#likes to say that he used to work in 'inner city schools'

[reallydumbdannyphantomaus]

i work with. the most insufferable man.

[understandableparadox]

a comprehensive list of everything wrong with hazbin hotel.

quick note before i lose myself in madness, my standards for helluvaboss are non existent because its a free show on youtube. also i kinda like helluvaboss and i will indulge in any bias i damn well please.

oh and spoilers. i guess.

the greater narrative of the entire season is "White lady civilize inner city hoodlum". ex: The blind side. rich girl, affluent family yadda yadda.

the story is set up to be like amphibia, owl house, svtfoe, steven universe, that being starting as something episodic then transforming into story driven narrative. why? because we know the benefits and drawbacks, episodic starts allows us to wander the world, it allows us to understand the dynamics, we are not forced to reckon with anything because there is no deadline. characters are allowed to bloom and shine and the audience can actually get attached.

the source material is Vary Clearly formed from remnants of something out of a middle school edgelord narrative. the usage of transformation, the big spooky grins, the "and then i smile as my eyes glow and-"-isms which in most cases i don't mind because in some instances but in a vary Particular case its astoundingly annoying and that annoyance is like a mold, shit spreads quick.

the color Red. as a lover of homestuck cherubs and karkat and aradia, as someone who fucking loves the color red, it is so painful to say but holy shit tone it the fuck down, i know its hell but their are so many other colors that you can use, its everywhere, the streets, the air, the windows, the screens, the characters, i know the pride ring is represented with red but change up the palates every so often for backgrounds

the rush, this ties into the second point made but i think the story itself is rushed. we know everything way to early. i know way to much and it makes it hard to care about anything because im still trying to digest the last chunk of info. "oh ok, so they clear out hell once a year. oh hell has a heaven embassy? ok. oh that adam the angel, i though he wou- oh its every 6 months now. wait the exterminators die a lot? then why is everyone sca- people in hell already have weapons that can kill angels? w- oh we are in heaven now, ok ma- no one in heaven except for the elites know the exterminations occur? how do-" and its that, just this incessant rush to explain everything to you. notably that's just the god damn spark notes, we need to know everything about the characters now, every single bit of their story, their insecurities, what charlie needs to fix, how she can fix them, the major bad guys, everything. you are never allowed to dwell on a character because we need to rush towards something else. it almost feels like this should have been like... season three, it would have been a fantastic season three if you dropped the introductions honestly.

the concept of redemption. for a story of redemption to work you need to look at three things. What is there crime, Do they want to change, What is preventing them from changeing? there is only one single character that has a notable path of redemption, angel dust, but if you look through their story it feels off. What Exactly is he guilty of? he has sex, does drugs and drinks. his apparent nymphomania is tied to his sad backstory as someone forced into the sex industry so how is that their fault? then if you think about it you start to spiral and notice "hey why are most of these people in hell?" like sure some of them may deserve punishment but then you see the fucking dichotomy and its like "I was a inventor in england and died of the fucking plague, i may have made evil little contraption hoohoohoo" vs "I was a cannibal, a full on cannibal, i fucking killed people and ate them and then someone shot me". ONE OF THESE THINGS ARE A LITTLE MORE FUCKING EXTREME. i'm going to go fucking nuts, the thing they went to heaven with when presenting a case to angels on the idea that redemption and becoming a better person is actually real was angel dust not drinking at a party and not having sex with consenting adults and i want to go fucking insane. WHAT IS THE CRIME, WHO IS THROWING THE BOOK, WHAT DOES THE BOOK INTEL, ARE WE ON GOOD PLACE RULES?! half the cast dont Need redemption they need fucking help, and the other half of the cast do need redemption but they do not seek it making the point moot. sir pentious acts like he has the brain of a hyper intelligent toddler tossing about toys, its almost like he did his one bad thing of spying and then got caught, sank his little diddy about forgiveness and second chances and become a null point through out the rest of the series, sure their was Some weight to him sacrificing himself, he was a decently funny character and he had good moments but him popping up in heaven felt like a fore gone conclusion, he didn't deserve to be in hell so why do i care that he is suddenly in heaven? because its working on the concept the good place already made. no one actually deserves eternal punishment they just need help processing what makes them a dick, but instead of looking at all the parts of the afterlife that make it bad, inefficient and then creating and trying ideas to see if it work instead over a few seasons, we crash dick first into all the major plot points in regards to that and say "tada, we fixed it.".

having a sub-plot about sexual assault and its victims then having multiple sexual assault related gag ruins your point.

don't make a bunch of stereotypically jewish characters into cannibals, that was a big thing, really shouldn't have to say it.

if you are going to make a character black, make them black, you can say alastor was black but sweet seren-fucking-dippity that's not a black man.

pot meet kettle but yeah the cursing could be a little less liberal. maybe just blue hair or the pronouns, not both.

there is a very distinctive art deco/jazz aesthetic which normally i love but i feel as though it is not used to its full extent and in some cases really hurts the character design in and of itself.

this is a vary obvious bit but the story is a million times more interested in gay men then it is of lesbians, which culminates in this insane thing where the writers clearly have more talent or perhaps it would be more abt to say practice writing male gay pining then they are with lesbian pining. which i personally think is hilarious because i did not know you could min max fujoshi-ism that hard.

this next section is more to do with each character on a fundamental level, for the sake of brevity whatever there is left, i'm just doing ones with speaking roles.

13. Charlie:

(see what i mean about that red thing?)

as originally stated charlie fits rather comfortably into every white saviour narrative, though that seems to be part of her joke. though i'm not entirely sure how much of a joke it can be when its rewarded and expected to advance the plot.

her character design says nothing, it has the motif of old puppets or dolls, she wears something vaguely similar to service suits, her demonic form is just some extra horns.not to say every character needs to have their life on a clothes rack but some more snake and goat imagery would be nice

its not the chol design of charlie with snake hair, not an actual problem but its a problem to me, damn you @cholvoq for ruining my ability to look at any of the characters without wishing i was seeing your designs instead.

character wise aside from the white savoir bit, i'm having a bit of trouble understanding what the arc of the character is. she is shown to be naive, someone who doesn't understand how the world works but everytime she says something its something astoundingly clear like "people can actually get better". and its treated like someone demanded faygo in every water fountain. is the joke that the world around her to cynical or is so to naive? please pick one or the other.

now if you know me, you know i fucking hate overpowered characters with a blinding passion, one that would set alit the god damn abyss but in this one special instance, i feel like its warranted, she's the direct descendant of fucking God, she can swing her weight around a little, i mean god damn. she in so many instances looks like shes cowering so often, why would the daughter of lucifer get backed down by some rando pimp? why wasn't she the one to fight adam? sure you can say she is young but how young? her parents were there since pre-abrahamic times, most of the characters showed up in hell in the 1900s, some of them showed up in the 1600s, how old is charlie??? how long does it take for her to learn how to be strong? The story does not suffer if charlie is strong and knows she is strong. it can easily be a case of "i don't believe in violence to a weird degree". fit it into her apparent naivety about the world to believe that violence is never the answer even when dealing with a being that is unilaterally horrible and abusive and monstrous.

she ga- no im kidding, i do think her romance was waysided a bit, it would have been fine to have more scenes of them togather and in love you know?

14. Vaggie

why did you name the lesbian vaggie...? Don't do that maybe?

I like how her design is almost moth like but again i feel as though you could have amped that up.

she feels as though someone tried to combine undyne and pearl from steven universe, same story beats and design elements. it makes it hard to really distinguish her as a character.

i honestly dont have much to say about her. she is fine.

christ kill me, lets just get the big one out of the way

15. Alastor.

God Damn

where to start.

"alastor is mixed race" mixed with fucking what? concrete? there is not a single black feature on that creature, now im not saying you have to make him a png of louie armstrong but it wouldn't hurt to add a curl to the hair maybe? make it a tiny bit more wavy? Something? a crumb i beg of thee?

his symbolism is all over the god damn place, native american monsters (you know the one), voodoo, radio, puppets, stitches, circuses??? and Tentacles i guess. two of those are from closed religions so if you dumped those you would actually get a more concise character focused on the concept of vox populi as a means of societal control and influence as we see in his first song. but again that gets drowned out repeatedly by all the other random toy box bits shoved into him.

tumblr sexy man bait

he serves no purpose in the story. he does spooky stuff, pretends to do things and then goes back to sitting around looking spooky. i understand that his motif is supposed to be aloof mastermind but maybe have him do more mastermindy things? if you remove most of alastors scenes, bar the songs, it doesn't change all to much. husk and nifity can still be at the hotel, they could be looking for outs in their contracts the same as angel dust. hell it even helps with the one scene where he dose some spooky shit, asking charlie for a favor in exchange for his help in the fight with the angels instead of asking him about angel weapons which should have remained a strictly vaggie scene.

his presence in a way delegitimize the story, as I noted in in the section regarding redemption, the three parts are "what is the crime, do they want to change, what is stopping them?" and alastor kinda just spits in the face of that. he is a serial killer cannibal that has no qualms about how evil he is and apparently must continue being evil due to being under the control under someone legitimately called the Root Of All Evil. show him take a slight interest in the idea that maybe shit for him could be better, make him Want Change at the bare fucking minimum or dont have him at the hotel.

his stupid little fucking horns, big shot the troll liker wants characters to have big fucking horns, make them noticeable or dont have them.

he looks more like a dog boy, which could have been an interesting thing with the collar motif but fuck me i guess.

personal pet peeve but i fucking hate characters that have a million plus powers, stick to a set number, be creative.

im getting more petty as i go on so last point: he could have been in less episodes, he didn't need to be in dad beat dad, that should have been just a lucifer and charlie episode. inverse the red and black and i think he would be fucking great color wise, his body type is the same as ten different characters, he isnt radio enough, aside from the voice and and staff if you told me he was the fucking Cat Demon i would have been just as convinced.

16. Angel Dust

what the fuck, gay spider? its hard to actully articulate all the thoughts i have on angel dust, not in the sense that he is a deeply thought provoking character but in the fact that there is not much meat on the bones.

all around i think angel dust is kinda middling. he has a decent enough romance with husk, he has a decent enough story line that revolves around battling addiction and removing yourself from an abuser (which the story tries to brand as "Redemption???")

I dont like that most of his jokes would qualify as sexual harassment, i don't mind him being sexual as a character but continuing on when clearly someone doesn't like the jokes hurts the character.

not a critique but he is pink, which honestly ill fucking take at point, as long as its not more fucking red.

i think his design is an improvement over some of the old vivzie designs but it feels like it could have done with going a few more rounds of design changes.

same thing with alastor, charlie and vaggie, there is not enough of the animal that they are supposed to be. You could have told me angel dust was a fucking bee or something and i would have had to believe you. nothing about angel dust initially says spider, hell he dosent even have enough limps to be a fucking spider.

17. Carmilla carmine

are... are you supposed to be a rabbit...?

Big Yoai Hands

ballet fighting style, could have been cool, wish she fought more like sanji or chun li.

A single mom that works to hard, who loves her kids and never stops-

her song was decent, not great, decent. it feels as though the actress has experience singing but not in the way they tried to make her sing during her two songs. they have a obvious mexican influence, honestly just let her sing in spanish in the english dub. go listen to the spanish dub, "out for love" sounds great in spanish.

i wish i had more thoughts on them, fucking rip.

18. cherri bomb

that's not a punk aesthetic that's 2010s alt

decent character, they showed up once or twice i guess, no real thoughts.

19. egg boiz

absolutely perfect, i have not notes on them, these are perfect creatures.

20. Emily

im so fucking happy to see a singular blue character

does the naive dreamer bit better then charlie

We really shouldnt have seen her until the end of season two or middle of three.

good contrast with the other angels on screen.

Wait she is supposed to be black??? Where???

21. Husk

keith david you absolute delight, Why on gods green earth did they only give you one singing part?

one of the few charecters where its clear husk is a cat, i do like the kinda... marquee design, he is a magic cat, thats neat. i still think you can toss the wings and eyebrows and still have just as good of a charecter.

has a deeply intresting story of someone who died as a nobody, became the fat cat of hell and then was forced back to the bottom by their own vices, not used at fucking all.

huge potential, little pay off.

22. lillith

I know nothing about her except she ditched her kid and husband to vacation in heaven and i think thats kinda funny.

alot of werid things floating around her, again she shouldnt have been shown in the show at all until next season.

23. lucifer morningstar

no notes, funniest charecter, did a song based on friend like me.

few notes: i do like the idea that the immortal symbol of pride is a constant emotional wreckage constantly seeking approval through grand showmanship and manic energy that threatens to take over anything they touch.

would have liked more snake stuff on him, maybe some more goat things like horns.

that is such a stupid fucking staff lmao.

24. Adam.

alex brightman you absolute fucking delight, you should have had more songs.

I wish his design was more focused on the idea of him being a glam rock wash up

I fucking hate his mask

We shouldn't have met him until the end of the season.

25. Niffty

again she is supposed to be a bug or cockroach but nothing about her points to that.

token straight

keeps rocketing back and fourth between sexulization and infantilization

you had kimiko glenn but didnt give her a single fucking song?

26. Sir Pentious

the secret season one redeemed.

the pilot version of him felt more like someone that could do a season one redemption arc, a megalomaniac constantly attempting territory grabs, there is something you can work with, actual character flaws to work through.

essentially a child after the first episode.

actually a snake which i appreciate.

no where near steampunky enough.

27. the villians of the show dont make much sense, each one feels like they should be season long deals on their own instead of a bunch of team rocket esque idiots that show up on occasion, do a bad thing and then leave.

28. Valentino

gOD THERE IS SO MUCH RED

only a moth some of the time.

sucks as a villain, maybe they need more screen time to show why they suck in a more substantial way aside from being told that he sucks.

it is interesting that angel dust is only under his magical control when in the studio, it shows that angel dust has to make a conscious choice to return, which in turn can be made to show how abusers can draw back their victims. I do not think it was done well in this circumstance as it shows him to be cartoonishly evil, constantly flying back and fourth between sweet and utter psycho, there is no actual reason for angel dust to ever actually go back to the studio, he just does so every so often.

29. Vox

legit who cares? the only thing about him that is in any way substantial is all the dope ass fan art we get.

propaganda machine angle that is not explored at all, just hinted at. no actual barring on the story whatsoever.

why didn't he try to do the same shit as alastor by the way? he knows its bad if alastor gets in good with charlie so shouldn't it be a ass kissing race?

same body shape as literally every other male character.

tumblr sexy man version of pyrocynicals fursona.

30. Valvette

the actual poster child of the shows huge problem of "Show me, don't tell me".

apparently the glue that holds the villains together. never shown.

apparently the one that makes the love potions that valentino is famous for. had to learn about that in the fuckin wiki trivias

we know so much about her from things outside of the show.

was there to call carmilla a coward, that's her plot contribution. she shows up every now and again but its never anything substantial and serves to more around take up run time for people We Don't Need To Know Yet.

im not trying to be mean, animation is animation, we need smaller studios to have success in the industry so that other indie studios can have that success, felling a tree makes it easier for others to follow. showing that its possible to number brain rot exacs helps all animators.

but this show has so much bullshit attached to it, it has so much fucking potential that it fries my brain with unyielding frustration.

this took a bit to write, im tired, thanks for reading.

[pedgito]

𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐘 — one: beginnings | Joel Miller x reader

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chapter summary | You're dead weight, a burden on Joel's shoulders after the death of his daughter and the collapse of the world. But, if there's one person to challenge him, it was you.

author's note | this spurred from jo (@undercoverpena) and i, a conversation over kinks and wanting to explore them in separate chapters but somehow create a cohesive story and here we are. she spun for me and gave me a collection of beautiful kinks to try out. this is going to be BIG one for me, so if you plan on staying along for this ride, i love you so much.

chapter warnings | 18+, early outbreak, age gap (early 20s, mid 30s), canon character de*th, canon typical violence, m*rder tw, morally grey!joel with trust issues, tommy is buffer, use of weapons, weapon training, unjust decision making, reader is such a nuisance to joel, sex as a distraction, joel is so emotionally stunted he can't help it, awkward aftercare

word count —6k

SERIES MASTERLIST, PLAYLIST, AO3

You’ve never seen so much blood.

His shirt was soaked to his neck, expression blank and void as Tommy rounded the truck to open the door—it wasn’t the same one you’ve seen pull into their driveway for years now. It was new, unfamiliar. Joel’s weighed down, his arms straining as he heaves whatever he’s holding up in his arms, finally coming from around the door and into view. Her curls fell first, body limp in Joel’s arm as he held her close–it was Sarah. Little Sarah who you would babysit in high school for extra cash when the Miller brothers had to work a few extra jobs to pay the bills, little Sarah who always had the biggest smile on her face. Not so little anymore, years gone and passed as you graduated and went off to work some dead-end job to stay afloat in hopes that you could attempt to pay a college tuition.

But, that all seemed futile now. 

It was late September when the world ended—Joel’s birthday, you’d know that from the fact Sarah had mentioned it to you that morning as she checked the mail that Joel had forgotten from the day before. A normal day for you, for everyone else. But, for Sarah and many others, it was their last.

The neighborhood was quiet now, the hoard of freshly turned infected heading for the inner city and toward the noise, like one singular hivemind following a predetermined path. 

And your parents—they weren’t even here. They had left for vacation a week prior, spending the next two weeks out of the country, celebrating their anniversary far away from responsibility and the barrage of news from all over the world. But, they would come back to nothing. You couldn’t stay, you couldn’t wait around—it would get you killed; starvation, lack of resources, it would only get you so far. 

The infection was worldwide, incurable—it was the last thing you heard before the satellite on your television cut out, snuffing out any last bit of hope you had left.

In the midst of Joel’s mindless walk to the front door of his home, Tommy glances over his shoulder to survey, likely for more infected. But, he spots you.

His eyes squint slightly, like he’s seeing a vision of you. They widen as he realizes you’re real, you here—you were shaking, arms crossed over your chest and your fingers digging into your biceps as you hid by the shadow of your door.

Tommy knows that look, your eyes go wide but soften as he approaches. 

You can’t say you’ve held a conversation longer than five minutes with either of them, even after living next to them most of your life, but his hands are held up as he approaches and carefully, almost as if you were going to scurry away like a feral cat.

“You alright, honey?” His voice is quiet, a hushed whisper as he comes closer and stops a few inches, peering inside of your house and finding it empty, “Are they—did they—”

He looks over at you wearily and your fingers dig into your skin, peering over his shoulder and staring at the open door, Joel no longer in sight, “They left on a trip and I—I don’t,” You sigh through your nose, closing your eyes to blink away the stinging tears, “They’re dead either way, aren’t they?”

He doesn’t answer, but his hand reaches around to rub at your back and you fall into him easily.

“Sarah–” Tommy tenses up, pulling away slowly to look at you as you peer up at him, noticing the near permanent frown on your face, your expression unchanging as you attempt to process and fail—it wasn’t fair, none of it made sense, “is she dead?”

The sound of something fragile falling and breaking in Joel’s house startles you both, sending you both apart and rushing toward the house without thinking. The idea of being alone now was more fearful than anything else—no survival instinct, no plan or method to stay alive. You’d be dead by next nightfall if you stuck around though, that much you knew.

The sight sends your heart into your stomach. Joel was hunched over Sarah’s lifeless body, his arms sticky with blood—some of it dried and some of it not. There were a few broken picture frames on the floor at Sarah’s feet and you felt your breath catching in your throat, watching as Joel brushed her hair from her face and cried, silently.

“Joel,” Tommy begins, slow and careful, “we’ve gotta figure out a plan.”

“We’re buryin’ her first,” Joel tells him, “not leavin’ her like this.”

Tommy nods in understanding, looking over at you briefly.

“Listen, Joel…”

“She ain’t our problem, Tommy.” He bites harshly, resting Sarah down gently as he rose from his knees, “Kid’s got her own family.”

“Joel,” Tommy stresses, motioning toward you subtly—Joel looks reluctantly and he can see the fear, practically smelling it on you—it’s the last thing he needs right now, “they’re gone—can’t leave her here.”

“We can.”

“We won’t.”

You take a few careful steps back, quiet and timid, away from the brothers.

“Jesus, Joel,” Tommy moves in, blocking his brother’s face from view as you lingered near the open front door, staring out toward the street as you couldn’t bare the sight of Sarah’s body laying a few feet to your right, “she used to babysit Sarah—helped you out in a pinch a hundred times. I understand this—”

“This is my daughter—”

“She’s my niece too, goddammit—don’t try and spin this, Joel.” Tommy rocks on his heels, hands hugging his hips as his shoulders stretch out, broad and wide, “We bury her, we get our shit and we go–I’m not losing you, too. I will drag your ass out of here if I have to.”

There’s a sliver of Joel’s face that comes into view as he peers over Tommy’s shoulder at you, eyes dragging over you carefully before he returns to Tommy, “She’s ain’t worth the trouble.”

He’s completely tossing aside the fact that you were an adult, young but still—you sigh shakily, “I can carry my own weight, you know?”

He’s stoic, a long stretch of silence as Tommy stares him down, lingering and waiting for Joel to come to his senses, but even when he does—it’s forced.

“Then start loading the truck,” Joel tells you, “anything—food, water—”

“Yeah, I got it.” You respond in a pinched tone, trying to stifle your own emotions.

Joel doesn’t argue further, picking up Sarah with a sudden gentleness that returns at the sight of his daughter while Tommy disappears to the attached garage and you linger for a brief moment as Joel admires her, knowing that this was all he had. Knowing that eventually even this memory would fade over time.

His guard softens as he looks at her and you find that was the right time to speak more candidly.

“I’m sorry, Joel,” You tell him, your voice quiet as you approach and he looks at you briefly, acknowledging with a nod as you move beyond him and toward the kitchen, “she’s a sweet kid.”

His voice breaks but barely wavers, a subtle sign of emotion that he was suppressing deep down.

“She was.”

His departure after that is quiet, meeting Tommy at the backdoor as he reentered from the garage with the shovels and blanket in hand, a sorrowful look on his face that furrowed his brow.

They both worked silently in the backyard while you loaded up what you could. Their house was mostly scarce, knowing Joel was probably creeping up on a shopping day that would never come. There’s a few canned goods you manage to scavenge along with a decently untouched pack of water bottles and while you couldn’t brave the other houses in fear that something else might be lingering, you gather what you can from your own. 

By the time you’re closing up the truck bed they’re both walking toward you, a gun tucked away in both of their waistbands and a rifle in Joel’s free hand—his arms were cleaner, albeit still dirty.

He’d changed, rid himself of the bloody clothes and brushed past you silently, his eyes dark and empty. 

Tommy stops at your feet, offering up a knife sheathed in a leather casing that you could attach to your jeans, “Ain’t got another gun, but it’s somethin’.”

You nod slightly and take it from his grip, “Thank you,” You tell him, turning to find Joel waiting with the door open, expecting that you would climb into the middle as there was nowhere for you to go, unless the truck bed seemed like the better option—it didn’t.

It was blind trust, putting your life in the hands of both brothers. 

But, you had no choice. All that mattered was living.

—

And for Joel, the cost didn’t matter.

It’s jarring, frightening. His emotions are like a light switch—when on, he’s calm and able to hold small talk, but even that was forced and uneasy. But, when your supply dwindles down after a week or so of driving and camping in the deep brush of forest, you find what the light switch is like when it’s off.

It was a stranger, a helpless guy alone and clearly on the verge of death. All of you were on edge, the dwindling September heat still lingered into October and you had blew through your last bottle of water the night before, sweat dampening your clothes as you sifted through the aisles of the convenience store that was bare bones and empty by now but you were hoping, praying—but then you hear it and to Joel, it was prey. 

He yanks your knife from where it’s secured at your waist, so quick you barely even feel the tug as he carefully steps around the corner toward the counter, finding an older gentleman with feeble hands and energy that was dying out by the second. He was starving, dehydrated. But, so were you. And so was Joel.

“Joel, don’t.” You speak from behind him, “There’s another store in town. It’s bigger.”

“Hand it over,” Joel demands, the knife tucked away in his right hand behind his back as he held out his left, beckoning with his fingers as the man stared on, bottom lip trembling in fear as he squeezed at the plastic bottle, “now.”

There’s a moment of hesitation where the man begins to speak, shaking his head, but Joel is on him before he gets the chance, shoving the knife through the center of his throat—quick, quiet, efficient. You sigh deeply, knowing it was already coming. Joel wipes the blood away on the now dead man’s pants and snatches up the water bottle before he’s shoving it into your chest and sliding the knife back into the holster.

“You killed him,” Joel looks at you torsely, eyes half-lidded as he waits for you to continue, “you—you didn’t have to kill him, Joel.”

“You’re welcome,” He answers with finality, “Tommy’s waiting’, let’s go.”

You glance at the dead body with a grimace, the weight of it pulling down as the man slumped to the floor and his blood pooled closer and closer toward you. You step back quickly and follow after Joel who’s already ringing the bells on the door above the entrance.

“That was quick—no trouble?” Tommy asks when you return to the truck, climbing over Joel’s lap as he refuses to move, digging your knee into his thigh out of annoyance.

He takes it in stride, though. Doesn’t even react.

“No,” You lie easily, “Last one, though.”

You’ve learned to not speak on it—Joel’s quick tendencies for anger and bruteness. Hell, most of the time you could just ignore it, like now. Arguing never worked, Joel didn’t care enough.

Besides, you were just a waste of resources. Joel said it so often that it echoed in the back of your mind every time he slashed, stabbed, or gutted someone for something you needed, or wanted.

It started in small glimpses, you or Tommy could say a word, make a noise, and Joel’s brow would pinch together and the scowl on his face would deepen. 

And Tommy was objectively selfless, which bothered Joel more than it should—but given how things were, it made sense. Good karma wasn’t going to do anything for your conscience in a world that was based on self-preservation. In Joel’s mind, it was kill or be killed. And he always killed first. He learned not to take chances, hold out on good faith. It didn’t exist anymore.

And he didn’t just attack on his own behalf—he’s done it for you on a few occasions. You’ve never killed an infected, Joel always got the first hit in. Your knife would be at the ready, shaky in your grip and he would look over at you with dismay, knowing that if you did manage to have a shot you would ultimately miss. So, instead of coaching, he yanks the knife from your grip and plunges it into the skull of the infected. 

He hides his tendencies from Tommy well for a while—you always sensed Joel’s underlying itch for conflict after Sarah’s ultimate death and the few weeks you spend together on the road. You didn’t stay anywhere longer than a couple days, different cities throughout Texas as you made your way upstate. Utah, Boston, Pittsburg. Anywhere but here.

The early mornings in the forest after an uncomfortable sleeping arrangement—no rain meant sleeping in the bed of the truck or setting up camp in the one tent you had to share. But, when it did, the three of you would be forced to hunker down inside the four feet of truck cabin with nowhere to angle yourself but one of the brothers. Joel almost always shrugged you away, so by default, Tommy was the one you always chose. He didn’t seem to mind, thankfully.

Regardless, early mornings usually meant that Tommy would take his time teaching you a few things while Joel slept heavy in the truck, the low rumble of his snore heard as you both paused and Tommy readjusted the position of the knife in your grip.

“If you’re gonna hold it the way you gotta keep the dull side close to your arm,” He tightens your fist around the handle, “that way you ain’t accidentally cutting yourself with your own blade.”

You nod, squeezing down on your grip until it feels comfortable and Tommy leads your hand back toward you before guiding it through and back towards him slowly, “Always aim for the head on infected—right to the brain, kills ‘em instantly.”

You already knew that, but the reiterating is a nice reminder. 

Everything had a weakness.

“People,” Tommy starts hesitantly, “I mean, they’re livin’ and breathin’—if you let them close enough anywhere is gonna hurt them, but try to aim for the neck or the face.”

The stark image of Joel forcing the knife through the center of the man’s throat is heavy on your mind and Tommy pats on your arm as you lower it, but your eyes focus on his waist.

“Can you teach me how to shoot?”

Tommy looks at you wearily—not because he doesn’t trust you, but there’s something there.

“What happens if one of you is in trouble?” You ask him, pressing on the issue. “And I’m the only one who can do anything? I don’t even know how to shoot a gun. I’m not asking for everything, just enough to know. Tommy, come on.”

Tommy sighs, scratching at his slightly grown-out facial hair. It wasn’t nearly as thick as Joel’s, but it was clear you had all been deprived of basic hygiene over the last several weeks.

“Alright,” He relents, but holds up a finger at you, “Just the basics, for now.”

“I mean, Joel’s planning to drop me off at the nearest QZ anyways,” You joke, shoving your knife into the casing at your waist as Tommy pulls the gun out of where it’s tucked into the back of his jeans, “might as well learn as much as I can before then.”

“He won’t,” Tommy assures you, “we’re not abandoning you like that.”

You didn’t agree, but you push the words back down and take the gun that Tommy is offering as he comes to your side, arms coming around your back and around you. He’s positioning your fingers alongside his own and speaking over your shoulder and neither of you hear the car door that opens over your shoulder.

Within seconds the gun is being yanked from your grip and into Joel’s, his fingers dangling through the loop of the trigger and his eyes locked on his brother, “You lost your damn mind?”

Tommy snatches the gun back from his brother, tucking it away into his waistband.

“She’s got just as much reason to learn,” Tommy argues, “—I don’t see you makin’ an effort to teach her anything.”

“It’s not my problem,” Joel says dismissively, “we’re better off just doing the work ourselves. Kid can’t even kill an infected, she’s not gonna save your ass in a gunfight, either.”

The frustration in you boils, simmering over the edge as you push through both of them and toward the truck, closing the door with a slam as their angered voices muffle into the cabin of the truck.

“She’s not our problem, Tommy,” Joel tells him, “the sooner you realize that the better.”

“That why you plan on droppin’ her off on the doorstep of the first QZ we stumble into?”

There’s a long beat of silence before Joel speaks, “I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to,” Tommy answers, his voice laced with smugness that even you could hear, “she’s already got it set in her mind that you will and you know what—don’t blame her, either.”

Eventually, the argument settles. It’s abrupt and both of them sandwich next to you in silence as Tommy follows the path back to the road, his fingers drumming quietly against the steering wheel. But, you can feel the charge of Joel’s frustration as his fingers twist around each other. You tune it out eventually, the silence drowned out by the low hum of a cassette tape that was playing a song you had heard a thousand times by now.

You knew your own weakness was hope and it was dwindling every day.

-

By Denver, you’re all irritable. Eleven hours cramped in a truck on days of very little sleep and small scraps of meals you’ve made stretch for weeks. All the tension, arguing, and frustrations comes to a head when you stumble upon an abandoned cabin on the outskirts of town, close to the mountains and secluded. It was perfect. 

There was a large, brushy forest to hunt and it was right beside a stream. You knew it was better than nothing and that the three of you could make it work for a time—the only problem, it was already occupied.

“Stay in the truck,” Joel orders to you, cocking his gun in his lap before he’s stuffing it back into his jeans and nodding at Tommy to follow. You almost expect him to argue, but he doesn’t. He follows, like a dutiful little brother as they both stalk toward the cabin calmly.

It was one car, clearly hot-wired and stolen alongside its broken windows.

It was clear that whoever was in the cabin wasn’t the original owners either, spotting the pile of dead infected burned to a crisp beside a stack of logs that you assumed were to keep the fire burning inside the house, watching as the black smoke creeped out of the chimney.

The minutes that pass feel like an hour and you begin to wander if they both decided to keep going, abandon you and try their chances down the stretch of highway without you.

You scoot into the driver’s seat and open the door, stepping out carefully as they muddy ground causes you to slip until you regain traction and as you close the door you hear it—a loud crash, a scuffle, and then Tommy’s voice alongside Joel’s.

You run in without thinking, crashing through the slightly open door to find them both with their arms around the neck of two other men, the strangers your eyes set on are already fading. They claw, scramble for air but they’re losing. Joel slams the butt of his gun into the back of the head of the guy he’s holding before they’re both twisting at their necks in unison, the signifying crack louder than the bodies as they hit the ground.

It isn’t shocking as it should be, having seen so many people on the other end of Joel’s violence—but for Tommy, the guilt of you having to witness that is immediate.

“Kiddo, I’m sorry,” He approaches, his hands out in front of him—he was approaching you the same way he had on outbreak day, timid and careful, “you shouldn’t have had to see that.”

You glance at Joel briefly who’s gun drops to the floor behind him as he heaves the dead man up in his arms and drags him out the back door of the cabin, there’s a subtle shake to his head at Tommy’s words that makes your ears ring, drowning out his profuse apologies.

“It’s us or them, right?”

It cuts off his line of speech and his eyebrows raise slightly, “What?”

“Us or them—I’m always going to choose us, for as long as that is. Joel would too.”

Suddenly he realizes that his justifying is naut as Joel rounds the corner and continues to drag the other body out before he’s joining you both in silence as he rubs his hands against his jacket.

“Alright, uh—I want you both to settle in here, try and make it more homey for the time being. I’m gonna drive into town and see what supplies I can scavenge, should be back by nightfall.”

“I’ll come with you,” Joel adds, but Tommy stops him.

“No,” He tells his brother, a quick shake of his head, “stay here with her, get another fire going.”

And for once, Joel listens to his younger brother. His tongue is poking at his cheek as he looks away with a begrudging annoyance as he stalks toward the fireplace.

“Keep an eye on him,” Tommy whispers to you, “alright?”

You nod and smile at the gentle squeeze to your bicep that Tommy offers as he departs.

When he’s gone, the silence is deafening. Joel’s gun was still on the floor, somehow forgotten by the man who never let anything slip past him, always on guard, always ready to attack.

His back is turned when you pick up the gun, the deafening click making his head turn on a swivel.

-

He’s on you in seconds, standing from his crouched position but you were quicker, stuffing the gun behind your back with a faint smile, taking a few steps away.

“Give it to me,” Joel commands, palm extended in waiting.

“Not like you to leave stuff layin’ around,” you comment jestingly, “I think I’ll keep it for a bit.”

He stalks, heavy footsteps against the hardwood floor as you retreat further and further until you’ve ultimately cornered yourself and Joel lunges for it behind your back but you take the opportunity to sweep under his arm and slip from his grip, dangling the gun from the grip of it with two fingers.

“What? You don’t trust me with it?” you taunt, “Think I’m gonna shoot you, don’t you?”

“I’m not askin’ again,” He charges and despite your quick reflex his hand is on your wrist first, the other coming around your neck as he presses you against the back of an old, dusty couch. It creaks under your weight and sends a cloud of dust up with the movement, “drop it.”

“Say it to my face,” you retort behind a strangled tone, feeling the heavy pressure of his thick fingers around your throat, tilting your chin up at his face where he towers over you, “say it and I’ll go—you won’t see me again, hear from me. I won’t be your responsibility anymore.”

Joel shakes your wrist and squeezes and the gun drops, clattering against the floor but he doesn’t let go, not yet.

“You’ll die out there.”

You squint your eyes in disbelief, a soft laugh bubbling from your chest.

“Yeah, I’ve heard you repeat that to Tommy a million times over the last few months.”

You pull at his grip but find that it only tightens, your fingers clawing at the hand around your throat, his fingers tucked under your jaw as it pulls your chin up and up, nearly touching his chest with how close he is to you now, your feet scrambling slightly underneath your for proper footing as you leaned against the couch. 

You speak again, hoping to crawl under his skin and make him uneasy, bothered.

“What? Sudden change of heart?” you ask, “Suddenly I’m worth protecting? Tommy would love to know about the handful of men you’ve killed in my honor, you know?”

Joel’s face twitches at that, his eyes dragging toward the gun on the floor—that was your window.

You force your knees up and into his stomach, shoving him away as he stumbles but the feeling of his arm coming around your abdomen has you squirming, turning and hitting him with weak, balled up fists that didn’t amount to half the strength he encompassed. It was barely a struggle for him.

Eventually you give up, waiting and waiting for him to let you go. His gaze is heavy, almost curious in the way he watches you go through the stages of resistance to acceptance and then finally giving up before your eyes are peering up at him, pressed against him at every point of contact, the cold metal of his belt buckle digging into your stomach.

“You’re stuck with me and I’m sorry,” you tell him out of desperation, “I just want to learn and you could teach—”

It takes you a second to process when his lips press against yours, a biting kiss that is forceful and startling, gasping into his mouth at the action but your body reacts instinctively, arms wrapping around his neck and hands fisting into his hair, the subtle essence of salt and pepper that was only noticeable this close. Joel groans softly, the first true and honest sound that has come from him all evening.

“Irritating,” Joel speaks against your lips, mumbled as he leads you, bumping your legs against the arm of the couch before you’re both tumbling over, “—do you ever fuckin’ shut up?”

He’s coined you vexatious in his own mind, not realizing how impossible he was to be around either—stubborn, impossible. An unmoving force of rigidness, but here he was—pliable to the fingers that slip under his shirt as he settles between your open legs, his own pulling at the button of your jeans.

You don’t need words, knowing that you both have communicated off eye contact at a level that was never spoken about but just worked. It clicked and when he pushed, you gave into the blow.

Silently you work alongside his own hands, pushing your jeans down and off. You kick them to the floor, working at your underwear while he undoes his own jeans, feeling like you were both working against the clock with your heart hammering in your chest. He was eager, impatient—still Joel, but it was a new look. It was the dynamic that, for you, felt like the missing piece.

Weeks of constant bickering and side-eyed glances all boiling down to one break in his mulish personality, this was the resolve.

The warm touch of his palm against your upper thighs pull your attention to him and he breathes out harshly through his nostrils, his jeans shoved down his thighs and his free hand palming himself over his underwear, squeezing at your skin as he offers only one word in acknowledgement. A question.

“Yeah?”

You nod shakily, answering with a soft, “Yes.”

-

There is no build-up, no gentle touching that leads to soft caresses as Joel presses himself inside of you. His hand is gripping the arm of the couch above your head as he grips himself at the base of his cock before he’s pushing in with one solid jerk of his hips, a hurried and desperate movement to bury himself inside of you. Your fingers pull at the hair by his nape and he grunts, head pulling back as he snapped his hips back and pushed into you again, sharp and angered. His jaw was tense, the subtle peek of teeth bared behind his lips

It’s a harsh disjunction; a man you would watch from your window on weekends as he spent mornings chasing Sarah out in the lawn—softer, happier. Her protector.

With reluctance, he’s become your own. Whether he would admit it aloud or not, he knows. But, it isn’t the same—you were extra baggage, a burden, but one he felt chained too. And more importantly, distraction.

You could see his humanity slipping week by week, a dull shell of himself most days. He won’t even look at you now, his eyes squeezed shut as he thrusts into you, your eyes dragging from his face to his cock, your hand traveling down to fist at his shirt, dragging it up his stomach. 

The dark, coarse hair at the base of his cock traveled up his stomach, across his thighs. Big, strong thighs that held your legs apart and the thickness of him ached, stretched you open after months of unintentional celibacy forcing you to grip him tight, wincing with every continuous snap of his hips, feeling a hand come around to cup the back of your head, cradling it as his forehead drops and presses against your own, blocking your line of sight and forcing your eyes closed. Just feel, he’s trying to convey. Don’t think.

And it works, lingering thoughts fading away as pleasure bleeds in. His top lip grazing against the round part of your nose, his hot breath fanning over your mouth as he huffs and you moan against him, a soft and broken noise that only forces his grip to tighten against the back of your head and the other hand at your thigh, finger digging into the flesh so harshly that the ache would linger for days.

You feel the crest creeping up on you but it isn’t enough, slipping your fingers between your body silently, but the fingers around your wrist startle you, dragging you back to the surface and opening your eyes to his, his expression earnest but stoic.

“Don’t,” He shakes his head, “—just close your eyes, I got it.”

You can’t find the energy inside to argue, feeling the hand cradling your head circle around to the crown of your scalp, fingers digging into the hair and pulling taut, forcing your head back and then he’s touching you, two thick fingers circling your clit in time with his harsh, hurried thrusts.

You do close your eyes, feeling the soft tuft of his hair against the side of your face as buries himself there, his movements jerkier as his fingers work quickly, squeezing around him as your fingers dig into his forearm, hips working against his fingers instinctively to search out more and more until you’re tipping over the cliff and free-falling, coming with a soft gasp as he pulls away suddenly, fisting his cock tightly as he came over your stomach, hastily shoving your shirt out of the way as he grunts quietly, his face pinched and completely unreadable when you do finally find the energy to look at him, eyes dragging toward the ceiling as you breathe and try to process what the fuck just happened.

There’s a distant rip of fabric somewhere to the right of you and far away, noticing that Joel’s already redressed when he approaches and wipes gently at the mess of cum dressed across your stomach, shoving your jeans back into your hand in the same movement. 

You look at him oddly, shuffling the jeans and underwear in your grip as you rise, eyes following as he moved around, started building the fire Tommy had told him about a half hour ago and is so glaringly ignoring what had transpired just now—you move quickly, redressing to avoid the judgment if he looked back and you were still staring.

And you notice the itch, the unavoidable twitch in his shoulders as he can’t settle with his movements, occupying himself to keep running on the clear adrenaline high he was on—he’d killed a man and immediately directed his frustration at you and used it as a means to stall, distract, satiate that monster dwelling inside him that always came out around you.

“So, can I leave now?” You ask him, his eyes peeking over his shoulder as he shoved a new pile of wood into the fireplace, “Are we finished?”

“You’re not leaving,” Joel tells you—you weren’t moving, weren’t planning to, but you wanted to see where the conversation would go, whether Joel would admit that he cared more than he let on, his emotions so stunted since Sarah that they came out in bouts of violence and rage, “I’d never hear the end of it.”

You offer a smug chuckle in response, “So, I was right. You don’t want me around.”

Joel turns on his knee, allowing you to see the remnants of flush in his cheeks, his messy hair and his response that rips a hole straight through your chest, “I’m stuck with you because Tommy wants you around.”

It wasn’t a direct answer, but you could read into it enough.

You glance over the back of the couch, wondering if the gun was still laying on the floor where Joel had squeezed it out of your grip, but the click to your right has you turning in an instant, staring down the barrel of Joel’s gun.

“You got a lot to learn,” Your glare is less than impressed as it lands on him, petulant and annoyed, “Don’t ever touch my gun again, alright?”

“Oh,” you respond airily, an impish smile creeping onto your face as you tilted your head slightly, “so—you fucked me as punishment or because of some silly little fantasy you've always had of fucking your neighbors daughter?”

And to your surprise, Joel's response is less angered.

“You could do with a little punishment,” He rises on his knees, pocketing the gun back in his jeans, and smirking at your dumb-founded expression, “—couldn’t you?”

Joel approaches closer, motioning with his fingers for you to stand and without thinking, you follow. His subtle smirk grows wider and he’s reaching for the forgotten knife on the floor, having fallen off your pants in the midst of your hurried undressing.

“I ain’t here to teach—I’m keepin’ us alive. The sooner you learn to shut up and follow, the better,” He reaches for your hand, placing the knife into your open palm, “and you kissed back, so that look on your face, that regret—”

“Who said there was regret?”

Joel’s eyes stick to you, meeting yours fiercely for a moment as you take the knife from him and reattach it to the loop on your jeans. His tongue licks at his bottom lip briefly, watching the subtle grin spread across your face.

Your words were a challenge. 

And for you, that meant game on. 

-

dividers creds: @/saradika-graphics

[forwhomthewordsflow]

The Start of Something New

modern music teacher eddie munson x art teacher fem reader

18+ ONLY MDNI

warnings: just fluff…lotsa fluff

author’s note: i’m still new to this whole author thing so please be gentle!!!  also, i’d totally be into making this a series if you guys are into that…

word count: 3.4k

If you had asked him five years ago if he thought he’d ever set foot back into this shithole ever again, under any circumstances, Eddie would’ve told you to fuck right off.  But alas, here he was, grading papers in his classroom during his grading period.  Yes, that’s right folks.  Eddie Munson – resident town freak – is now a proud music teacher at Hawkins High School.  Who would’ve thought?  Certainly not Eddie.  Or anyone else for that matter.  But apparently all it took was a mandatory Music History 101 class that he was forced to take in community college, and he was hooked.  Eddie tried as hard as he could to hate the class, but he couldn’t help the fact that he had a natural gift for the subject.  Begrudgingly, Eddie Munson earned his first A+ ever, and an invitation to join the class for another semester as a TA.  He couldn’t believe it, but he said yes.  And so began the long and surprisingly painless journey of a town freak turned teacher.  

Eddie still sometimes wonders how he ended up here.  He recalls his days of detention and lunch-time table speeches like it was yesterday, wishing he could walk right out of class and never come back.  But, he figures that if he has the chance to be the teacher that he never had for another kid just like he used to be, then he should probably fucking take it.  The job isn’t necessarily all bad.  Sure, the pay isn’t great and dealing with parents can be a bit of a shitshow, but Eddie still manages to find himself having fun while he’s at work.  The kids he teaches are pretty damn awesome, and he honestly really likes spending his days hanging out with them and teaching them about music.  But even after all the great students and the sweet vacation time he gets each year, his most favorite part about his job is you.

You, the brand new, drop-dead gorgeous art teacher here at Hawkins High.  Eddie couldn’t believe his luck when he met you towards the end of July during orientation.  He likes to think he has an above-average amount of game when it comes to women, but it’s as though every ounce of cool-ness was sucked out of his body as soon as he entered into your vicinity.  Eddie cringes as he thinks back to your very first meeting, where he opened up with a very smooth, “So…you come here often?”

And even though that moment plays on a continuous “you suck” reel in his mind, your sweet, shy giggle that came afterwards makes it all worth it.  He still remembers the blush on your cheeks, the smell of your perfume, and the sparkles on the inner corners of your eyes that made it damn near impossible for him to look away.  You had been kind to Eddie that day, willing to look past his stupid idiot boy self and explain to him that it was your first day on the job and that you had moved here from the city.  Eddie had managed to ramble out a few more mismatched words to you as he was staring at your pretty smile and the smattering of freckles on your nose before he was rudely interrupted by the beginning of orientation.  Eddie didn’t see much of you after that until right before the start of the school year, when teachers have a week or two to say goodbye to summer and set up their classrooms before the first day of school.  He had just finished putting his records back up on display when he figured it was time for a little break.  He meandered down the halls under the guise of stretching his legs, when really he was just trying to see which classroom the new, beautiful art teacher was given.  And of course, because the universe apparently has it out for him, he found you on the complete opposite side of the school from him.  Eddie smiled at the way you had decorated your door, made to look like an artist’s palette.  He wondered if you’d made each individual part by hand, and how long it had taken you to piece each one together on your door.  The idea that he’d probably rarely ever cross paths with you throughout the year is what led to his face back and forth pacing in the hallway while he thought of a plan.  You’d think that they’d put the art teacher a bit closer to the music teacher as they were both considered “electives,” but fate has a nasty way of fucking things up for Eddie.  Nevertheless,  Eddie was determined to find ways to bump into you.   He was on a mission for a first impression do-over, this time featuring cool-sexy-funny Eddie instead of the awkward and embarrassing version of himself that you met during orientation.  He was going through his mental stash of one-liners to open up with, and unfortunately, was not paying attention to where he was walking.  Just as Eddie went to turn around and continue on with his hurried pacing, he bumped into someone…hard.  He heard a squeak, a splash, and a gasp as his brain tried to catch up with what his eyes were seeing.  There you were, so beautiful, so angelic, so…wet?  Eddie steps back in horror as he realizes that his clumsiness has resulted in you spilling what looks like paint water all down the front of your shirt.  

“Oh no!  Oh shit, I- I’m so sorry!  I wasn’t even looking where I was going – shit, fuck – I’m so fucking sorry holy shit –” Eddie rambled on in a panic induced frenzy while you stared up at him in shock, clutching the now empty water cup in your hand.  Eddie stilled as he felt your other hand graze his arm – holyfuckingshit you’re touching him!!! – in an attempt to calm him down.

“Eddie!  I promise, it’s totally okay!”  You laughed as you said this, and Eddie felt his eyes turn into giant red hearts like they do in the cartoons.  “If I freaked out every time I spilled something on myself during a project, they’d have sent me to the nuthouse a long time ago.”  Your eyes widened as you realized that might’ve been a weird thing to say to this gorgeous man that you don’t know that well, but his deep chuckle calms you down immediately.  You both stare at each other grinning like fools for a few moments before the icky feeling of a sopping wet shirt gets to you.  You bend down to pick up the few paint brushes that had scattered on the ground, and Eddie quickly gets down onto one knee to help you.  

“I uh, I’m really sorry again about this.  I’m usually much cooler than this, I swear.”  Eddie mentally punches himself in the dick for saying such a dumb thing.  Why can’t he just operate like a normal fucking person right now?  To his surprise, your adorable giggle graces his ears.

“I swear it’s really okay.  I have an extra shirt in my classroom.”

At the mention of your shirt, Eddie can’t help but to sneak a peek at your body through your sopping wet t-shirt.  He can just barely make out the tops of your collarbone, the outline of your tank top, the curve of your breast���

Eddie’s impure thoughts are interrupted by you standing back up and pulling at your wet shirt.  

“Well, I’d better get back to it then I guess.”  You look at him with a different look in your eye than what it was moments ago.  It almost looked like you were waiting on him to say something. Did you want him to come with you to your classroom?  Apparently he spends too long contemplating your desires because you give him a small smile and start to turn back towards your room.  Eddie manages to buck up and find his inner cool-guy just in time.

“D-Do you need any help with anything?”  You turn back around with a smile on your face, happy that he finally said something.  “I’m known to be pretty handy, if you need any help hanging things up, building shelves…anything at all, I’m pretty good with my hands.  It’s the least I can do.”

Eddie’s grin makes you clench your thighs a little, you hope he doesn’t notice.  Even if you tried to speak, you’re not sure any words would come out, so you nod your head and try to fight the blush that’s blooming on your face.  Eddie spots it of course, he thinks it’s adorable.  You jerk your head over your shoulder, telling him to follow you, and start back to your classroom.

Eddie can’t help but to bust out a few celebratory fist pumps as he trails behind you.

Stepping into your classroom felt a lot like stepping into a different world.  Eddie felt his jaw drop as he looked up and around the room at all the colorful signs and decorations you had put up everywhere.  There were wooden shelves lined with more art supplies than Eddie had ever seen in his life, various paintings in different mediums hung up around the room, and a large carpet in the middle of the room that looked like someone had splattered paint all over it.  After he was done taking in the wonder of the room, Eddie’s eyes landed on you standing by your desk.  You watched him look around at all your hard work, and you really hoped that he liked it.  You hoped he didn’t think you had overdone it or that you were trying way too hard.

“So, what do you think?” You ask nervously.

“What do I think?” Eddie responds, “I think that I would’ve killed for a classroom like this when I was in highschool.  This is the coolest fucking thing ever.”

Eddie thinks your beaming smile could light up an entire town.  

You look down, blushing hard.  “Thank you, Eddie.”

Eddie loves the way his name sounds coming out of your mouth.

You begin to pull at your shirt a bit, the wet material making you more and more uncomfortable by the second.  The cups in your hand clink together as you fumble them around, and Eddie rushes to help you.

“Here, let me help with those.”  

You look up at Eddie with wide eyes, and notice he was standing quite close to you.  His big brown eyes had tiny flecks of a caramel color in them, and his lips were pulled into a soft smile.  God, you hope he didn’t notice you were looking at his lips.  

(He totally did.)

“Oh, th-thanks.”  You awkwardly dump the cups and paint brushes into Eddie’s waiting hands as he chuckles quietly.  Pulling your shirt away from your body with both hands now, you spare a glance to the closet near your desk in the back corner of your classroom.  “I’m just going to change into a new shirt really quick.”

Eddie blushes at the thought of seeing your bare skin.  “Oh, do you want me to like, turn around o-or I can totally leave if you wanted –”

“No you’re fine, I’m wearing a tank under this.”  You shoot him a small smile over your shoulder and turn to open up the double doors of the closet.  

Eddie wonders if you hear his breath hitch while he prepares himself to see you in a tank top.  

Inside the closet, Eddie can see jars of wrapped candies, some clothes hanging on a short rod, various school supplies, and a few blankets folded near the bottom.  He thinks it’s so adorable how organized you seem to be, and wonders if it’s like that inside your home.  He’s ripped away from his thoughts when you peel your wet top up and over your body, revealing a white ribbed tank top underneath.  Eddie feels his heart pounding inside of his chest as he takes you in.  The skin tight material of your tank top, the curve of your waist, your beautiful bare shoulders.  When you turn around, Eddie’s condition intensifies.  He feels his jeans get tighter at the sight of your round breasts, and the water that spilled onto your shirt must have soaked through a bit, because Eddie can just barely make out the lines of a beige colored bra underneath.  Eddie suddenly coughs loudly and looks up to the ceiling, mentally scolding himself for being such a horn dog.

Of course, you had already seen Eddie ogling your chest, and you couldn’t help but to feel a little flattered and hide your smug grin as you pulled your new, dry t-shirt over your head.  “There we go, good as new!”

Eddie took this as his cue to stop observing the tiny divots in your ceiling tiles.  You had put on an oversized green t-shirt, and you looked absolutely adorable in it.  Eddie wondered what you’d look like in one of his shirts…

“If you want, you can set those right on that empty shelf over there.”  You point to his left at one of the shelves lining the wall.  Eddie looks confused for a moment until he remembers he’s holding your cups and paintbrushes.  He walks over to the shelf and places the items very carefully next to the other cups, turning back around to face you afterwards.  You wring your hands together in front of you, struggling to meet his eyes.  Why is this so hard?  He’s just a guy.  A very hot guy with cool tattoos, pretty hair, a dangerous smile…

Eddie tries his hardest to find a reason to hang around in your classroom with you a little longer, he can’t blow this, not when he still has so much to learn about you.

“So, why all the lamps?”  Eddie begins to wander around your room, stopping to look at each of the light fixtures you’ve placed throughout the space.  You wonder if he’s making fun of you, but the genuine interest on his face says differently.  

“Oh, um, I sort of hate big lights.”

“Big lights?”  Eddie turns to you with a grin and a soft chuckle.  “What are big lights?”

You point up at the LEDs lining your ceiling.  He looks up with you and realizes what you mean by ‘big lights’.  

“Oh,” Eddie laughs ,”Big light.  I get it now.” He takes a step closer to you and notices your chest rising and falling a bit quicker.  You don’t hold eye contact for more than a few seconds before finding something to look at on one of your walls, Eddie thinks it’s adorable how shy you are right now.  “I’ve always hated how…clinical they make everything look sometimes.”

“I know right?”  Your small outburst surprises Eddie a bit, you’re looking him in the eyes now and he’s thinking you might not be as shy as he guessed.  He’s also thinking about how goddamn beautiful your eyes are, and that he might have found his new favorite color.  “I mean, I know I’ll have to turn them on for at least one or two art projects during the year, but I just feel like the softer lights make it look a lot more inviting in here, right?”  Eddie nods along and can’t help but smile at how cute you are when you’re a little fired up like this.  “And I’ve just read so many articles about how the harsh LED’s make it harder to focus sometimes for the kids, and some even said it can actually make them more nervous!  Well, no way, not in my classroom.”

You huff and look at the ground, realizing that you might’ve been doing a little too much just now.    

“Sorry.  I get really passionate about the kids sometimes.”

“Hey, no way.”  Eddie takes a step closer until he’s looking down at you.  “I really like how obvious it is that you care so much.  Some of the teachers around here seem like they couldn’t give two shits about their students.  That, or they’re too goddamn old to remember how.”

A giggle bursts out of your mouth, and Eddie wishes you wouldn’t have covered your smile with your hand.  He might just have to make it his life’s mission to get you to smile and giggle more.  

“Seriously though, these are super cool lights in here.  The kids will love them.”

“Really?  You think so?”  You look up at him anxiously.  It’s clear to him that you’re genuinely worried about your students not liking you or your classroom, and he wishes he could take all of that anxiety off your shoulders.  If he knows anything from years of working here,  he knows the kids will love you.  

“Yes, I do.” Eddie places a hand on your shoulder.  “The kids are gonna freak out, your room is the best one in this place by far.”  You smile up at him and he smiles back.  He realizes that he’s touching you and pulls his hand back before he can think too much about it.  He takes a step back and plucks a curl from his mane of hair to mess with, a nervous habit of his.  Eddie racks his brain for an excuse to stay with you longer.  He still has so much to learn about you!  He wants to know your favorite color, if you listen to rock, who your favorite artist is…he needs to use his big dumb brain and think of something quickly before the lull in your conversation teeters into the realm of awkward.  Suddenly, he’s hit with a stroke of genius.

“You know…” You look back up at him with a smile.  You’d been hoping to God that he’d say something else to keep your conversation going.  “I’ve actually been looking to spice up my one classroom a little bit.”  He looks down on you with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

“Is that so?”

“Oh, yes.  Definitely.  I think you may be just the right person to help me, seeing as your room is decorated to perfection.”  You giggle and swat your hand in front of you in an “oh, stop it” motion. 

 “How may I be of service?”  You look up at him, batting your long lashes with your hands clasped behind your back.  Eddie gulps and tries like hell not to let his mind wander too far.

“I – uh, have recently learned a few things about the evil and illusive ‘big light’,” Eddie makes air quotes around the word ‘big light’ and you giggle at how dramatic and silly he’s being, “and I find myself suddenly in need of some lamps of various shapes and sizes, similar to the ones that are displayed in this lovely room.”  He makes a sweeping gesture with his  muscular arm towards your lamps.  Amping up the drama with you might’ve been a risk, but Eddie decides it’s paid off in full when he notices you trying, and failing, to hold back your laugh.  

“I think I may be able to help with that.”  You sigh and tap at your jaw in a thoughtful way.  “You know, I got most of these at IKEA if you’re really in the market for some.  At a fairly good price too.”

Eddie nods at this new information.

You take a tiny step closer to and look up at him through your lashes.  Eddie struggles to breathe, you smell so good and you look so pretty and he really should be focusing on what you’re saying but he can’t get over how gorgeous you are  –

“You might need some help finding them in there though…IKEA is huge and you wouldn’t want to get lost in there.”  Are you implying what he thinks you’re implying?  “I could…go with you maybe.  Help you pick out a few new lamps for your room.”

Eddie is speechless.  You just asked him to hangout?  Outside of school?  Eddie must look like a fucking idiot as he struggles to speak, and you mistake this for hesitation. 

“Or–or not, if that’s not something you’d be into.  I totally get it if you want to keep things professional and not meetup outside of work–”

Eddie interrupts your nervous rambling quickly.  “No, no!  Are you kidding?  I’d love to IKEA with you!   I – I mean, go to IKEA.  I’d love to go to IKEA with you.  Whenever you want, I’m free whenever you want.”

You let out a big breath and smile at the blush that’s blooming on Eddie’s cheeks.  The two of you stand there in your classroom smiling like idiots for probably a little too long, but who cares?  The gorgeous music teacher wants to take you to IKEA to shop for lamps, and you can’t help but feel like this could be the start of something really, really good.

[hollywoodroses]

I Own You

This is a story for the anon who requested dark axl rose who is a villain and he seduces the reader.

I wrote axl as a gang!leader this will be a dark erotic thriller. I hope you like it, anon.

Don’t go out after curfew as the city of los angeles is terrorized by a gang, led by it’s seductive leader axl rose.

Warnings: axl is a gang!leader, smut including: knife-play, blood-play, threesome, an orgy and mention of orgy, fem!slash and mention of fem!slash, violence, drug use, language and strong sexual language. (I went a little crazy with this story)

Minors please don’t interact

Los Angeles is an interesting place to live. Everything is normal during the day when the city-folk would go to school or work. It seems like a nice place to raise a family. There is a catch, don’t go out after curfew as LA was owned and being terrorized by a gang.

Surprisingly, the population never hear the debauchery and violence that happens during the night. You see, this gang has connections to businesses including the local pharmaceutical company who sells a pill that people take at night so all they hear is silence.

The gang is called, The Family and is led by a seductive leader named Axl Rose. The group includes Axl’s inner circle of men and a young girl named Quinn. Quinn joined the gang after her father sold her to payoff a debt he had with the group.

Quinn is still a high school student and is allowed to go out during the day. While in school, Quinn became best friends with Y/N when she was new to town and didn’t know anyone. The moment Quinn met you she knew you’d be a perfect mate for Axl and birth his child who will take over the gang if he is ever got caught by police.

Quinn made sure to rush home to the family and tell them about Y/N. She found out you work the night-shift at a porn shop which means you would have to walk home in the dark after curfew. A perfect way for Axl to meet his pet.

You usually kept the door locked as you stock merchandise and hang around the cash register while reading romance novels.

You suddenly hear the sound of a shot-gun and a woman scream. You get scared but are curious about what happened. You look out the window and see a man with long hair and a bandana. He has the woman who screamed by her shirt collar that was ripped.

You felt yourself get heated as you watched him kiss the woman as her boyfriend lay dead. Turning away from the window, you couldn’t bear to watch the sight. Still feeling curious, you turn back to watch as the mysterious man fucked the woman out in the open street.

Feeling yourself unlock the door, you ran outside and yelled, “HEY, LEAVE HER ALONE YOU BITCH!!”.

He lets the woman go and as she ran off. He looked at you, annoyed. You start to panic as you run back to the shop your parents own, but the man is too fast for you and grabs you as you try and get away from him.

Pushing you against the door, he pulls out a knife and puts it against your neck as you turn away from him in fright.

“Did you like the show, darling”. He asks you with an evil smile.

You look at him innocently trying to give him a silent message to let you go. When you don’t say anything he puts his head on your neck and breathes in your scent. You roll your eyes as you feel yourself get turned on. You moan when you feel him bite your neck. Finally getting out of his embrace, you safely get in the shop.

“I’m gonna get you!” You hear the man say as he chuckles. Feeling a bit of excitement in your pussy, you make sure to lock the door as a fight breaks outside a bank and the man runs off to join his friends.

****

That night you couldn't sleep as images of what happen haunted your dreams. Worried that the man had given you a threat, you begged your parents if you could at least stay at home.

Your parents refused saying the hard work would do you good. At school the next morning, you greeted Quinn and asked her if she would hang-out with you at the shop that evening as protection. She seemed more of a bad-ass herself than you ever did.

You enter the school and see her at the cafe reviewing her notes for the morning math test.

"Hey, Quinn!” You call out to her.

“Listen, I need some help. My parents own a shop in town and always make me work the night shift. I need a friend to look after me and since you are the coolest chick in school I was wondering if you would join me?”

Quinn was silent as she thought for a moment. You are worried she would think it’s a stupid idea. Little did you know, she had other ideas.

“I will help you but you have to come to a house party I am throwing once we are finished”.

You sighed in relief and planned to meet Quinn after school so you could walk her to the porn shop. You are a little embarrassed at what she would think of it. What you don’t know is she is surrounded by sex at a daily basis in her home.

Once it was the end of the day, Quinn agreed to walk with you to work. It was slowly getting dark and you are nervous that this mysterious gang would attack you and Quinn. You didn’t realize that she was a member of the gang and as long as you are with her you will not be harmed. There was already talk from Axl, who had met you the night before that no other man from the group could touch you.

As you walked through the dark streets you thought you saw the man from the night before. You noticed a strip-club get raided and you gasped when you saw him. When he saw you, you grab Quinn’s hand and run to your shop which was just down the road. You screamed as you saw the man chase after you. You swear you heard him call Quinn’s name but you are too frightened to care.

Finally getting to the shop, you are too late as the man was able to push his way in.

“Hey, darling I knew I’d get you”. He laughed in glee.

“Leave her alone, Axl”. Quinn told him off.

Even though Quinn was the youngest in the gang she had a fierce attitude.

“Shut up Quinn, you know what happens when you are a bad girl”.

“Wait, you two know each other.” You say in disbelief.

Quinn introduced you to Axl as he smiled at you. You turn away, you can’t look at him. You had heard night-time stories about Axl and his gang of misfits. These stories would keep you up at night fearing for your life. There was a rumour that Axl’s gang would collect forgotten youth, more like forgotten women for their sexual pleasure. Women whose families gave up on them, but that was just a rumour, right?!

“Get out of here, Axl we’ll see you at the party later.”

Axl winks at you as he leaves the shop. To say you are speechless is an understatement.

“Why didn’t you tell me you know him?” You asked Quinn.

“It’s a sad story but Axl gave me a family when my own family gave up on me.”

You are shocked to learn the rumours are true. Axl really is a monster, how can he forcefully take young women against their will. Unbeknownst to you, these women happily joined the gang even if temporarily.

Giving Quinn a tour of the shop, you showed her everything. She had the bright idea of having you dress in one of the bondage outfits that your family sold. It was a piece of leather that wrapped around your tits and around your pussy in a zig-zag pattern. The out-fit even had a short skirt that barely covered your lady-parts.

You originally refused to wear it but when Quinn explained the type of people who would be at the party, you agree to wear it.

Time went by very fast as you and Quinn chatted about what life was like in the gang. You wondered how she was loyal to Axl and his gang mates. You admire Quinn’s positive attitude towards everything.

Finally it was time to change into your bondage out-fit. Feeling yourself get wet as you put it on, you feel yourself squirt and you moan as you watch Quinn lick your cum off your leg.

She grabs your hand after you lock up the shop and you walk together to her party.

*****

Once you enter Quinn’s party you notice there is a lot of rough housing. You look at each of Axl’s men, two looked past-out on drugs while the other three are having a group orgy with two women. You blush as you watch the women fight as they made out. You swear you saw them lick their tongues together. You whimper as you watch the scene.

Quinn pulls you away and walks you towards Axl who is sitting on a chair with a woman in his lap. She is topless in her underwear as she rubs herself against his jeans. He hides himself in her hair as you walk over to greet him.

Once the greeting is over, Axl offers you a powered drug. He watches with a smirk as you gladly snort the drug up your nose. When you feel the effects of the drug, you feel someone carry you upstairs to a bedroom and let you sleep it off. Axl grins as he has you right where he wants you. It’s only a matter of time that he will make his move on you. In bed, better yet maybe in the shower. Using the wetness of the water to get you off on his body was just perfect to him. You’ll literally look like a water goddess. He’ll wait as he didn’t want to scare you.

*****

It was dark, you didn’t realize you were sleeping in Axl’s home for a few days. You feel someone next to you, thinking it was Quinn you sigh in relief. You slowly start to wake up from your slumber and smile over at her.

“Thank you for bringing me here, Quinn.” You say to her with a smile.

She kisses your hand and looks over behind you. You turn your body around and you see Axl. Just as you are about to scream, Axl covers your mouth. When you have settled down. He gives you a light peck.

“Sit on my face, darling. Let me make you feel good.”

You know Axl frightens you but you are intrigued. You roll on-top of him and climb up his body until your clothed pussy is at his mouth. You look up as you pull your skirt up and move the leather material out of the way. As he starts to lick your flesh, you can’t help but to rock against him. You are so high in the sky, you don’t notice that Quinn began to finger herself as she watched. Axl was a master at eating you that it didn’t take very long for you to squirt in his face. He had his mouth open at the right time, drinking your cum. Once the encounter is over you slide down his body and kiss him hungrily, lining up your pussy with his cock. You hold your breath as he pushes himself inside you and you moan as you both become one.

Was this what Quinn and the rest of the gang wanted? You to be Axl’s play-thing and give him a baby? Regardless if it was, you didn’t care. You love the feeling of being with him in an intimate way and getting to share that experience with your best friend was even better.

When Axl climaxed inside you, you moan out his name in ecstasy. You swear you heard yourself call him ‘daddy’ in the heat of the moment. What you didn’t realize was that sex with Axl was your initiation into the gang. Every member of the gang had a different experience. The men in the group had to do something criminal like rob a bank while Quinn’s initiation was a group orgy. sexuality was open and free in Axl’s gang it’s how the members gave their love to one another.

*****

That was exactly three years ago, you now are the mother of a three-year-old girl named Willow who was the light in your life. Not only did Axl protect her from harm but also the family did too. Axl’s right-hand man named Duff imprinted on Willow and he felt the need to be her saviour from the dark life-style of Los Angeles.

You had disappeared since meeting Axl’s gang but your parents knew what you were up to. You later found out that your parents made a deal with Axl’s gang that they would give you up to them when you were of legal age. Meeting Quinn in high school was a set-up. Regardless of what happened in your life, you are happy and content being loyal to Axl. You would literally die for him. The final part of your initiation was, Axl cut his wrist and made you taste his blood. It made the love-bond forever. When you were crowned Queen of the gang and Axl’s life-mate, your life felt complete but was Los Angeles ready for you?

the end

[writersblog20]

Mexico 🌿🍃

Pedro Pascal x reader

Summary: When you need some distance from your hometown, Pedro booked a luxurious villa for you in Mexico. It was almost perfect except that Pedro wasn’t there since he was away for filming… or is he?

Warnings: FLUFF! Teeth rotting, cotton candy fluff! Mention of smoking weed, mention of having a rough time, Spanish sentences that might be incorrect (English translation behind) so I’m sorry if it’s wrong! Most is just fluff.

A/N: Hiya, remember me? 😂I’ve been sooooo busy with work and school and handling some personal stuff and just still trying to heal from some things, so I must keep a lot of balls high so that’s why I haven’t been posting for a while. I hope that things will soon get a little more reasonable, but I have no clue when. But for now, I hope you guys enjoy this sweet piece! Much love from your homegirl 🩷🪬🧿

Mexico

You had a couple of very rough months and every time you got back up but that didn’t mean that it was exhausting. Pedro was away filming and knew what you were going through. You both facetimed each other every day and every time you cried or were upset, Pedro wanted to come home to you and take care of you, even though you reassured him that you’d be okay.

It wasn’t new of you for you to push people away and take care of yourself. You finally learned how to love yourself and take care of your inner child. You might’ve lost so much in the last month but found yourself on that journey. You were used to doing things alone and found it hard to accept people in and let them take care of you. But like I said, you were learning that bit by bit.

You were currently in Mexico. Pedro was renting a house there where you could stay for a while and focus on yourself and your healing, leaving everything behind for a while and it was the best decision ever. You felt so extremely relaxed, not forget the fact that you’ve always wanted to go to Mexico. The house was GORGEOUS to say the least. It was some sort of villa and the moment you stepped into the villa, you felt at peace. It was very luxurious, the backyard was huge, with a pool, gorgeous view over the city, 

You had thanked Pedro multiple times and he was happy he could help you with something. He wanted to give you the entire world so he did his best to spoil you, escpecially after everything that happened. You deserved to rest and heal in a very luxurious and comforting villa. He didn’t tell you that he rented it just for you, but he would tell you eventually.

This was your 3th night here and you already felt more and more peacefull and relaxed. Throughout the day you would stroll around a market, buying fresh fruit, vegetables and whatever else you needed. After that, you would meditate, after that you would journal with a self-help book called healing through words of Rupi Kaur for at least 2 hours. Than you would do whatever you felt like but mostly, read.

It was evening right now and you decided to get into the huge bathtub. You even looked down over the city in the bathroom as a view. You lit some candles, lit some insence and relaxed while reading your favorite book. You had smoked a joint before you got into the baththub so you were completely fuzzy and relaxed.

Pedro even bought all of your favorite bath oi, foam, salt, body butter, body lotion, body mist with a huge bouquet of roses etc and delivered it to the renting. It came in today and you after you got it, you immediately called Pedro to thank him but he didn’t pick up the phone so you’de figure that he was busy shooting his new movie so instead you send him a sweet text with a selfie of you smiling with the bouquet of roses in your hand before you got into the bathtub.

You had some music playing in the background, the smell of insence comforting you as you let yourself relax completely. It was hard for you to give into relaxation completely. That’s because you’ve never felt really safe but even though you knew that you were safe in your head, your body was so used to be on edge all the time that you had to remind yourself that you are indeed very safe. And it worked. Slowly but surely, you started to rewire your brain.

After a while you put your book away. You took a deep breath from relaxation and softly touched your legs. You hummed to yourself and decided to shave it. Not because you thought it was prettier, you just very much liked the feeling how your legs felt after you shaved. You put some shower foam on your legs and slowly shaved your first leg. You were so in your own space that you didn’t hear someone open the door. “Mi amor….” You heard a familiar voice say. You got startled, not expecting someone here. You looked at the familiar voice, only to be met with the softest brown eyes in the entire world. “Pedro…?” you asked surprised, but happy, to see him standing in your bathroom.

He slowly walked towards you, seeing how relaxed you were, your eyes heavy. “Oh, mi hermosa, cuanto te he extrañado (oh my beautiful, how much I’ve missed you)” he whispered as he crouched down besides the bathtub and gently placed a string of hair behind your ear. He cupped your cheek, making you lean into his touch. You placed your hand over his and your other hand cupping his cheek, meeting his eyes that held so much love in them that it made your heart flutter. “Pedro…… I’ve missed you so much.” You told him and couldn’t contain the urge to hug him. You moved in the bath and placed your arms around his shoulders and nuzzled your face in his neck. Your wet, naked body against his clothes and the comforting sound of him chuckling made you feel like you were home again. His arms around your waist, holding you close and tightly against his body as he kissed your head multiple times. You got your face from the crook of his neck and kissed him passionately. His hands cupping your cheek again and got out of the kiss so he could look at you. His smile bright and reaching his eyes, giving a twinkle in them.

“Took some days off. I want to take care of you. Please, let me take care of you now.” He asked you lovingly while he played with your hair and cupped your cheek again. That was the last step for you, to give someone permission to completely take care of you. He knew you found that difficult, but you knew you were ready. You smiled at him “I’d like that” you still felt fuzzy and relaxed from the weed you smoked before. Pedro had the most loving smile on his faze that it made all the butterflies come back in a matter of a second.

“You know I don’t mind if you shave or not, right?” He asked you before doing anything at all. You smiled and nodded. “I know, I just like the feeling” you chuckled softly. Pedro smiled with adoration, reaching his eyes. “Then it’s alright, mi Corazón”.

You sat back down in the bathtub and Pedro gently placed your feet on the edge of the tub so he could continue shaving your leg where you left off. His big hands gently on your skin as he shaved your leg in concentration. When he was done with one leg, he placed a kiss on your knee as he made eye contact with you. He got the scrub supplies and gently scrubbed your leg, being careful so he wouldn’t hurt you. Your heart filled with love just by seeing how careful he was with you and how much love he put in the things he did for you, just like this.

When he was done with your first leg, he got to the other, repeating the things he did with your other leg. When he was done, he placed a kiss on your forehead and cupped your cheeks again, looking lovingly into your eyes which held nothing else but adoration and love, radiating it through them. “Let’s get you out and dried up, princesa.” Pedro stood up and held up a towel for you, giving you a hand so you could get out safe. Once you were out, he wrapped the soft towel around your body. His hands still on your waist when he pulled you closer for a loving hug. His arms around you while he tucked your head underneath his chin, not caring that his clothes got a bit wet from you. Your arms were tightly wrapped around his waist, and you let the side of your head rest against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

“Te amo, mi amor.” He whispered in your ear. “I love you too Pedge” he smiled softly and kissed your head, his lips lingering. He got your underwear and helped you in them, your hands resting on his shoulders as he crouched down to put it on. He got the body butter and looked at you for permission. You nodded and he rubbed his hands together so his hands wouldn’t be so cold. He placed some on his hands and put it gently on your upper body. His hands gentle, making sure that he didn’t miss a spot. After he was done, he placed a top on your body. And continued with your legs. He got on one knee and placed your leg on his knee, so he had better access for your legs. His hands were soft and gentle on your skin.

He got your kimono and helped you in it with your arms. It was still a very nice temperature outside, so you didn’t need more clothes. You put your arms around Pedro again and he did the same, giving you a kiss on the top of your head. Pedro held your hand and let you to the kitchen. “Ve a sentarte afuera cariño (Go sit outside, dear.)” He told you softly and you nodded, softly letting go of his hand with a loving smile that held Pedro in a trance. You walked outside, his eyes following you with a smile upon his lips.

You sat down in a big chair, your knees up to your chest. You put some slow R&B on through the speakers and lit your new joint. You let your head fall back as you exhaled the smoke. “No puedo creer lo hermosa que eres, mi amor (I can’t believe how beautiful you are my love.)” You heard Pedro say as he walked towards you with, what looked like two mojitos. Pedro sat next to you, placing the mojitos on the table, which was lit by candles and fairy lights. When Pedro was comfortable, you got out of your own chair and sat down on his lap, making Pedro smile. His arms already wrapped around you as you got comfortable on his lap. He couldn’t hide his loving smile for you. You handed him the joint and he took it from you, taking a big puff as he kept eye contact. You smiled at him and kissed him, making him cup your cheek softly.

“How was work?” you asked him after a while when you saw him finally relaxed. He hummed a bit and started talking about his day while you listened intently to his story. You went with your nails softly through his hair and he leaned more into you as he let out a sigh. “But it’s all better now. porque estoy aquí contigo, el amor de mi vida (because I'm here with you, the love of my life)” You smiled and felt a bit flustered. “Oye, mírame cariño (Hey, look at me, baby)” he whispered, his finger underneath your chin as you looked up. He gave you a couple of sensual and loving kisses before he kissed your forehead.

He handed you your mojito and you got your book, that you were reading, from the table in front of you. Pedro drew circles on your back while you tried to find the page you left it on. When you finally found it, you let your head rest against his chest and started reading it. Pedro let his chin rest on the top of your head and started reading with you, unknown to you until you wanted to turn the page. “Wait, I’m not that fast yet.” He chuckled nervously, making you look up. You smiled that he was reading the book with you. His eyebrows knotted together as he tried to read the words, but he forgot his glasses inside. “Want me to read to you?” You asked him genuine with a smile. “I’d love that. You know I love your voice.” You smiled and gave him a quick peck on his lips before you started reading to him.

An hour got by when you put your book away and looked at Pedro, tiredly. “I’m tired, P” you told him softly and he smiled adoringly at you as he stroked your hair. “vamos a la cama, mi chica (Lets go to bed, my girl)” he told you as he kissed the side of your head and helped you stand up before he stood up.

Once again, you walked hand in hand inside of the house. “You go freshen up, princess. I’m going to put out the lights. I’ll be right back.” he told you and carefully let go of your hand.

You were doing your skincare as last when you were almost finished with the rest, Pedro walked in, smiling at you while you applied the moisturizer to your face. He strutted towards you and put his arms around your waist, letting his chin rest on your shoulder. His body pressed against yours. Pedro almost had heart eyes while he looked at you, doing your skincare routine. He knew you were almost finished as he memorized every product in your routine. When you applied the last thing, he turned you around with his hands on your waist. You looked up at him with a loving smile and giggled softly at the way he carefully stroked your cheek. “Mi amor….” You felt butterflies in your stomach and looked down shyly. “Get comfortable in the bed, I’ll be right there.” he told you, making you nod. You wanted to walk to the bedroom, but Pedro pulled you back. “I think you forgot something….” He told you, getting you confused a bit. “Dame un beso mi Chica Bonita (give me a kiss, my pretty girl.)” you giggled when he told you what you forgot and stood on your tippy toes to give him a kiss. He cupped your cheeks with both of his hands and deepened the kiss as he sighed from relaxation in the kiss. When he pulled away, he looked at you with a smile. “Now you can go.” He told you with a smile as he reluctantly let go of you. You chuckled and quickly kissed his cheek before you left the bathroom and into the bedroom.

You put on a soft warm light and crawled into bed, pushing away the mosquito net. You hadn’t closed the curtains yet, keeping the view over the ocean and a couple of lights from homes further away and of course, the garden where you just sat. You got your book and started reading where you left off. Pedro walked in the bedroom in only his boxers and smiled when he saw you all comfortable in the big bed.

You put your book on your chest for a moment and looked at Pedro who crawled in next to you. “This bed was too big without you in it… I’ve missed you…” you told him softly as you laid down on your side for a moment so you could look at him. “Yo también te extrañé, cariño. Me alegro de estar aquí contigo. (I missed you too, sweetheart. I'm glad to be here with you.)” his voice husk from tiredness, making you smile. He gave you a passionate yet sensual kiss before he softly and gently placed a kiss on your nose and forehead.

You laid down on your back, picking your book up. Pedro let his head rest on your chest, your arm around him while you went with your fingers through his soft locks. Pedro softly hummed from satisfaction of your fingers over his scalp. You noticed that he was reading along with you, so you slowed down your pace with the reading until he was done too. He softly nodded and hummed, letting you know that you could flip the page.

Your eyes started to feel heavier, and you almost dropped the book, but Pedro was fast enough to catch it and put it away. it startled you for a sec, knowing you almost drifted off. “Vamos a dormir, mi dulce niña. (Let’s get some sleep, my sweet girl)” he whispered, and you were too tired to respond so you hummed, already eyes closed as you turned on your side. You waited for Pedro to turn of the lights and to get comfortable before you could cuddle him.

Pedro didn’t even need to say anything, he already pulled you towards him to cuddle. Pedro laid down on his side, facing you, while he pulled you against your chest, his arms around you, your head resting against his chest while he tucked your head underneath his chin. “duerme bien cariño, te amo (sleep well sweetheart, I love you)” his voice soft and you were almost drifting off. “I love you too” you murmured, already half asleep, making Pedro smile and close his own eyes as well, inhaling deeply from relaxation, knowing you were in his arms again.

~time skip~

You woke up from the sunlight shining into your eyes. You groaned softly and turned around, wanting to wrap your arm around Pedro, but you were greeted by an empty side of the bed. You frowned and finally opened your eyes. You saw a note against the headboard of the bed with: “Good morning sweetheart, I’m getting some groceries, I won’t take long.” You read and let your head fall back on the pillow, glad that it wasn’t a dream that Pedro was here.

The door went softly open, revealing Pedro with a tray with breakfast on it. You didn’t expect Pedro to be back already but here he was. “Buenos días mi amor, ¿cómo dormiste? (Good morning my love, how did you sleep?)” His smile radiant and his eyes shining, making you immediately happier. “Buena, te tenía a mi lado (Good, I had you next to me.)” You told him back in Spanish and Pedro loved it when you spoke Spanish back to him.

His smile even more radiant. “And you? Did you sleep well?” You asked him as you sat up in bed. “Good. I had you next to me again.” He repeated you with the biggest grin and leaned down to give you a kiss and sat down next to you. “Made you breakfast.” He told you and placed the tray with food on your lap. He made some eggs, avocado with toast, coffee, and some fresh fruit. You smiled “Thank you Pedge.” He smiled and kissed your forehead. “You’re welcome baby girl.” He told you and stood up, walked to the other side of the bed, and laid down on his side, facing you. “So… what should we do today?” he asked, “I mean, obviously we don’t have to do anything if you want to stay here, that’s fine with me too.” You smiled and looked outside at the beautiful weather. “We could go to the beach?” You suggested and Pedro smiled. “I would love that!” he told you with a smile.

You asked Pedro more about work now that he had completely settled in and not having a bad jetlag. He chatted about the fun things and less fun things that had happened making you listen intently. You loved hearing Pedro talk about things, especially if he was very passionate about the things he talked about. You ate your breakfast in the meanwhile and couldn’t help but beam because of how happy you were that you had your Pedro back by your side. You were silently enjoying this morning and Pedro saw it, making him happy as well.

This was going to be a great day! After the beach, maybe go to the market to get fresh products to make dinner with, get a drink at your favorite beach club and just spent time with each other, because God knows you both really needed it. You were completely happy and content, not needing anything else when Pedro was around you. He was all you needed.

Part 2 maybe?

[napakmahal]

“Talk about what?”

Hey pooks, let’s play a game called: How many euphoria references can you find in the fic?

“Ow, it’s in my eye!” Hiro’s eye began watering at the foreign feeling of the thin eye makeup brush.

You kissed your teeth and rolled your eyes playfully, “It’s not in your eye, you’re just not used to it. Calm down you big baby, your tears are making all my hard work run down your face.” You gently tapped a piece of tissue under his eye.

Lately, you’d breally been into gem eye makeup and sharpe eye wings. And for the sake of you being friends Hiro decided to let you practice a look you’d been wanting to do. You would’ve done it on your own face but you’d been doing your makeup all week and your skin needed a break.

Based on his face, you chose to give him black racoon eyes along with the eyelinder wing. Then adding tiny eye gems along the bottom of his eyes. An amazing look, but the process was being delayed way more than it should have been because somebody couldn’t get it together.

You put down the brush and picked up your black liquid liner in it’s place to make the inner eye triangles. “Okay, do not move whatsoever.”

“I’ll try.” Hiro responded quietly, while looking up at the ceiling.

The beginning sound of Gone Girl harmonizing melody played alongside the buzzing of the bathroom fan was the only noise being made between the two of you. You could tell Hiro was struggling to not let the smooth bristles of the eyeliner bother him.

During this whole process, he was having a really difficult time not looking at you. You’d met Hiro when he was in high school. Your mom had business with the school and she brought you along. It was only the second month of high school for him- who was nine at the time, and seeing you was the first time he every felt interested in anything in high school. When he learned you were not a student and just the child of someone who worked with them, your mom had set up a playdate with his aunt. Because that’s what nine year olds do, they have playdates.

And you’d been side by side for a good chunk of your lives, but when Hiro had finally told you he was going to college in the city, you’d assumed it meant that you would stop spending so much time together. But, on your first day of school you had a shitty time because highschool sucks but when you walked out after the day was over and saw him waiting with a shark ballon and snacks, the day had started looking up.

You’re Hiro’s first love, at least he likes to think of it that way. Honestly, he doesn’t really know what consistiutes love and if he told anyone he thought that they’d tell him he was too young to know. How could he be too young? It’s not like he hasn’t loved people before. But they would never say that if he said he loved you because you were his best friend.

You’re Hiro’s first love, but he never told you that.

After finally placing the final gems lining the bottom of his eyes, you leaned back and looked at your work with pride. Hiro turned and looked at himself in the mirror with black eyeliner and smokey eye makeup with sparkling gem stones stuck on his face with eyelash glue.

“I feel stupid!” He laughed out loud.

“Everyone feels stupid, who gives a shit.” You placed your head on his shoulder.

Hiro tried desperately to ignore the swarming butterflies in his stomach at the feeling of your body pressed against his.

While cleaning up all the mess you two had made, he found it very hard to stop looking at you. Even though he was the one with a attentive and eye catching makeup, somehow you were still his focal point. He hadn’t looked in the mirror to see his own face as nearly as many times as would be expected.

“Oh wait!” Yout zipped up your makeup bag. “I have to take a picture!”

“What! What do you need a picture for?” Hiro groaned.

“Reference, duh.” You said it like it was the obvious thing in the world and pulled your phone out.

You had Hiro sit on the floor, with the flash on to make sure that the gems really shined while you took the picture. After you took a few (hundred) you stared at them while sitting across from him on the floor.

“Hm,” You hummed.

“What?”

“I like what I did, but I think I accidentally fucked with your gender expression.”

You two burst out laughing at the comment. But after all of that, you moved from your spot and sat next to Hiro on the floor. Where you then dropped your body weight into his lap.

“Thank you,” You looked up at him.

“For what?”

“Letting me do your makeup.”

“Oh,” He scoffed. “Totally, you can do it anytime.”

Then you two just hund out there on the floor, SZA on repeat and the buzzing taking over the atmosphere around you. Somehow, Hiro’s hand found yours and now you were just pushing and pulling your arms simultaneously up and down.

“You know, you can be so charming when you’re not frustrated or hungry.” You looked up at him.

Hiro placed his free hand on his heart, “Aww, thank you. I’m charming as shti.”

“Oh wait, your gem’s falling.”

You sprung up from his lap and tried to gently stick it back to his skin using your pinkie finger. Once you’d accomplished that, Hiro’s eyes would not avert from you. It was like his brain was at odds with each other because the left side wanted to save his dignity and friendship, and the right was doing what ever it wanted. So now you two were just staring at each other face to face, nobody said a word until:

“You’re the first guy who ever let me do this to them.” You whispered with a smile.

And he will never know what force of magic compelled him to do it: he leaned forward and stole a small kiss from you. Totally taken back, your eyes widened and you sort of leaned back. Just as he did it, Hiro could feel all the color in his face drain and all the butterflies had morphed into moths that ate his insides.

“Shit,” he whispered. “Shit, shit, shit- I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean- well- I’m sorry. I-I should go, right?”

He was a babbling, stuttering mess. You, still semi- in shock were trying to make sense of out what just happened.

“I’m gonna go.” He spit out and raced out of your bathroom, down the stairs and out of your house. (After saying bye to your mom of course.)

“Y/n!” You heard your mom call out .

Still in a daze, you walked over to the top of the staircase adn wondered if maybe you were dissasociating. Had that all happened it your head? It all happened pretty fast so maybe…wait was Hiro even here?

“What was that?” She asked. “Hiro just said bye and left. What happened?”

“I-,” You opened your mouth and waited for the sentence to form. “I think he kissed me.”

“Oh..” She put her head down and went back to staying out her teenage kids business.

But the part that didn’t come out of your mouth was: I think I wanted him to.

Just then in an moment of irrational behavior, you slipped on some slides and ran outside the house. (After tell your mom you’d be back.) Hiro had walked to your house so he couldn’t have gotten very far. You found him taking the long way back to his house by walking through some backallery where apartment buildings put their dumpsters.

“Hiro!”

Oh fuck what now? As if the day couldn’t kick his ass even more. Were you there to tell him off about how you can’t just spring that on people, or how you now saw him as a creep? Either way, by the end of the conversation you had chased him down to have your friendship would never be the same. Assuming you stayed friends.

Much to his surprise when you got to him, you straight up hugged him. Like a huge, tight, warm hug. The kinda hug you give people when they go away to college or when the come back. He didn’t know what to do with that.

“Uhm,” He’d started to wonder if maybe the alley was a welcome in the twilight zone. “S-so, are we gonna pretend that what I did wasn’t super weird?”

To try and make him feel better you said, “It wasn’t weird-”

“No, it was.” He cut you off. Your attempt failed. “It’s okay you can say it. But maybe, we don’t have to talk about it?”

Hiro may have liked you, but no feelings were ever worth loosing you as a friend. In his world you were th eonly thing that he could have. Tadashi had friends his age who did things people their age do. He had you, and he didn’t want to loose you. Maybe by not talking about it, you could pretend it never happened and things would stya the same.

You smiled and pulled away from the hug. Looking up at his black racoon eyes were the left one was missing a gem and the eyeshadow was smeared.

“Talk about what?” You played.

Hiro breathed out a sigh of relief with a smile. “So, you’re not mad at me?”

With the same spurr of irrational thought you used when you left your house, you propped yourself up on your tip toes, leaned forwards and gave him a proper kiss. Not a quick peck, but a kiss.

He honestly thought he was going to pass out. All thd wind had been knocked from his lungs and he was sue the buildings around him looked like they were melting. You gently brought your fingertips to your own lips and smiled.

“Why would I be mad?”

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #27] Keeping Quiet

warnings: angst, hayun, cu ajummas, astrology, drinking, enter stage left: park seojoon !!, danbi putting jaykay in his place!!, a shag :( but sad :( nothing quite like yearning for someone who is quite literally inside you!!, unprotected sex, 'byeol baby', 'koo' (waaaa), honestly just big pouty vibes all round!!

wc: 18k

bd total wc: 540k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

"Oh, it's hopeless ," Hayun pouts with a playful whine as she heads down the stairs of an inner-city apartment block. Files in hand detailing all the relevant listings within her budget, it's the third property she and Jeongguk have walked away from that morning. "Has the rental market here seriously gone downhill that badly?"

He nods, sucking a little air between his teeth. "You gotta widen your search. You're looking at, like, the most expensive types of apartment in the most expensive part of town."

'Expensive' has always been Hayun's taste. There's nothing wrong with wanting the finer things in life, especially not if you work hard for it, but she's only been able to pick up part-time work as a seamstress since she's been back. 

It's exactly the same sort of work she had been doing up in Seoul - but working in a tailors just off of Apgujeong-ro in Gangnam is a far cry from the little shop on the outskirts of her old city. It's not a bad location - is near the KTX station, so gets a lot of traffic from businessmen, but not enough to afford what she really wants.

She sighs, knowing he's right, as he holds the door open for her. Winter air blusters around her dark hair, worn loose, catching a little in her glossy lips. Hooking the hairs away with her ruby red nails, she seems disheartened.

"You and Jimin manage it," she says, as if the financials are comparable.

"Yeah, but I'd never be able to afford that place on my own - and even so, I can only manage it 'cause he was willing to go 60-40 with me until I finish school," he adds, taking the files from her so she can put her hands in her coat pockets. It's bloody freezing.

Humming a little, Hayun nudges into his arm. "Why don't we become roomies? 60-20-20. A great deal all round."

Jeongguk sort of hates the way it feels like a small flame is flickering in the pit of his stomach when she says that. It's mild. Subdued. Doesn't have any fuel behind it. Not like it once would have done.

Still, he smiles.

"We do have a really comfy sofa," he says, playful in the distance he's creating. Knows she was insinuating something else, and knows that his bedroom is not a Hayun-friendly area anymore. The birds he'd once made because of her origami butterflies have a new meaning now; they're important because of someone else. It's your dreams embedded in their wings, not his former mislaid hopes of something flourishing between him and her.

"Great," she replies. "You can sleep there, and I'll take your bed."

"Fuck that," he snorts. "I'm having my bed."

"Well then we'll share," she purrs.

It's a flirt that Jeongguk would have eaten up six months ago; one that makes him feel a little guilty, now.

"Nah," he says, then thinks of you. "I'm no good at sharing."

Just like that, you're in his head again and his is vision blurry from all the fucking glitter that clouds in them whenever it happens. He thinks of the way you'd agreed to sleep in his bed with him after the evening with the ties, and how he'd been hoping you would stay a few nights ago, too. He didn't sleep a wink that night. Didn't revise. Didn't do anything fuckin' useful. Just sat, and stewed, unable to pick himself up off the floor.

He knows he was unkind and that an apology needs to be made, but he's never been good at swallowing his pride. Your disdain for Hayun comes from your own personal experiences, and it was naive of him to assume it was all because of him. Stupidly, he'd thought that you were jealous; that your irritation came from some form of protective nature. The same sort of one he has over you.

Just because he's not good at sharing doesn't mean you suffer from the same affliction. Was foolish of him to think you did.

Mistakes made with Hayun in the past are not to be repeated with you. He knows this. Knows that he can't hold you close in a bid to keep you where he prefers you. You're just like the birds that watch over him at night. You need to be set free.

So that's what he's trying to do.

He doesn't want you to become another bad decision. Knows your friendship is worth more than that. Thinks that maybe a little space to breathe could be good; that perhaps lines need to be redrawn.

"You don't need to tell me that," Hayun laughs as little as they head towards the subway. "Possessive is basically your middle name."

He frowns.

"Protective," he corrects. "Possessive sounds... I don't know. I don't like it."

Looking over at him, Hayun marvels at how much he's grown in the time since she's been away. Immature when she was leaving, Jeongguk couldn't stand to watch her leave. Thought he was being deserted by the person he held closest. For months leading up to her move, she felt like she was constantly being dragged in two directions - between the man she loved, and the boy who loved her. As hard as it was for Jeongguk, it wasn't exactly easy for her either.

"Well, we're talking about your bed, Buddy. Your possession . I think possessive is perfectly apt - unless you're protective over it, too?" She teases. "Is it not empty these days?"

Of all the conversations Jeongguk wants to have with Hayun, this is not one of them.

"Let's not talk about my sex life," he laughs a little, not wanting to be awkward in how he brushes off the conversation. She doesn't get the message.

"Why not?" she flirts. "We used to talk about it all the time."

"Yeah, 'cause you used to be my sex life, Hayun," he laughs again but it feels so sickly sweet that he might be sick. "You know I've never been one to kiss and tell."

"Boring," she sighs, nudging into him slightly as they walk along.

"Well you tell me about yours then," he jokes back, knowing that sex isn't a topic for the pair of them to share anymore.

"Oh, I'm basically a born-again-virgin," she sighs. "The break up was a long time coming. As soon as I stopped being attracted to him, well, yanno. Stopped sleeping with him. Haven't been laid in months. Pretty sure I wouldn't even know how to have sex anymore."

"I'm sure that's not true."

"Well," she considers. "We're both single for the first time in forever..."

"Don't."

"What? I'm just saying."

"Well, don't," he smiles, to mask the awkwardness of a feeling he doesn't understand. "It's dangerous. Us hooking was like... catastrophic."

"You ever think about it, still?"

"Hayun," he whines. "Please."

"I do."

"You shouldn't."

"I know you do, too."

He shakes his head.

"I remember your last drunk voice note, Gguk."

She says 'the last' because it used to be a common occurrence. Something to look forward to every month or so; admittance that Jeongguk still found the idea of sleeping with someone new impossible. Drunken mumbles of how he couldn't ever work out if girls were flirting with him or not, and how it didn't matter 'cause he was thinking about her anyways.

Hayun used to listen to them and feel a blush blossom all over her entire being. Used to see a notification from Jeongguk at arse-o'clock in the morning, and knew it would be confirmation that she was still adored - and doesn't everyone want to be felt about so fondly?

She'd never directly respond to the messages. Would just tell him to take some medicine for his hangover. Knew that acknowledging his tipsy tongue would likely cause issues. After all, she did still have a boyfriend who never knew of her past with Jeongguk.

Her boyfriend had thought Jeongguk was just a kid with a crush. Didn't realise how Hayun had taken his heart and crushed that instead.

"That was like, nine months ago," Jeongguk cringes. Only remembers the timing of it, 'cause it was Yoongi's birthday celebrations. Had watched on as Seoyeon adoringly made a speech about her other half, and had wished Hayun could have been there. Wondered if her eyes would have flicked to Jeongguk, just like he knows he would have glanced at hers.

The next time he got drunk, you were there to keep his brain busy.

And so he didn't call. Didn't text. Didn't do anything.

"So?" She laughs at his embarrassment. "You don't just wake up one day and stop feeling that way."

"Maybe I did," he says, knowing that he absolutely did not.

Though if he were to think about it properly, he'd realise that no, he didn't wake up one day feeling differently. Instead, slowly, gradually, day by day, his feelings have changed - but just like the seasons, he doesn't notice. Likely won't until another feeling is impossible to deny.

"And maybe you're a big fat liar."

"Well, did you ever think about me?" He asks a little flippantly, not expecting an answer. "When you were with your ex? Did you think about me?"

He anticipates a 'shut up' or a 'none of your business'; a coy smile that could mean nothing but everything all at once.

Hayun was previously a girl of subtleties, but she's been confronted with the idea that maybe Jeongguk prefers girls who are anything but - the Jiyeongs of the world. Bold. Confident. Or perhaps even worse: the attention-seeking glitter-coated girls. Never been her style - but she's never really been one to lose before. She isn't about to do it now.

"Sometimes," she smirks. Knows that such a response will probably drive Jeongguk insane.

It's not that she wants to cause him distress. Quite the opposite. She wants him to find comfort in her again. Wants what she let go of once before. Wants him to want her. Wants to belong somewhere; foolishly, she always thought she'd have a home in his heart.

And even though it's been derelict for nearly two years, it is still there. It sits abandoned, overgrown and the lock is rusted. The key doesn't work anymore. Maybe if she tries hard enough, though, she'll ease it open.

Her answer plays out in Jeongguk's head even after he changes the topic.

Sometimes.

Every now and again it comes to the forefront of his mind. How often?

She had a boyfriend. Was I better?

Moved cities for him. Was I hard to let go?

Why on earth would she still think about fucking Jeongguk? Am I the reason it ended?

The questions echoing in the space where sensible thoughts should be go unanswered.

He's walking Hayun to work. She's on the late shift. Wonders if he should offer to meet her after work.

For reasons he can't explain, he doesn't want to. It has nothing to do with the fact he's getting closer and closer to your neighbourhood. He absolutely isn't thinking about you, and worrying about seeing you, or the look on your face if you were to see him with Hayun.

Funny. He used to care about her seeing him with you. Worries about the opposite, now.

Even funnier?

How desperately you're trying to pretend like you're not jealous of Hayun's place in his heart, no matter how dilapidated the ruins of it may be.

"Oh, and another thing!" You enthuse, sitting once more outside CU, the gaggle of girlies - Minsu, Jinnae and Junghee - listening with great intent as you divulge more about the Hayun situation. "So then, she started saying how she wouldn't like another girl being so close with her boyfriend - but I set Jeongguk up with Jiyeong! I was hardly trying to break them up!"

"She's got a classic case of the green-eyed monster," Jinnae assures you, as she sips on a hot coffee from the convenience store. They're back to spy on Eunyeon's ex-husband's new squeeze, but are finding your unfathomably attractive bartender issues far more interesting.

"Mmm," Minsu agrees. "Show us what he looks like again?"

When you do, they all coo. "Oh, isn't he handsome?"

"I know he's pretty," you whine - it's like you're going round in circles. "But I'm still annoyed with him."

"He's a bit too much of a bad boy for me," Junghee sighs. She's not a tattoo lover, but has admitted that Jeongguk's got a 'lovely little face'. Of an older generation, it's no surprise that she isn't a fan of the body art, but you don't pay too much notice. Nodding across the street, she whispers. "Like him. Charming face but the tattoos all over his hand? A shame."

Looking over towards her gaze, you half think that maybe there'll be a new boy in the area to take your mind off Jeongguk.

"Isn't that..." Jinnae gasps.

Fuck.

"Yep," you wince, taking in the sight of Jeongguk strolling down the road with Hayun.

Unmistakable is Jeon Jeongguk, even without his signature smile. He's listening to whatever Hayun is saying - and does eventually crack a grin when she starts laughing, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. Dressed down in baggy pants and an even baggier shirt, a thick puffer jacket hides the Jeongguk you know so well. You like it when he's cosy and comfortable, but it does sort of make you a little bit smug that he's not outwardly trying to make a big impression with his outfit choice.

But then again, this is Jeongguk you're talking about. He's still got that face. Still got that hair. Still got those hands peeking out from his sleeves, and still has those contemplative eyes that you've missed over the last few days. He leaves an impression even when he's trying to blend into the shadows.

The first night you met him is case and point; how even in the shrouded haze of a dark bar, he shone. He does it without even needing glitter.

"So that must be Hayun," Minsu assumes correctly. You nod.

She really is beautiful. They're attractive in different ways, Jeongguk is far more your type than she is, but it's not hard to see why someone like him would be interested in someone like her. Dark hair perfectly permed to wave around her features, she's put together well. Lips as red as her nails, you're beginning to learn that this is her trademark; her warning sign.

It also just elevates how different you are. A glitter girlie through and through, you never wear a red lips because you are aware that sometimes there is such thing as too much - and with the amount glitter you're always wearing, you don't wanna overkill it. Red lips had been reserved for Seokjin and Seokjin only - but you hadn't been wearing glitter with him, for the most part. Always knew how much he hated it.

She reminds you of a version of yourself that you don't like very much, and perhaps that's part of your issue. Maybe it is just projection.

But fuck, she was a dickhead. And she did hurt Jeongguk. And she has come back like she never left and she is taking her old place; the one that you had foolishly thought was yours. Sort of feels like you were just keeping her seat warm now.

"Dunno why on earth they're here," you hum. "Jeongguk lives in the middle of the city."

"Oh, he's got money," Junghee enthuses, but you just laugh.

"He doesn't live alone," you explain. "Splits the rent with a friend who does have money."

"Well, why don't you go for his friend instead?" Junghee asks. "If he's just as handsome and rich, what more could you want?"

A good shag.

"Jimin is great," you laugh. "But we're not compatible - and hey! That's not what this is about. Jeongguk and I aren't, like, romantic. We're just friends. I'm just upset because he's, like, replacing me."

Funny, how you and Hayun both have disdain for one another, when you both feel the exact same way.

You watch as they take a corner just a few roads before yours, and wonder where on earth they could be going. You'd message him and ask, if you weren't ignoring the memes he's sent you. He hasn't even sent them to your main chat feed, just forwarded them on instagram, where you've got him muted regardless.

Yes, you're being a little petty, but you're still pissed off.

"Oh, sweetheart," Jinnae sighs. "There's a reason they say boys and girls can never be just friends."

"That's not true," you pout. "We can be."

Giggling amongst themselves, they begin to relay stories of the boys they were friends with, and it's so nice seeing that the fundamentals of human relationships really haven't changed. Boys will always be stupid (and so handsome it's hard to think straight around them).

You're almost able to forget Jeongguk, and the fact he's in your area with Hayung, until fifteen minutes later, when your eyes notice a familiar figure waiting by the traffic lights across the road.

"Crap," you hiss, trying to soften your curse words around the older women you're with.

They all hum in confusion, Minsu being the only one to follow your gaze. "Oh! He's coming over."

"Shit," you curse now, unable to control it - which earns you a tap on your shoulder from Jinnae.

"Language young lady."

"I'm sorry! I just. Ahh! Can I borrow your hat?" you panic, not wanting him to clock you.

Dressed in sweats and a shirt that you know full well belongs to him, you're thankful you've gone for a plain black puffer coat. Far less obvious than one of your faux fur ones, but it also means you stick out like a sore thumb.

Ajummas will do as ajummas do - they're all in burgundy and blue; hues of maroon and splotches of neon scattered in patterns. Floral and a little bit garish, there's nothing subtle about any of their outfits.

You're casual, 'cause you're meeting Danbi for pole in half an hour. It's the first time since Sunday that you'll actually get to spend proper quality time with her and you're looking forward to it so much - your heart has been heavy. You'd only gone to CU for a snack, but the gaggle of gossipers had been there again, spying on Eunyeon's ex-husband again - and so naturally, you've been with them for an hour, now.

Jinnae practically throws her hat at you, and Minsu rummages in her bag for a fan. It's winter, and freezing out - you're only outside because of the industrial strength heaters that are practically boiling you alive outside the convenience store - but it will help block your face. You angle yourself away from the passageway up to the shop and stay silent as Jeongguk approaches. The ajummas also decide now is a great time to be silent, which only draws attention to the table.

You don't watch so have no idea if Jeongguk clocks you or not, but know that once you hear the bell of the door you're safe for a moment.

"Oh my god," you whisper.

"He's tall!" Jinnae says, surprised. "Far taller than I thought he would be."

You whine, knowing full well that Jeongguk is probably the best looking man within a ten mile radius.

"At least he didn't notice you," Minsu says, but that just makes you feel even worse. It's not like he should magically be aware of your presence, but you half thought that maybe some sort of cosmic entity tied you together; would defy the laws of human function and draw him towards you regardless.

You've barely had a chance to breathe by the time he's at the checkout, heading straight back out into the cold of winter - though your cold shoulder is far harsher, he thinks. Much more bitter.

Jeongguk pauses as he leaves the shop. Unwraps his gimbap with nimble fingers, the movements coming naturally to him. Never has to worry about pulling on the wrong tab and the seaweed unravelling in his hands. Is good with his fingers, in all capacities. Is ambivalent as he turns to face your direction.

Looks you dead in the eye. Takes a bite of his gimbap. Furrows his brows, 'cause it's delicious, and swallows it back with a satisfied hum. Lips pursed, he cleans his teeth with his tongue, and nods. Toys with his lip ring a little.

It does the thing .

You wanna whine.

Instead, your eyes are frozen on his, cheeks a little blushed. The rest of the ladies you're with are also staring at him. The silence is masked by the shop music and traffic on the road nearby, horns honking occasionally, until Jeongguk says, "hey, B."

The ajummas you're with don't even wait a second before the launch into their trade.

"Ah! What is it with men always thinking they can harass us?" Jinnae begins to scold, with Minsu joins in almost as quickly.

"You're too young for us! Look elsewhere."

"I swear, young men these days have no manners."

"We know everyone's aunties," Minsu threatens. "We'll tell her you were bothering us."

He holds his hands up - as much as he can, given the fact he's holding onto his gimbap and coke for dear life - and protests.

"I'm not! I'm not!" he promises, panic in his tone, eyes darting around the table at all of the other women - and then he settles on you.

You're not looking at him, now. Your eyes are on your hands, picking at the nail varnish on your fingers.

And he hates it.

In fact, it pisses him off. It's childish . You're both grown ups. Don't need to be giving each other the fucking silent treatment - as if he hasn't been doing that already.

"Was just looking for my friend," he says, his annoyance thinly veiled, but somehow still charming enough to get the ladies quiet for a moment. "Thought I saw her, but apparently she isn't here."

Minsu grimaces, and earns a tap on the arm from Jinnae.

Jeongguk hooks his thumb around his coke, holding it in the same hand as his gimbap, and reaches into his back pocket. Pulls out a small plastic pouch. It's a mystery bag - the kind by the counter with candy and a small toy inside. The Sanrio branding plastered all over it only further confirms this. He tosses it down in front of you. Says nothing.

It's a special edition. A new theme that had been brought in for the new year.

You pout as you look at it, noticing the packaging is covered in disco balls, reminiscent of a New Years Eve party.

All of the characters have been given little party outfits. Are glittery. Whichever character you pull will be byeol-ified from the get go. The Kuromi version is already sitting on Jeongguk's shelf, taking up a place on his chessboard.

He had picked it up on New Year's Day during his Powerade run to the convenience store for you and Jimin. Saw it and thought of you. Let you unwrap it, and watched on with starry eyes as you enthused over the fact you think he is a Kuromi boy. He doesn't really understand what that means, but he did like the way you had imitated his pout when you were trying to explain.

And so when he saw mystery bags by the counter again, he had picked one up. Knew you were outside - though is considerably confused about the ajumma situation - so figured he'd make peace with you.

When you look up, Jeongguk's already walking away.

You part your lips - go to stand, and call after him - but Jinnae puts her hand softly on your arm.

"Let him go," she says. "Just this once. Let him walk away."

"But-"

She shakes her head.

"It's obvious he cares. I won't debate that." Looking down to the sparkly packaging, knowing that it must have been your darling eyes that made him buy it, she smiles. "But walking away? Pretending that he doesn't care? Honey, he's acting like a kid."

"We've all raised boys," Minsu adds. "If you pander to them, they'll keep up with the bad behaviour."

"He's not a toddler," you laugh, strangely comforted by their wisdom.

"No, but he is a boy, still," Jinnae smiles back, and squeezes your arm. "Your ex-"

"The handsome one," Minsu interjects.

"-You always chased after him, yes?"

With a pout, you nod. Every single time.

"And he learned that there were no consequences to his actions," she sympathises. "If you care about your friendship with this one, then show him there are consequences. Show him your expectations of how you should be treated."

"But-"

You go to protest, but stop yourself. All you want is for things to be okay again - but Jinnae is right. Him walking away is just a sign he isn't fully ready to face up to it, yet.

"Honey," Junghee sighs. "You are better than any man who behaves like a baby. Sometimes they need a little push to grow up."

"Trust us," Jinnae smiles. "We're giving you the advice we wish we had been given! Decades change, but men don't. Still the same simple creatures."

And so, when you arrive home a little later and open up the mystery pouch to find a sparkly My Melody, you try out a little simplicity. Just send him a photo of her. No message. No plea for him to respond. It takes him three hours to read it. Just responds with a thumbs up emoji. You wanna scream.

So used to Seokjin and his insistence on always being mature, you've no idea how to handle Jeongguk's immaturity. He's petty .

Trouble is, he's just like you.

You sort of see why Seokjin hated it, now.

But Jeongguk is just a friend. You've no reason to be arguing with him like you would a partner. You don't speak to any of your other friends daily.

Just because the silence between you isn't normal for the pair of you as a collective, it is normal in the grand schemes of everyday life. Maybe it's okay.

A residual guilt lies in his stomach for the rest of the week, of which he can't seem to shake.

No amount of water he could drink would wash it away. It sits there, quite content, when he's in the gym, when he's sat at his desk staring into the void, when he's getting ready for a shift at Dionysus. It snuggles up; gets comfortable, even if it makes Jeongguk anything but.

He opens your text thread more times than he cares to admit over the week, but never texts. Nor do you.

Time typically taken up by Jeongguk is replaced with preparations for Taehyung's showcase at Ryu Gallery.

It's not a huge undertaking, but there is coordination and logistics that need to be taken into account. Tae's given you full control of liaising with the gallery professionals, which feels daunting. The process is new to you, so you're having to learn on the fly, but all has gone well so far. You've enough understanding of the gallery scenes to know what to do and say, even if you don't always know how to execute it.

For the most part, it's fine.

There is one day, though, where nothing seems to go right. The vans hired to move Taehyung's art are a no-show, and all the other affordable options are booked up. You spend all day trying to figure out a solution. There's only one person you know with enough trunk space to fit Taehyung's largest work.

He ignores your call. You figure he's studying.

So instead, you text him.

I really need your help. Please don't ignore me.

He calls back within thirty seconds. Arrives at the storage unit no more than ten minutes later. Barely utters a word to you. Opens the passenger door for you to get in, even when you say you'll walk to the Gallery.

"It's miles away. Don't be stupid."

"It's fine," you insist.

"Just get in the car."

"I-"

"Get in the car."

And so you do. The drive is silent. An apology rests on the tip of your tongue - but you aren't gonna give him it.

He helps you unload, silent, still. Makes sure everything is as it should be. Plays nicely with Tae and Nabi, even if he's a little cold with you. Rehashes the same dumb conversation with you as you prepare to leave.

"I can walk."

"No, you can't."

"I'm very much capable of walking home alone, Jeongguk," you say so sternly that he almost wants to snarl a response back.

Fine. Walk home alone. See what I fucking care.

Instead, and quite surprisingly, you find his hard eyes softening.

"Please," is all he says - and how can you refuse?

Jeongguk says nothing as you both get into his car. He looks ahead, stoic in the stern facade he's portraying. Hard to read, it feels almost like you're strangers again - but when you were strangers, you were both enthralled by the idea of what if.

He could have been anything, and so could have you.

He never anticipated that you'd end up being his favourite person in a crowded room. Always liked your glitter - always sought it out when he was behind the bar and looking for a friendly face - but never knew how much he'd like the girl wearing it. And once he learned? Well, he never imagined ever feeling this awful in your presence.

But see that's the thing.

Despite the heaviness of such a feeling, he doesn't want you to leave. Doesn't want you to walk away from him. Will take the uncomfortable tension in his car, if it means he gets the comfort of you being close by.

The city is far too small, he decides as he comes to a stop by your apartment. Got there far too quickly.

"Will you come?" You ask. "To Tae's show, I mean."

"Of course. Wouldn't miss it for the world."

You nod. "Okay. I just know you've been studying and like, if it's just gonna add stress-"

"Byeol, it's fine," he insists. "I'm gonna be there. Are you going out afterwards?"

"Probably," you say. It's been strange not including him on your night out plans, though you sure his are the exact same. It's a whole group affair; a pocha bar for food and cheap drinks after the show, then Dionysus.

Jeongguk's in charge of the guestlist for the club, and you know you're on it. Taehyung confirmed it - so you know that he knows you're going out. Just wanted to hear it for himself, apparently.

"I'll see you then," he smiles.

"See you then."

As he drives off, you inhale an almighty sigh. Fuck .

--------------

Danbi sits with you later that evening in your living room, her Spotify playlist humming through the television speaker. Lights dim, glasses of wine on the coffee table, you both needed a breather from stress-ball Taehyung.

"I swear, men don't know how to regulate their emotions properly," she huffs, with a roll of her eyes, even despite her fond smile. Reaching over for your drink, you can't help but agree.

"You're telling me. He's a Capricorn right?"

Danbi nods.

"Earth signs," you sigh and pretend like you aren't thinking about your favourite Virgo. "Notoriously bad at opening up. That'll be where your issues lie."

"He's so forthcoming, normally, though," she pouts. "Had no problem with his feelings and confessing them to me. I don't understand why he can't deal with his feelings of stress."

"Different parts of the brain, maybe?" You shrug, not knowing if it is or not, but throwing any excuse into the void. "Like, think about it - you have no problem cooing over dogs all day long, but the second it comes to be openly affectionate with Tae-"

"I'm just not a PDA girlie!" she whines. "Do you think it bothers him?"

You shrug. "He normally seems okay with it - but that's not the point here. The point is that boys don't make sense. Everyone says they're so simple and yet I've never met anyone more confusing than Jeongguk."

Danbi smiles. Wondered how long it would take to get you rambling on about him.

"And like, I know ," you sigh. "He's a Virgo . I should have seen this coming. Wanna be all up in your business one moment and then off-grid the next. Classic Virgo. I just don't understand how he can be so rational and reasonable when it comes to me and my feelings, yet when it comes to his? Oh he just freezes up. I don't understand it. Do not understand. Do you understand?"

Maybe it's the fact you've both had a little too much wine, but Danbi can't understand either.

"What I don't understand why the fall out of such a small argument had to be so big," she hums. "Like you both said something shitty, but that's it. There's no reason why you still need to be in a mard with one another."

"Hey! He said something shitty."

"And you decided to start chewing out the girl he, like, lived and died for. Was always gonna get a bad response, darl. You know this."

Regretfully, she's right. Being a dick about Hayun was only ever gonna bite you in the ass when it came to Jeongguk.

"I just don't get how she can repeatedly be awful to him, and he just forgives her at the drop of a hat. I say one, maybe two unfavourable things, and it's like I've committed war crimes. Literally he's not spoken to me since, other than that god-awful CU run-in."

"You need to tell me more about those ajummas, by the way," Danbi laughs. "But like, trauma isn't it? Why do you say 'how high?' when Jin asks you to jump?"

You're silent.

"You want to keep him happy, 'cause him being upset with you made you feel horrible . You don't wanna feel that kind of pain again, so you do everything within your power to avoid it," she analyses. "I wouldn't be surprised if Jeongguk is just the same when it comes to her - so cut him a little slack, there. Yes, he was awful in what he said to you, and yes, you deserve an apology - but you weren't being fair to him either, my love."

You pout. "She's the worst though. Why can't he see that?"

"Maybe she's great in bed," Danbi offers, which only makes you frown more. "Or maybe she's just a manipulative bitch who knows how to play the poor boy like a fiddle."

That sounds more like it, but it makes you feel so bad.

"Think about it," she continued, before referencing the subway sighting from hell. "She knew Tae was coming to meet me for dinner a week or so back. He'd mentioned it on their group chat. Her shift at the tailors had finished, like, half an hour before then - and yet she invited Nabi to meet her right as she knew Tae was coming to meet me. Weasled her way into our plans and for what? A chance to scope me out?"

You consider her points, and are still so relieved knowing the truth of the subway sighting. Danbi had come home and ranted to you about it for a solid thirty minutes. Taehyung was seemingly just as blind to her intrusion and Jeongguk always is.

It's sort of a relief to know she's like this with Danbi, too. Hayun doesn't seem to like people taking up spaces that she left. Expected her seats to still be free upon her return.

It's just annoying that Jeongguk's lap is apparently her favourite.

While Taehyung's always liked Hayun, he's never been interested in her. Not romantically. Had a bit of a thing for Nabi when they first met in college, but nothing ever came of it. He didn't feel compelled to chase her. Not like he did with Danbi. He's glad for this, because he really does cherish his friendship with Nabi.

He also never really had to see the fall out of Jeongguk and Hayun, 'cause Jeongguk never wanted to put Taehyung in an awkward position. Kept his pain hidden away, only for Jimin to see.

Despite this, Taehyung is well aware that whatever went down wasn't pretty. Jimin doesn't cut people out for no good reason - but he also hasn't insisted that anyone else should, nor shared any of Jeongguk's dirty laundry.

By protecting his friend, he sort of feels like he's damaging him, too.

You do, at least, have one thing that Hayun can't compete with: your value to Taehyung when it comes to galleries.

Makes you smile just thinking about it the next evening, standing beside the artist himself as even more punters gush over his work.

The Ryu Gallery is a steep step up from the painting cafe.

It's a black tie event; cocktail dresses and silk shirts. The champagne in the flutes is real, this time. Taehyung's collection is being showcased alongside small artists from neighbouring cities. A few of them are fairly well-known within the circuit, and for him to rub shoulders with those he admires? Oh, it's incredible . The smile on his face, whenever he thinks no-one is watching him, is adorable.

You're pleased for him - and he's pleased to have you around whenever someone in a suit worth more than his monthly rent starts asking him questions. Still his official (unofficial) agent, you're doing all of the business talk for him. Building contacts. Creating a network for him.

From across the room, empty champagne flute in hand, arms folded across the front of his white shirt, Jeongguk doesn't mean to stare at you for quite so long.

Hair up, you've dyed it. The blonde is mostly gone, but there's a gradual fade now - dark to light - and he wonders how the fuck you managed it. Knows it must have been a salon job, but wonders how on earth you had time between the last-minute artwork transportation and the opening of the show.

You didn't. Danbi did it after half a bottle of wine and it's a miracle that it looks the way it does.

The dress you're wearing only adds to it.

It barely covers your ass, but is so puffy and pretty, it doesn't look indecent. He thinks - but is not entirely sure - that it's the Selkie dress you've been whining about since October.

He doesn't know what Selkie is. Just heard you say the word four million times.

You had wanted to order it, but apparently your size kept going out of stock as spooky season approached. "It's just a black dress!" You had pouted - but now that he can see it for himself, he knows that it was an understatement.

He's never seen you look more like yourself. A sheen of shimmer covers your skin, and your eyes are just as sparkly as they always are. Even your dress has a little sparkle.

It shouldn't. It's plain black. You and Danbi had just gotten a little creative with a can of fine-mist glitter hair spray the night before. Wine, apparently, leads to good decisions.

Sometimes .

You sort of look like a fairy, he thinks to himself with a smile - but then remembers you scornfully berating him for still 'believing' in them, when you had been arguing about Hayun.

In discussion with some men in suits, a hand resting on Taehyung's arm as you enthuse about his artwork, Jeongguk thinks you were made for a role like this. Eyes so kind, smile so genuine, he never doubts that you mean every compliment given to Taehyung.

Your other hand is holding onto a champagne flute, and Jeongguk counts your rings when he notices there are more than your usual three. One on your pinky and your thumb, two on your middle finger, and one that rests midway up on your index finger. None on your fourth finger. Never on your fourth finger. Nails black, they match your dress.

And that's when he realises what's missing.

There's no bird around your neck.

His gaze drops, throat bobbing as swallows down the 'fuck you' he wants to shout. He wouldn't mean it.

Just knows how important the necklace is to you. How important it is to him. How important it is that you've stripped yourself of it.

It's half an hour before Jeongguk dares to stand by you.

Looking at one of Taehyung's pieces, there's no one else beside you.

Until, like a magnet finally succumbing to its pull, he's back where he belongs.

"You're not wearing your necklace," he says quietly.

"Didn't match my dress," you simply say, but you both know it's a lie. The dress is just as whimsical as your eyes are sparkly. It would have looked perfect.

"Should have worn a different dress, then," Jeongguk says a little childishly.

"And you shouldn't have shown up with such a shitty attitude," you say, voice sweet despite the scathing nature of your words.

"Yeah, well maybe-"

"We're not doing this here," you hiss quietly. "Grow up."

Part of him wants to fight back, but it's mainly just because it's an excuse to talk to you for a little while longer. He doesn't actually wanna fight. He wants to say he's sorry and that his mind is everywhere all at once at the moment, and that he's only felt any semblance of clarity over the last few weeks when you've been in his sheets.

It's not for any deeper meaning other than the simple fact you help him switch off. Are good for him. Exactly the kind of influence he needs for his mile-a-minute brain.

So instead he nods. Tells you to have a good night. You wish him the same back. He goes to turn away but pauses, and says, "you shouldn't have worn a different dress. It looks great on you - gorgeous, actually - but the bird wouldn't have ruined it."

Oh, but it already has.

You don't thank him for his compliment. Try not to think about how gorgeous he looks, hair waving around his movie-star face, sparkly eyes pretty, dainty chains around his neck almost matching the shine in his irises. In all black except for his white shirt, he's your favourite artwork in the whole entire gallery.

Instead, you just walk away from him and back into the crowd, leaving him to find your friends once more.

He doesn't go to them immediately. Instead, he takes a moment to himself. Looks at some more of the art that isn't Taehyung's, and finds he doesn't like it half as much.

In a dress just as red as her lipstick, Hayun finds herself beside Jeongguk looking at the same painting. It's dark. Abstract. Not his cup of tea, yet he was drawn to it regardless.

"Here, buddy," Hayun smiles as she passes a champagne flute over to him. There's no hesitation to the way he accepts her offering, a subdued smile on his lips. Nodding towards the painting, she tries her best to pretend as if she didn't just watch the tense conversation unfold between you two. "Cool isn't it?"

"Mhmm," he nods, taking a sip of champagne. The bubbles catch in his throat, and it feels like he's swallowing marbles instead. Sort of wishes he was. Any excuse to leave the awkwardness of this evening would be welcome by him. "Not my favourite."

"Really?" She asks.

"Yeah. Think I prefer things a little more complex," he considers. "Not enough for me to focus on, yanno? My eyes get all jittery."

He doesn't even realise he's glancing over towards you, again. Needs a little glitter to sort his eyes out.

"You're such an oddball," Hayun smiles."Tae reckons this artist is the one to watch at the moment."

Jeongguk turns his nose up. "Tae's stuff is way better."

"Well yeah, but you're biased," she says warmly.

"You don't think so?" Jeongguk chirps a little surprised that she'd prefer something so boring.

"Don't get me wrong, I love Tae's work - this is just far more my style. When I finally have an apartment, I'll probably get something like this."

"Maybe Tae can put in a word for you," Jeongguk suggests. "See if he can get you something from the artist."

He doubts it very much - has seen the price tag - but it's a thought that seems to inspire her.

"You're a genius!" She smiles. "What would I do without you?"

Oh, it's rotten how everything seems to remind him of you; of the way it feels like he'll die without you. Had always been a joke before - but it really does seem like death would be preferable to an endless reality of this .

He feigns a smile. Shrugs. Changes the topic. "You going out after the show?"

Hayun pays no mind to the fact he ignored the question. Nods. "Yeah, we all are, aren't we?"

"Think so," he confirms. Wonders if you're still gonna be there or not.

Almost as if she can read his mind, Hayun asks, "Is she coming?"

" She has a name."

"And yet you knew exactly who I meant," she smiles, but it's entirely fake.

He doesn't like her tone.

"She's really important to me," he says, not looking for a fight, but fancying one regardless. "Please can you at least try to be nice?"

"I'm always nice."

Her tone is pedantic. She's being a little sassy for no good reason. Jeongguk doesn't have the patience at the moment to humour it. Has been too stressed - too upset - this past week. His social batteries are what they usually are.

And so he snaps a little.

"Can you not be like this?"

"Like what?" she recoils slightly.

" Mean ," he says. "We both know you weren't nice on New Years. You really upset her."

Hayun enjoys this fact, but hides her smile well. In fact, she pouts. Furrows her brows.

"She wasn't exactly kind to me , either."

Jeongguk knows this is probably true. Also knows that you likely think you were entirely justified.

"I don't care," he says. "She's the whole reason Taehyung's been able to network like this. Tonight's a celebration for Tae, yes, but we wouldn't be celebrating if it wasn't for her. I'm not asking you to be besties - just be nice. Please."

Hayun's silent for a moment.

"I'm not trying to be an asshole," she says quietly - and then she does offer some honesty. A rarity. "I've come back and someone else is sitting pretty where I used to. I don't know where I fit in anymore. This shit is hard, buddy."

"You'll make it harder for yourself by making enemies," he says softly, accepting her words to be genuine. He knows you've only seen the worst of her, but underneath it all, she's human, too.

"She looks at me like she wants to skin me alive!" Hayun whispers, with more animation than is really needed.

"Well, she kinda does," Jeongguk laughs, but doesn't elaborate. Will let Hayun stew on that one. "Look, just be kind, okay? She'll be nice if you're nice."

"Fine," Hayun shrugs. "But you better give her a talking to, as well. She called me a little weirdo last time I spoke to her. Who even says shit like that?"

Jeongguk smirks. Sounds exactly like the kind of thing you'd say.

"She's not really talking to me at the moment, so," he shrugs. "I probably won't."

Oh, now this does please Hayun. Pleases her so much. Suddenly, she does feel like playing ball. Will be nice as pie. Will give you all the smiles in the world. Will be kind. Might even kill you with it.

The smile of hers prevails throughout the night. You notice it occasionally, but do your hardest to ignore it. Barely even look in her direction.

Maybe it's wrong for you to take your frustrations out on her. Maybe she isn't all that bad - after all, Jeongguk is one of the best people you know. Surely someone he holds so close can't be that awful. Surely .

As the evening dwindles down, your group of friends gather up together to head to a bar downtown, celebrating Taehyung's success - except, he's not with them.

Nor are you.

You both stay behind just to do final checks with the exhibition coordinators, and then head to meet the group downtown.

They're in a pocha bar just a couple blocks down from Dionysus. There's only a few of you within the group that really have any business in a pocha bar. Afterall, what use is a happily committed person in a hunting bar?

Designed quite literally for the single to mingle, each table has a digital tablet affixed to it. It's where you order your drinks and food - of which, when you arrive, you can see your group has already got sorted - but also acts as a messaging device between tables.

If you see someone that tickles your fancy, you challenge them to a game, or just a chat. Something to get a little bit of communication bubbling; see if it could boil over.

Grinning to yourself, you think that Jeongguk's ragtag group of friends must be a nightmare for any other groups of single men in a pocha bar. You can't imagine groups of straight women wanting to message a table other than theirs.

That's the downside that comes with a pocha; you're divided on the basis of gender, because apparently sexuality is limited to attraction of the opposite sex.

Always makes you roll your eyes - but the food is cheap and the drinks are even cheaper, especially when it's a table from across the room buying them for you.

Though your tables are next to one another, the boys are at one end, and the girls are down the other. It's the only way you could be sat together.

Jeongguk sits opposite Yoongi, on the chairs closest to the girls table. Jimin, Namjoon and Hoseok are further away, closer to the digital tablet.

Squeezes Danbi's shoulders as he walks past, Taehyung nabs the seat at the far end of the table. He'd much rather be next to her, but equally doesn't mind being with the boys.

Separated by a gap in the tables, Seoyeon is 'beside' Yoongi. Right where she should be.

Opposite her, beside Jeongguk is an empty seat. Nabi is in the next seat over, facing Danbi. A table of six with only three girls sitting around it, the two chairs closest to the tablet are also free. An abundance to choose from, but there's only one you want.

Foolishly, as Jeongguk's eyes meet yours, you forget there's a thorn in your side. Are reminded as she enters your peripherals, thorn wedging deeper into your flesh, and waltzes straight through the gap in the tables.

His eyes don't leave yours. Not when she approaches. Not when greets him. Not when she sits down beside him.

All you can do is watch as she takes your place.

Though you suppose it wasn't really yours in the first place.

You push the unpleasantness of the feeling in your stomach to the side. Fuck Hayun. You don't wanna be such a misery guts, but she just ruins everything. Ruined Jeongguk and his perception of love, ruined New Years (almost) and now she's ruining your night.

She doesn't have to, you remind yourself. Just ignore her existence.

And so as Danbi passes you a shot, you do just that.

The music in the pocha is unbelievably loud; probably to encourage closeness between people, but it just means you spend your evening giggling with Danbi instead of even trying to get the boys attention - and that suits you just fine.

You don't pay notice to Jeongguk, nor Hayun, nor anything that could make you feel shitty in any regard. It's been a successful night. Taehyung did so well. You know that you'll be waking up to enquiries in your email inbox regarding his work.

Taehyung is the first to notice a message pop up in the corner of the tablet over on your table. Of he course he was. Had been glancing over to Danbi endlessly.

Red and imposing, the notification mark sits right where the chat threads should be. You're closest to it, so as Taehyung's laughing about the fact some idiotic group of guys had the gall to message your table when it's obvious you're with them, you click through.

"Table 12," you say with a little extra animation and wiggle of your eyebrows. Jimin's looking around, counting from the door to work out who it is - and when he spots a group of four girls giggling away, he knows it's them . And then you're laughing, too. "Oh shit. Wrong table. They meant to message you guys."

"What are they after?" Jimin enthuses. "Are they talking about the handsome stud in the middle of the table?"

You snort a little, holding back a laugh. "Not quite."

Your eyes flick over to Jeongguk, then back to the screen. You poise yourself a little flirtily - get in the right headspace to read such a message.

"Tattoo guy" - you glance up towards him again, and think it's sweet that he looks a little bashful. - "Fancy giving us a tour of your tattoos? Show us yours and we'll show you ours."

Another message pops through as you're reading aloud, so you continue.

"P.S. you'll have to take our clothes off first to see ours."

"Holy shit," Danbi laughs, and you find yourself laughing too - more so at the look on the faces of all of the boys. Even Yoongi looks a little bewildered - but so does Seoyeon.

Confident girlies are always the best girlies - you bet they're a lot of fun to be friends with.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" you tease Jeongguk. Secretly, you like the idea of Hayun having to watch other girls swoon over him; get her sweating out that 'irreplaceable' attitude she likes to parade herself around with. "Do it!"

He swallows as he looks at you. Is ignoring the taunts and excitement from the boys around him, even as they ping bottle caps at him. His chest hides the thud, thud, thud of his heart well; the challenge of flirting with girls who aren't you making him feel all strange.

But you're encouraging it.

Maybe he should.

"On one condition," you add with a giggle. God, he's missed you. "You have to make up fake stories for all of your tattoos."

Jimin laughs. Agrees. "Gotta tell them the most unhinged shit, and see if they still wanna shag you."

The tables enthuse over Jeongguk's potential faux tattoo history, and decide he got his snake to overcome a fear - but it failed and now he screams every time he looks at it.

"You have to do the scream, too" Seoyeon giggles, then does the most adorable little squeak you've ever heard. Yoongi looks at her with liquor-laced lips that are abundant with love. "Like that! Gotta scream like that."

Jeongguk imitates her, and has everyone cracking up. He repeats it - looks down at his tattoo, and screams out a tiny little squeak. Earns a confused look from the table next to him. Does it again. Some of the wait staff also look at him now. You and Danbi are practically falling onto one another's laps from how ridiculous but how committed to the bit he is.

"Okay, okay," Taehyung laughs. "What about the flowers?"

"Hmmm.. He's allergic?" Jimin says right off the bat. "Had the ink infused with pollen, because he thought it would cure him. Arm nearly fell off instead."

"Perfect," Taehyung beams, chortling with laughter.

"I'm not gonna be able to remember any of these," Jeongguk smiles - but truthfully he's just nervous. Doesn't wanna go and strike up a conversation with strangers. Wants to stay here and keep the people he cares about laughing.

His gaze falls on yours, and he's pleased to see that your smile doesn't fade.

It's so nice to see him sparkle again.

He purses his lips, fond dimples etching into his cheeks.

And maybe it's the alcohol, but you think he's got eyes that are worthy of forgiveness, even if a 'sorry' hasn't left his pretty lips.

They part a little, his tongue nervously flicking at his lip ring. It does - as it so often does - the thing . It's as if he wants to say something, but the words never quite make it out.

It's only been a moment or so, but you notice Seoyeon nudging Yoongi from across the table, being far less than subtle as she draws his attention to the pair of you.

Immediately dropping Jeongguk's gaze, you feel your cheeks flame a little, just as rosy, as the flutter in your heart is delicate.

He hasn't said sorry, you remind yourself. He's not forgiven.

And yet being in his company after a few drinks just makes all the residual hurt of the past week or so fade into nothingness. Happiness comes so easily around him.

Or at least it does, until Hayun starts to toy with Jeongguk's arm, pointing at tattoos that you don't know the meaning of, and saying shit like 'you can't lie about that one,' or 'you held my hand so hard I thought you'd break it when you got that one.'

You lean over to Danbi, and squeeze her arm.

"Just gotta make a quick call," you say, holding up your phone. "Won't be long."

She nods and hurries out a "yeah, yeah. Of course. That's fine, go for it. Want me to order any more drinks?"

You scan the table, which is littered in bottles and small spillages, and decide that above everything else, you're hungry.

"Sotteok sotteok?" You suggest, having seen the table next to you get the delicacy - rice cakes and sausages on a skewer, coated in sauce - delivered to them ten minutes ago.

"YES!" she exclaims, immediately reaching over to the tablet to order some, then grins back over at you. "Go, make your call. I'll keep your food safe from the boys."

"Angel," you grin right back, excusing yourself. There's no commotion as you do so - everyone is engaged in their own conversations, music blaring, chaos in every corner.

Danbi explains where you've gone to anyone who asks, and nobody questions it.

Nobody except for Jeongguk.

"Call who?" He queries, brows furrowed. Thinks it can't be anything work-related - too late for that - but also knows how many fuckers in suits tonight seemed to know you in relation to Seokjin. Wonders if maybe it's him.

When Danbi just shrugs, Jeongguk nods.

He studies the space left by you, empty and vacant, and wonders if you'd rather be with him , right now. Wonders how often you've thought about him tonight. Wonders if you think about him when it's just you and Jeongguk together.

Wonders if you ever think these things about Hayun.

He tries not to waste his time worrying, eyes focused on the windows towards the front of the bar, but he can't seem to help himself - and when he finally does catch a glimpse of you?

He smiles . Laughs, even. Tries to keep his giggle to himself, and is thankful no one notices.

Directly across the street is an arcade, lined in neon lights and cheap cash grabs that will give you no return. You pry the final few coins out of your purse and sink them into an endless pit of despair, just in the hopes you'll get a teeny tiny little My Melody plushie.

The mechanical whir of the machine is obscured by the music blasting out, some song by a new group that you don't know by name. Prime location, in the middle of the nightlife district, you're sure you've sunk more money into this arcade than you probably have into any of the bars. As soon as you get a few shots in you, you convince yourself you can win everything .

You've never won anything.

Still, it's not just the shots that have you here today (though you and Danbi have worked through two bottles of soju each, and the night has barely started).

It's your need to think about something else, other than the sorry state of affairs between you and Jeongguk, that has you gambling.

Things shouldn't have to be this complicated, you think as you rummage around for another coin in your purse. The bastard machine just eats it and barely even tries to hook onto the plushie that you've expertly lined up.

It's an endless slog of effort, money, time put in. Nothing left to show for it.

Funny, how often that seems to happen.

You return to the table empty handed. No one else realises where you went. No one except Jeongguk - but he isn't paying attention to your return.

Mainly because a message came through while you were away. Table 23. "Black dress - hate to see you go but love to watch you walk away."

Danbi had read it with a giggle in your absence, and as soon as you return, she finds great pleasure in showing you.

"Table 23?" You laugh, flattered. "Don't wanna turn around. Are they cute?"

Danbi glances behind her shoulder, but averts her eyes almost immediately. "Oh crap. They're looking," she whispers as she leans in a little closer to you.

Nabi uses her vantage point on the opposite side of the table to scope them out. Hayun's too busy listening into the boys conversation and inserting herself where she isn't wanted to pay attention to you.

"Okay," Nabi enthuses. "There's three of them. Two of them keep looking over, but one of them refuses to, even when they nudge him, so I think it's him."

"And?" you giggle, still wanting to know if he's cute.

"He..." she pauses. Bites her lip to stop herself from laughing.

"He...?!" You laugh, not caring to stop yourself, with a little shake of your head. There are stars in your eyes, lights from the bar reflecting in them like the Northern Lights. You're a sight to behold when you're like this; just as radiant as your glitter is sparkly.

"Hey."

The voice behind you as someone comes to stand by your table is new . Deep. A little purry.

"Hi," you smile, looking up to the man now standing in the space between your table and the next group over. Tall, you think first. Handsome, second.

"Can I sit for a second?" He asks, not even bothering to introduce himself first. Nabi scoots over instantly, a smile plastered all over her face. Danbi is pinching you beneath the table.

"Sure," you nod, a little coy, not wanting to give away your total satisfaction.

He's dreamy as he takes a seat, shirt white, hair slicked back in that sexy kinda James Dean way that always makes you a little hot under the collar. He smiles, and his eyes are just as kind as his grin is charming.

"A bar like this is no place for a dress like that," he says resting his arms on the table. Leans forward a little. Is engaged in conversation with you, and you alone.

"No?" you flirt a little. "Where should it be instead?"

The insinuation of your question is clear, and you know that his mind will have jumped to the only logical answer: his bedroom floor.

But with a smile like his, you should have known he'd be a gentleman.

"Somewhere classier," he supposes.

"Are you saying I should leave?" You raise a brow.

He shakes his head. Doesn't drop his eyes from yours. "No. At least, not without giving me your number."

"I don't even know your name," you say with a roll of your eyes.

He holds out his hand for you to shake. You consider it - but instead, you hold out your own hand for him to kiss. With a smirk, tongue running along his teeth, he concedes. Holds your fingers and rests his pretty eyes closed as his lips press against your knuckles.

"Park Seojoon."

You nod. Accept his name into your brain. Feel Jeongguk's eyes burning into your hand, which is still being held by Seojoon.

A few drinks in, and a little vindictive, you're glad . It's stupid because you will scream if anyone else decides you're jealous of Hayun - but you sort of want Jeongguk to be jealous that there's someone new sitting in the seat opposite you.

"And yours?" Seojoon asks. "It's only fair."

"Give me your phone," you say, not wanting to give him an easy win.

You also wanna check he isn't a sleazebag with a girlfriend.

You've met plenty of those. Dated one not so long ago - and he wasn't too dissimilar from Seojoon. Tall, handsome, chivalrously charming. Yeah. You know men like him.

And yet he doesn't hesitate. Unlocks his phone. Lets you have at it. You do as you wish, with no complaint from him - which is open up instagram. His search history is pretty clear: the bar you're currently at, a few of his friends, some idol singer who you assume he has a crush on. Nothing that screams red flag.

Typing in your username, you give yourself a follow, and hand it back.

"There. Don't need my number, now."

A message pings through on the table tablet.

Table 23: He knows how to cook

Table 23: Has his own apartment

Table 23: Is a CEO

Table 23: Massive cock

Table 23: His personality, I mean

Table 23: Dunno about his dick

Table 23: Saves cats from trees on the weekend

"Please ignore my friends," he laughs. "I think they're going for the hard sell. So embarrassing."

"So none of it's true?" You grin right back, enjoying the ridiculous nature of it all.

He shrugs. Smirks. "Some things are. Some things aren't. I'll let you find out which is which."

Even more messages ping through.

Table 23: He showers twice a day

Table 23: Speaks 14 languages

Table 23: Is still a virgin

Rolling his eyes, he shakes his head, but his smile prevails. He looks like a movie star; suave and sweet all at the same time.

"I gotta go sort my friends out," he laughs. "But I'll message you, okay?"

With a giggle and small nod, you say, "I'll be waiting."

"Okay," he grins, all bashful and endearing, not really wanting to go.

"Okay," you tease a little.

He's barely even left his seat before Nabi and Danbi are squealing.

Jeongguk's eyes are down, and he's twiddling with his thumbs. Face of thunder, you think he's being a baby. A big, pouty baby. Good .

"Right," Jimin declares loud enough for you all to hear. "Dionysus? I wanna dance."

You hold hands with Danbi and Hoseok for the entire walk. It's only a few streets over, but being drunk always makes the walk so much longer - plus you really shouldn't have had so much to drink on such an empty stomach, especially after running around prepping the show all morning.

"CU," you hiccup as you walk past the convenience store. Open 24 hours, you dread to think about the sorry state of people of whom the cashiers have to deal with. Knowing that you're a mess at the moment? Yeah. You feel bad. Will probably apologise to the poor uni student working behind the counter. "Snacks."

The others are walking ahead a little and you don't bother to stop them. Will just meet them in the club. Your names are on the guestlist, courtesy of Jeongguk, so it's not like you'll have to queue to get in.

Unless he takes your name off the guestlist.

Of which he half considers when they get to the bar and he realises you're not there.

"You seen B?" He asks Jimin, but is met with a shake of his head.

"No clue."

Half an hour later, under the bright strobes of the club, Jimin finds you asking him the exact same thing.

"Where's Jeongguk?"

And again, all he can say is "no clue".

You spend the night missing each other; emotionally, physically.

There are only so many places you can be in Dionysus. In fact, from the bar, Yeonjun can often see you both and wonders why you're so far apart from one another - but also notices the bright red ball and chain that seems to be attached to Jeongguk. The closer you get, like the magnets you are, the further she drags him away.

It's painful to watch, Yeonjun thinks. Can't seem to figure out a good reason why Jeongguk is wasting time with anyone that isn't you.

But waste it he does.

His one night to let his hair down, to feel fucking normal , and instead he feels like his head is gonna cave in. The shots aren't helping, and the way his head snaps to every glimmer of light just in case it's you is borderline embarrassing.

It's not until just gone 1 AM, when he returns from that little courtyard of his, Hayun closely behind, that he finally catches a glimpse of Hoseok and Danbi. You're nowhere to be seen and when he questions it, Danbi doesn't wanna tell him jack shit.

"Just wanna know if she's okay," Jeongguk explains as they stand by the bar, but again, Danbi doesn't give a shit.

"I know she's okay," she simply shrugs. "There's your confirmation."

"Dan-"

"You haven't even fucking said sorry yet!" she erupts at him, a little fiery when she's been drinking and ever so protective of her friends. None of the group are with them, so she doesn't hide her frustrations. "You fucked her, then basically told that her a nasty piece of work is worth more to you than she is. What was it you said? That Hayun is trying to fix your friendship?"

Jeongguks tongue runs along the inside of his cheek, a little pissed that the entire conversation has been relayed to Danbi. Jimin obviously knows most of what happened, but he was in the apartment. It is unfair though, for him to think you wouldn't need to vent about what had been said. He knows he did.

When he doesn't reply, Danbi rolls her eyes.

"If fixing your friendship with Hayun comes with the price of ruining the friendship you have with a girl, who's quite literally only ever wanted what was best for you, is it really worth it? Huh?" Danbi antagonises.

He goes to speak, but Danbi shakes her head.

"I know you're Tae's friend, and I'll never get in the way of anything between you guys - but if you think for a second I'm not gonna prioritise my best friend just to make things a little more comfortable for you, you're wrong. You know just as well as I do how much her piece of shit ex fucked with her. So either you be fucking nice to her, or you leave her alone. "

The final sentence stings Jeongguk like a wasp.

It's not too dissimilar from what he's said to Hayun.

Danbi sighs. Looks down. Shrugs her shoulders as her hands tap against the tops of her thighs. Walks a little closer, because she knows fighting with Jeongguk is the last thing you'd want her to do.

"She's at home. Texted me about five minutes to let me know she got there okay... just," she sighs again. Knows that you'll probably be annoyed with her for telling Jeongguk about it in the morning. "Just tell her that you're fucking sorry, okay? Fix it."

Jeongguk is in a taxi en route to yours within two minutes.

------------

You've barely changed out of your dress, just in your matching black set, when your phone begins to ring. The caller ID is one that you've been wanting to see all week, but you're not sure you want to answer, now.

Just can't seem to help yourself, though.

Reaching over for the shirt of his on the back of your chair, you pull it over your body.

"Hello?"

"B..." Jeongguk breathes out. "I... Fuck. I'm at your door. Please can I come in."

"A bit presumptuous for you to show up first," you hum, arm folding across your chest, hand resting on the crease of your elbow.

"I know," he says, about to launch some ramble about how he's sorry and how he thinks he might die if things stay as they are - but then the latch of your door goes, and there you are. Phone to your ear, in little more than a shirt that belongs to him, with an unreadable expression on your face, you shrug.

"Could have knocked."

"Didn't wanna wake anyone," he says, as if he wouldn't have knocked had the call gone to voicemail.

"Danbi's out," you shrug, and then push the door a little further open. Silently invite him inside. He's always welcome, even when you're mad at him. Maybe especially when you're mad at him. Could be anywhere. Could be away from you. And yet he's right where you want him to be.

He's only in your apartment for a moment or so before he clocks the white roses on the kitchen counter. Another 'sorry I couldn't make it' gift from Seokjin. The card is face up, so it doesn't take much for Jeongguk to know exactly who they're from. He says nothing of them.

"Freezing in here," you say, then knock your head to the side and encourage him into your room. "C'mon. I've got the heater on in there."

He does as you say, 'cause he considers himself lucky to be in your home. Lucky that you didn't open the door just slam it in his face. Lucky, just for the simple fact he knows you.

"What brings you here?" you ask, taking a seat on your bed.

Jeongguk stands. Looks around your room. Likes that you've got your little pink neon light on. The glow hazes around your body, ethereal in the way it makes your glitter sparkle.

He doesn't answer immediately.

You're still tipsy, and so is he. Hair dishevelled, jacket tossed on your bedroom floor, Jeongguk looks good. Not that he doesn't always, it's just... nice seeing him dressy. Smart pants, a button up shirt. The sleeves are rolled, forearms exposed just like they were in the bar earlier. Girls drool at the mouth from the sight of him alone.

And he's in your room.

You have something people want.

Him .

You'd quite like to keep it.

Yours .

He nibbles down on his bottom lip, unsure of how to phrase anything that wouldn't sound awkward. His lip ring glistens in the neon light, and it's like you're wearing novelty glasses that scatter hearts around bright light when you look at him.

So you stand.

Say nothing.

Brazen in your drunken haze, you shrug.

Reach for the hem of his shirt, and pull it up your body, over your head.

When your eyes meet Jeongguk's again, his lips are parted. He's confused. Mentally, emotionally, physically. Doesn't really understand.

You're naked save for the matching set you're wearing. It's one he knows well. One he's taken off many times before. One that he didn't think he'd be seeing tonight.

"If you're here to fuck me, then fuck me," you say a little coldly. "If not, you can go."

"B, that's not why I'm here," he says, but his eyes are on your body, now. His lips fold in on themselves. Throat bobs as he swallows.

"So go," you say.

He shakes his head.

"Well, I don't wanna talk," you say all rather childishly. "So this is your option. Fuck me, or leave."

"That's not fair."

"Life's not fair."

"Why are you being like this?"

The answer is simple: You want to be useful for him.

Oh, it's so pathetic. You want him to use you.

Not in a sexy, degrading kind of way, but a pathetic, needy kind of way. The same kind of way you let Seokjin use you. If Jeongguk fucks you, your drunken, out-of-sync head will think it means you still serve a purpose. Like he still needs you.

"Said it yourself," you shrug. "The people I care for use me."

He furrows his brows.

" I never used you," he hisses. "Not once did I ever fuck you just to use you."

"So then why the fuck did you?" You hiss right back, angry for the sake of being angry. "Why do you sleep with me? Still?!"

"Because I care about you!" He matches your volume, not really sure if he has the appropriate words to articulate himself with. "Because you're my friend, and I care. Because it was something we both wanted at the time. Because I like the way you feel, and I like the way you make me feel. If that's using you, then so be it - but not once was my own gratification at the top of the list of reasons why. Not once. Not ever."

Anything he could have said would have been wrong. You would have argued against him, contradicted yourself, gone round in circles regardless of what he had said.

"So it was never just because you wanted to fuck me?" You scoff. "There was always a big list behind it? Intentions? You never just wanted me? It was never just enough to want me?"

Jeongguk knows you. Knows what you're doing. Doesn't fight back.

"I wanted you. B, I still want you," he says softly - but when your hard gaze doesn't ease, he gets defensive. He also, strangely, starts to undo his shirt buttons, too. "And what about you, huh? Did you not use me? Hm?"

You're silent as he reaches the bottom of his shirt; toned chest exposed, honey skin warm.

"I can't hear you, B," he taunts. "Is that not exactly what you've done with me? Used me ?"

And then his fingers are fiddling with the buckle of his belt, too, standing so close to you that you can smell his aftershave.

"I never fucking used you," he whispers harshly, hands cupping your cheeks to pull you closer. You nestle into his touch, eyes wide and a little watery. Hands holding onto his waist, you're reminded of just how warm he always is. His nose nudges against yours.

You're both drunk. None of this makes much sense. Not now, and likely not when you're sober either.

"You're my best fuckin' friend. My best friend. You know how much I adore you?" He doesn't wait for an answer. Lifts his lips to press them against your forehead. "Never used you, Byeol. Never ."

It's not an apology, but it is something .

And after a week of nothing?

Oh, it's so lovely to have something .

"Please," you begin to say quietly, as if he's not already half undressed with no intention of leaving you. "Don't leave."

"Didn't come here to fuck you," he says. "But I also didn't come here to leave either."

"You don't have to fuck me," you say, a little embarrassed and ashamed of the ultimatum you'd thrown his way in the heat of your anger. "You can stay. I don't give a shit about the sex. I'm sorry. I just, I was so mad with you and I don't understand what's going wrong with us and-" you pause, scared you might cry, but catch your breath first before it wobbles. "And I think I was trying to reduce you to meaning something far less than what you do. I've been a terrible friend. Awful. I just..."

Jeongguk shakes his head. "I've not been a saint, either B. I'm sorry, too. Both said some shitty things. Both know we didn't mean them. Right?"

You nod, face still loosely in his grasp, brows pinching together all forlorn and pitiful.

"Look like a lil emoji, you do," he smiles down at you. "Can we just go to bed? I'm still a little drunk and I really don't wanna stand up anymore. Just want things to be normal again."

There's nothing more to argue about. Nothing that will make either of you feel any better. You're his only remedy.

And, so, somewhere between half-drunk apologies, and rambles of who was the bigger asshole, and who appreciates who more, you begin a dance you know all too well.

You touch. Stroke. Hold. Know that you shouldn't, but you roam. Feel .

He does the exact same thing back.

Whines a little, dulcet and needy, whenever you reach a spot he likes.

Neither of you seem to mind that the fumble is a little awkward, or the fact that you're both starting at zero. It's unlike you. You're both normally ready and raring to go - but the night has been draining and neither of you really expected to end up in this situation.

Truthfully, you know that you shouldn't take things further.

But you also know it's the only way things will really feel normal again.

Eventually, encouraged , Jeongguk sinks himself into you, unprotected. 

Skin on skin, it's nothing new, but it's important, you think. Want him close. Want him yours.

And when he's like this?

Well, you've both said it before. It sort of feels like he is.

"Don't wanna fuck anyone that isn't you," he husks into the crook of your neck as your nails scratch against his scalp. "I know you're mad at me, but I don't wanna fuck anyone else."

His slow hips build up pace as he fucks himself into you, repeating himself. "Only wanna fuck you. You know that right? No one feels like you do."

You're not sure you believe him. It makes you sad. So inexorably, pitifully sad.

Yet the way he feels inside you makes your heart swell .

And so you say nothing; just let dulcet little whines escape your lips as he fucks himself deeper into you, wanting his intentions to be known.

You want to believe him. Want to believe that his words are as honest as you like to tell yourself his heart is.

"It doesn't matter," you husk back to him. "Doesn't matter if you wanna fuck other people. You're not mine."

But if he's not yours, it means you're not his either, and Jeongguk kind of hates that reality.

So he fucks you like you are. Buries his head into your neck, keeps you trapped beneath the safety of his body, does all the hard work so you can just feel good. With him. For him. Because of him. In spite of him.

He doesn't kiss you, but he wants to. Not just because he's horny and he likes the way it feels, but because it sort of feels like he'll cry if doesn't. Instead, he rests his nose against yours. Will let close the gap, if you want to.

And see the thing is, you're just so scared he'll say something that will shatter your soul, that you think it's safer to kiss him. Think your soul will be better protected if your lips are on his, even if it means he can steal it.

Pressing your lips up against his, you let him whine into your mouth. It's indistinguishable, but you swear you can almost hear his words: I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm yours. Or maybe, just stupid, stupid, stupid.

Either could be applicable.

Jeongguk doesn't think it matters. His words mean nothing. It's his actions that hold weight now. His choices .

He's made a few bad ones in the last few hours, but not you. Never you.

"Speak to me," he husks into your lips.

But what is there to say? He's choosing you now, granted, but he chose her tonight. Chose her in front of his friends. Chose her during the week. Let someone else choose you, instead.

"Byeol, baby." He grits through strained grunts. " Please ."

The way 'baby' always gets you folding has you so mad at yourself; but all you want is to pretend like he means it.

"Koo," you whimper back as he continues fucking himself into you.

"Yeah?"

"Keep it like that," you manage to say. "Feels so good like that."

"Yeah, baby?"

You nod. Press kisses into his neck. Let your nails scratch down his back. Leave evidence of him losing himself to you on his skin. Paint him in the colour of what it's like to love you, even if he doesn't.

When you reach down to rub yourself a little, to bring you closer to an orgasm, Jeongguk knocks your hand to the side. He wants to do it. He wants to be the reason why. He has to be. He has to make you come undone to make up for the fact it feels like he's falling apart, too.

It's embarrassing how quickly he gets you there. Stupid how your heart swells when your pussy miscommunicates, and tells you that your orgasm actually means something . Lame, how much your smile softens for him.

But then he's doing just the same. Asking where he should finish, and stuttering when you beg for what you want.

"Please, Koo. Inside me. Please."

But there's a weight to filling you raw that he can't bear, yet. He's not strong enough. And so he edges as far as can, pulling out only when he feels his release travelling through his body. Wanks himself onto you, spilling his cum all over your pussy; mound, lips, clit. You're his, his, his . Or at least, at this moment, you are. Once you clean yourself up, the feeling will fade.

Your mind taunts you. Something about Egypt, and rivers.

As his body collapses on yours, Jeongguk spent, you hold him close. Hug him. Never want him to leave, because you're scared that you'll lose him again. Scared that he'll choose her. Scared that he'll leave, just like Seokjin always does.

Of course, he doesn't. He tosses you his shirt as he goes to grab your something to clean yourself up with from the bathroom. Waltzes around your apartment in just his boxers, as if it's a home you share. Strokes your back when you both go to brush your teeth, and is the one to grab the water when you eventually head to bed. Stands by you just beforehand, and rids you of his shirt. Gets you naked, 'cause he wants to feel your skin against his, in the simplest, most human of ways.

He tells you to get into bed as he heads back to the sitting room. You do as he says, and watch him through the gap in your bedroom door as he goes to check the front door is locked. There's no intention for him to leave in the night. Will never leave his side of your bed cold. Won't abandon you.

Because he does choose you. He chooses you time and time again.

And though you don't realise it, yet, he chose you tonight. You over her .

Perhaps it wasn't a linear choice and perhaps there were half a dozen smaller choices that contradict his largest one, but it counts for something.

"I got you something," he whispers against your shoulder, finally back in your bed with you.

"Hmm?" You question, a little curious but not really wanting anything from him.

There's a coldness to your disinterest; one that Jeongguk is well aware of, but trying to ignore. He's only known you like this once, really - the time he lied to you.

Knows that you're probably processing through similar emotions. Knows it means you likely think he's lying about something. Knows that he should tell you what happened in your absence tonight - but he's scared, and thinks he'll lose you entirely. Thinks things are already hanging by a thread. 

Doesn't realise that the red strings of fate take more than just a vicious pair of ruby nails to tear through them.

And so he doesn't tell you.

Instead, he leans over the edge of his bed to grab his coat and rummages around in the pockets until he finds what he's after.

The softening of your eyes as he presents you with the pretty little plushie you'd been trying to win earlier on in the night? Oh, it's like Jeongguk can breathe again.

"Know you wanted it," he mumbles, passing it over to you. Looks away a little, then focuses on your hands, where you gently clasp the My Melody.

He doesn't tell you the part where he spent 30,000won on a plushie worth no more than 5000. Doesn't tell you that he accidentally won a Cinnamoroll, too, and gave it to a group of kids who really had no business being out so late in the party area of town. One of the girls, who could have been no more than thirteen, had a little Cinnamoroll scrunchie in her hair. The group unanimously decided that she'd be the one to keep it.

The simplicity of such an exchange between friends had Jeongguk thinking of you. First and foremost, you're his best friend. There's no person he'd rather be with when he's feeling as torn apart as he is now - but when you look at him, and smile softly, he feels like maybe you could help put him back together, too.

"You got me her," you say, stating the obvious.

"I got you her," he confirms. Watches as your eyes sparkle in the low luminescence of your neon light, pouring over the little plushie, checking all the details. "Is she okay?"

You nod. Hold her close. Look over to Jeongguk. Find that he's far too far away. Reach your arm out for him to come closer. He reaches up for your fingers, and just holds your hand. Pulls you closer. Gets you exposed, your sheets pooling around your waist as he moves you. Your other hand is still clutching your little plushie, not caring for keeping yourself covered anymore, coming to sit in Jeongguk's lap, right where he wants you.

"Look," you say softly, wiggling the floppy ears of the plushie. "See her ears?"

Jeongguk watches you with subtle adoration, and hums a quiet confirmation.

"What colour are they?" You ask, deciding to give him lore he never asked for.

Stroking his hands up your waist, just to keep you close, he wonders if it's a trick question. "Pink."

You shake your head. "Nope. She's wearing a hood. Her hood is pink. Her ears are white."

"Trick question," he pouts, which makes you smile. Kinda was. Kinda knew he'd get it wrong.

And so you kiss him to say sorry. Kiss him, as if you aren't just friends. Kiss him, as if he's not holding on to your bare waist for dear life. Kiss him, as if he's not naked, and nor are you. Kiss him, like it's normal.

He keeps his forehead pressed to yours when you withdraw, and lets his nose nudge up against your own. Strokes gently against it. Loves the way it feels. Just another thing about you he'll never understand, but also never complain about.

"What was that for?" he whispers.

"For being a good friend," you whisper right back. "I know I'm not always easy."

Jeongguk shakes his head. Doesn't think he's been a good friend in the slightest. Knows you'd agree, if you knew the chain of events that had led him to your door.

His hands stroke up your back and encourage a hug, of which you naturally fall into. Arms around his neck, you press another kiss into his hair, as his lips do the same just beneath your ear.

"Best friend," he whispers against your skin. Hugs you tighter. Never wants to let go. "I don't deserve you. I'm so sorry."

You shrug. Neither of you have acted like saints over the last week or so. You afford him a little extra wiggle room, because you know he's not really been himself lately. Things said in the heat of the moment aren't always a reflection of true feelings.

You pull away a little. Stroke his hair back. Tuck his long fringe behind his ears and smile at how pliant he is for you. And then you kiss him again. Hands on his cheeks, lips soft. Just once.

"I'm still tipsy," you lie. "Don't get used to it."

"I won't," he promises - but oh, how he wishes he could.

See, Jeongguk thinks he knows , now. Thinks that he knows the way he's feeling. Thinks he understands his brain, and his heart, and the silly little things they tell him; secrets whispered only for him to know. You've done it again, Jeongguk. We told you not to. You said you wouldn't.

But he ignored them then, and he'll ignore them now, for he knows that in the coming weeks he won't be able to.

"I've never known you without your tattoos," you mumble your thoughts aloud, eyes on his arm as your fingers trace the lines. Jeongguk's never really given it much consideration before. Had been too busy looking at you even to realise your contemplation. "Never seen your skin without art on it."

He's slow as he rests the side of his index finger beneath your chin and tilts your head in the opposite direction. Your eyes are on his other arm, now.

"There," he says softly. "Looked just like that."

You smile. Stroke your fingertips up the inside of his bare forearm. Deliberately move from freckle to freckle, marvelling at the wonder of his natural markings; the things that make him human.

"I wonder what it would have been like to know this version of you," you say quietly.

"Me too," he replies. "But you know what?"

"What?"

"I'm glad you know this version."

"You are?"

Part of you is disappointed. Feels like maybe he's aware there wouldn't have been space for you with Hayun around.

He nods, looking up at you with wide eyes and an awareness that he needs to be careful with his words. The lines beneath his eyes deepen as he smiles, little specks of pink light catching in his dark irises. Prettier than any flower, you think.

"We both had life to live," he says. "Lessons to learn. At least, I did. I think if I'd have met you sooner I would have ruined things."

"How so?"

"Dunno," he lies. Remembers the way Hayun told him his feelings would ruin things, too. Saddens him that he was put on this earth to love in abundance, and yet all his heart ever seems to do is destroy things.

"Probably would have fallen in love with you, or something stupid like that."

The silence he's met with is expected.

The way you shrug, and say "maybe I would have fallen in love with you, too," is not expected.

It silences him. So you just smile.

"I guess we'll never know. Doesn't matter, though, does it?"

"Suppose not," Jeongguk says with a tight, closed-lip smile. His lip ring doesn't do the thing, and the smile doesn't quite reach his eyes, but it's late and there's no need to be over analysing careless words in the comedown of a drunk hookup.

You fall asleep far easier than he does. Content in his arms, you know that awkward feelings towards his ex aren't worth fighting over. If you and Jeongguk were together, then maybe. If he fucked her again, then maybe. If he started withholding small portions of truth from you to spare her, then maybe.

But for now, you'll put her down as an annoyance. Bad pollution. Rain falling on your journey to work. One pump of shampoo left in the bottle, when you really need three. Not something to stress about, just something to be aware of.

And when you wake up to a still sleeping Jeongguk wrapped around your waist, like an expensive watch on his wrist, the red stain of the bar stamp still smudged on his hand, you forget her entirely. Can't recall her name. Don't know her perfume. Decide that she doesn't exist. Has no place in your life.

Yet if you were to pay attention, you'd know it was her lipstick tarnishing the back of his hand; smeared as he'd push it off of his lips on his way out of the club, trying to rid himself of the way she felt. Trying to mask the sensation that came with succumbing to her. Trying to attribute the feeling on his lips to the pressure of them against his hand, not her lips.

Jeongguk wakes up with you. Showers with you. Orders breakfast - but when it arrives, he can't stomach a damn thing.

"Hangover," he lies.

"Unlike you," you say. He's never normally one to turn down food, even when he's hungover.

You're still learning about him. Yet to discover that guilt ravages his appetite.

It's a lesson you hadn't expected to be taught so soon, but when he looks up at you from across the kitchen, eyes a little watery and gaze forlorn, you just sort of know.

Can't explain it. Can't articulate it.

Your frown is soft, eyes just as defeated as your shoulders now appear.

"Maybe you should go home," you simply say. You don't want confirmation of your assumption that something happened last night. "I'm sure you've still got lots of studying to do."

Oh God, she knows.

He knows you know. Knows that he can't do anything. Knows that if you don't know, trying to explain himself will only be an admission of guilt. Knows that if you do know, explaining himself won't make anything better. Will likely only make things worse.

"Lots to do," he nods. Doesn't wanna disturb your day any further. Your life. Doesn't wanna keep doing things that will only cause irreparable damage.

So for now he goes home, and causes just temporary damage.

Is on the living room floor with a tube of E6000 glue and a few panels of shattered display case when Jimin arrives home from wherever he stayed the night before.

Tossing his wallet down on the kitchen island, Jimin knows this is a new break. Knows Jeongguk's already fixed up the last one.

"Do we need to sign you up for anger management, or something?" Jimin tries to joke, but it comes out so sternly it seems like he actually means it. Maybe he does. Maybe Jeongguk should. "Two in two weeks must be a record."

"Just need to practise some breathing exercises," Jeongguk says. Has already googled it. Knows he can't keep doing this.

He never has, and never would, lash out at anyone else. It's not anyone else that he's frustrated with. It's himself. Doesn't know how to function with a head like his. That's all.

"I'm worried about you," Jimin eventually says. Knows Jeongguk won't take well to him prying, but knows that he has to express his concern regardless. "Ever since Hayun got back-"

"I know," Jeongguk interrupts, but is soft with his voice. "Trust me. I know. Head's a fucking mess. And then there's Byeol."

Jimin had been looking in the fridge for something to eat, but pauses when Jeongguk mentions you. Still refers to you affectionately. Only ever calls Hayun by her name - not Yun, like he used to. He doesn't interrupt. Knows Jeongguk must wanna talk, and doesn't wanna make him clam up.

"I just... I'm repeating shit. Making the same mistakes. Don't wanna lose her, but am scared that if we stop, like... doing stuff, that she'll get bored. That I'll lose her regardless," he admits. Is embarrassed by his own emotions.

Jimin has seen first hand how much you care. Has fucked you himself, and knows full well that just because sex isn't on table between you with him, it doesn't mean you don't want to be his friend. The idea of sex being the only thing tying you to Jeongguk is abhorrent. Offensive.

But also entirely understandable.

Jeongguk is a product of his past traumas, just like everyone else. He's been hurt, and how he copes with his feelings is a direct result of that.

"She's not Hayun," Jimin says. "Don't lower her to that level."

And then, just because Jeongguk can't hold it in any longer, he splutters out the truth. 

"She kissed me last night." 

It's red. Her nails, her lips, her laugh; the memory of it. Dangerous. Damning. 

"Hayun. She kissed me, and I kissed her back."

He spares the details. Doesn't share how she'd asked to see the courtyard in which she knew Jeongguk had spent the turn of the New Year with you. Doesn't share how she'd sat with him on the bench, looking up to the stars. Doesn't share the questions asked and the answers given.

"Said you think about me sometimes. Were you lying?"

"I'm many things, buddy, but I'm not a liar."

"What... What do you think about? When you think of me?"

He shouldn't have asked. Morbid curiosity got the better of him. He didn't expect her to list specifics. To reference the summer he got his first tattoos and how he'd always fake a little pain afterwards so that she'd kiss him better. To mention the same summer, in his parents house when they'd been away on holiday and he'd been house sitting. How she'd stayed there the entire time with him. How every room, except his parents, now has a memory of her in it.

"Sometimes I think about fucking you," she had said. "But a lot of the time I just think about what it was like to kiss you."

His achilles heel. A weakness. One she knows well.

And for a moment - too tipsy for his own good, too frustrated with the idea of you leaving with someone else, too stubborn to listen to his heart as it told him to stop - he leant into the weakness. Let her lips be reminded of his. Let her hand roam his body. Let his roam hers. Surprised her when he didn't go straight for her ass like he always used to, but went for her chest instead. Pulled away almost immediately - and that's how Hayun now knows that you really are a threat.

"We don't have to stop," she had said.

Jeongguk had shaken his head. "We do."

"We're single. What harm will it do?"

"You really need me to answer that? History not speak for itself?"

Hayun was quiet for a moment. Nodded. Looked down. "It's her, isn't it?"

Just like before, Jeongguk had said, "she has a name."

And, so, just like before, Hayun said, "and yet you knew exactly who I meant."

Jeongguk shakes the memories from his head. Forgets the way she kissed him again. Forgets how he let her. Forgets how her hands were back on his body, and how they got a little over friendly. Also forgets that embarrassment that comes with someone trying to touch your cock, only for it to be soft. Forgets how his brain was screaming chess, chess, chess at him.

"You can't come and blow my life up just as I'm starting to sort it out, Yun," he'd pleaded as he finally walked away. "Don't. Please, don't."

Jimin isn't stupid. He knows there's more than what Jeongguk has told him. Something as simple as a kiss wouldn't result in this, surely.

"And DB found out?"

Jeongguk shakes his head. "No. And then... And then I showed up at her door-"

"Gguk," Jimin sighs, a little disappointed for what he knows is to come.

So Jeongguk just shrugs. Can't defend himself.

"Did you at least tell her?" Jimin asks.

He doesn't need to answer. The guilt is written all over his face. Jimin closes his eyes. Sighs. Tips his head back to heavens, as asks anyone listening why they had to curse him with such an idiot for a best friend.

"What did I say, huh?" Jimin huffs. "Told you not to fuck her until you sorted your head out - not to go and fuck your head up even more and then fuck her again just for the fun of it-"

"Wasn't for the fun of it!" Jeongguk stresses. "Jimin, I- Oh fuck ." He puts down the shards of the display case he's been holding and rubs a palm over his face, pushing his hair back. He looks so fucking defeated, but Jimin thinks it kinda serves him right. "I've gone and fucking done it again."

Jimin doesn't want Jeongguk to clarify what he means by that.

And Jeongguk doesn't really want to admit it.

They both know exactly what Jeongguk's done.

Or more so, what his heart has done.

"Well then stop fucking her!" Jimin almost laughs. "Christ, Gguk. Do you seriously just never learn your lesson?"

"I know," he pouts, letting his body slouch against the sofa. "I know, I know. I didn't mean to. I just... I just wanted to be with her last night. Byeol . I wanted to see her. And I was gonna tell her, but she was already pissed off with me and so I was trying to fix things-"

"You can't fix things with sex ," Jimin shakes his, exasperated.

"Well," Jeongguk considers. "I kinda did."

"Gguk."

"Sorry," he grimaces, knowing that trying to make a joke of it all isn't the correct thing to do."I think she knows. She pretended that she didn't, but I know her, Minnie. Know how she works, how she excuses the bad behaviour of the people she cares about. She knows something happened."

"Then she deserves your honesty at the very least, Jeongguk," Jimin says. "Sooner rather than later."

Jeongguk frowns. Knows Jimin is right. Knows that the damage is already done. His bad choices have been made.

When he tries to study that afternoon, he can't.

When he tries to eat that evening, he can't.

When he tries to sleep at night, he can't.

All he can do is stare at the glitter on his forearm from where your head had been resting the night before.

The stars are hidden by clouds, tonight. Curtains open, the city lights leak into his room. Regretfully, Jeongguk thinks he won't be able to see the stars for a while. Too much cloud. Will take a while to clear.

Yet when he closes his eyes and is consumed by visions of you, it's like his mind is a telescope, and you're a galaxy reserved just for him.

His star girl.

But stars burn out; and Jeongguk doesn't know how much longer he has left.

Phone vibrating beneath his pillow, he almost considers ignoring it - but then hears the faint familiar rustle of paper on his sheets. 

A bird has fallen.

He reaches for his phone. Checks the screen. It's you. There's no real message, just a link to a youtube video. Some ASMR type thing, with a clickbait title. STRESS = 0% !! ULTIMATE REVISION BREAK ASMR TO HELP YOU SLEEP!! (no talking).

He takes the confirmation of you being awake to message you.

JK: are you free tomorrow?

You: why?

JK: don't be difficult, b. just wanna talk to you about something.

You: it can wait. no heavy talks until after your exam, okay?

It only confirms to him that you know . You have to. Wouldn't reply like that if you didn't. Doesn't make him feel any better.

JK: a bird fell, too.

You: it can wait, too.

JK: are you sure?

You: positive.

He almost locks his phone.

Tries his luck, instead.

JK: sunday, tomorrow

You: at least we know you'll pass your exam if they ask you about days of the week

JK: will you still come round?

He locks his phone, now. Doesn't wanna see your answer.

Doesn't get one.

You leave him on read.

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

[spotsupstuff]

Iterators, of course, aren't made capable of resting. They are here to work.

Even if biological to a degree, the components of the Hiveminds either take careful turns for a shut eye or they work themselves to death from exhaustion. Terrifying-, is Three Sparrows' opinion on that, -but they can't live any differently. Just like moths without mouths or crazed fish fighting against the streams of oceans, that's just how their Cycles are predetermined.

But there's these few rare days... Especially with the newer Iterators- those that are still chugging through life like newborn rain deer fawns, unsure in their existence, a little too vulnerable- when they slow down for a thorough, long debug session.

For the citizens this means a little dimmer day. A little bit of detoxification from screens as nonessential devices shut down or receive far too little power from the hearts of the Iterator. As those beats slow down and the energy that does get generated from them is more focused internally.

For her, as his Mechanic, this means an especially busy couple of days. Anxiety inducing ones, too.

First thing in the morning of the first day, Sparrows sends her charge a question- "how did the debug start up go?"- then remembers that the drama queen that is Caper of Euros does not wish to be bothered to formulate as horrendous things as whole words at this stage, because, in his words: "You don't understand just how *draining* it is to put together syllables in such a state!". So she adds a little unprofessional "doin good?" supplement message right after.

It takes unnaturally long for him to respond (twenty whole seconds!!!) with a singular checkmark. She breathes a sigh of relief and allows herself to go about her day now.

The city of Ales keeps relatively quiet. The typical churn of energy, cogs and thoughts of a behemoth beneath her feet is near silent even in the depths of the inner subway system. The traffic lights blink a little slower, the fake birds overhead sing just that tad bit louder. The children freed from school thanks to the low current bump into her by accident as they chase each other through the city square. Three Sparrows clutches her breakfast, gives the little rascals some mock chase with her fist waving in the air and then she sits down to finally scorf that food down.

First day is the hardest. This one is dedicated to check ups of the hearts, gravity generators and the memory arrays. All of that is functioning at its bare minimum right now and she better make use of that! Less thunderous beats for her body to weather even through the suit specialized for this, less frustrating fights against complete antigravity and less train of thoughts for her to derail by accidentally bumping into the softer bits of his mind.

She won't get to really interact with Euros today- or well... at least he won't be able to respond much to her day's worth of effort like he'd usually do. It's still strange to think of that. Running all around someone's body yet not actually properly interacting. This job forces a person through so many paradigm shifts... It gets exhausting to change one's understanding of simply *being* so many times.

So today she ensures his hearts are without a single scratch. That the Void Fluid trapped inside of the water is still spinning right (that part is always needlessly scary. the Void stuff can't be trusted, no matter how holy the preachers say it is, Three Sparrows on a Wire doesn't give a damn). She checks all the cables and tubes surrounding them, the antigravity generators solely dedicated to only this giant chamber all the while trying to keep her own little heart from panicking at the loud noise.

Manually she visits all the major generators sprinkled through the facility and runs diagnostics on the lesser ones through her watch. She amputates and treats the biological parts of the arrays that need it, tells hi to a sleepy yet determined Inspector that came to check it out, pries neuron flies out of weird places they somehow managed to wedge themselves into and takes a peek into Euros' mental state as per regulations.

She already knows his priority list won't make the demanded norms. Her own name shines at her from the first spot, forcing all too familiar self-blame to bloom in her chest. With a swipe of a finger, the screen disappears. Her final report will have lies in it again, then. Nobody can know.

At 23:11, fifteen hours since the beginning of the work day, Three Sparrows stumbles out of the stuffy biomechanical guts of her boyfriend without popping into the puppet chamber once absolutely destroyed.

"Oh, I always forget how sweet the evening air is. Void below, wow," she says, taking a deep breath before dragging herself home.

Aching limbs force her to skip normal dinner for easier-to-prepare and consume nutritional supplements, but they don't manage to stop her from making it to the daily family call. Or from quietly hacking into Euros' systems afterwards.

There's a spike of panic in the entire Hivemind, according to the live diagnostic program running on her watch and she looks on as his systems reach for the firewalls he unconsciously dropped alongside his damn heart rate (most likely, she has yet to catch the moment when he actually drops them). Three Sparrows can't help but grin to herself a little as she turns off her computer's cloaking *just* before the firewalls reactivate. The recognition of her IP address is instantaneous- telling by the sudden stop of Euros' frantic efforts at self-defense.

At least for a few seconds. Then he's rapidly purging her out and slamming the firewalls back into their place behind her. She barely manages to burst into laughter and her watch already pings with a new message. Message in question? Only reads a singular period.

But oh, those few pixels somehow manage to obtain all the dramatic affront, anger and disbelief a typical Euros rant would have. It only makes her laugh harder.

When she finally wills herself to stop, lest she gets a headache, she replies: "when will you finally remember to *not* become a sitting mouse for hackers during your debugging. you dumbass you!"

Euros replies with another period.

"watch out for yourself, ok? just bc im tots willing to break a guys face in the name of keeping your giant eight legged box butt safe doesnt mean im exactly itching for that kinda situation" "now good luck during the night. i gotta go take a five everything hurts"

Two periods and a second later, a heart.

Sparrows smiles at the screen a little, turns off her computer and climbs into the soft bed sheets.

The next day flies by a little easier. This one is dedicated to check ups of technologies related to production of the biological Hivemind members. There's quite a lot of those scattered through the whole body of Caper of Euros, but at least the hearts are beating a little faster today which means the gravity generators everywhere are stronger and that again means Sparrows gets to call upon an Inspector to hitch a ride with it for the whole day. No solo swimming in 0g this time!

All the production centres end up being more or less perfectly fine. Any damage caused by use is miniscule enough to not matter and be fixed naturally in a matter of days. As it should be with all Iterators out of their test run phases.

A small feeling of pride settles warmly behind her ribs. Another thing she can be almost certain to check off the long long list of her duties as a Mechanic, another Euros' step towards being completely self-dependent and, for the lack of biomechanical term on an Iterator scale, fully mature.

He's progressing despite small hiccups here and there and she couldn't be happier.

Though, one thing she will admit.

As she gives her goodbye to today's guide, Sparrows just can't wait for this day to be over. It won't be admitted aloud, especially where Euros could hear her, but she's starting to painfully miss their usual interactions.

Sure, today her interactions with him were... "closer" than yesterday, but it still wasn't it.

Another dissonance. Even being near something more closer to her level than the entirety of his physical body is not exactly a direct mutual interaction. The Inspector nuzzled to her, held her, clicked at her in some attempts at communication. And it was Euros, but... also just such a small piece of him.

So small, that it almost borders on meaningless. But it hurts to think of anything with such personality and role in the grand scheme of him as meaningless so she quickly shakes that thought out of her head.

It is strange. But she doesn't mind calling the *puppet* meaningless. That thing is what her heart yearns for now, whose embrace she's currently missing- its carmine coloration and big dark lenses are what her eyes are searching for. And still, the cynical and rational part of her dubs that piece useless without an issue.

Because the puppets are useful with their emptiness. The uselessness makes them precious, paradoxically enough.

She's even writing a paper on this subject, questioning if the existence of these masks or decoys- essentially inherent lies- are really so important. So naturally, her thoughts spiral further as she's walking back into his facilities during the third day.

Today is deep puppet chamber maintenance day. A whole day dedicated to the bullshit.

In her paper, Three Sparrows argues that puppets are installed more for the sake of the Anemon population more than the Iterators themselves. In the grand scheme of things, can it be said that these priorities will pay out?

Yes, certainly, there are aspects to puppets that are helpful for the Iterators themselves too. Mainly that the relatively little things are the central focus point of the Hivemind- a means for the entirety of the scattered person to come together and form an Individuality seamlessly.

'But,' she asks, 'isn't That a condition Created by The Puppet's Existence? If We direct Our Attention to the Iterator Inconvenient Sporadic Change, she was known to exist Outside of her Individuality Without Complications! Research shows that she performed just as well if not better in Her Duties than the other Iterators of Her Time Period- which, if I May remind The Reader Kindly, are some Monumental Names. Better output than that of Boreas' Blessing, Orion's Pathway and even The Dedicated Aftertaste of Disdain.

Her Processes proved to be Seamless, Direct, Quicker. Reports are Also Kind Enough to mention the Need for Maintenance- Be it Physical, Psychological or Emotional- was at a sweet Minimum.

If a Puppet of an Iterator Should not be Given, is it Possible that the Hivemind would find a Different, Healthier Way of Coming Together? Of My educated Opinion, I'd dare to Say Yes.

The Consciousness would have the Free Choice of expanding Outwards, to the Limits of the Superstructure, rather than Claustrophobically Inwards. This Change of Procedure would Potentially Result in Absence of These known Disorders that Plague Your Great Gifts to the World:'

Then there is also of course the benefit of pearl reading and printing, but really? Her computer doesn't need a whole person just to burn her a picture, song or some text into the surface of a pearl and then also read it back. This function of the puppets is a weakness if anything. Why not exchange the entire chamber setup for something like a series of pearl readers so they might as well multitask in this, too?

Euros certainly could be reading twenty pearls at once and burning information onto thirty other, for sure. Maybe that would sate his programmed hyperactivity at least a little before he gains access to his predetermined role as a Phone Operator Chief of the Eo group.

The puppets are just a ginormous fumble at optimization of the Iterator blueprint and that's that.

And still...

Three Sparrows climbs through the pipe into Caper of Euros' puppet chamber. This place is like another heart, despite its function being nothing like a real one. A hub of his mind, maybe. An important, precious piece of him, even if those epithets are forced onto it by circumstance.

Her feet hit the floor and the chamber brightens up just that bit to signal at least a piece of his attention is now dedicated to the happenings within the room, but stays deep carmine instead of turning light pink. That signals he's still working, just as she instructed him.

Overseers come and go to take a look at her, some stay to watch her. Understandable, since the puppet is slumped over in the middle of the floor, sitting with its eyes half closed- for once, he is the one frustratingly limited in his ability to interact with her properly even though she's right here.

"Good morning, Caps!" Sparrows cheerfully calls into the more or less empty room, giving the Overseers a quick salute in greeting. They reply with quick spins of their tendrils, the room itself greets her back with a pleased purr. One that she can feel shaking her legs even through the metal soles of her boots as she walks over to today's main point of interest.

Kneeling next to it, she rests a hand over its chest in support. "Alright. As always, we'll get through the detachment sequence and you can go fully back to finishing off the debugging. How close are you to being done?"

Something whirrs and then a projection appears on the wall in front of her of a progress bar. 87%.

"Nice! You are getting faster. Come on now, then."

During a deep maintenance of the puppet, it is advised to nearly fully disconnect it from the rest of the structure. The purpose of that is to give the systems some rest, but also to avoid stressing out or making the Hivemind uncomfortable by sticking a hand into what it perceives as its very personal very own chest.

The first step is for the Hivemind to pull back from the body, to avoid the shock of forceful extraction. Once that is done, the Iterator disconnects the umbilical arm from the back and allows the Mechanic to slowly push it away. Carefulness is needed during this- the arm contains cables and tubes, acting like an umbilical cord for an unborn offspring in some animals.

The baby analogy never fails to make her skin crawl. While Anemons conceive children without such things, it's still so... personal. It stirs unwanted feelings inherent to intelligent organic beings, the need to look after a child. These puppets are like stillborns. Stuck within the womb for the "mother" to use as an extension of its being.

That is not a matter easily pondered.

The next step, after the bundle of crucial cords safely rests on the ground, is to disconnect the umbilical cables from the back of the puppet's head.

One by one, Sparrows disconnects them. And with the last, Euros' puppet goes slack against her hand. Quite unnerving, that. It always makes her heart jump even though she knows better than to worry.

She secures the umbilical cables to the arm and pulls back to take a look at him, both arms supporting his shoulders. The head lolls, eyes still open a little yet unseeing. Something whispers that's not right, so she guides his eyelids closed for him.

...Iterators can't sleep. But the useless piece of Euros looks like he does and suddenly she can't help but feel like this is the most important thing in existence.

The something in her shifts, the something that is yearning, loving, that wants to take care of another and keep him safe from the sharp world outside.

Sparrows caves. Gathers the puppet into her arms, rests his head against her shoulder. The chamber lowly, but sharply whirrs. He's probably annoyed that she has decided to be all cuddly and sweet now when he can't be fully present for it. What little consciousness he can still muster in the puppet presents itself in the tiniest nuzzle of his face into her neck.

Such a small gesture, yet it steals her breath away. She hugs him... it.. closer, cheek presses against his forehead, a hand moves to caress the side of his face.

She marvels at the feeling of holding him. Questions why she is left stumped by an almost empty thing.

He's sleeping, face buried against her neck, says the something- he is awake, just a little drowsy, staring at her with seven eyes across the room, replies reason.

She cradles him in her lap… he's so thin and light, the feeling begs her to keep him safe until he wakes up again, he wouldn't be able to defend himself against a predator-! He holds her in his center, so small and insignificant compared to his mind breaking vastness.. her life span so minute compared to what he is yet to live through. Someone of his caliber wouldn't find a challenge in simply deleting her like a line of code.

'The only thing keeping me truly safe are the taboos woven in their genes,' says the cynical piece of mind, jaded by decades of unkind life and all tired, entertaining the absolute worst of scenarios for the sake of a warning. 'I couldn't be in a safer place than here, at his mercy, in this artificial world where he might as well be a true god,' says the lovesick heart backed up by years of experience, making her arms tighten in a hug.

She caresses his arm, taking a note of the bit too dry skin, created similarly enough to her own to bring comfort of familiarity, only to be snatched away again when there's no softness of flesh beneath.

'That's just a Generation 2 thing,' the knowledgeable mind shrugs it off.

And the more primal worrywart of a heart panics about it as it applies organic understanding of things to it. Remembering the few times Sparrows was allowed to touch Boreas' puppet, the many times Zephyr pulled her against her side for the night. Those are his family members! They are padded with something pliable-

Cushioning of Generation 1 to combat possible gravity generator outages. There's more certainty in the Iterator engineering now, Euros has no need for those. He's better off than either of them. He's safer and, terrifyingly, many times more loved than them.

She sighs, concerned and-

"Sparrows?"

Ah, that seems to be the limit for how long Euros is willing to take the actionless silence. The voice is relatively quiet considering it always echoes through the little room from the speakers seated in the corners of the ceiling. It's kind of sluggish. Not entirely out of the concentration of debugging. The Overseers have come closer.

"Sorry, I was just thinking."

"Sure you were. Your face went on quite the journey there. Why were you frowning so much?"

She considers. "...dissension of... wants and reality, I guess."

"Well then don't go doing that when I can't feasibly help out. Same with the cuddles I want in on that."

Three Sparrows only rolls her eyes in amusement at that and goes back to work, this time with the Overseers watching her a bit more intently. It's a little uncomfortable, but she can't blame him for worrying when she does so constantly.

Later that day, when the sun hides away, her gaze lingers in random places.

In the kitchen at the table with one chair, one plate and one cup of tea. She stares at the too much space on the couch in the little living room, one toothbrush waiting at the sink, the empty place beside her in the bed.

Perhaps an Iterator puppet isn't the only empty thing in her life.

[climbthemountain2020]

Flame of Autumn - Chapter 2

Part 3/25 Also on Ao3!

*Mild TW for extremely brief violence.*

Eris

He hated the Hewn City. And more than that, he hated the fucking Night Court. Rhysand and his worthless “inner circle” as he dubbed them. Pretentious assholes who paraded around like they were better than everyone else, despite leaving their very court to its own ruinous spirit.

Of course, Eris made the effort to be cordial, if not somewhat aloof. Sometimes. Eris knew the importance of keeping Rhys and his bat collection in his favor. Their alliance, though fraught with taunting and toeing the line, was vital to him one day overthrowing Beron and becoming High Lord. Truthfully, he could admit to himself and only himself that he was somewhat jealous of Rhysand.

Eris knew that Rhysand wore the same mask he did. A cool, cruel demeanor allowed him to keep things in check, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that the High Lord of Night was not that way with his family. Eris could see what his life might have been like if he had people he truly trusted, a family who loved him. He shook the thought out of his head as that trained voice taunted him: No weakness. No consequences.

He straightened his coat a final time as he waited in the stone-walled room for Rhysand and his party to arrive. It wouldn’t do to have him thinking such thoughts once they arrived. Though his mental shields had been honed for hundreds of years, Rhysand could easily tear them apart if he felt particularly cruel. Best to not tempt fate with any sort of redeeming thoughts about the great bat and his gang of merry followers.

He rapped his long fingers against the table in front of him, and only years of training his reactions stopped him from flinching when the massive stone doors abruptly burst open.

Always so theatrical.

Rhysand arrived with Feyre, Cassian, and Azriel in tow. No Morrigan. Not unexpected. Perhaps she’d still tell them one day of the truth behind their encounters, but until she was ready to face that truth herself, he would play the villain. He was a natural.

“So Eris, I hear congratulations are in order.”

How in the fucking cauldron could news have possibly already traveled here? Inwardly he rolled his eyes and outwardly he projected a bored demeanor.

“For?” He refused to give an inch, ever, where the Night Court was concerned.

“We hear a wedding is coming up. A lovely Autumn bride for the fireling.” It appeared Rhysand and Feyre had not told their warriors. They worked quickly to school their shock, but Eris registered it anyway.

“Yes, I’m told she’s wonderful. About the reason I am here today–”

“What? Not excited for your own wedding, Eris? I would think this betrothal is already going much better than your last.” He fought to not grind his teeth, and he watched Azriel tense visibly across the table. So, no truth yet, then.

“My betrothal is going fine. I am not here about that.”

Cassian smiled. “You were certainly willing when you were propositioning my mate.”

Gods, were they ever going to let this go?

“As I have said before, and will say again, I saw her power, and I thought it would be usefully honed in Autumn. I have offered my congratulations to you many times since.” He projected as much exhaustion with the topic as he could into his voice.

More like I saw that your High Lord would mistreat her then hone her into a weapon, but I digress. Seems to have worked out fine.

“I’ve found traces of stores of what appear to be faebane in the oceanside manor.” This stopped them. He had known it would. “The stores were no longer present, but they left behind traces of the stone used for shackles and the powder dusted on arrows as were used in the war with Hybern. I don’t have any ideas where they might have been moved to, but I haven’t seen traces of them within the Forest House.”

The males nodded, then Feyre spoke up. “Do you think Beron is hoarding them with a purpose in mind? His own safety, or an attack on others?”

“My guess would be that he is keeping them to keep tabs on them, as he does all of his belongings. I think if he wanted to use them, or had any use for them, he would have already done so. I would wager he thinks if he keeps them close, that no one can use them against him.” Feyre nodded.

“You’ll keep tracking them and let us know if and where they resurface?” He nodded. He far preferred working with Feyre. Despite their history, she had softened to him after the war, after becoming a mother.

She was young, but practical. She displayed a haughty aura in situations that called for it, but she wasn’t unnecessarily cruel in the way Rhysand could often be. He respected her more for the things she’d been through, even as a human.

“I will. Are there plans in place yet for an attack on Beron?”

Rhysand responded this time. “Our spies tell us that this is not an ideal time for an attack. I must agree. If he is staying close to the Forest House and hoarding faebane, it would be prudent to wait until circumstances change to move forward with any planning.” Eris tried not to deflate visibly. It was the same every time for the past few years. One step forward, two steps back. He took the opportunity to stand.

“In that case, that concludes my business here.” Rhysand stood and smirked at him wickedly.

“See you at the wedding, fireling.”

Matilda

This region of Autumn was stunning, the leaves changing like fires racing through the trees as they passed in the carriage. The ride had been very bumpy, so she hadn’t been able to sleep. Not that she’d felt comfortable enough with her uncle to sleep near him anyway. She wished she’d been able to stow away a weapon or two for her journey. Indeed, she’d planned to, but the servants burst in before dawn’s first light today to shove her into embroidered dresses and rip at her hair until it sat in a coronet upon her head.

She sighed lightly as she looked again at the passing scenery. At least she would be seeing new parts of Autumn. She hadn’t been to the Forest House since she was very young, perhaps in her late teens. She remembered the gaggle of rowdy redheaded boys, all roughly around her age and younger, and the sad, eternal eyes of the Lady of Autumn. She recalled with vivid clarity the savage and cold face of Beron Vanserra.

“You’ll be on your own tonight. I will be expected to eat with the family of the High Lord, and you won’t be welcome.” She snorted.

“A female? Unwelcome in Autumn? How unexpected.” His hand shot out to slap her and she reared back, still unfamiliar even after two years with a male raising his hands to her.

“Enough of that, you wretch. You’d better get your tongue in check before you enter the Forest House. Eris and any other member of the family will have you killed for speaking in such a way.”

“Why will it matter to you?” She sneered. “You’ll have your coin and be gone, spending my father’s money.” For a second he looked like he might hit her again, but instead he settled for calling her an ungrateful bitch beneath his breath and turning back to look at his letters.

“Once I am gone, you’ll have no one to protect you.” She fought every single impulse to roll her eyes at her uncle’s feeble claim to have ever protected her from anything. “You’d better hope you can spread your legs and produce an heir with your mouth shut. Otherwise, I’m sure Beron will find a more suitable use for you.”

She winced at the implication. She knew she needed to rein it in before arriving. She truly was being dumped into a den of snakes, and she easily could be killed for a slip of the tongue.

She looked back to the beautiful woods.

I wonder if I might be able to wander the woods here. Will he even let me outdoors?

She let her thoughts wander again to what he might be like.

Would they share a bed? Would he hit her? Ignore her? Pretend she didn’t exist at all?

She had the vaguest recollection of Eris from her visit long ago. He’d been impeccably mannered and quiet for the shortest bit of time he was even there, and then he had been sent off only a day into her trip. While the other boys had been running wild, Eris had sat at the table and displayed incredible etiquette for a fae of no more than twenty. He’d walked with an almost undetectable limp, and she remembered that his hair was a beautiful shade of Autumn red–she’d even been jealous of the wine red color against her auburn orange.

She wondered if he might have grown to be handsome, or if he would now bear the vicious features of Beron as an adult.

As she rested her head against the window to watch the passing trees, she couldn’t get the haunted eyes of the Lady of Autumn, shining starkly in her memories, out of her mind.

[misscammiedawn]

Story Time - Call Me By My Name(s)

Story time are a series of personal life story posts about our history and experiences. We make an effort to voice them but the full text (and some images) are underneath.

It's late spring 2019 and we are standing in the lobby of a local hotel. It's long past 2am. Likely closer to 4am. We are wearing our movie theatre manager uniform, fresh from another lengthy shift that goes past 1am. The odor of popcorn clings to us like a phantom.

One of our two closest friends is mopping the lobby. We had stopped by on the way home to visit him at work. Our mind is drifting as we talk. Our imagination is conjuring images of streets and buildings half a world away.

"By the way [my husband] and I started calling you Camden when [your wife] isn't around. I didn't know if you would mind."

He said it so casually. Though it was the most natural thing in the world. They likely had no concept of how cataclysmic that moment was. For the first time in our three decades on this planet someone had given us permission to accept a name that we dared not claim ownership of.

It was offered without thought. Without expectation. Without cost.

Nothing could ever be the same after that moment.

And he was just mopping floors. Unaware of the gift they had just given us.

This conversation took place half a year before we formally came out of the closet. Those in our inner most circle; people who were closer than blood; were aware by now that we were closeted. It was hardly a well guarded secret.

Our chosen name was not difficult to guess either, as we shall soon learn.

But in that moment it came as a sobering surprise all the same.

Our two closest friends. Our family recognized us as a woman and without being asked, without being told; knew the name of that woman was Camden [Dawn].

(Rest of text below readmore)

-

The name Camden was first whispered into existence in 2001; on a Sonic The Hedgehog online community of all places.

The community had a fun little gimmick where everyone's screen names were attached to a character in an ongoing shared fiction that represented the message board. Every time the theme of the community changed, even for April Fools, it was treated as happening to our characters in this shared fiction.

We were young. It was silliness for the sake of silliness.

The admins and mods were a ruling council in charge of the "city" and its inhabitants.

One of the admins was our childhood best friend. Gossiping about the community had become one of our biggest bonding points and we would often tell her what was going on in the community when she was too busy with school to browse for herself.

We cannot recall if the term "Lackey of the MoFo" came from others or was something we branded ourselves with but it stuck.

Our character within the shared fiction was the Jarvis to their Avengers. The straight man. The butt of jokes.

In a world of loony toons, fursonas and Sonic OCs we were the normal and non-powered human.

Craig the Lackey.

In story he was a normal kid. Raised in an orphanage, which says interesting things about how we viewed our parents after our stint of homelessness. His characterization was that he was "sane" within that wacky world, that word, "sane", came up often in posts about him.

He worked hard, was the butt of jokes and just repressed it with a smile on his face. Took it and kept on marching forward. Much like the person writing his posts.

He was kind, helpful, well behaved, stuck close to authority, did as he was supposed to. He was a good boy.

But every now and again when we browsed the community we would get upset. Early signs of our BPD no doubt. Moments where our repression couldn't stick and we lashed out.

People noted this was what happened when we got Stressed.

and as everything that happened on this board was lore, Stressed Craig was added into the roster of characters. An alter ego who we turned into when we got too stressed out.

The term we used on the board was "ego shard". Alter would have been more appropriate but we were decades away from being diagnosed with DID at the time.

Of course. This isn't about our disorder. This is about our gender.

We had mentioned that forum events were canon within the lore of the ongoing story in the forum, correct?

2001 was when the Pretty Sailor Soldier Sickness event happened.

Every person on the board was encouraged to make a new account with a Sailor Moon inspired version of their normal character with the lore saying that a virus had spread through the forum turning everyone into a magical girl. Those who pretended they were immune were mocked in posts and written to be in denial in the lore.

We created our avatar ourselves using an SNES sprite of Sailor Jupiter.

We named her Camden.

Camden, Stressed and Craig made up the first original characters we ever wrote. They were all "me" in every real sense. We did not lie. The character we played was just ourselves. The guy who had to work hard to keep a roof over his head while he struggled to pay the bills. Not yet 20 and already with the weight of the world on his shoulders. The stressed version was something buried that was yet to be unearthed.

The Sailor version?

Why did it feel easier to write her? More fun?

We depicted her as an alcoholic. She was angry. She didn't care about reputation or having to do work. But she was desperately lonely and unfulfilled. She felt like she was living half a life. She knew she was not Craig and somewhere in her heart that made her feel the deepest sorrow.

We could only enjoy the pockets of gender euphoria sandwiched in the truth that we were a man. We were a good boy. We were not allowed to be angry about our situation. We were not allowed to lie.

She represented a lie. A version of us that was everything that existed in our hearts that was not allowed to come to the surface. The lie she represented was that the mask we wore, Craig, was a performance. The obedient and respectful son who we needed to be to avoid rejection and pain and poverty.

...but we had already been rejected, hadn't we? Holed up in our eminent domain, alone in the world spare for the people in our computer and at work?

Pretending to be him didn't protect us at all. Did it?

...aren't you tired of being nice? Don't you want to go a little apeshit...?

The Sailorness event ended. All the events ended. People went back to their regular posting.

But we kept the Sailor account. Why not? In the lore the Sailorness Sickness had been quarantined to its own district. But we did not recall the virus creating clones. So if Camden and Craig were truly two people then we'd have to justify that in canon.

We'll spare you the story but the key thing to note is that since 2003 until we left the forum in 2012 the three versions of us were one. Born as Craig, yes, but converted to Camden via the Sailor Sickness and as there was no cure, Camden she remained. The Craig and Stressed after this point were psychic projections that even Camden did not know she was transmitting. Craig continued to be the "main" account the entire time. But as we typed each post we knew all too well he was just a projection of Camden. Someone who still, to the end of her time in that story, believed that Craig was the one who got to live The Life. Someone who always felt like she was not allowed to express herself or become or exist.

If the posts did not exist in archive it would be difficult to believe we had written such direct metaphors for our gender and dissociation 20 years before embracing either one.

-

Camden stuck with us. Like a longing presence that itched within our mind. She made no sense outside of the context of that one forum and yet the idea of her remained bouncing within us. Begging for recognition.

Begging to be the one with The Life.

Her chance would come and then be denied when our first World of Darkness tabletop campaign was being prepared. We were so nervous about this new and scary hobby and wanted to play it safe. Play a character we knew.

Camden seemed as good a pick as any. Something about being able to present live at a table was alluring in ways our egg brain could not comprehend. We pitched the character Camden Dawn.

Our wife did not like this idea. She stated discomfort at the idea of us playing a female character... and... though the gravity of this event would ripple through years, though ultimately this discomfort that never truly went away would contribute to the ending of the marriage, I shall not dwell upon the negatives or speak ill of someone I loved for most of my life.

I can not assume her motivations and find it unfair to editorialize over our past like this.

Suffice... Camden was put back inside and instead Tyler Dawn was the character played. Camden was made to become his older sister. A non-playable character.

Tyler's plot could fill its own Story Time segment, particularly in how he was a window that the Friends-we-called-Family used to witness our gender identity and potentially our undiagnosed dissociative disorder.

Years after the tabletop game had ended and we had run our own sprawling tabletop game about mad science and isolation; Camden started featuring in our custom playable characters on mobile games, Pokemon Go being the most recognizable example.

We were compartmentalizing our gender expression and identity heavily in this portion of our life. Much of it is still not fully clear this far into therapy but Dawn had come into being and had her online life within online kink communities. Her own name had not yet been selected, though she had a few she cycled through such as Sapphire and Honoria.

Cammie had long been accepted as this immature ball of affection that was called Kitty, so normalized as part of our general expression that no one even questioned the fact that the pet name only felt appropriate during certain moods.

Wynn, though not recognized as her own entity at the time, was identified as "Miss Manager"; the movie theatre boss that friends would see us transform into when our phone went and we were forced to put out fires, sometimes literal.

It was the Camden/Craig divide that remains the hardest to spot as more and more as the years went on the repressed gender identity became harder to ignore and the South London boy who acted the way his father expected was away from his roots, culture and origins.

It makes those pockets of time where we could type our name as Camden and play a woman on the privacy of our cellphone all the more comforting.

Our tiny little Family of friends could see the screenshots and trade requests. It was never supposed to be a secret. It was just private. As not to trigger that ever present discomfort our wife displayed at our female presentation.

So it would go on.

And then the other couple in our little circle began calling us Camden.

...and we couldn't go back...

To this day we do not know why our ex-wife resisted the name so hard. When we went to an event in 2019 presenting as Camden for the first time, she argued that the name itself is what bothered her and even pitched Kitty as an alternative.

Maybe she resented the privacy of Camden? That she was a name and a part of our presentation that she was not privy to? As I mentioned... at this point the line between Craig and Camden was a blur. Again. I will never know. Gender and identity were topics we were not able to be fully honest about that side of discovery. I truly have no idea how it looked from the outside and have, after divorce, apologized to her for our inconsistent and unfair behavior; noting the fact we cannot tell how fair we were even capable of being given the hidden nature of our disorder.

Even still.

The first time our Friends who were Family spoke our name was love and recognition.

...

The day she called us "Camden" was the day our marriage truly ended.

We have spent a lot of time turning over that event in our head. Each alter viewing the memory from their own perspective and putting their own spin on it. We have recalled it so many times that there's no way it is a factual representation of what happened anymore.

She wanted us to tell her what to do. What to say. To find the right words.

A concept so many who denied our gender have tried and failed in the years since we came out. To learn the language and perform the act of acceptance. Not change the way they thought. Change the way they behaved.

Maybe it's unfair to hold someone to that standard but we made it clear in the argument that lead to the event. We couldn't tell her what to say or how to behave. We told her that hearing the name Camden made us happy and feel recognized and comfortable. That we wouldn't force it but it was lovely when it is offered.

Maybe the way Camden remembers it is the true way and we used the wrong words, failed to bridge the gap.

Maybe the way Wynn remembers it is right and we were callously twisting the knife, refusing to let her off the hook or give her an easy out.

Maybe Cammie is right and we were panicked and trying to placate and were too terrified to stand up for ourselves.

It doesn't matter.

The result is the same.

"Camden!"

Funny.

In that hotel lobby the name was spoken so naturally and normally. Like of course the name of the person standing here was Camden. It's always been Camden. Didn't you know that?

The universe realigned itself to ensure that truth was sealed into all of time and space. History rewrote itself to make true the entity within this heart who over an imperceptible shifting of states had replaced the entity whose name matched our birth documents. Craig was a mask. He always was.

A spell had been cast in that lobby in the middle of a summer night and even though we consider Camden as an identity to have been created in our late teens. The 4th alter in our system. She became our the face we wished to reflect to the public. In a way she always was. Ever since she emerged to handle things when our family kicked us out. The body just needed some time to catch up.

On that October afternoon when our spouse spat those same syllables at us. Demanding to know if it was what she wanted us to hear; a different spell was cast. History shifted again and this time bonds that felt immutable were broken. The past changed to reflect the fact that there was no future.

...it's so sad how quickly that can happen. Hearing a single sentence or reading a a few words can just shatter a heart and ruin everything.

We left her a week later. Started going by Camden full time within 3 months.

...the Friends who were Family we left a couple years later. The spell that time was "I do not want to be bloodbond, family-style close." and I'll be fair to the man who wrote it... I legitimately do not believe he knew those words broke us. That it made us feel like that powerless 17 year old being tossed out on the streets again. A fucking stupid reminder that even to those we considered Family we were expendable, disposable and ultimately unwanted.

That's my baggage to bear. Not his.

Either way, I couldn't honor his wish. I still can't. So I did the only thing my heart could tolerate. I left.

I'll always be grateful for the fact that the pair of them cast that first spell that allowed us to claim the name we so desperately longed to hold. Maybe we never needed that external validation and recognition but it felt like we did. It meant the world and so much more.

To us that original magic spell was the most dramatic shift of our life. People knew us and loved us and trusted us so much that they could see our hidden face and knew it by name. But it was spoken so casually. So thoughtlessly.

Just a "by the way" inserted into a conversation. One of hundreds of casual reminders of affection at a time when they were needed.

It sincerely wasn't a big deal to them.

Then again, in 2019 "it wasn't a big deal to them" was this magical and beautiful thing. That's just how much they loved us. How could they see us any other way?

But... maybe it wasn't a big deal to them and he honestly had no idea how big of a deal it was to us.

I guess we'll never know.

[quinloki]

#JFC this is the first time in my life I've been ambushed#wait no second time#that was three guys with bats

HELLO? Story time???

Okay, so I want to start this with, I was neither hospitalized, nor like permanently scarred, and - I guess in true Quin insanity - I ended up with three friends.

Anyway, I lived in what people called a nice neighborhood, it was about as inner city as the small city knew how to get, but it was built up for the big factory boom back in the day. Cookie-cutter houses (meaning they had similar/identical floorplans), schools within easy distance, and a couple small parks scattered around.

This made it easier for workers to get to work, kids to get to school, and there were ample places to chill after school while you waited for dad to get home and dinner to be ready.

Fast forward some decades to my time, and some of the smaller parks were mostly forgotten. Not completely decrepit, but not really used. One of these places was like a block from my house, and when I didn't want to be at home, I'd go walk there.

Anyway, my... 10th? 11th? grade of high school I had a letterman's jacket from my school by then so it wasn't my freshman year, but I put that on and headed down to that park. To get to it from my house you walked through a VERY narrow fenced pathway that was extra dark because of all the trees.

And that's where it happened.

Three guys, I forget if they had bats or pipes, I just remember it was metal. I wanna say aluminum bats, cause our factories weren't metal ones. I took a couple hits, hate to say I did *not* get any licks in, but once I swore it stopped the fight.

These guys were waiting for a guy. 15/16 year old me absolutely did NOT have the voice they were expecting.

It went from an ambush to an impromptu medical questionnaire. I don't think I've had so many apologize to me before or since, honestly. I got a couple gnarly bruises from it, but no concerning swelling, no breaks, etc. We were all pretty buddy buddy by the time all was said and done, and they even walked me back to my house just in case.

One went to school with me, the other two didn't. I didn't ask who they were waiting for, but the why had to do with some guy beating on his girl, who was someone's sister out of the three of them. (I got the why free of charge cause they were apologizing and explaining themselves, like yeah, okay, be bloody sure next time y'all, goddamn.)

I was such a klutz I had bruises and shit all the time, so no one even asked, and none of the hits had been to my face, so /shrug/. We were kind of sort of friends for the rest of the school year, but I couldn't even tell you his name, just that he was a senior at the time.

Far and away it wasn't my only fight, but it was the only one that was so one-sided.

But there you go ^_^

[voloslobotomyservice]

get to know your tav!

tagged by @auspex-author and @lolthslover (thank you!) sorry it took me so long!

meet Divya (she/her), asmodeous tiefling, way of the four elements monk

what is your tav’s…

favorite weapon? her hands (both in unarmed strikes and spells)

style of combat? a mixture of spells from a close-ish distance and throwing punches/kicks. also more defensive? she didn’t learn combat before becoming tadpoled, as she never really wanted to be a fighter.

most prized possession? considering she had no possessions when she lived in the church, she had nothing but the clothes on her back for around eight years.

deepest desire? to become a monk at the temple of ilmater in the city of baldur’s gate.

guilty pleasure? she was not allowed to partake in any guilty pleasures while living in the monastery, but now she can do things like eat a cookie or drink wine or mess around with Wyll without feeling too much religious guilt afterwards.

best-kept secret? before she went to serve in elturel’s church of ilmater, her mother revealed to her that she was not her father’s child. that is why she lacks the tiefling’s signature infernal eyes.

greatest strength? she stays cool, calm, and collected in the face of danger. always thinks before she acts, and tries to limit her damage to others around her.

fatal flaw? she has spent so many years taking on the pain of others, that she doesn’t know how to truly grapple with her own. from elturel’s descent into avernus, being shunned from her church of ilmater, becoming separated from her family, and now being tadpoled, it’s a surprise that she’s about to keep her head on straight. this does eventually boil over, though, and Divya is unable to handle her heavy emotions on her own. (maybe I should write about it? hm yeah that would be fun)

favorite scent? whatever cologne Wyll’s wearing

favorite spell/cantrip? fist of unbroken air. bad guy always go wheee.

pet peeve? when people don’t try to understand the pain some people go through or just dismiss it entirely

bad habit? tends to pick at her nails if she’s anxious/stressed, usually paired with trouble falling asleep

hidden talent? not a talent, but her thumbs are double jointed. gave Shadowheart quite the scare when she first showed them off.

leisure activity? the Forgotten Realms equivalent of tai-chi and yoga, she uses these practices to ground herself and find inner peace

favorite drink? a monk? drinking? you can’t be serious! arabellan red

comfort food? her mother used to make this delicious lamb stew. Gale has tried to replicate it, but hasn’t succeeded yet. mostly because lamb is hard to find.

favorite person(s)?

Wyll: not only is he handsome, but he seems to have a good head on his shoulder and a positive attitude (for the most part). He will also (usually) think before he acts.

Karlach: though they are fairly polar opposite when it comes to their personalities and the way they handle combat, opposites attract, and they work very well together.

Gale: his knowledge intrigues her, she enjoys having long conversations with him about whatever he’s thinking about at that moment in time simply because it’s entertaining.

favored display of affection? quality time, for sure. it’s one of the reasons she and Wyll get as close as they do — he’s always in her party 😉 also physical affection, but preferably behind closed doors or behind big boulders because she gets embarrassed easily

fondest childhood memory? the first time her parents took her to the church of ilmater

anything else you’d like to share?

Divya is a little socially awkward. only speaking to others about their pain and sorrows for around eight years has left her with little to say when her party members come by and have a chat. she is a much better listener than talker.

Her biggest insecurity is her vitiligo. Growing up, the other children in school would call her a cow, which also made her insecure in her body image. She doesn’t eat too much because of it, and up until the events of the game, had most of her body covered to hide her pale spots. If anyone asked about her face, she’d say she was a victim of an acid attack.

She and Darcy, another tiefling tav of mine, were friends when they were children. Darcy is four/five years older than Divya, so she was only eight when Darcy was kidnapped from Elturel. She often wonders if she’ll ever see her friend again.

The Church of Ilmater in Elturel cast her out after the city’s descent into Avernus. They did not want anyone resembling devils in their halls.

Wyll is the first person she has ever been romantically involved with. Here are a few fics about their relationship:

To A Wild Rose - Wyll (successfully) rizzing up Divya

Just A Kiss - Divya and Wyll’s first kiss shared at the camp party

Show Me How - Wyll gives Divya some… pleasure (nsft)

Tagging @rolansrighthorn @dustdeepsea and @my-favourite-zhent give me some tea on your tavs!!! (only if you want to tho uwu )

[haikyuucollective]

Part 1/? - The "World" and His "Star"

As I mentioned having multiple parts to this discussion in the introduction post, I'd like to elaborate a bit. Within my mind palace, I've organized the five parts to this discussion as follows: the introduction, two entries for Akaashi, one for Bokuto, and then the final one concluding with how their relationship develops after the timeskip. I hope you'll all bear with me as I try to make sense of the hastily done notes scattered across my brain.

To start off for Akaashi, id like for us to time travel back to the year 2008, when it all began. Its currently the time in Japan where middle schoolers are now choosing the prospective high schools that they are interested in attending, and thirteen year old Akaashi Keiji is stuck; specifically, between two different schools: Suzumeoka and Fukurodani Academy.

Now that we've set the scene, it's time to unpack. We already know from the first page in volume 39 that Akaashi is a diligent student, stating from his own opinion that he worked as hard as he could and following directions as spoken to him. This, paired with the fact that he had gotten a scholarship to a renowned private school such as Fukurodani Academy, speaks small but significant volumes for his character. Aside from his academic behavior, Akaashi also mentions how he "played in a way that would upset the fewest of" his "teammates and coaches"(furudate 331), giving us a glimpse at how underneath his usually calm exterior, he valued the emotions and opinions of other s. It also showed us his passiveness towards volleyball before he met Bokuto. This is especially highlighted when he proceeds to say how he "didn't particularly like or dislike volleyball either"(furudate 331).

Being the writer that he is, it's clear that Furudate made these facts immediate within the first opening panels of the chapter in order to speak their importance; its commin knowledge how first impressions, from any angle, are extremely valuable. This may have not been the first time we've seen Akaashi, but its the first time we hear his inner monologue; its what we see in the starting sequence that's setting up for the rest of the chapter, it also being the final one of the volume. Because of this, I believe that we are supposed to take these facts about Akaashi into major accounts when we slowly start to learn more about his character.

Almost exactly after his opening sentences, Akaashi is invited by a suspected classmate to go check out a high school city tournament that was taking place nearby. It's at this tournament that Akaashi sees Bokuto for the first time and falls hook, line, and sinker.

Citations

Furudate, Haruichi. "Haikyu!!" Shounen Jump, April 4th 2019, vol. 37 Chapter 331

[cuntycassandra]

A Glance Through The Hourglass

Summary: Unbeknownst to everyone, Sebastian Smythe knew how it felt to look out into a colourful world and see nothing but grey. It wasn’t something he shared with most, something he hid through his promiscuous image, something he planned to take to his close-calling grave, but when his plans to rid himself of his burdens and inner aches failed, he was tossed back to Dalton’s walls with a new image and perception, one nobody, not even he, seemed to understand.

Kurt doesn’t know if he wants to understand, but after finding out he and Sebastian have a lot more in common than he thought, he may not have much of a choice.

'Hey Bas I'm meeting up with a friend to grab a coffee in J commons. You coming?’

Jeff's simple question seemed to knock his heart into an irregular rhythm, and a familiar tremble rupture it's way through his neck and wither through his sore muscles.

His doctors had said such occurrences were to be expected after quite a traumatic event; the panic, the need for constant clarification, and the lack of trust. His mind had only just adjusted to the nauseating fact that dozens of people were now aware of the internal pain the sixteen year old had been holding secretly so close to his heart for over six years, and especially within the last six months.

The shrink had said that a natural reaction to Sebastian's situation would be to consistently worry over control, and furthermore over the jurisdiction of the action itself, it was completely estranged to Sebastian, not only as somebody who had held onto composure like a lifeline his entire existence, but the professional terminology and long winded diagnoses the doctors had been using barely made any sense, leaving the teenager to scrounge for whatever scraps of information he could yank together.

His new therapist had also explained that although his mind would feel as though it were travelling through a ‘bustling metropolis of thoughts’, most bad but few good, his brain would pick an associative notion or memory to focus on specifically, due to the fact that the human brain wasn’t capable of doing much else, no matter how much Sebastian insisted it felt as if his mind were New York City central compartmentalised, pretty much all of the time.

Unfairly, after reassessing Jeff's friendly text message, Sebastian's busied brain had eventually settled upon the fresh image of his mother, waking him gently to take his painkillers and presenting him with a scarily similar question the morning before he had returned to school, a little over a week ago.

He couldn't quite remember exactly how she had articulated the phrase, but he knew she had been meeting with his Aunt Anneliese and very predominantly offered their company to him, insisting his father’s twin sister was desperate to see her 'favourite nephew', a similar joke to that of something Jeff would say.

It was a simple tease in an attempt to get a smile out of her 'sickly' son, especially considering Sebastian was his Aunt's only nephew, but instead of filling him with brief laughter, the joke had left him feeling as if he were suddenly surrounded by confusion and disassociation- his mother had never made such a jested comment before, she was a surgeon, usually so firm and serious to match her consequential occupation, simply not wired to crack jokes with her teenager.

He couldn't help but scoff as he recounted the thought, a pathetic teary scoff that held no merit of attitude, but instead of clear confusion in disguise. He knew he shouldn't be mulling over why both of his parents had suddenly changed in his presence, it was pitifully obvious. After his father had found his only son bleeding at the bottom of the large oak tree in their lavish backyard, and his mother had been pulled out of surgery to see her own son being rushed through the double doors at the end of the hallway, still scrubbed in and with no explanation as to what had happened since she’d left for work that evening, there was no reason to wonder as to why they were suddenly showering him in attention, they had almost lost him, and must've felt like it was all their fault.

It wasn't...it wasn't their fault at all, and the simple thought that his distracted yet loving parents were blaming themselves for Sebastian's attempt to take his own life had brought him to juvenilised sobbing throughout the first few nights of recovery. They were trying so hard, trying to fix something they played little to no part in destroying, and it stung to know they were changing for him when he didn't really deserve the efforts.

Continuation

[justforbooks]

Laurent Cantet

French film director who won the Palme D’Or at the Cannes film festival with his improvisatory education drama The Class

The social-realist boom in 1990s French cinema produced compelling new voices such as Jacques Audiard, Bruno Dumont and Érick Zonca. The most humane and rigorous of that group was Laurent Cantet, who has died aged 63 after suffering from cancer.

Cantet, who often worked in an improvisatory mode with non-professional actors, won the Cannes film festival’s top prize, the Palme d’Or, for his education drama The Class (Entre les Murs, 2008). Sean Penn, president of that year’s Cannes jury, called the film “a miracle, a perfect movie, just so exciting to see. We walked into the jury room afterward and it was like we had swept up the floor and our work was done.”

A kind of Parisian Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, it was arrived at by cross-pollinating drama and documentary to create what Cantet called “documented fiction”. François Bégaudeau, author of the autobiographical novel Entre les Murs (Between the Walls, 2006), on which the film is based, plays a version of himself: an enthusiastic inner-city teacher who inspires his adolescent pupils but also crosses swords with them.

In one scene, François is taken to task over his use of anglicised names in his mathematical exercises: Bill has 12 apples, Bob has three, but what about, say, Rachid or Aïssata? This playful scene plants the seed for one of the film’s main themes – the use of language to gain leverage, and to reshape the world.

The movie’s sharp-eyed visual style lends these semantic wrangles a strong cinematic dimension. Shooting on location with three high-definition cameras, Cantet achieved an omniscient documentary effect. “This gave us a lot of freedom, allowing us to improvise, to capture the energy of the pupils rather than interrupt them when we wanted a different angle,” he explained. The students and staff in the film, who were all drawn from Françoise Dolto junior high in the 20th arrondisement of Paris, generated many of the scenes in collaboration with Bégaudeau and Cantet.

The movie’s overall tone is one of bruised idealism. “It shows the richness of multiculturalism rather than its weaknesses,” said Cantet. “The film is utopian about the possibilities this kind of setting offers, but pessimistic about the school system in general.”

The Class received an Oscar nomination and became Cantet’s most successful film. But the three features that preceded it were more impressive, withholding even the smallest spoonful of sugar to help their messages go down.

He made his debut in 1999 with Human Resources (Ressources Humaines), in which a business-school graduate starts a management job at the factory where his father is a welder. The newcomer clashes with the union at first, then has a change of heart when he learns of planned redundancies.

That film, which the critic Ginette Vincendeau called “generous, sensitive and innovative”, addresses with Loachian fastidiousness the challenge of reconciling principles and productivity. Both Human Resources and Cantet’s 2001 follow-up, Time Out (L’emploi du Temps), explore how work defines us even in our most interior moments.

Time Out concerns the middle-aged, middle-class Vincent (Aurélien Recoing), who conceals his unemployment from his wife and children, and instead lets his days drip by in service stations and motel lobbies. To retain his role as breadwinner, he cheats cash out of gullible investors he meets on the road.

The film was inspired by the case of Jean-Claude Romand, who lied about his non-existent job, and finally slaughtered his family. Cantet and his regular co-writer and editor Robin Campillo (who later became a director in his own right) stopped short of such horror. “We wanted him to have a disconcerting banality,” Cantet said. “He’s just someone who slips and trips down a certain pathway.”

Some audiences found a note of hope in the final scene, in which Vincent attends a job interview. Cantet was quick to scotch that reading. “The notion of work is so full of wealth and worthiness that the prospect of Vincent finding employment again is obviously a winner,” he said. “But not having a job can be of a certain wealth, too. For people like him, work can only be slavery, so to see the last scene as a happy ending is a denial.”

Heading South (Vers le Sud, 2005) applied Cantet’s usual scrutiny to a different milieu, albeit one still steeped in exploitation and commodification. Charlotte Rampling and Karen Young play sex tourists at a Haitian beach resort in the late 1970s who find themselves competing for the same 18-year-old gigolo (Ménothy Cesar). Neither woman is interested in the young man’s plight under the corrupt regime of President “Baby Doc” Duvalier, though eventually the country’s political strife eclipses their feud. The film has a starkly Fassbinderesque view of the intersection between sex, money and power.

Cantet was born in Melle, a town in western France, and raised in nearby Niort. His parents were both teachers. He attended university in Marseilles, then studied at the Paris film school IDHEC (L’Institut des Hautes Études Cinématographiques), where he met Campillo. Their first full-length collaboration, Les Sanguinaires (1997), was made for French television as part of a project looking ahead to the new millennium. (Human Resources was also made for TV, but earned an international cinema release.) Asked about the 13-year gap between graduating and directing Les Sanguinaires, he said: “I spent a long time trying to discover what I wanted to say in a film.”

Reactions to the movies he made after The Class were mixed. An adaptation of Joyce Carol Oates’s 1950-set novel Foxfire: Confessions of a Girl Gang (2012) met with muted acclaim. Return to Ithaca (2014), about a reunion of five friends in Havana, made few waves. It was Cantet’s second project in the city: he was one of seven directors who contributed to the portmanteau project 7 Days in Havana (2012). It was part-funded by Havana Club rum, which features prominently on screen.

His 2017 drama The Workshop (L’Atelier), about the relationship between a female teacher at a summer writing school and a male teenage student radicalised by the far right, revived the simmering tensions of Heading South, and represented a real return to form, though in fact the film had been gestating for more than 15 years. Cantet’s final picture, Arthur Rambo (2021), was inspired by the real-life case of Mehdi Meklat, and follows a young writer from the banlieues whose career is wrecked by offensive social media posts that predate his fame. He was working on a new film, The Apprentice, at the time of his death.

“My characters are never heroes,” Cantet said in 2008. “They always have weaknesses. That’s what motivates me to write them. They are people looking for their place in society: a place which is much harder to find when you don’t march in step with the rest of society. It’s something I can recognise in myself: keeping the world at arm’s length. Perhaps making films is a way of making up that distance.”

🔔 Laurent Cantet, film director, born 11 April 1961; died 25 April 2024

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