love, and yaoi bait, so why are you mad????? I really don't get it.

Who cares that the shittily written American Military subplot didn't come back? The fucking basis of the power system doesn't make any sense and isn't well thought out, so how was it ever going to deliver on the solution/potential for cursed energy? You're mad that the random New Shadow School subplot was randomly thrown in at the end, I've been mad since that random fucking grasshopper showed up in the fucking subway!

And some of you are literally admitting YOU DIDN'T EVEN READ THE TRANSLATED CHAPTERS so how would you KNOW if the story themes and character writing had been delivered on? based on summaries? that is the absolute worst delivery system for a story, you have to know this. you're getting mad at machine translations of out of context pages like WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT.

In conclusion, most of you are mad at the wrong things and none of what I wrote up there is really about what the things you should be mad about are, because they don't matter. The point of a story is to mean something and JJK did. It was always good at what it was good at, and I wish people were engaging more with the story in it's own domain instead of being mad it wasn't exactly what they wanted it to be. The finale delivered on everything that made me care about this story. It made me love it even more, and I'm never going to regret spending so much time on this series. Everything else is just criticism for fun.

[bamnamuu]

that’s how you get the girl - riki nishimura

02. i'm an edward

w.count 1315 | warnings swearing, threatening to push people out of the car, typos, prob bad sorry, t’s long sorry for that as well lol | ems note I don't care if this is the worst thing I've written I had fun sooo | masterlist | last part next part |

You were sprinting as fast as you could to Jay’s car, not because you wanted to see the boys that badly, no, you had just seen Sunoo and Jungwon like 20 minutes ago. You needed to beat Riki and with so much luck you did!  ‘’ hi’’ you said, opening the car door and meeting Sunoo's smiling face.  ‘’I’m not gonna lie, I’m very impressed y/n I thought ki was gonna beat you’’ you hear Jungwon say as you finish buckling your seatbelts. ‘’So did I!’’ you say, still having to catch your breath. ''Look who finally shows up’’ Jay says as Riki flings himself onto yours and Sunoo's lap, probably banging his head on the roof in the process. ''OW your elbow went into my thigh!’’ you say to Niki's face as he lies face down in your lap, ''Regretting the choice you just made there bud?’’ Jungwon said like a mother. ‘’Yes, yes I am,’’ Riki said not bothering to move yet, and it's moments like this where you question how and why you are friends with these guys. Niki and you have gone to the same schools for your entire lives, but when the two of you were in grade school you barely saw him, you both had the same classes he just skipped school. But you remember the first time you talked to him Riki, it was the day of the school sports event, you had just won a potato sack race when you decided to sit down, which you did on a patch of grass far away from the school with your cherry popsicle you had just won, the sun was beaming down o you causing the frozen treat to melt on your hands and before you knew it fall into the dirt where the ants were now enjoying your prize. This was the end of the world for ten-year-old you, sniffing and wiping your tears off you feel a tap on your shoulder turning around to find a boy the same age as you holding out his popsicle to you, ''You can have mine if you want.’’ the boy said, still not looking you in the eyes. ‘’ can we share it?’’ you spoke quietly, the kid just nodded at you. ''I’m Riki.’’ he said sitting down beside you handing you the popsicle, to which you took a bite and then handed it back, ''I’m y/n! Are you new here?’’ you asked ‘’No’’ he said. You saw more of him at school from that day on, you two were now stuck together at the hip figuratively and kind of literally. ''ki gets off of me, you’ve had enough time to process!’’ the giant on your lap just murmured something under his breath and sat in his seat next to Sunoo. ''hold on guys I think I left something in the back of the trunk, y/n can you peak over and lo-’’ ‘’ no need I’m right here!’’ Sunghoon emerged from the trunk cutting off jays sentence and making everyone yelp in shock and surprise everyone except Sunoo he just laughed. ''what the fuck hoon you almost make y/n pee her pants!’’ Ni Ki said clutching his chest ''what the hell dude! Do I have permission to kick him out of the car Jay?’’  ‘’ Yeah, why not!’’ Jay said enthusiastically. 

With much restraint you managed to make it to Riki's house without causing his body any harm, jay, Riki, and Sunoo all raced to the front door while you and Jungwon helped Sunghoon out of the back ''i swear to god you vampire Hoon!’’ you pointed an accusing finger at Sunghoon ''maybe I am, maybe I'm not all I know is if I was a vampire wouldn't know.’’ ‘’ Can I start calling you a Cullen?’’ Jungwon said. ''as long as it refers to me being Edward knock yourself out!’’ ‘’I was thinking more of Jasper, you two are very alike!’’ jungwon said before skipping to the house. ''I am not a Jasper I’m an Edward.’’ sunghoon said defensively ''Sure you are bud, sure you are!’’ you say patting his back. running to Riki's front door only to be met by his back to your face. ''why are you standing in the middle of the doorway?’’ you said rubbing your nose ''I was hoping you would be Sunghoon, but you're not so sorry.’’ he said grabbing your face to look at the damage he caused ''you broke my nose!’’ ''I did not. Stop being dramatic’’ he said bending down to your level so he could see your eyes and nose, this boy is going to kill you there was no reason for him to be doing all this, you're not even bleeding. ''follow me, let's go bandage you up.’’ he said with a laugh leading you towards his kitchen. Following his lead you enter his family kitchen that you become familiar with, sitting at the dining table Riki takes out a pack of peas from the freezer and hands them to you before sitting next to you, ''So y/n I wanted to talk about earlier.’’ he said as you placed the peas on your nose, not that you needed it. ''about how you don't know how to draw a circle because I don’t think that's important ki you have many more things you're actually good at!’’ you said trying to act completely oblivious to what he's trying to get at, ''first of all rude, second of all this about what I said at lunch, y’know you helping me talk to Rei?’’ thank god for the frozen peas to cover up how flustered you are ''oh yes that thing I agreed too!’’ ''right, so I was thinking we could make a plan or list-type thing to help.’’ ''wait I just thought I was just gonna get her number for you and this be over with?’’ ''oh no no no, my good pal you’re my wing-woman y/n you're in this for life!’’ he said grinning, letting out a sigh you asked ''I'm guessing you already have a plan huh?’’ you see Riki nodding with glee ''yes- well some of it all I know is I want to ask rei to come with me to the school dance in a couple of months.’’ you were going to respond when you were interrupted by sunghoon spinning into the kitchen ''why do you need to ask some other girl you don’t know when you have a perfectly good candidate here?’’ oh god, you had regretted telling the other boys you had a crush on Riki specifically Sunghoon. ''and who would that be?’’ Riki said confused, please don't say me don't say me ''sunoo!’’ oh thank god. You watched as Hoon looked at you and winked, you should have left him in the trunk. ''hey Riki do you have any more hot coco packs?’’ sunghoon said, Riki looked up from his phone ''No you used them all remember?’’ ''damn it! I can’t have anything! I can’t be Edward! I can't drink my hot coco!’’ Sunghoon mumbled as he left the kitchen. “anyway about Rei I was wondering if you could eavesdrop on her conversations so that” “Absolutely not! I’m not gonna become a stalker for you” “Just this once y/n please!” “no ki…I know Rei volunteers to help in the library every week or some why don’t you, I don’t know see her there?” “so you’re asking me to go to the library of my own free will?” “yes, I don’t think it’s that big of a deal” “Fine.” “GUESS WHOS BACK!” Heeseung said as he walked through the door, Jake followed behind him. After some catching up with the boys, decided to head to the basketball court and play a couple of games. You, however, were now punching yourself in your mind for what you said earlier.

taglist [open] @txtlyn @sakiimeo

[howtofightwrite]

Hello! I have a very particular sort of scene that I've been trying to get right for over ten years now and I can't make it work; I hope perhaps you can help.

A husband and wife duo who have Mixed Feelings about one another are trying to break out of a facility. (He was recently discovered to be a spy, she is a conscripted soldier in the facility. She was sent to escort him to execution but hesitated - I'm not sure where, in the cell, in the hall? - and - he took advantage of this hesitation? she was arrested as a traitor? - I don't know that either, yet - and they end up running through the halls together to escape)

The facility is vaguely sci-fi; think Star Wars Original Trilogy-style weapons, and there is space travel, but technology isn't... wildly advanced. Like it's not all digital and holograms and hand-wavey stuff, it's only a little more advanced than what we have available now. (Like SW OT.)

Point A is them in the cell. Point B is them on a spaceship breaking free.

I cannot get them from Point A to Point B with any kind of plausibility, or without staggering incompetence on the part of the soldiers and commanders in the facility.

They would likely be armed with only her sidearm, unless they happened to grab rifles off of further escorts sent with her?

I'm sorry this is so vague, thank you in advance for any help!

Personally, I’m of the opinion that any scene that’s been marinating in the brain for a long time (especially for years) has deeper structural/internal issues than just putting together action. Just from reading your question, I can feel the way you’ve laid this specific scenario out breaking your own suspension of disbelief. You’ve got several problems that have built up over time and, now, they’re all working against you.

Change if it’s Not Working

One of the best pieces of writing advice I ever got came from being forced to memorize my martial arts school’s Ten Steps to Mastery as part of my first test for black belt. I only remember the first five and I can’t guarantee they’re all in order.

Set a goal

Take action

Pay attention to detail

Practice, Practice, Practice

Change if it’s not working

Regardless of whether you’re practicing a front kick or writing a full length novel, flexibility is important. The more we try to force something to work, the less likely it will. Training flaws into your technique means they’ll be more difficult to correct later. So, don’t forget to stop and look at the larger picture if you feel yourself getting stuck.

Remember, change isn’t failure. Writing is a complex process and not every idea, plotline, character moment, or scene is going to work out when fit into a larger context. And that’s okay.

Outside emotional exhaustion and stress, my writer’s block kicks in when I’ve taken a wrong turn in the narrative or am avoiding a difficult emotional moment that my characters need to face before their story can progress. Something has made me/them uncomfortable and instead of facing it, I’m attempting to avoid the uncomfortable feeling by throwing some other distracting piece, usually action, in the way. I call these moments false notes. I usually hit them when I’m coming at the story from an external perspective (what have I seen other characters do in other stories/films?) rather than an internal one. (What would this character do?)

If something isn’t working, stop trying to make it work. Instead look for what you’re missing, and where the pieces aren’t connecting. It’s usually further back than the scene you’re working on.

My characters are always right. I’m either not listening or going about it the wrong way.

Food for thought.

Your Heroes are Reactively Active

We hear a lot from the writing community about the importance of Active Characters. These are characters who are doing things to move the plot forward. They make choices. They take action. Then, there are passive or, what I like to call, reactive characters. They are characters who react to things in their environment, whatever that is, but they’re not actively making choices. Passive characters get a bad rap in American storytelling tradition (more so than in the wider Western storytelling tradition.)

Passive characters really shine when working with characters who are in settings where they’re struggling to survive. In the real world, passivity is one of the best ways to survive abuse. Any victim of long term or systemic abuse can tell you that standing up and fighting back, especially in situations where you have no power or means to change your circumstances, makes the situation exponentially worse. You’ve got to gray rock it out, suppress, and survive.

Lastly, there are characters I like to call reactively active. These are characters who feel like they’re being active but are actually just reacting to actions taken by other characters. They appear a lot in YA Fantasy, but they’re everywhere. And, because these characters are always reacting to another character’s (usually the villain’s) actions and choices, they get an easy out when it comes to escaping narrative consequences for the things they do. It’s a deceptive sleight of hand used to maintain a character’s moral purity. These characters appear active on the surface, but, underneath, they’re passively reacting to the narrative events inflicted on them. They don’t take action. They respond to action with action.

Let’s get back to your scenario.

We have a husband and wife in some sort of heavily or, at least, decently fortified, military installation. The husband has been outed as a spy, put in whatever functions as a prison or holding cell within the complex, and scheduled to be executed. The wife is a loyal soldier who must now choose between her love for her husband and her love of duty.

This has the makings of some good drama.

The first obvious problem point is that these characters are trying to do too many things at once. They’re coming to terms with their deep feelings of betrayal, experiencing a last minute change of heart, making a snap decision to escape, and rapidly coming up with a plan to escape in the heat of the moment. If this feels unbelievable, it’s because it is and, even better, doubles for putting the characters in a reactive or passive state. The wife character isn’t acting, so much as she’s reacting last minute to the immediate, impending danger. That would be fine if she wasn’t also having to help carry the burden of coming up with The Plan.

There’s the surface level here, where the last minute change of heart is mimicking the kinds of behavior seen in countless other forms of media regarding escape scenes. However, this narrative decision happening in the heat of the moment is also allowing the character to skate over the emotional consequences of her own betrayal. She’s not choosing so much as she’s being forced to make a choice. And that is removing her agency.

If she makes the choice earlier, starts putting The Plan in place with the help of some friends/colleagues (even if it happens largely off page) then executes at the cell, she takes back her agency and retains her status as an active character.

The difference here is in the processing time. Characters can’t plausibly escape fortified lock up without a plan or, really, The Plan.

The Narrative Structure of Last Minute Rescues

The first problem in your scenario is that you have two characters, neither of which are doing the pre-planning legwork required to successfully execute The Plan. Rescues are like heists, they either take a village or require characters who are extremely meticulous and actively manipulating the village to fill in the gaps. (James Bond does Option 2 beautifully, but even he has a team behind him.) Usually, both happen to some degree. The burden is segregated out into different pieces for different characters. Normally, there’s at least three. The character locked up is trying to figure out a way to escape, but comes up short. The one on the outside who is putting together the pieces needed to execute the rescue/get away. And, sometimes, the one on the inside who is experiencing a change of heart, who, at the very last minute, turns heel and assists with the rescue (most often in the turn of misfortune where a piece fails and the rescue is at risk of being bungled.)

All of this additional weight/build up/expectation of the non-existent plan is being put on two characters and crammed into a single scene.

Think about the rescue of Princess Leia from the Death Star for a moment. How many characters are required to make that escape work?

Seven.

All of them. If a single character in the entire group is missing, the whole thing falls apart. Even Threepio is necessary, mostly because Artoo can’t talk. This off the cuff, by the seat of our pants rescue requires all seven characters and they still end up bungling it to kill their samurai master.

You need one to turn off the tractor beam so they can actually escape. (Doing the real work.)

You need one to figure out where the princess is being held, unlock the doors, and figure out where they are.

You need two to bullshit past the guards going in and one to pretend to be a prisoner.

You need one to bullshit past the guards a second time to save the one that can’t talk with the floor plan.

You need the princess to be the one to get them back out because she’s the only one with balls.

And none of it mattered because the escape was a trap all along.

While you don’t need these specific roles for everything, escaping from a heavily fortified facility is not a two man job. That’s where the feelings of implausibility and extreme incompetence are coming from. There aren’t enough characters helping to clear the way or be there as a safeguard for when things go wrong. This feeds into the next problem.

Soldiers, Spies, and Their Squads

We have another unintended scenario brewing at the same time. And that’s the exhausted retail employee going on a rampage and slaughtering their surprised colleagues. This really knifes your tension. By reacting to the immediate danger, the wife is not making an active, conscious choice with full knowledge of the consequences, and those consequences are killing people she knows, respects, is friends with, shares a camaraderie, or who are at least familiar to her. These other soldiers aren’t faceless goons. It’s a lot harder to pull the trigger on someone you know than someone you don’t, especially someone who has the same values that you do.

Soldiers aren’t characters who work alone. They have a squad. They’re part of a unit. They have a support network surrounding them that allows them to do their job to the best of their ability. Spies are the same way. They also have a support network which allows them to act to the best of their ability, even when it feels like they’re acting alone. Spies have handlers and they have assets, their job requires they build their own support networks so they have someone who can get into the places where they can’t. Those people may be witting or unwitting assets but they’re still there.

Both of these characters should have fairly extensive support networks to fall back on when in crisis. They’re in crisis. The crisis is both physical and emotional. Where are their people? Two characters who are social archetypes whose jobs and survival during wartime are reliant on building trust and skillful communication have no one willing to put their lives on the line to help them out? They only have each other? That’s staggering incompetence.

Spies aren’t assassins. They’re social animals. Soldiers aren’t lone wolves. They’re social animals. If there’s a structural failure here, it’s happening with your secondary characters.  Ignoring the importance of secondary characters is a mistake that a lot of new writers make and I can feel those early mistakes being carried forward in this scene. This is what Hemingway meant when he said, “kill your darlings.” If an idea isn’t working, if it’s holding you back, kill it. Look at the problem and your work from a new angle. One good line or one good scene, regardless of your emotional attachment to it, doesn’t outweigh the entire work.

Plans and Floor Plans

If you’re having trouble coming up with a character’s escape, step back and take a look at the facility itself. Whether it’s breaking in or breaking out, you, the author, need to have a clear visualization of the entire picture so you can find the weaknesses or fracture points.

Plans are easier to conceptualize when you know what the dangers are and what defenses have been put in place to prevent what your characters are attempting. Which parts of the fortress are better fortified than others? Where does this military expect to be attacked? What have they done to prevent it? What are the patrols? Who are the techs? How does the military support itself while fending off attempts to damage its resources? Who handles the supply lines?

The boring minutiae of your world is what makes it feel real. Action is dependent on your world building and this goes deeper than just their weapons. The social systems in place guide how your characters fight. It’s there in how they perceive their environment, and how they recognize usable tools. If you build a functional and consistent world, the action will take care of itself because violence is a natural response to environmental threats. Violence seeks to exploit established systems, to gain an advantage over them. If the violence is imagined separately from the environment, the violence won’t feel real because it’s not reactive and it’s not reacting to environmental stimuli. From there, it’s not logical.

Ask yourself, why do we use guns?

Then ask yourself, why do your characters use guns? What does it allow them to do that they wouldn’t be able to do otherwise? Or, what does the gun do better than other weapons that makes it the preferred choice?

The answer for the real world and your setting might be the same, and they might be different. Both will influence how the character uses their weapon. How they use their weapon guides how they fight. If you’re lost, ask yourself questions.

For example, let’s take a last look at the prison.

Prisons are built with the expectation of keeping multiple people contained for an extended period of time, preventing them from leaving in the event of an escape, and preventing those who are sympathetic from breaking in to rescue them. What have the characters in your setting (not your protagonists) done to facilitate that goal? What safeguards have been put in place to prevent someone from leaving and entering?

In the real world, prisons are built in a way that two people can’t just walk out. There are points of entry and exit that are designed to be remotely controlled from secure locations and cannot be operated or accessed on the ground. You’d need someone (like R2-D2) who can access the remote functions to get someone past the exits that they can’t open themselves.

-Michi

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[axailslink]

Can you do one where Scotty is stalking fem! reader, but it turns out reader was the first to notice scotty and has actually been following her around for way longer?? IDK, I just feel like this would be interesting to read.

I see you too

Scotty x FEM reader

She's so beautiful but I can't do this again I can't allow myself to do this again... What if she thinks I'm weird or worse some pervert? Scotty watches you while she sits in the van you're watering the plants outside the house tomorrow was going to be sunny and you didn't want them to get burnt out brittle around the edges. Scotty thought this was cute how much you cared for the small things around you before yourself she could tell you hadn't showered yet your hair was pulled off your shoulders and eyes damn near shut. "She works so hard just like me" you go back in the house and it brings her joy down because now she has to do something she'd never thought she'd do.... She has to get closer and has to see you more she leaves the car quietly approaching your house no one else is really outside at this time only you she's noticed you go to sleep early around eight doesn't know why but that's usually when you go in. When she approaches the living room window she's met with you taking your robe off she quickly looks away not wanting to go that far in invading your privacy. You're left in something she didn't expect not undergarments but straight black clothes and tennis shoes. She'd never approached your window before she always thought you went to sleep after checking on the plants she never stayed long to find out though. Right now she had a choice to keep investigating where the hell you were going or to go and take care of her mother. She loved you but her mother couldn't care for herself she hurriedly runs to her car tripping over her own feet straight into the fence cutting her shoulder and shirt you hear the rustling outside and look out your window but by the time you look she's gone and so is that van that's always two houses from yours.

If she was going to watch you from afar she could have at least been better at it that van doesn't go unnoticed you hum to yourself as you put on your beanie and gloves getting ready for your... nightly run.

.

When you finally reach her house she's sitting outside you run past as if you don't see her so that is what she does when she's done watching you she always comes home something or someone must be inside. There's not a day where she doesn't come home you would find out tomorrow what it was you don't know how yet but you're going to find out.

.

Here you stand at her door putting on the perfect facade thank your high school for school plays. She opens the door and the facade is going you can't think so you let it all spill everything. "I've been watching you... Not in a weird way but I see you often have multiple jobs I see you a lot driving the van sitting in front of my house watching me" you can see the panic written all over her face "no no that's not me I would never..." You sigh "I see you too. Your name's Scotty you're young you're sweet and I think you might like me and that's fine because I've also seen you and watched you. Not a lot! Just a couple of times I run past your house every day just to catch a glimpse of you. You're nice to look at."

She closes the door in your face leaving you chewing on your words so stupid you just couldn't lie and say you were lost!? No you just saw her and completely forgot just rambled about how she's sweet oh for goodness sake. She opens the door just a bit looking at you with a giddy smile on her face "you like me?" You can't help but smile at the smile she's giving you "maybe would that be bad?" She closes the door again and you can hear voices through the door of a woman then Scotty herself "mama! She likes me too! What do I say!?" You can't hear her reply but Scotty opens the door and smiles at you again causing you to laugh nervously "let me take you out for something small? Maybe?" Her smile's so big that if you were to touch it she'd break like fragile glass shattering she nods eagerly "yes yeah uhm absolutely I have work tomorrow and the day after but I should be off that next day." You nod and she stares at you before asking "you see me?" It felt like code for something but you agreed "yeah I see you... Goodnight Scotty see you in two days don't forget to stop by in-" you think for a moment back to the time she would sit and watch you water your plants "14 hours" she smiles to herself and nods eagerly.

A/n: okay first off not romanticizing stalking in any way however Scotty's character... I'm pretty sure she has something wrong mentally she doesn't know boundaries so when she likes someone she does anything to be near them is all. Don't blame me blame the damn show 🙄 however if you do got a problem and would like to fight I don't mind. Scotty deserves the world and a happy ending so I'm giving it to her. Also this is unedited.

[naminethewriter]

What story do you have backstory that no-one seems to ask about? I want to hear it all!

Oh Edu, that's a can of worms you're attempting to open 😂 I basically never get asked about backstories to my stuff, so I'll see what I've published so far and what I remember of those. I might have talked about some of these things before but for most of them it's been so long, I don't really remember 😅

Let's start with my first Sanders Sides Gift X-Change story His Brother's Wedding. It's a Romile story, my first and only for that ship, and I had a lot more ideas for the AU then I got around to, both because of procrastination and other story ideas. Coincidentally, as I saw in my notes, I did plan to add Lilith to this one as well! Emile is in town to help his grandmother with her flower shop and he's taking a break from his psychology degree to do so. Roman on the other hand is working in Remus' tattoo parlor, though he actually wanted to be an actor and was in Los Angeles for a year or two trying to get into the industry but he failed. He hasn't given up on his dream yet though! As for the other sides that weren't mentioned in the fic, Patton is Emile's cousin who lives in town and is otherwise the one who checks in on Granny Maggie the most. Virgil is his best friend. Janus is Remus' best friend from their school days and he'll be Logan's best man since Roman will be Remus'. Lilith is a distant relative of Remus' landlords, an elderly couple that adore him and see him as their son to a degree. Lilith is spending her summer vacation in town and bonds with Remus, even becoming the flower girl at his wedding.

I might still return to this AU someday, but it's not very high on my priority list...

Second, let's return to Between Two Lives, which I wrote for Intrulogical Week 2 years ago. I don't actually have a lot of extra info about my future plans for that AU written down, but from what I remember some background stuff that might come up is that Janus always has been a demon and he is the reason why Remus became one too. Roman arrived in the afterlife after Remus and while Remus couldn't be there to greet him as soon as he died, he visited him as soon as he could. Roman did think about reincarnating for a bit but decided against it in the end, becoming an angel instead. Patton is one of the first soul to ever become an angel, as in human souls transformed to be an angel. Virgil is a spirit of death that guides souls to the afterlife.

The one one shot I wrote for a ship week that I'm really proud of and that didn't get much attention is Cursed Woods. I really like the vibe I created with it and while I don't have the backstory for it entirely figured out, I can say that Janus is not trapped in there maliciously. In fact he made that choice himself, even if he doesn't remember it. Roman on the other hand was betrayed by someone he trusted and banished. It will be a struggle for him to rebuild his position once he gets back.

Lastly (for now), let's talk about the story I gifted to you: You're Not Alone. As is very clear in the story, Logan was raised by a single mother, but Janus and Remus both have loving parents who all made it their mission to give Logan all the parental love he missed out on. Remus and Roman's parents are immigrants from Germany and they were with the twins on their Christmas trip though they stayed longer and will only come back in the new year. Janus' parents live a state or two away but they will come around before the year ends. They're a bit hippy like and like traveling a lot. Patton, Roman and Virgil are in a QPR, though only Roman is aromantic so Patton and Virgil are dating.

That's all I have right now and a lot of this is more me making up stuff on the spot than actual notes I made but all of these stories have a place in my heart and I could spin more out of them if I wanted to. But there are other projects I feel more connected to. For now at least 😉

Thank you for the ask, even if it took me a bit to get to it 🤭

[cleolinda]

Sparking Joy (Jean Patou, 1930)

What's the best perfume of all time? Objectively, I don't think that's an answerable question; it might be that the absolute best perfume (which means what?) is something designed by an artisan outside the French tradition or the Arabian tradition, or not by a professional nose at all, but a single bottle mixed up by a hobbyist in some quiet little corner of the world. We just don't know. But much the way the American Film Institute decrees that Citizen Kane is the best [American] film of all time, what do Those in the Know think is the best? Chanel No. 5, right? The top seller in the world for decades?

Not at all. In 2000, the Fragrance Foundation FiFi Awards bestowed the public's choice for "Scent of the Century" on Jean Patou's Joy.

I remember reading this in the newspaper at the time, back when we had newspapers; I hadn't even worn fragrance since Sun-Ripened Raspberry body splash in high school, and I was shocked that it wasn't Chanel No. 5. I have to think "the public" meant "knowledgeable members of the perfume industry," because I had never heard of Joy, and most people I've talked to (who aren't hanging out on on fragrance forums) haven't, either. I feel like many of us would reflexively say "No. 5" because Chanel's done that good a job at shoring up their flagship's legend.

The story of Jean Patou's Joy is the opposite: when a fragrance isn't given the respect it deserves.

(Joy ads, 1947 and 1978; more here)

Famously, back when Joy was famous, perfumer Henri Alméras created Joy for Parisian couturier Jean Patou, as an oddly defiant, perhaps even life-affirming reaction to the 1929 Wall Street crash. At the time, it was "the costliest perfume in the world": "One ounce of the lavish scent contains 10,600 jasmine flowers and 28 dozen May roses"—and it cost $40 ($728.45!!!). And I might say it's a little obscene to create such an extravagant thing in the middle of the Great Depression—and yet, somehow, Joy was a huge success. A master perfumer created a work of art for a luxury vendor, and people bought it, and they loved it. Jackie Kennedy wore it; Vivien Leigh wore it. I've been wearing Joy for three weeks, and if I could have saved up enough pennies in 1930 to buy a tiny vial, I could see myself doing it, just to have that little something.

Joy was explicitly intended to be "a lighthouse" in a dark time of deprivation, and it wasn't overpriced just for the hell of it; it was the costliest in the sense of quality. It might best be known for its rose-jasmine pairing, but besides the entire region of Grasse crammed into every bottle, Joy also contains "leafy green notes," tuberose, ylang-ylang, aldehydes, peach (our old friend undecalactone?), lily of the valley, orris root, orchid, civet, musk, and sandalwood; Wikipedia also lists "michelia," which may mean magnolia here.

I'll admit up front that I have no idea when the sample I bought last month was produced, but the “juice,” as they say, looks very new; it doesn't have the deep dark color that I've seen on vintage bottles of Joy. It's got to be one of the newer formulations. Tom at Perfume Posse can speak for the older ones:

The [2022 sample] I received smells thinner than I remember - more skimming over those fields of flowers than just bashing into them, face-first. The Joy I remember reveled in the excess: bowers of roses, masses of lilies, clouds of tuberose backed with some of that “don’t F with me” musk that must have been civet back in the day. This is nice. Nice and sweet, with only a hint of the previous hedonist.

Angela at Now Smell This:

For the longest time, to me Joy smelled dense, like a Victorian room with the curtains pulled. I couldn’t feel my way around in it. The turning point for me came from hearing current Patou house perfumer Thomas Fontaine describe Joy’s sillage as lush and old fashioned. I’d been trying to make Joy a light, happy perfume. Really, it’s a gorgeously constructed velvet overcoat, heavy and plush and meticulously made. It’s red wine, not champagne.

The Scented Hound:

Joy (current version eau de parfum) is truly a joy when it first goes on the skin as it’s full of lush ylang-ylang and soapy white flowers and bright aldehydes. [...] As Joy continues its slow and deliberate path, a jasmine blends itself with the rose…but combined, they’re still very controlled and incredibly proper. Joy doesn’t transform or morph very much, but in the end, the florals fade and soften a bit, and what you’re left is a lightly warm breeze of light floral sandalwood musk.

The version I have is clearly the newer one—I actually would say it's more like champagne, not in the literal effervescent way (see the Coco Mademoiselles), but in the sense that this Joy is light. Not weak, but light, the way I described the aspect of No. 5 that I could stand as "limpid." In my head, Joy is a beautiful sunset pink color, sheer, almost verging into red. The jasmine comes out the strongest for me at first, maybe with the slight presence of an aldehyde, but then, on top of that, the biggest, fullest, realest rose I've ever smelled in a perfume. If I get cut flowers for my birthday, I always save any roses in the bouquet and dry them. Jean Patou's Joy smells like a rose that is so fully blown that the petals fall apart in my hand when I try to pull it from the vase. Not decaying, not that far gone, but the rose's absolute full potential of bloom, and so vividly that I can see the texture of the petals. If you want to tell me there’s 336 roses in here, I will believe you.

On my skin, the rose floats there on top, on a bed of headier florals, for at least half an hour; in my notes, I jotted down that a spicy ylang-ylang "with a slight bubblegum connotation" (see Samsara for more on the bubbleylang) shows up then, and by an hour-twenty, the whole thing has come together, all flowers present at once in a sweet, soft, heady, slightly spicy, rose-pink glow.

[Sidebar: At three hours, Joy reminded me in some non-literal way of Murray & Lanman's Florida Water, also billed as "the Richest of All Perfumes" in the late 1800s. (Of course I got myself a bottle of an actual Gilded Age perfume they still sell today for $4, are you kidding me?) I've seen a lot of Florida Water formulas (which are still used today in various spiritual traditions), and I've mostly seen lavender, clove, and multiple citrus notes as the components, sometimes with rose, ylang-ylang, and/or cinnamon as well. Unlike many, many French perfumes, Jean Patou's Joy doesn't have any citrus top notes at all, so I'm not sure what I'm getting in common with Florida Water, other than the florals and a certain spiciness that comes out late in Joy's game for me. I'd like to think it's purely the "richness" that reminds me of the Costliest Perfume in the World.]

"Warm breeze" is a good way to describe Joy's drydown; it's not heavy or old-fashioned to me at all, and I can't specifically pick out musk at any point (clearly, this sample was made after real animal musk was banned in 1979; anything animalic still here would be synthetic). I barely get sandalwood—it's just gorgeous florals, and if you (I) haven't smelled the original Joy, you aren't capable of missing it. Now Smell This has a breakdown of how the eau de toilette and the eau de parfum differed as of 2008; I got the EdP. I don't feel like it goes from light to dark, but it does smell very lush and complex to me. It feels like it sings, and you know what? When I first smelled it, I thought it smelled like a number of things I'd tried recently, particularly Coco Mademoiselle L'Eau Privée. That glowing pink rose-jasmine-ylang-sandalwood combination—and then I realized, no, those perfumes smell like Joy. Joy is so iconic that it's used as a building block, a quotation, in so many fragrances that came after it.

And it's so, so easy to wear—in fairness, I haven't worn the heavier original formulation, but I'm not even sure I'd want to. This Joy is so easy and lovely and gorgeous—I've been wondering if I'd ever find my one signature scent to rule them all, and while Joy doesn't have all my favorite notes, I wouldn't mind if it became mine.

But here's the thing: they don't manufacture Joy anymore. You can still buy what's already been produced, for now, but as existing supplies sell out, it'll only get more expensive with time. Because someone bought the rights to Jean Patou's Joy for the sole purpose of not producing it.

You're about to get a second post about who did that and why.

Perfume discussion masterpost

[bunnyreaper]

oh my god i,,, 🥺 i know i was JUST here but i am once agin. sliding into your asks to propose more father things--

the teenage/older child brings home their first partner, how would gabo handle it, and what do you think would be able to win him over? 👀

notes: angel hi!! im ngl this took me a while bcs i was half convinced this ask only happened in my dreams sksksk, i also struggled so if it's bad im so sorry, i went for a lil fic rather than hc's???

warnings: f!reader, slight overprotective gabe.

The second Gabriel lays eyes on the young man, you know he doesn't like what he sees. 

Josh, as he introduced himself, holds himself with far too much confidence for an awkward 17-year-old, yet he tries to pull it off all the same. 

When he smiles as he shakes Gabriel's hand, you begin to worry.

Your own greetings are much more friendly than your husband's, as you're intrigued to see your daughter's choice of guys. Seemingly a little different from your own at that age. 

Motherly instincts take over, and you pull everyone to the kitchen, so you can get Josh a drink and see if he's hungry. 

"Mama, he doesn't need feeding." Your daughter sighs, seemingly embarrassed by your maternal display.

Gabriel stands quietly, watching Josh from the corner of his eye as he makes himself at home at your kitchen island. You quietly watch Gabriel, ready to mediate at any moment. 

"So Josh, I hear you're on the football team?" You mention, hoping to start the process of getting to know him somehow. Your daughter has been very tight-lipped about her boyfriend, even with you.

You can practically feel Gabriel's eye twitching as his brain makes all sorts of assumptions.

"Yes, Mrs. Reyes." He responds politely. "I'm a running back. Did you play football, Mr. Reyes?" He turns his attention to Gabriel. While you sense Josh is a well-mannered boy, you can see he's desperate to win Gabriel over. 

"Basketball, mostly, but a little bit of football too." Gabriel offers a forced smile, and you can tell he's really trying to adjust to the newness of this scenario while fighting all his papa bear instincts. 

"And please call me (Y/N)." You chime in, approaching your husband for a moment as you stroke his arm. 

"I'd be scared to see you on the other team for sure." Josh laughs good-naturedly. 

"He didn't always look that mean and scary, he was a lot dorkier in high school." Your daughter interjects, ignoring her father's scowl. "What? I've seen the pictures! Definitely not as big and burly as he is now." 

Gabriel crosses his arms over his chest, sending your daughter a playful glare. "Well, a life in the military builds you up." 

She rolls her eyes in the way she usually does. "Mom doesn't look like a tank." 

"I know I've let myself go a little, but I'm not that out of shape!" You gasp, pretending to be offended by your daughter's comments. 

"You're perfect, mi vida." Gabriel whispers, softening for a moment.

"Gross." She declares, her nose crinkling in disgust. "I'm gonna go change, okay?" Your daughter sends you a pleading look that begs you to keep things calm while she's gone.

She leaves the kitchen, and the room falls quiet before Gabriel fills the silence. 

"So what are your intentions with my daughter?" 

"Gabe!" You gasp, smacking him playfully. The poor boy was going to be traumatized. 

"Uh, I just really like her, I swear." Josh's smile is soft and genuine. "She's sweet, she's been tutoring in Spanish because I've been struggling, and I help her with physics." 

"She hates physics." You comment, knowing that the help would really be doing a lot for her. 

Josh looks somewhat nervous, though entirely truthful. "We just realized we have a lot of fun together." 

Gabriel simply nods. 

"Happy?" You ask, brow raised. Time would tell what was to become of Josh, and what his intentions were--he really didn't need the interrogation. 

"I understand." Josh offers. "My mom gave her a grilling too. She handled it really well, though." 

You chuckle, though your chest flares with your own protective streak. 

"As parents, we can't help but be overprotective." Gabriel adds. 

"Some of us are better at keeping it to ourselves, but my husband is a barbarian." You nudge him with your hips teasingly. "I'm not going to pretend to understand you men." 

"He's hardly a man." Gabriel comments and then is fixed with a sharp look from you. "No offense, kid." 

"It's okay. When I heard her last name, I knew that if I hurt her, I'd probably end up in a ditch... sorry." Josh cringes, realizing that's probably a little too blunt.

"I wouldn't put you in a ditch. Too easy to find your body." 

"Gabe!" You chastise, but the two are sharing a laugh regardless.

Gabriel is warming up to him, even if it's just a little bit. You know it'll take some time for him to truly trust Josh with your daughter's heart, but for now, it's a step in the right direction. 

"Uh, Mr. Reyes," Josh begins the conversation again. "I was actually wondering, would you have any advice for someone looking to join the military?"

"Don't." Your husband replies without missing a beat.

"Hey now, if we both hadn't ended up in Overwatch, we never would've met." You add.

"I suppose." He says, before taking a moment to think of some actual advice. You can almost see him slip into Commander mode. "Whatever ego and pride you have going in won't get you anywhere. Leave it for your civilian life. And get a therapist sooner rather than later. 

"Right, sounds good." Josh nods, a little taken aback. 

"You know, if you're still together through your training, it's going to make things really difficult. Being with someone in the service isn't easy, and my daughter doesn't deserve to be hanging onto some guy who just comes and goes." 

You cringe at Gabriel's harsh words, even if you're right there in believing your daughter deserves the best. "That seems slightly hypocritical of us to say." 

Gabriel raises a brow at you. "It's not the same, you were right there with me."

"Don't go giving them ideas." You mutter. "But, it was still hard, as all relationships are. You can figure that one out for yourselves, though, I'm sure." 

Josh seems to be absorbing the information. "Yeah. Thank you both for your honesty, though." 

"Are you sure you don't want something to eat?" You ask, practically desperate to offer more hospitality. 

"No, I'm okay, thank you." 

"Piece of advice, if you're going to be sticking around." Gabriel begins, his voice not brash or challenging. "Accept the woman's cooking. She'll feed you one way or another." The words serve as a small olive branch.

"Yes sir." Josh nods, and you and Gabriel share a look. 

"Everything okay?" Your daughter asks, returning to the kitchen with a skeptical look. 

"Everything's fine." Her father replies, yet she looks to you for confirmation. 

"It's good. I'm putting a pizza in the oven." You add. 

"Of course you are, we're gonna go watch movies." She says, tugging Josh off of the stool.

"Not in your room, you're not." Gabe adds, ready to follow them both. 

"Dad!" She cries. 

"... I just wanted to spend some time getting to know the kid. Cálmate, chica." He smirks. "Besides, if we're all on the couch, you can cuddle up between your two favorite guys." Gabriel pulls your daughter into him, embarrassing her with kisses smothered all over her face. 

She squirms, pretending to hate the attention. "Cállate la boca, papa!" 

[saveugoodmadam]

Dear Hitch,

I've decided to write a letter or two while you're off tumblr. It's funny, and also I miss you, and maybe these will be nice to read when you get back. Expect some rambling, lol. As of writing this, it's been about a week and a half? since you last were on. Some stuff has happened since then.

I had my 17th birthday, for one. 17 doesn't feel too different from sixteen yet, but once school starts for me I think it will. At least one TGS update has been posted, I won't spoil any of them for you, though. I saw a fun animatic on Instagram Reels of Roman from Sanders Sides so now I'm watching through those videos. I've convinced another person to read TGS (tumblr user getyourpaybackwithsomepayback) and he's OBSESSED, lol.

I've done some writing, namely my first two TGS fics, which are on AO3 now. They shouldn't be too hard to find, since my ao3 account is linked in my bio, so if you want to read them, there they are! If you do read them, lmk what you think. I've also done some work on a vat7k fic that is slowly but somewhat surely progressing. I haven't written for my original stories much lately, not really sure why.

I started crocheting a cat blanket, it'll be a while before i finish but I'll send pics when I do, rest assured. I'm planning an Enjolras cosplay for Halloween, also, and I'll let you know how it goes. I hope you get a new phone soon, and I hope you're doing okay. I hope this isn't a super weird thing to do.

I've been re reading TGS out of order, mainly for fic research. It's hard to write fics in the canon timeline, while still adhering to canon, because so much happens, there's hardly room for background scenes. I think I'm being too meticulous about it, perhaps, as I also went on a google sidetrack for ten minutes trying to figure out what kinds of cookies were invented in the 1800s. Though, the research has always been one of my favorite things about writing, since learning random stuff I never would otherwise is really fun for me!

I miss hearing about your ocs, specifically Arthur Buchanan, and your blorbo posting, about Sinnet, and David Jakobs. And it's only been a week and a half, lmao.

Sincerely, Rook :3

Rook I'm going to be honest I did genuinely start crying reading this, thank you so much and a belated happy birthday to you!!! I saw your fics on ao3 and read them and they're so good (let's ignore the fact that i cried reading them because i missed you)

I've read all the updates and omg is jekyll fucked!!!! good news though I have volume 2 pre-ordered and I can't wait for my gifts!!!!

While I've been (not of my own choice mind you) unavailable, I've been more and more obsessed with david 😭😭😭 this has included obsessively listening to the cast recordings of der Glöckner von Notre Dame he's in lmaooo

I also went to Wales for a holiday and had lots of fun!!! I have piccies but I'll put them in a separate post or DM you if they have my face in!

I don't have a new phone per se, I'm using my mum's spare but it's now 'mine' so that's good and I have pretty much everything except my WhatsApp chats and music so all good and thanks be to the cloud lmao!

yours sincerely (and tearily),

hitch