#shocked i could even come up with five tbh! but there you are.

[aeide-thea]

[ID: Screenshot of tweet by Jake Regal that reads:

What were the five most important video games to you throughout your youth/teen years? No curating to look cool/interesting please

/end ID]

[deadghosy]

HAZBIN HOTEL HEADCANNONS WITH ENDERMAN! READER

Prompt: a 9’5 creature comes by and randomly builds the crew things.

ITS ACTUALLY FUNNY CAUSE IMAGINE YOU BEING CHARLIE IN THIS SITUATION-

You hear a knock at the front door of the hazbin hotel and open it to see a 9’5 TALL ASS PERSON WITH DARK PURPLE SKIN WITH SMALL PURPLE FRECKLES SCATTERED AROUND THEIR BODY….

Immediately door slam like Alastor got in the pilot….

She kept reopening the door as you finally got tired of that bullshit and teleported inside as you croaked…your jaw unhinging in a weird attractive way as your eyes were blinded by a black blindfold.

“Uhm sir? Are you here for the hotel?” Charlie asked as you nodded turning slowly with a croak. You pulled out a wrench ready to show how you wanted to work for her. Charlie smiled awkwardly as she shows you around the place. Literally you had to duck a lot to the point you had to crawl like a baby just to fit in the room…

Embarrassing it is…..

But at least you can kinda shapeshift a bit to 3 feet less as you are at 6’5 which made the others feel a lot more comfortable about you being comfortable in this height as you still kinda crouch to pet keekee.

I feel like Lucifer will like you personally because of how you like to build and take things apart to renew things. So he definitely brings you in his workshop as he rants about his duck collection as you slightly grumble unconsciously as purple pixels fly around beside you.

Dead ass…you are beautiful with your purple ender eyes they glow behind your blindfold in the dark…the hotel cast and even say as they would see them from afar at night.

I headcannon Enderman! Reader to have slight muscles but is really strong despite their skinny look. But really they/he has a nice build under his working clothes.

Vaggie was shocked to see you teleport away before she could prick you with her angelic spear. She definitely had Alastor keep a look on you…but you only built and fixed around the hotel like a handy man.

I can see Angel dust taking a picture of you while you are behind him working having your sleeves up as you work as the Snapchat caption says, “He’s working hard to please me” as a joke. You definitely got death threats as you just stare at your hellphone confused as you block them all.

Sir Pentious has accidentally looked you in your eyes once and your unhinged jaw as you screeched at him as a static sound enters his head …it made him scared of you for almost five months until you explained and calms him down….you didn’t like to be scary to others.

Angel had told you how about how you could be a model with your skinny yet built body as you just stood then staring at him through your blindfold.

Tbh your dynamic with Angel dust is “girlboss” x “househusband” as you literally build and fix things

I bet reader built Lucifer a duck boat once as you stand there as Lucifer looks like he is about to cry in the duck boat you built as he gives you a thumbs up. It was a derpy sight but funny.

I headcannon Enderman! Reader to always pick things up, nifty including as she just smile kicking her feet back and forth with a smile. “I like em! Let’s keep him/them!”

YOU KNOW HOW IRON GOLEMS HOLD FLOWERS?! YEAH ENDERMAN!READER HOLDING FLOWERS FOR THE RESIDENTS 🦆✨

It would be funny be at a height comparison with Alastor as he just smiles as you stand there fidgeting with your hands.

I can see husk raising a brow at you like “🤨 who the hell is this guy?” As you walk a bit sluggish holding your tool box

I can also imagine reader having slight difficulty at reading the room or having social skills as they were isolated from people before dying definitely. Like you would croak softly patting Vaggie when her secret was out only for her to push you away as you were trying to say you fixed the toilet.

You stood there confused until husk just sat you down before you teleported after her.

You attacked a sinner for trying to rob you as they grabbed your blindfold in accident only to get attacked and a see an unhinged jaw…next thing they saw was a punch.

Charlie definitely cleaned you up, she was just confused who blood it was as you stay quiet and quietly croaked in your throat.

I headcannon enderman’s to have a raspy voice because they can’t talk but try to. As it’s either deep or a decent voice tone.

Imagine if enderman! Reader met the other overlords before their decrease in height as they stare up at you kinda intimidated by your height. Their necks definitely hurt 

HOPE YOU LIKE IT! 🦆✨

[bbokicidal]

OMG Ilove virgin! skz like yas! Usually it’s the reader (and I’m like meh) but I’m so happy to see this reversal of roles and I love how you write! Could you pls write something maybe about the after losing their virginity? Tbh I feel like Han is a giggly cuddler like he’d be all wrapped up and giggling while thinking about it. What do you think?

I have a raging headache rn so I'll just write lil blurbs for this ~

What they're like after their first time !!

Chan : Definitely a king of aftercare. Makes sure you've got water and a snack, makes sure you use the restroom, makes sure you're comfortable. He's there to take care of you, even if he's a bit exhausted and overwhelmed himself.

Minho : Sort of just lays there breathing heavily and staring up at the ceiling as if he's processing what just happened. Honestly just in shock, kind of scared lol. Peeks over at you in awe because he's surprised he bagged such a baddie fr.

Changbin : So clingy. Wants to give you space but wants to be close to you, so he holds your hand as you curl up facing each other. Y'all end up snuggling throughout the night though anyway so.

Hyunjin : Runs you a bath, makes sure you're comfortable. Bathes w you !! Climbs in and washes your hair for you, takes plenty care of you when you grow tired. Carries you back to bed after you're dry and dressed and tucks you in. Then he goes to the living room to sit and spiral, wondering how he managed to get so lucky but also giggling to himself about how excited he is.

Jisung : Cuddler for sure !!! He's sooooo clingy after your first time. He needs the physical affection so he curls up to you and peppers your skin with kisses while you run your hands through his hair. An absolute love bug in and out of the sheets. <33

Felix : Full of affection. He's telling you how good it was, how much he loves you, how he wants to do it over and over again. He's gonna be all curled up in the blankets with you, giggling and holding you close to him and refusing to let go.

Seungmin : Honestly? Takes a bit of space for himself because he's a teensy bit overwhelmed, but ends up coming back after you've both showered and gotten ready for bed so he can curl up with you. A snuggler, despite not being huge on skinship. He wants you to know it was perfect for his first time so he makes sure to tell you that, too.

Jeongin : No breaks. Five rounds. This man has tooooo much energy !!

[planchettewrites]

Remy LeBeau (Gambit)/AFAB!Reader

DESCRIPTION: You find out about Bella Donna Boudreaux, and you are not happy about it.

CONTENT: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Threats of Breakup, Mentions Remy's Past (*Using the Original X-Men Animation Series as Ref.)

A/N: This is not my favorite Remy work I've done, but I think it's still pretty good. This is pretty heavy hurt/comfort, and the ending is a little rushed. TBH I wanted to just write this and get it over with. WIPs can only have such a long shelf life! I may eventually update this later.

848 words | Safe!

"Remy…" You walked cautiously into your and Remy's shared bedroom in his apartment near the school, anger bubbling inside you. In your hand, you held a letter from some woman named Bella Donna Boudreaux. The letter was old, at least five years old. You found it while cleaning out one of Remy's closets, finding it in a box on the top shelf when it came tumbling out of the closet. "What is this?"

Remy, who was reading, immediately shot up. His black and red eyes looked at you with so much shock. He looked like a man who got caught. “Ma chérie,” he started.

"What is this, Remy?" you shot, effectively cutting him off. "Who the fuck is Bella Donna Boudreaux?"

"Chérie, it's not what you think." Remy stood up from the bed and began slowly approaching you. 

You weren't stupid; you could read what the letter said, and that letter painted a rather different story than your current reality. "I think it's exactly what I think, Remy. What the hell does 'I'll forever be your wife' mean, then? Remy, we've been dating for three years, and this letter is five years old. Are you married?" you roared, your anger almost unmanageable. 

Your mind was racing with every possible answer that Remy could've given you, and none of them were positive explanations. Your relationship with Remy was the best you ever had; he was kind, generous, and giving, and overall, he was a spectacular partner who always put your needs first. You loved Remy more than you could fathom; this letter was heartbreaking.

Before he could answer, you began to read some of the letter to him. "Remy, mon amour, I miss you every day. Every day you are gone is like a stab in the heart. I still remember the day I last saw you; you looked handsome as ever, mon cœur." you stopped reading the letter and threw it on the bed. "What the fuck is this?"

"Darlin', that's all old history, Bella Donna is…"

"Your wife, apparently, Remy." you began to tear up. Nothing shattered your heart like reading that letter did. You had read through the entire thing before you confronted your boyfriend, and you knew a love letter when you read one. You started shaking your head, putting your palm up to your forehead. "I can't fucking believe this."

Without even noticing, he got closer, Remy turned you around and gently pulled your hand from your head. His face portrayed an emotion of hurt. As much as you wanted to scream at him, tear him apart, something in you knew that he had some proper explaining to do. "Darlin', listen to me. Please."

You sighed roughly, continuing to shake your head. "Fine. You better have a great explanation for this, Remy. Or I'm done."

He sighs. Remy knew this day would come eventually—whether it be when filing for marriage paperwork or when his past eventually bubbled up to the surface. If he was honest with himself, he completely forgot about that letter; it was shoved in that box with the rest of his past in the Thieves's Guild. Looking at you, his heart was breaking. The last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt you. 

"Well, darlin', it starts back in New Orleans. The long and the short of it is that Bella Donna Boudreaux was a member of the Assassin's Guild, and I was a member of the Thieves's Guild. We were arranged to be married in an attempt to unite the guilds. Gambit didn't love her, so he walked away from the altar. Bella Donna wrote me that letter as a last-ditch effort to get me back. I don't know how she even found my address, but she sent it. I forgot that I even kept it. I promise I didn't marry her, mon amour. I don't love her. My heart does not belong to another; it only belongs to you." He held you steady in front of him, and he watched how the tears forming in your eyes began to roll down your cheeks. 

Remy pulled you into a tight hug as you cried. "Shh, don't cry, chérie, Gambit's right here."

"Don't ever fucking scare me like that." you cried. Right now, you hated yourself. There was no way you could deny what you read, but you trusted your boyfriend with every word he said. Remy wasn't one to tell you a lie. Ever since you began dating, he has been nothing but honest and upfront with all that he said. "M’sorry, Remy. I'm really sorry."

Gently letting go of you, Remy cupped your cheeks and placed a kiss on your forehead. "No reason to apologize, mon amour. You were scared, and that situation seemed nasty. I understand."

"I was just so worried that you were keeping something from me, especially something that would change our relationship."

"I know, chérie, I know." He cooed, pulling you back into the hug. 

You sighed, letting the anxiety go. “Please forgive me.”

He smiled. “Gambit forgives ya’, chérie. Of course I do.”

[kozumesphone]

✮⋆˙ 𝐏𝐀𝐏𝐄𝐑 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒

⤷ leo valdez x daughter of poseidon!reader

masterlist | event m.list

♡ fandom | the heroes of olympus

♡ includes | songfic (sort of), daughter of poseidon!reader, leo and reader both have glasses in this fic (YES i’m fulfilling my own delusions, leave me alone), ALL CHARACTERS INCLUDING READER ARE 17-18 pls don’t come at me for getting them married 🙏, leo x reader wedding, pre-established relationship, fluff, comfort, beautiful no nonsense kissing and happiness, tbh this is retribution for my previous emercy angst, HAPPINESS, third person pov for like five seconds, not proofread

♡ in which | leo and reader get married <3

♡ a/n | ok shiit. this was supposed to be a newlyweds prompt, but I wanted to write a wedding scene before that, so I completely missed the prompt that was requested ☹️ I still hope this fluff makes up for it a bit, and i'll try to work on a part 2 for a newlyweds drabble (tho I can't promise i'll actually end up writing it, sorry 💀)

♡ wc | 1.3k

✮⋆˙ y/n’s pov

“i’m way too nervous, my hands are shaking and what if I drop the ring? he’ll think i’m stupid! and he’ll leave me right there!”

“n/n? respectfully? shut up,” annabeth sighed.

“this is leo we’re talking about, man, and if there’s one thing I know for sure about him, other than the fact that he loves marshmallows, it’s that he’s whipped as fuck for you,” will’s voice rang out, walking into my cabin.

“trust!” piper’s voice came out of my closet, where she was looking for something decent for me to wear.

“okay… but, now I don’t have anything to wear. that’s another problem,” I whined.

“you could walk out there, and get married in your camp clothes, and it’d have the same effect on him either way,” piper rolled her eyes. “his mouth would like, hang open, and he’d make heart eyes at you—”

“shut up,” I grumbled. “what am I going to wear, pipes?”

“don’t you worry, darling, I got you,” she said, and winked at me, and handed me a denim-leather jacket.

✮⋆˙ leo’s pov

“what if I trip and fall in front of her? will she leave me—who am I kidding, of course she’ll leave me!—”

“she loves you, stop crying about it,” jason said, rolling his eyes.

nico walked in with a red tie and black leather jacket in tow, and told me it was one of the other kids who lent it to him (clearly not).

“oh. thanks,” I smiled.

“yeah, sure. uh, listen, valdez,” nico started. I narrowed my eyes at him. “if you ever hurt her, or make her cry, or anything, I will know. and I will come for your blood. and your organs, because the market is amazing for livers these days—”

“same here,” percy said. “if I see my little sister sad because of you? you’re done for, fire boy.”

they walked over to me, throwing their arms around my shoulder. “got it?”

“obviously,” I rolled my eyes. “and if she’s ever sad because of me, I think i’d kill myself.”

✮⋆˙ 3rd person pov

percy walked with his hand in y/n’s. she walked down the aisle in a black crop top below her unbuttoned white shirt, and a denim-leather jacket strung on top. in that moment, leo could only comprehend how much she looked like herself.

she was fidgeting nervously with her belt while walking towards him.

she looked up, shocked, to see him almost matching with her: white shirt, red tie, black leather jacket, and even the playboy grin.

I like shiny things, but i’d marry you with paper rings…

uh huh, that’s right…

watching him smile at her melted away her anxiety.

he wouldn’t leave her, of course not. they were in this together, forever.

a lopsided grin creeped up her face, setting his heart on fire.

she would always love him, he realised. never would she even think of leaving him.

darling, you’re the one I want, and…

✮⋆˙ y/n’s pov

percy let go of my hand so I could walk further towards leo, leaving me a thumbs-up.

“hey handsome,” I whispered, stopping in front of leo.

“hey beautiful,” he whispered back, still smiling at me.

“even after so many years, you know how to get my brain to stop functioning, it’s unfair,” I groaned, as he chuckled. his hand slipped into mine, lacing our fingers together. his thumb stroked the back of my hand as we turned to chiron, who was officiating our wedding.

he asks all our friends—dressed in shades of either blue or orange—to take their seats. we watched the youngest demigods, who were less than ten years old, walk around the chairs, giving out flowers to everyone.

“dearly beloved,” chiron reads out of his pocket notebook. “we are gathered here today to witness my two little kids join together in holy matrimony.”

everyone laughed and then quieted down.

“you can do your speeches or vows,” he prompted.

I exhaled and started first. “mia cara, thank you. I can’t believe today’s, well, finally here. I remember the, um, first day we met. we were both caught planting something for a prank in coach hedge’s bag, and spent a day in detention together,” I laughed and went on. “well, that was pretty much the day I fell in love with you. i’m so happy I have a boyfriend—well, almost-husband—and a best friend, both in the same person. so, I guess what I want to say is… I love you, leo.”

I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this…

uh huh, that’s right…

his eyes were glossing over, and a tear escaped down his cheek. I wiped it away, and smiled at him.

“oh my god, that was so sappy,” he rolled his eyes at me.

I hit him in his shoulder, and he laughed. “anyway, I think I never told you this, but I knew you before that day.”

I gasped a little bit and my eyes widened.

“it was the day you transferred to that wilderness school, probably around a month before we met. you were wearing the same jacket you’re wearing today, and your hair was in tiny braids, and oh my god, I remember thinking, ‘if I don’t talk to that girl soon, i’ll never forgive myself’ but I waited a whole month because I was too nervous.”

I laughed, “you were nervous for a month?”

“shut up bro,” he groaned. “you were just so beautiful and I thought you looked smart, which, I mean, you are. but then, I found out you were planning some prank for a bet, and I figured that was my chance.”

darling, you're the one I want…

“who knew that the first pranks we pulled would bring us to get married, huh?” I chuckled.

“I knew,” he said, “that was obviously why I did it. anyway, I wanna end this speech or whatever by saying what I thought of you the first day we met: I love you, y/n, and you’re stuck with me for life!”

“I better hope so, you’re not allowed to leave me ever, anyway,” I rolled my eyes.

chiron laughed at us, and called the ringbearers. “it’s time for you to exchange your rings.”

an eight-year old apollo camper and his twin brother walked up to us with matching boxes. each one gave a box to one of us.

we opened the boxes, got the rings out and held them.

leo pulled our interlocked hands up and let go, to slip his ring on my finger. I grinned at him, and placed mine on his finger as well. he smiled when he realised they were the first rings we had bought together after we snuck out of camp for the first time.

“with the power vested in me,” chiron started. “I now pronounce you man and wife. you may kiss the bri—”

before chiron could even finish, leo’s hands were on my waist, bringing me closer, our mouths colliding.

in paper rings, in picture frames, in dirty dreams…

oh, you’re the one I want…

our glasses hit each others’ twice, but neither of us cared. his hands were squeezing my waist, as if it were the end of the world if he let go. my hands wrapped around his neck, and I pulled him in closer than humanly possible.

his kisses were rarely soft and sweet, so today wasn’t a surprise.

tongues colliding, my hands in his hair, and grinning against each others’ lips.

“till death do them part!” a voice rang out from the crowd, everyone else laughing.

“even death won’t do us part, mi vida,” he pulled back, smiling and whispered.

[kawowoa]

can i draw you?

synopsis : you’ve been dealing with art block for a while, nothing seems to ignite your creativity anymore but then you see him. boom. you want to draw him

characters : silver, idia

info : gn. reader, maybe ooc

a/n : srry for disappearing for like a year.. i’ll try to be more active but my creativity is down the drain T_T

> silver

you’re lucky enough to catch him without malleus by his side. he was sitting up against a tree with a few birds finding a home on his body. the scene was perfect, like he’d just came out of a fairy tale

he saw you coming, you weren’t being discreet about your presence. he had a confused look on his face, it wasn’t often that you two saw each other, let alone talked

you explained to him your situation, how your art block was eating you alive. he started to panic which scared the birds away, ready to face whatever this art block was. you calmed him down, it was just a metaphor

he agreed to be your muse, it’s not like he had much to do anyway

you carry your sketch book around with you incase you find something that sparked your creativity. the two of you got into a comfortable position, you laid your preferred coloring medium (or none at all if you don’t like coloring) beside you before pulling out your pencil and eraser

silver stayed awake for five minutes, maybe it was the constant sound of your pencil scratching the paper or the rustling of the trees that had him dozing off or maybe it’s just silver’s weird habit of being able to fall asleep in any place at any time

his features were way more relaxed than they were before, his shoulders started to slouch, the crease between his eyebrows disappeared as well. a perfect scene

“silver.. silver! wake up!” you whisper-shouted close to his ear. you leaned back as he jolted awake, rubbing his eyes to rid of any sleepiness that may still be lurking

“huh..? what’s wrong?” he asked, his eyes focusing on you, they were frantically moving across your face, looking for any signs of distress

you said nothing, pulling your sketchbook from behind your back. you held it in front of his face, far enough so that he can see it. you notice his hands, hesitant in wanting to hold the sketch book; you just smile and plop it right in his hands

“this is me?” he asked in shock, his eyes moving back in forth from you to the paper. you captured every little detail in his face and body, even the tree he was laying against

quickly noticing now long he’s been holding your sketch book, he gives it back to you. although, his slight smile never left his face

“it’s amazing. it was an honor being able to help you out”

> idia shroud

you caught him in the halls after all the clubs ended. he was walking out the board games club with azul and a few other students

he didn’t notice you, but azul did

you saw idia tense up, slowly turning around to you. you wave at the both of them. azul was quick to hand idia over to you when you asked for him. idia looked so dejected, looking back at azul like he just committed murder

you pulled idia aside, far from azul’s prying eyes. you explained the situation you’re currently in, you had a small feeling he might disagree; desperately hoping you were wrong

and you was! idia agreed to help you! not without a whole bunch of complaints. he saw the desperation all over your face, how could he not agree?

you had to do it in the comfort of idia’s room though, you didn’t mind, a person’s beauty looks best when they’re most comfortable

in the comfort of his room, he sat on the bed while you sat on the gaming chair. you set out all your art materials on the desk, you picked up your pencil and sketch book before scooting the chair closer to idia

the man looked so nervous. you started talking to him to try to ease his nerves. hours went by and he started to get more animated, talking to you about his current fave game

“…tbh the story could be better, the whole evil villain terrorizing the mc for some super special artifact is so overrated”

“yeah, definitely played out” you nodded in agreement. you push the chair closer to the desk, putting your pencil and eraser down. idia’s rambling dies down as he watches you come back to the original spot you were in before

he stares at every moment you make until your sketchbook invades his field of view. his eyes widened, grabbing the sketchbook out your hands

“do… do you like it?” idia’s expression and lack of words had you second guessing. you didn’t take much time on it, it was definitely a rougher sketch than you normally would do

“yeah… it’s great. can i keep it? not for myself but i think ortho would like it a lot”

[hwajin]

✞ 「 .✶۪ .° ✞ : 𝐇 𝐈 — 𝐋 𝐈 𝐓 𝐄 !! : a series

☆ — chapter two ; Cold Metal

✞ 「 .✶۪ : see series masterlist and warnings here

✞ 「 .✶۪ : chapter word count: 18.1k

✞ 「 .✶۪ : chapter warnings: suggestive tension, lotsss of angst, mentions of cheating!!!!

author's note: one of my weaker chapters tbh but i hope you still enjoy!!! i'm sooo so excited to post ch3 already ngl 🤭🤭🤭

The number of times your hand carded through your dyed black hair this class was abnormal, five times too much than it would seem natural, but you couldn’t quite care about it. It was soothing, your long nails massaging your scalp in the process calmed your nerves. You looked at Mr. Bahng, you looked at Mr. Bahng looking at you – and your hands were in your hair again, fixing it, or making it worse, you weren’t quite sure. You wore dark lipstick – the shade of red was close enough to be black though it wasn’t upon further inspection – which matched the colour around your eyes, dark and smoky, long, fake lashes making your irises pop. Your outfit was just appropriate enough for college, though you were almost uncomfortable about how revealing it was – lowcut dark tank top with a bedazzled star right on your chest, low-rise jeans which teasingly sat on the curve of your hips, revealing the subtle waistband of the dark red tanga you had decided to wear, with the only purpose for Mr. Bahng to see it. Your black boots made you taller by an inch, which made you carry yourself with the confidence you deemed to need today.

For the past week you had slept over your plan to seduce your teacher; now, a week later, the affair sounded far sillier than when you had first come up with it, when you had gotten over the initial shock of seeing the man, who, seemingly had rocked your pre-graduate mind. Though, now, a whole week later and after a lot of plotting and thinking, it felt far more realistic, too, something you could achieve if you acted smartly. Sure, it was still dumb and immature, and yes, you could get in trouble for it – you had thoroughly thought of Han’s words, and gathered that he, in fact, hadn’t been as wrong as you had thought – though trouble and problems would occur only if someone caught you, and only if you let the whole thing go on for too long, or got too involved in the process. You were simply supposed to keep your plan on the down-low, telling not a soul about it – that Han knew you didn’t deem as a risk; he was your second half, his secret was as much yours as yours was his – and you ought to end the instigation the moment Mr. Bahng left to let Professor Hwang teach again. That was, if Mr. Bahng would fall for you, in the first place. This factor wasn’t at all yet carved in stone, and it was the most important rule in the game you created; so, you’d decided to view your chances realistically. Surely, you had it all planned out, you had read through the entirety of the package insert and the risks that came with the plan – you were prepared, and said plan was nothing but manageable, if you only let the charm spark you believed you had. Everything after would be history.

Mr. Bahng had eyed you when you had entered the classroom this morning, for only a short moment, barely a second even, though you couldn’t have not noticed. His eyes had scanned you up and down before he had converted them to his pencils and notebooks on his desk, and his ears had painted red; you remembered having seen him flustered a week back, and the blush around his face was far more adorable now that it had been due to you, seemingly. He didn’t much pay you attention throughout the rest of the lesson; in contrary, Mr. Bahng seemed to be avoiding your piercing eyes altogether, seemed to only skim over you and your figure – your chest, too, which you put on display on full purpose – while holding the gazes of other students. Were you already crawling under his skin? Was one outfit and flirty eyes enough to weaken the teacher? You doubted it to be so very easy; though then his eyes scanned over you again for only a second, and his ears painted pink. Maybe it could be easy.

A cold can of Coca Cola stood before you, the freezing condensation of it having left a wet spot on the rough, old wood of the desk you were sitting at; you and Han had grabbed a drink before classes, though you’d lie saying it had felt like always. Ever since you had fought a week ago, Han had been acting strange, tense. You had realised that he was pretending to act normal, that he was trying to joke around as always and not let his eyes linger on you for too long, or tell you about his songwriting without growing flustered, or grab a drink with you without forcefully searching for possible subjects to talk about. He really was trying to be his usual self; but the endless years of friendship made you look right through him. There hadn’t been a day the past seven days when you hadn’t not noticed his clamminess around you, or how he suddenly started stuttering after every other sentence when talking to the others the moment you entered the studio, or his staring during practice or brainstorming or simply hanging, when he thought you weren’t looking. You never not noticed – and that was the worst of them all – Han’s inability to look into your eyes properly when you were talking to him, about anything. You hated the tension he created, you hated that the usual light-heartedness you felt in his presence, the utter and numbing familiarity usually around him had been so hard to achieve in the past week.

Above all, it angered you that you couldn’t understand the reason for his behaviour, nor were mature enough, apparently – or maybe too stubborn, simply – to talk of it, to try and resolve it. In retrospect, looking back at this very weekend years later, when you’d fondly remember your college years and your undeniable silliness, you would understand that you’d been scared, and therefore stayed quiet. You didn’t know why you were scared, exactly; but you knew Han’s reason of clamminess and seeming jealousy wouldn’t be an explanation you could possibly handle, nor wanted to hear, so as to not accept the reality of it. You hadn’t mentioned Mr. Bahng anymore to him, not after your fight. You had mustered up a plan all by yourself – you had, one fateful night, remembered that the teacher had been giving vocal lessons to students back when you went to high school, and you knew it was the perfect opportunity to get closer to him – but you hadn’t told your best friend anything of your excitement. Which was strange, keeping a secret from him, but you figured the tension didn’t need any more sensitivity, and you continued playing along with Han’s game of pretending, wordless and silent. Though you were doing a far better job at it, surely.

You had never apologized, either. Maybe that was part of the reason things were strange between the two of you. Though, if Han wanted an apology in the first place, then he wasn’t acting like it. He didn’t sulk around you, he didn’t give you the cold shoulder – he was strange, yes, but he didn’t seem to be upset, not anymore. Neither you nor he were people to hide anger, even if it was directed at the other; you could talk, had always been able to. Uncomfortable talks, sometimes, talks which bordered on fights, talks after fights; you weren’t afraid of any of them, and yet now, Han simply tried to sweep the entire thing under the rug. Sometimes this past week, though you didn’t know if your eyes fooled you – and you hoped they did – he seemed scared when looking at you, when talking to you. Not scared of you, you didn’t believe so, at least. He seemed scared of himself, almost; of the next words he’d speak to you, of his own clamminess, of his own stuttering.

Han also didn’t make a scene to apologize about the fight – now that a week had passed, you weren’t at all sure anymore if he was in the position to apologize, even; by now, you believed he wasn’t as much in the wrong as you had initially believed him to be – so you swept it under the rug with him, pretended as though the feisty conversation had never occurred in the first place. Not healthy, nor was it mature, and the sight effects were tangible, infuriating; though you forgot all about it when the class you were sitting in was nearing to an end, and Mr. Bahng was dismissing the students. He wore the same white button-down today, sleeves rolled up, though his pants were a dark navy this time around, and a loose tie adorned the thickness of his neck – it was far more attractive than last week’s outfit, you thought, and it got you giddy to go up and talk to him. You were nervous, though – you were painfully aware that your little plan resembled the plot of a bad romance movie, so you knew that the chances of your teacher falling for you were close to null. Mr. Bahng was a responsible adult, one who wore a gold band around his left ring finger, one who was a teacher – it didn’t get more responsible than that, and you knew your dark red tanga you wore specifically for him would probably be of little help when it came to seducing him. For all you knew, you were a mere student in his head, barely eighteen as he remembered you. Maybe you should fetch your best friend, and apologize to him, after all; it was obvious your stupidity and hormones had gotten the better of you.

With these thoughts on your mind, you waited for student after student to disappear while keeping the teacher pinned down with your gaze, despite your doubts; a plan was a plan, and you wanted your fun, you wanted to get laid; you would do what you needed to achieve it. This time around, different than a week ago, you were not pretending to be taking your time, nor were you making a scene of looking for something in your bag while waiting to be in lonesome with the teacher – you sat confidently, legs crossed beneath the table and arms beneath your chest, eye-fucking Mr. Bahng until the last, far too slow-paced person had finally abandoned the hot classroom, until you and him were the only two people left in it. He looked at you, shortly, his face unreadable – he did gift you a subtle smile, though, and only after he turned his attention back to his desk you started moving. Nervous, a tiny storm brewing in the pit of your stomach. The legs of your chair scratched uncomfortably against the linoleum floor as you pushed yourself off it, shooting goosebumps up your back, and your bag – a dark red handbag matching your nails and make-up, and a big contrast to your usual black, worn-out rucksack – rattling as you threw it over your shoulder, and made your way to your teachers’ desk.

You started walking, trying to appear as calm as humanly possible. You didn’t allow your hand to reach for your hair, or to your top to fix it, or to the hem of your jean to fiddle with it. You simply walked, slow, making use of your hips; and with every step you took, Han’s voice from a week ago increased in volume in your head, his words materializing as a cloud of uncertainty; ‘Are you insane? He’s your teacher. What’s in there for him, except the loss of his job?’. You shivered at that, despite the hot weather, despite the sweat that was forming in the back of your neck, beneath your waving hair. Were you so nervous because you knew Han was right, and the whole thing utterly wrong? Or was it Mr. Bahng who wouldn’t allow you to think straight, who got to you more than it was comfortable to admit? You walked, your thoughts and mind a mess, until you reached Mr. Bahng’s desk, until you stood hovering over him, until his eyes met you from below, until your knees grew wobbly, and your panties wet. Embarrassing.

“Hey.”

Your voice cool, airy. You were nervous, though you wouldn’t let it ruin your plan for you. You put on your best face, calm and collected, eyes hooded and lazy – the entire opposite from when you had first talked to him, or from the storm raging within you, your chest, the pit of your stomach, your core between your legs.

And Mr. Bahng looked like he’d noticed it, too. The change in demeanour within you; the change in attire. You saw how his eyes flinched to your chest, for only a second, how his head fell to his side barely noticeably, in curiosity. How his ears turned pink again; you loved seeing his ears turn pink, loved seeing him shy and flustered because of you.

“Y/N, hey. Do you… need help with something this week? Or… do you just- wanna talk again?”, he chuckled, softly, and it was your turn to blush now, to grow bashful. The sound of his giggles sent shivers down your back, and you granted him a smile. Nonchalant.

Han’s voice in your head again, louder than before; ‘He’s not gonna fuck you. You’re just a student.’ You inhaled once, deeply, exhaled in one blow, quickly.

“I do have a question, sort of… it’s probably stupid, though.” Blinking twice as much as usual, and you looked at him from beneath your lashes, upper arms pushing out your breasts subtly – you were twenty-two years old, and you were embarrassing yourself. And you were less shameful about it as you thought you would be. It’s been ages since someone has gotten you this wet, and you were merely allowed to look at him, yet; you couldn’t imagine your own bodily reactions when you would fuck him, eventually.

Mr. Bahng coughed at your words, adjusted in his seat; was he getting nervous? Maybe he would be easier to crack as you thought, initially. Maybe he was as attracted to you as you were to him. Or maybe he was highly uncomfortable. In that case you would simply and frankly skip music class, until Professor Hwang returned again.

“Oh, no, ask ahead. There’s no such a thing as a stupid question.” Such a teacher thing to say, and you would have chuckled if you didn’t commit so much to your act. So, you only smiled, eyes losing his, looking down where his hands lay on his desk, folded together professionally, before you looked up at him again, seductively, you hoped. Was it too much? Was he looking through you? He didn’t look like it; his eyes were curious, and his cheeks red. He didn’t look uncomfortable, either. Maybe it was working.

You hummed as though in thought before answering, took your time with it, let his words melt into your brain; letting two seconds pass, then another two, until Mr. Bahng furrowed his brows in most subtle manner, and his head cocked further to the side. You quirked his interest, and you shot your question. Your chance. Han’s words were playing in your head.

“I was thinking about you the past week…”, leaving a deliberate pause, not breaking the contact with his deep eyes you trembled under, watching him redden further upon your words, “and I remembered that you were giving vocal lessons, back when I was still in school.” Another pause in which you looked at him, expectantly, as though he was supposed to understand where your question was going. The pause stretched itself, and Mr. Bahng’s blush had travelled to his neck at this point; he leaned forward, white dress-shirt stretching over his muscles, hugging his body tightly. He cleared his throat with a low rasp, inhaled slowly. You needed him. So very badly.

“Uh, yeah, I was. I- I am. I’m still giving vocal lessons.” His voice wasn’t nervous, per se. It was professional, too much almost, for your liking; though it sounded forced, and you heard a shake in it, barely noticeable, but you were hyper-aware when it came to him. “Why do you ask?” Almost trembling, and you would have smiled to yourself under different circumstances. Han occupied your thoughts again.

‘He’s not gonna fuck you. You’re just a student.’

“You see…”, deliberate pause, and you wondered if he was getting sick of you, or if he was a fish caught on your hook by now, “the band I told you about… you remember, right?” You bashed your lashes at him, waited until he gave you an affirmative hum before you continued. The hum was followed by the clearing of his voice. You couldn’t read him. You couldn’t tell if it was nervousness, you didn’t know if the next words would be your downfall. “I’m the vocalist in that band, and… I could use some professional classes. I’m self-taught, you know… so I’m not really confident in my skills yet.” You dragged out your words, and you almost pouted at the man if you hadn’t found your senses early enough; you might be a little too deep into your own bit.

One moment passed, and another, without an answer from the teacher.

‘He’s not gonna fuck you. You’re just a student.’

He would say no, Han was right. He had no reason to agree to you, after all, had no reason to give you private lessons, no less because he would be gone in a matter of weeks. There was not one thing in the situation working to his advantage, so he would decline –

“Oh, you’re asking me for lessons?”, he looked at you, though not questioningly. He looked at you with certainty. Too much certainty; he would decline, and you would simply die of embarrassment, on the spot. What the hell were you doing, standing in front of him? What the hell were you doing not apologizing to your best friend of years, not having seen your own stupidity far earlier?  

“Sure, why not.”

Your heart sank a million oceans deep. A sentence only, merely three words, and your entire world seemed to have flipped upside down. Han had been wrong, and whether or not he wanted to speak about the entire subject, disregarding his – in your eyes, inappropriate discomfort – you would brag about this later. You didn’t care, you were selfish, and you were right. And you were one step closer to having the teacher the way you wanted him. You were sure Mr. Bahng could read your victory on your face, so you tried to keep composure, did your best in pretending to be entirely calm – though you were the opposite, the storms of doubts from before having cleared, instead allowing space for deafening and bright fireworks.

“Oh, yeah? I wouldn’t have expected you to agree… I thought you were really busy, you know, with your family.” Compassion; check. A path to trust; check. Showing clear interest; check. You were multiple steps further in your plan, and you were sure Han would be sensitive later, though you would gush about it all the same. There was no way you would keep this a secret. And maybe you wanted to rub it into his face.

Your teacher huffed out in feigned amusement, though his eyes stayed cold, humourless, the laugh not reaching that far. “Yeah, well… I’ll do anything to get out of the house for a bit, if I can be so honest.”

Your heart leaped, jumped left and right and down and up against its’ confines at the almost guilty confession he confronted you with. You were a sadist, after all. Or maybe heartless. Or maybe your underwear was so wet by now at the sheer sight of your teacher that any other coherent thought except his dick inside of you vanished entirely, forever. Whatever the reason was, you didn’t care. You needed him, and the stars stood in your luck. The chances weren’t only good; they were perfect, basically. You wouldn’t be shocked if by the same time next week you would stand pressed against this very desk, with Mr. Bahng’s hands groping at your body to his liking, with his face nuzzled in your neck and nibbling marks onto it for the others to tease about later.

“Oh… is it that bad? I’m sorry.” Puppy eyes, a bit more blinking; his ears were burning, his eyes searching for something other than you to look at. He cleared his throat for the third time today, before he stood suddenly, exhaling in an awkward chuckle, readjusting his shoulder, fixing his tie. You could jump at him now, eat him whole.

“Nah, don’t worry. I just… need distraction.”, his eyes flashed to your chest again before he locked eyes with you, bashfully; he would fuck you next week, guaranteed. You probably wouldn’t even need to work too hard for it.

“I’m ending class earlier next week anyways, actually – you can just stay right after, say for… half an hour? One hour? If you have some time.”

‘If you have some time.’ – what a silly thing to say. As if you wouldn’t make time, specifically for him, even if you were busy. Mr. Bahng looked at you expectantly, throwing his briefcase over his shoulder. You took your time with the answer; you hummed, as though trying to remember your non-existent schedule, thinking exaggeratedly. It was only seconds later before you answered.

“No, yeah, one hour should work. I’ll see you next week then, Mr. Bahng.”

At the sound of his own name the man tensed, the fist around the band of his briefcase tightening. He was easy prey, after all. It was almost adorable. Almost too easy.

“Yeah. See you next week.”

☆.☆.☆

15:09     meet me at the vending machine?

15:10     after class

You read Han’s text after you exited Mr. Bahng’s classroom – you leaned against the wall after having watched the teacher walk to his next lesson, and the cold of the tiles felt relaxing against your back; your skin was flushed, your cheeks burning, your entire body aflame. A smile has engraved itself onto your lips, one you couldn’t seem to get rid of, as stupid as you looked and as much as your jaw pained from it; you’d gotten so many steps further, far more than you had initially even dared to aspire, and you didn’t think you would survive the wait all until next week – you would cease to exist quite frankly, from excitement and anticipation and sheer impatience. You weren’t sure if your happiness was out of place, inappropriate; you remembered just what you were excited about, remembered Mr. Bahng’s wife, remembered Han’s negative stance towards the entirety of the affair – you didn’t ought to be so giddy. But then you remembered Mr. Bahng, in the classroom just ten minutes ago; the way he had looked at you, the way he had blushed. You remembered his tight dress-shirt, his dark blue tie, his strong arms laying exposed and heavy on his desk. You imagined those very hands on you, all over your, all over your body, discarding your clothes in the very classroom you’d just left one by one. You imagined to have him the way you had craved to for so long, to have his lips explore the entirety of your skin or devour your mouth in starving hunger, to card your fingers through his dark hair and let him push you against the upfront desk, to have him whisper sweet nothings into your ear before he’d bite down on –

Your phone buzzed again in your hand, and you jerked, having forgotten Han’s previous text entirely. You checked the new message while you tried to calm down; Han had sent you an image of two beverages – your Coke and his Root Beer – which he held in his hands, the old bench and the older weeping willow grazing the picture in the background. He had attached a short ‘my treat’ to it. You put a cool hand to your burning cheek, took three deep breaths before reacting to his message with a heart and made your way to the vending machine with knees wobblier than you would have liked to admit.

Han really did try. You almost felt bad about having to break whatever bubble the two of you found yourself in – one, that much was clear, that felt far too fragile, daring to burst if you as much as grazed it with a finger. The feeling was still strange; you couldn’t remember a single time where awkwardness like the current one has ebbed itself so deeply into your friendship. And to think it was because of a single, stupid argument – it hurt you, made you question just how strong your bond really was. It made you question, too, if there was an ulterior motive behind it; in fact, you were almost entirely sure that it could never be only the disagreement which had torn the crack in between you. Han had been acting far too strange for there to not be a buried reason, and you almost didn’t want to tell him any of the news about your teacher, the process you had made; almost didn’t want to rub your success under his nose after all, even though you’ve been so excited to before, especially after his words from a week ago, his accusations and doubts. Worries, even.

It did sound like he had been worried about you last week. Worried, and jealous, and almost unreasonably emotional. You didn’t want to hurt him. A big part of you didn’t want to hurt him. You would if you told him all about what happened just moments ago, remembering the feeling of his discomfort, his clamminess, and his giddiness around you, and it burned like poison in your veins. You despised it. You despised the fact that a smaller part of you, far smaller though it was there, did want to convince him of your victory; did want to hurt him, after all. You despised that you couldn’t despise yourself for not wanting to solve the argument, to resign after the fight, to get over the peril you had suddenly found yourself in – out of fear, you thought. You couldn’t know the reason for his jealousy. You knew there had to be one, a reason, why the small bickering had turned into something way too big. And maybe – and it scared you immensely – you knew all about it already; maybe you wouldn’t be able to bare the confirmation, simply. Han’s reason for his strange behaviour over the past week would maybe be the last poke against the bubble which your friendship still kept concealed before it burst open to let the both of you fall onto the ground of reality.

You made your way over to the vending machine; whatever it was, the reason for the sudden cleft between you, and no matter how long it would take to sew it back together, you decided to keep your mouth shut about Mr. Bahng, after all. It would be like gasoline to the fire the two of you had set, only a small flame now, but waiting to be ignited. You hadn’t found any water yet to put it out fully; so you’d be a fool if you didn’t choose silence.

The afternoon sun was scorching onto your skin, making it hotter than it was already, and little beads of sweat collected in the back of your neck. You should have taken a hair tie with you – your hair against your nape and down your shoulders drove you near crazy in the heat. The distance between the music building and the vending machine wasn’t all too big, so you could catch a glimpse of Han the moment you turned the corner and were walking right towards his seated figure beneath the big tree. His eyes were busy with his phone, mindlessly scrolling, as it seemed. His teeth constantly picked at his piercing – it wasn’t new, though he had never grown out of the habit, and you wondered how much longer he could keep it up before his teeth took serious damage. One of his legs moved in rhythm to the music that you imagined to be blasting in the earphones you saw dangling from his phone to somewhere behind his ashy hair – he needed a retouch, you just noticed. His roots had grown out quite a lot. You wondered when he’d ask you to help dye it – he never trusted himself with his hair.

When you were close enough Han’s body jerked, and his eyes found your figure; whether he heard you or saw your shadow hovering above him you weren’t sure, but you greeted him all the same.

“Oh, hey. You’re later than I thought.”

You sat down opposite from him, discarding your bag next to you. The rough wood of the bench beneath you was hot under your figure, though you basked in the shadow the weeping willow gifted. You couldn’t help catching the tone in Han’s voice as you looked at him with a greeting smile – cautious, though feigning carelessness. For some reason, you couldn’t stand him this moment. Couldn’t he just be calm around you? The way he’s always been; your best friend?

“Yeah, someone kept me. Notes… and stuff.”

You took the Coke Han slid over to you as silence fawned over you both, and you opened the can momentarily, mostly to be doing something, partially because you were dying of thirst – you had finished your first drink earlier, in Mr. Bahng’s class, though it was impossible to stay constantly refreshed in the heat – maybe you should simply switch to water. The sizzling of the fuzzy drink spilled over as it opened with a loud hiss, and it was satisfaction to your ears, anticipation to your dry mouth. You looked at Han, didn’t say a word anymore. You put the tinned can to your mouth, sipped away the spill before making your first gulp; refreshing as you had expected it, though you weren’t truly satisfied – for some reason, you couldn’t stand yourself this moment. You couldn’t stand not being able to talk to your friend; couldn’t stand that you were unable, even, to thank him for the drink – you couldn’t stand not knowing the reason behind your anger for his recent behaviour, and your cowardness of speaking about it. But you only continued drinking, nonchalantly, as though you bore no ill thought altogether. As though you and Han had always behaved this way around the other; sitting in uncomfortable silence, grasping at topics of conversation just to end the nerve wreck.

Han hummed at your words, far too late, but he did. As though he had expected further explanation; you could tell he didn’t believe you, but you didn’t care. You wouldn’t tell him anything. You couldn’t tell him about Mr. Bahng if you wanted this awkwardness to dissipate. And you were too stubborn, too scared to try and dissolve the weirdness; so you let it be, altogether. And it was torture – Han was the only person who knew you inside out, who was aware of all the thoughts you bore. Silence was equal to a dagger to the heart when it was with him.

You clicked your tongue, took another big gulp of your Coke. You would win the game of pretending. You could fake it, get over the feeling of utter coldishness until everything between you was back to normal. It had to work, you thought – if you pretended for long enough, if you kept shut about Mr. Bahng and anything regarding him, the argument from a week ago and Han’s strange motive of worry – and potential jealousy – would drive into the back of your minds, would dissipate itself… right? And it’s not like it was all bad; the problem occurred simply when you were in lonesome, anywhere else but the studio with the others. Only then it seemed like you two barely knew each other, only then uneasiness occupied your body almost to paralysis, sheer because it was so very unknown with him. You wouldn’t let it go as far as to rot away your friendship; that would be stupid. One fight against years of friendship; things just didn’t end like that.  

“So… did you finish the song?”

You leaned back against the backrest of the bench, legs crossed, relaxed; you could never go wrong talking about music, and you were relieved when you saw Han’s face light up at your question. Ever since Han had first told you about the new song he had planned to write for the band a week ago – the one he still claimed to be suited especially for you, the one he grew so shy about when he had first brought it up – he hadn’t stopped gushing over it. He had asked you to try singing melodies he experimented with, had asked your opinion on lyrics or the instrumental, had wanted your help in naming the song; Cold Metal is what you had settled on after you heard the finished text, and saying both of you were excited to practice the song with the band was an understatement. You’d argue it to be Han’s best work as of now, and you knew the others would love it.

You had been grateful for the song for the past week. It had worked as the only subject Han had talked to you about with no hesitation, no remorse; it was purified passion whenever he had proposed a name or decided to change up the chords or asked you to sing for him. You had been grateful that one thing had stayed the same, and bore hope that it always would – that with him, no matter the situation, music would stay unchanged, would always be the connector between your hearts, the invisible red string between you.

“I am done, actually, I was just finishing up last stuff before – we could show the others today, and start practicing it like, instantly. …if they like it, even.”

You snapped your eyes open – you had been sunbathing while you listened to him talk, had enjoyed the warmth on your skin, the faint sun on your face, hidden slightly behind the long, crying branches of the tree. Han had always been talented, and was never one to grow insecure about his work. Though he had been over this particular song, and you disliked it, immensely – it baffled you that he couldn’t agree with you on having written his best work as far as you were concerned, and you had made it your goal to convince him of it.

“They will like it – it’s your best song so far, I’m serious.”, you replied in a stern voice, making Han flush in his place. His eyes lost yours, and after a couple of seeming unsure moments, he grabbed his drink and took three big sips from it. When would it end? When would you understand why a simple fight – not even quite, a mere heated discussion, really – changed him so much, so drastically? When would he stop shying away from your gaze and be your best friend again, the one he’d always been?

You sighed, and Han gave you a hum after he placed his Root Beer back on the bench. It was a questioning hum almost, as though words hidden behind it, as though he was preparing to speak though wasn’t sure of what. You gave him time, sipped at your Coke. Han fiddled with his own drink, furrowed his brows; then he looked at you, suddenly, and hesitation was written all over his body. Yet he asked away.

“So… how was it with Mr. Bahng today? Did you talk to him?”

He brought it up. He asked himself – not confidently, and if you were honest the tone in his voice made you shiver. It wasn’t a genuine question, it was forced. He forced himself to be a good friend and ask, though it was obvious he didn’t want to hear the answer. Why didn’t he? And why did he, after all, yet force himself to ask? Because he wouldn’t hurt, you thought. Because he got over the whole thing, surely; he was still strange, though then again, you were still strange, too. None of you were known for your maturity; the awkwardness of the fight, the sudden heat over it a week ago simply hadn’t settled yet. You were people, and you bore emotions like any other, even if you were friends of years. Sometimes arguments simply took time to dissipate – yes, you were convinced. Han was over it. So you were, too. He couldn’t be hurt about news of your true happiness; he was your best friend. He was the closest person you had, he wouldn’t grow jealous anymore – for whatever reason he did in the first place. And maybe, you had misread him entirely. Maybe he was merely worried of the consequences; you couldn’t claim your little scheme of seducing your music teacher to be perfectly safe and without risk, and Han was simply too good of a friend to not be worried. His strangeness over the past week had been guilt, for having started a fight, for not having apologized after; similar to you, so you understood. It wasn’t jealousy, after all. He was worried. He would be excited, now, if you told him about the progress. He had to be excited. You needed him to be excited.

You had promised yourself not to talk about it, but if there was one thing you were worse at than keeping a secret from him, it was lying to Han. You couldn’t possibly; though you deemed him to be ready for your answer – otherwise he wouldn’t have brought it up. He wouldn’t have asked himself.

“He might…”, you started, though you needed to clear your throat before you could continue. You looked at him, and he reciprocated your gaze. His eyes were unreadable, and it made you shiver despite the scorching sun on your skin. You cleared your throat a second time, forced yourself to a grin; play along, play pretend, act as natural as always. “You might not like the news, but you were wrong last week – Mr. Bahng agreed to give me private lessons from next week on.”

You looked at him, and he reciprocated your gaze. His eyes sunk, his brows furrowed in the most subtle way though you couldn’t not have noticed at the way you were staring him down, and his beaten expression was far worse than the unreadable one before – it made your heart beat faster, it started scorching you from within, the sun cold now on your skin. Why did he look so… sad, so hopeless?

“So I made progress. He was eyeing me, too – I guarantee you he wanted to fuck me back there… I bet he will next week.”

You didn’t know why you said that. It wasn’t intended to hurt him, or maybe it was, and Han choked on the drink he had just placed on his lips – his coughs were daggers to your heart, and every further one made you regret your words. What the hell was wrong with you? You hadn’t wanted to tell him altogether, and now you told him too much for his own good – did you want to hurt him, after all? You thought back on the excitement that had found a home within you when Mr. Bahng had mentioned the rough patches with his wife, how utterly happy you were. Cold and heartless, sadistic. This moment, you couldn’t find any more fitting words for yourself.   

You looked at him as he calmed down from the swallowing up. He cleared his throat a couple of times, getting rid of the remaining sting his drink had caused before he looked at you. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes big, glassy; dark. It was his turn to speak, his turn to show enthusiasm, to be happy for you – you knew you were lying to yourself, were holding onto the last straw of meagre hope for the last couple of seconds it was possible before Han would cut it in half altogether. Though he looked clueless. His words were as though stuck in his throat – he was opening and closing his mouth like a fish without water, and no sound came out. The seconds of silence passed in torture; why wasn’t he excited for you? Why did you continue lying to yourself?

“I would have expected that you let go of the whole thing.”

Finally, after he had been quiet for far too long, Han spoke, and your heart sank in the process. It wasn’t his words that hurt you; it was the tone he used, the melody of his voice as he converted his eyes to his fiddling hands again, refusing to look at you, forbidding you to look through him. He was hiding from you. Why was he hiding from you? He had been building a wall the past week, you just realized; a wall intended just for you, a wall around his heart which was just high enough to keep you out of it. The realization was a sip of the strongest venom.

If someone asked you, you weren’t all too sure if you could have described what you’d heard in his timbre, what exactly sent the shiver down your spine in the sound of his voice. Was it the regret you heard, or the despair? It might have been the hopelessness – it could have been the sound of his heart breaking in half.

You wouldn’t provoke him any further. You’d stay silent about Mr. Bahng, until the moment the teacher left, just like you had promised it to yourself – whether you’d make any progress or not. You’d apologize to Han, you’d concentrate on the band, you’d go back to a week ago, before this strange awkwardness had created a gashing crevice between you; you would fix it.

“Why should I let go of the whole thing? Can’t I have some fun without you judging me for it?”

Stupid. How could you be so thoughtless, so immature? You despised yourself; you disgusted yourself. And then Han looked at you, and you could tell he was hurt – and you hated yourself even more.

“I’m not judging you. But you can have fun like, literally anywhere else… I just still don’t think fucking your teacher is the best idea you’ve had.”

He was right, and you hated that you knew that he was. You couldn’t be angry at him, you couldn’t be mad; you weren’t in the position to. The sooner you got over your pride the sooner you could be back to normal. You looked at him; you would simply apologize. You would forget Mr. Bahng, would tell him you couldn’t take private lessons after all, that your schedule was too busy and your band too important; you would fix it.

“Why the fuck are you so sensitive? It’s not like you’re in love with me, so get over it.”

Your words took form in the dampness outside before you realized, settled uncomfortably between your bodies, and the only thing you could do was look at each other. You, fearfully expectant; him, far too nervous for your own liking. Han’s cheeks were suddenly three shades darker, his blinking rapid, his eyes searching for something to focus on; something other than your scrutinizing gaze. His teeth bit into his silver piercing – the sound was uncomfortable, and you almost told him to stop; yet you didn’t tell him anything. You stayed silent, because though you had never despised yourself more than this very moment, when those words had left your mouth, you were far more cautious of his reaction. He wasn’t in love with you, so there was no reason for his sudden nervousness, his clamminess. Why wasn’t he laughing – why wasn’t he denying it? You wished he would deny it; you needed him to deny it.

Your brows furrowed with every passing second. He wasn’t denying it; he wasn’t doing anything, quite frankly. He wasn’t even looking at you, almost as though you hadn’t spoken to him at all. He was back to fiddle with his can of Root Beer, half empty already yet daring to spill with his movements. He placed it on his lips rapidly, the sun throwing golden rays and darker shadows against his face as he threw his head back and took a gulp, only to do something. He continued nibbling on his piercing; the clinking sound was still uncomfortable, cut through the excruciating silence like nails on a wall. The awkwardness was tangible, and it was impossible to bare; you hated it.

“Ji… what the fuck. Get over yourself. It was a joke – you’re not in love with me.”

You spoke, but your voice was trembling. He looked at you; wrong. He forced himself to look at you. There was fear in his eyes, one he tried to overplay with a sudden nervous chuckle. He cleared his throat, grabbed his Root Beer – a little too hard, deforming the tinned can in the process – to finish the drink, throwing back his head again as he let the last droplets run down his throat, and you watched the sun dance on his face again. You saw beats of sweat glistening in the light – you hoped it was due to the heat. You held your breath as you kept looking at him, continued to hold it while he stood, while he threw his rucksack over his shoulder. He was clumsy with it, tripping over his feet somewhat, though he didn’t let it seem as though it was bothering him.

“Hah, of course I’m not, just… I’m just worried about you… whatever. Let’s just go to practice.” You looked at him; you looked right past his feigned carelessness. He was giddy, too smiley all of a sudden. Was he believing his own words? It almost seemed as though his goal wasn’t convincing you, but himself. He looked at you; he tried his best to keep his composure. “The others are probably waiting already.” His voice was thin, though this too, he didn’t seem to let get to him. He was back to pretending, to playing a game that was so obviously gnawing at him; you weren’t all too sure anymore if you wanted to play along, or if you wanted to lay the cards on the table, open and honest.

Though he didn’t give you a chance. Han started to make his way to the studio, not waiting for your answer; not that you had one in mind. Was it possible? Was love the reason he behaved so strangely when it came to Mr. Bahng? The thought alone scared you, and you took hold of your bag quickly before following him; you didn’t want to think about it ever again. It wasn’t possible; it couldn’t be. Han was smarter than that, and your bond far too ancient. There hadn’t been a day in the past decade that you could point to where either you or he had felt more strongly about each other than regular friends did. There had to be a different reason for his strangeness – yet you weren’t sure why it still scared you to ask, to get behind said reason. However; love wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be. You wouldn’t let it be.

When you and Han arrived at the studio – you always five steps behind, not feeling brave enough to walk up to him on one level – Lino and Jeongin just grinded their cigarettes with the heavy soles of their boots, the stoned pavement crunching beneath them; Changbin’s bass was audible in the back already, the sound of his tuning occupying your senses and distracting you from your deafening thoughts, if only for a moment. Jeongin disappeared inside, Lino stayed to pet a stray cat which had been snaking around his legs; when he went into the studio eventually it followed him, and he let it. Han went in before you – he tried to ignore your stare he very much felt on his skin, tried to play it cool. What was wrong with him? He had known beforehand that you wouldn’t have let go of the whole fucking-your-teacher thing; yet he had hoped, nevertheless. He had very much noticed the way you had avoided to talk to him about Mr. Bahng, though he had been prepared for your gushing after music class had ended; why had he still felt as though you had shot him right through his heart, had pulled the last cables that had kept him alive?

You closed the door behind you when you entered the studio last, discarded your bag onto the sofa with a dangle, mindlessly. The room was filled with people, and it was filling with vibrations and tunes, faint melodies; it was Han’s favourite part of the day. Settling in, getting ready; he enjoyed nothing more than preparing to practice new songs. The sound of your humming, the sound of reserved warm-up notes, the sound of chattering getting quieter, because music was getting louder. Han put down his rucksack next to your bag, mindlessly too, listened to the static sounds of everyone plugging in their instruments, the purring of the cat that had followed Lino; felines weren’t forbidden in the studio. Lino had persisted on it when you had first started practicing together.

Jeongin and Changbin were chatting while they were getting ready, not loud, but obnoxious, almost. It seemed like they were continuing a conversation they had started when Han and you had been at the vending machine, but the point of exchange wasn’t hard to guess.

“Wait, I thought her name was like… what was it – ah! Nabi, no?”

Jeongin shook his head at Changbin’s words, putting the aux cable into its’ designated spot on the backside of the piano, and turning it on after. It gave a pleasant sound of feedback, and quiet, experimental chords filled the studio after.

“No, Nabi was the girl from the club; I broke it off with her like, ages ago. I met the other girl in the store; she just came up to me and I thought she needed help, but she asked for my number.”

Jeongin had a history of taking his dating life rather easily; too easily, some might say, but he wasn’t one to care much. Whenever he gave his number to women – or men, for that matter – he never intended to spend too much time on that person; and he always made it fashion to clarify it beforehand, so there hadn’t been many instances where people left with a broken heart. Funny enough, and all of you teased him about it far too much for his liking, the small grocery store right outside his and Changbin’s place he kept a part-time job in was the place most people came up to him – it surely couldn’t be the unflattering uniform he had to wear, so all of you wondered what it was about that particular store that brought in so many of his admirers.

Another thing you teased about was how very graphic he was when he told Changbin about a new person he met. How very… detailed. Not to brag, not even to tickle a reaction out of any of you; sex and intimacy, as you’ve learned, were simply subjects he wasn’t shy to talk about, not in the slightest. It came to him like talking of the weather – much to your and everyone else’s dismay. You weren’t often in the mood to get intricate detail on how exactly a girl had sucked his dick right before he came in to practice.

“Bro, she was insane. I’m so glad you slept at Jae's yesterday; she was so loud, I though she…”

Han tuned out the rest of the conversation, momentarily. He didn’t want to know anything about the girl Jeongin had banged the night before, nor wanted he to hear more about Changbin’s girlfriend he spent the night at. Was he jealous of them? He wasn’t sure. He only knew that their talk of intimacy and relationships and one-night stands reminded him of his own loneliness; and that reminded him of you; he wasn’t certain why, but it did. And that, again, reminded him of your – in his humble opinion, unhealthy – obsession with Mr. Bahng, and his own unhealthy weirdness about it. Or was it healthy? Was it reasonable? He wasn’t at all sure anymore. What he was sure of was that he hated being so weird about it. He wanted to be happy for you… didn’t he? He believed himself that he wanted to be, convinced himself of it. Besides the worry of the consequences you might get yourself into there wasn’t a single factor why Han should be so very against the entire affair – and since he had already expressed his worry, there was nothing more he could do, really. He should start being excited for you, if he thought about. It wasn’t his business to be jealous, now, was it? He didn’t have the right to be.

He looked over at you, watching you watch Jeongin and Changbin, listening to their conversation and pretending to gag occasionally whenever something rather repugnant left their mouths. When your eyes swayed his direction, he converted him to his guitar, continuing to tune it. He feared that if you looked into his eyes for only a second, you would read him, inside and out. And he didn’t want that. He didn’t want it, because he didn’t understand the words written on his heart himself, in the first place. You couldn’t be the one to read them first; he needed to untangle their conundrum before he let anyone else near it; it was exhausting, excruciatingly frustrating.

Lino was sitting behind his plexiglass, silently, not adding anything to the conversation besides the occasional hum; though all of you doubted it was regarded to Jeongin’s new girl-toy, but rather towards the black cat that has found a home on his lap by now and was purring in full contentment. None of you really knew anything about his love life; he didn’t always sleep over at the shared apartment you and Han owned with him, though he had never brought anyone over, not in the three years you’d known him. You didn’t even know if he preferred nights with strangers; for all any of you knew, he could be having a serious relationship that none of you knew about. You didn’t know, either, that the man had been eyeing you the moment you and Han had come back from the vending machine. Lino was quiet, but he was attentive; he had noticed that you and Han hadn’t been talking before entering the studio, that you still weren’t. That Han’s eyes only found themselves on you when you weren’t looking at him; otherwise, they would flee somewhere else, suddenly busy with his guitar, or overly interested in his music stand and the apparently wrong height of it. Interesting.

“Quit the nasty talk – I have a new song I wanted to show you.”

Han’s voice cut through the studio almost uncomfortably; his voice was sterner than he had expected it to be, killing the fun in the room in an instant. All of you had a silent agreement that practice would be always taken seriously, though that has never meant that enjoyment wasn’t allowed. All of you had always been able to joke around plenty before locking in to rehearse with full concentration; so the strictness in Han’s voice was out of place, almost, and everyone else caught onto it; Jeongin and Changbin looked at each other questioningly, you cleared your throat and converted your eyes to Han – of course he wasn’t looking, but you pretended it to leave you cold.

“Sorry, just – let’s start with practice, okay? I have a lot planned, kinda.” Voice thinner now by a lot, and you looked at each other; Changbin and Jeongin on the verge of giggles while Han returned to his backpack to get the song sheets he had printed for everyone.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry – we forgot sex is like, a sensitive topic for you… since you’re not having it, you know.” Changbin’s chuckling voice in the studio, and you almost punched him.

“Yeah, right. Our condolences, for real.”, Jeongin jumped in, just the comedic duo you knew them to be.

Under different circumstances, you would have laughed at the two; but you watched Han’s reaction closely, noticed how he halted in his movements at the sound of his friends’ bickering, how his face sunk into further despair. How his eyes flickered over yours for barely a second before he continued handing out the sheets. How he flinched barely noticeably when his hand brushed your own while he gave you your paper.

“Yeah, whatever. Let’s just start.”

There was a storm brewing within him. A storm when he locked eyes with you, a storm when he touched you; a storm when the two friends made a comment that was all but unusual for them, though for some reason, he was sensitive to it today. If he was honest, Han would have walked right out of the studio; he couldn’t bare the eyes on him, the attention, he couldn’t stand the stuffiness suddenly, he hated Jeongin’s giggles, Changbin’s snickering, Lino’s silence; your presence. He didn’t normally mind any of this – but ever since he had talked with you under the weeping willow his mind has been running marathon after marathon, and he struggled concentrating on anything else. He could barely speak when he started to explain the plans for his new song, the division, the harmonies, details about it. He was stuttering at every other word, losing his thought entirely when he as much as passed you with his eyes; why was he so very incapable of holding his emotions in control? Emotions, feelings he wasn’t even certain of, to make matters worse.

The rest of you eyed him, but you didn’t say a word. You could see that Changbin and Jeongin almost did; they looked at each other with a mischievous flicker in their eyes, with an all-saying grin plastered onto their faces – they weren’t evil, and they were well able to read the room, though both of them were unaware of the rough patch the both of you were going through. Rough patch; what a strange thing. You wouldn’t have ever imagined associating Han with a rough patch. You looked at the two friends again, and your thoughts swept back to them; they would tease the poor boy to death any second if you didn’t save him from his misery.

“Ji…”, you called out, interrupting Han in his all but confident semi-presentation. At the sound of your voice he flinched; though he finally, for the first time since you’d both entered the studio, looked at you, properly. His eyes were deep, dark; you felt as though looking right past him, right into his soul he’d been trying to hide from you for the past week.

“Let’s just play it. I’ll sing.”

Gratefulness in his eyes, and he breathed deeply before he nodded at you. You got ready, snaking your hands around your guitar after prepping your microphone, and you waited for Han to get his own instrument ready. You looked back at him; you shivered at the glint in his eyes. He gave you another nod, and you counted in softly, before the studio filled with the sound of your guitars.

Though, and he was so very embarrassed by it, so deeply ashamed, his fingers suddenly forgot how to play, lost its’ place on his guitar when you started singing. The song was made for your voice, truly; you had never sounded prettier. And Han had never played worse. He could see you looking back at him, though he pretended to not notice it, pretended that his bad playing was somehow part of the song. Pretended to keep his cool; though the sight in his peripheral vision of Changbin’s and Jeongin’s confusion and your eyes on him drove him into a spiral, and the more he tried to gloss over his mistakes, the more he seemed not to bare the power to.

The music stopped, your voice dying out after you heard the insecure sound of Han’s guitar disappearing. Ear-scratching feedback echoed through the room, before that, too, dyed into nothingness, and painful silence filled the room. All of you looked at the guitarist, while he eyed the red burgundy carpet beneath him in all firmness. He was flushed, his cheeks as red as the carpet.

“Uh, sorry. Let’s start again.”

His voice was but a whisper, and all five of you could sense that tension, and Han was trembling under it. He didn’t dare lock gazes with anyone in the studio; it was a death sentence, quite simply. He would cease to exist, merely vanish if he had to see the look in any of his band mates’ eyes. Confusion, amusement, maybe; suspicion or understanding, which would be the worst of them all.

Han heard Changbin huff out in what supposedly should have sounded like amusement, though it didn’t quite; Han jerked internally at it, and the storm that had started brewing prior was now coming down on him in thunder and lighting. They knew… was it possible for them to know something he wasn’t even sure of himself? How could they; it wasn’t possible. He wasn’t confident, even, in his own feelings; how could any of the others know anything about them?

“Damn… didn’t know you were this sensitive to the whole sex thing.” Changbin was tone deaf, and you wished you could punch him. Han was almost relieved; Changbin, at least, did not know anything about the storm within him. Because sex – or the lack thereof – surely wasn’t the reason for it. Yet he almost feared his next words. He suddenly felt humiliated; he wasn’t one to overthink a joke, but today, he couldn’t bare it. “You know…”, the bassist started again after moments of silence as Han nothing but stared holes into the ground. He was about to lose it. He was about to burst into tears, or implode – worst of all, for the first time in many years, he felt like he wasn’t able to search for comfort in you. “I told you already, we can like, set you up with someone if want, no need to be so weird about the whole – “

Changbin didn’t get to finish his sentence. The harsh feedback of Han’s guitar sounded through the room, stinging in your ears as he threw the fabric band over his neck and placed the guitar on his stand, mindlessly, not as much as plugging it off. He was clumsy, tripped over the thick, dusty carpet while scurrying to grab his rucksack, before he disappeared out of the studio so quickly barely any of you noticed, simply leaving the rest of you behind with no explanation.

You looked at the door he had let open for several moments after he left. You had been excited to practice the new song, though he hadn’t given the chance to. You had been ready to play pretend for a little while longer, had prepared to never speak of Mr. Bahng again, not after his reaction under the weeping willow; yet Han seemed to be the first to have grown sick of it. He hadn’t been good at his own game the previous week, and it must have gotten to him now – what you feared, now, was the truth. You still weren’t quite sure what that was, in the first place. But you knew it was enough to tear Han up, to toy with your friendship, to make him behave like an entirely different person, almost. And it made you despise yourself. It made you a different person, too; a worse one, and you hadn’t been a saint to begin with. Would he talk in all honesty to you, now? Would he sleep over today and seek out a conversation with you, like two mature friends would? You hoped he would; and simultaneously, you feared it. The truth about his antics and behaviour, you thought, had doomed on you a week ago already; you simply didn’t want to confess it to yourself, you thought. So, you had avoided it, had continued hurting him instead of hurting yourself.

You had decided to shoot Han a text before you and the others wrapped up the rehearsal – not that you had played anything in the first place, it wasn’t of much use if a member was missing. You weren’t talking, not about Han, nor otherwise. You were deep in thought, zoning out Changbin’s and Jeongin’s conversation, not noticing Lino’s eyes on you. You kept checking your phone; your own words – hey, everything good? let’s talk when i’m home? – staring back at you mockingly, without a reply beneath it. You would talk to him. You would listen to the truth, whatever he was hiding whenever he avoided your eyes – but you feared it, with every fibre of your body.

☆.☆.☆

Your steps the next day were not as light as you had hoped them to be. You were on the way to class, to Mr. Bahng’s – you ought to be excited, you ought to be flying more than walking, yet your feet weighted heavily on the ground beneath you, and you couldn’t help but sink into your own body. The faint feeling of frenzy when you remembered Mr. Bahng’s class after waking this morning was not enough to conceal the misery over the text Han had yet not answered, or the fact he had been asleep – or, had pretended to be – when you’d reached home. You had left the prior day linger on you without redemption, and now it was pressing down on you with all its’ strength; it had gnawed into your brain, words you said and words you didn’t say, Han’s frustration, Changbin’s teasing, Lino’s silence, your silence, Han’s final outburst, his silence. It was all that occupied your mind, your thoughts, your sleepless night. That, and Mr. Bahng. And not in a negative way, either; you had been excited ever since you had set the date for private lessons. Were you that bad of a friend? Or had Mr. Bahng enamoured you so much that you clearly struggled to think straight? It baffled you how you could possibly stay eager, giddy, even – though admittedly, surely not as much as you would have been if the events of the prior day had never occurred – about something your best friend was so adamantly against, that was so very obviously the reason for the current coldness settling between you?

Maybe it was your stubbornness. It has always been one of your greater weaknesses, one of many reasons of miscommunication with your parents, or friends, or Han. Your stubbornness, and your defiance, a mixture of characteristics prone to immaturities. What everyone else hated you loved out of spite, what everyone else advised you against you were more excited over only for the sake of it; it was but a curse, brewing within you and out of your control. As though the crush on Mr. Bahng increased in volume with every objecting word Han spoke, as though your body was physically powerless to rationalize, slave to be left doing the very opposite of the righteous. Was it to piss people off, to mess with them? Or laid the problem deeper, someplace locked within you? A fear, maybe, of rejection and disappointment so you induced it yourself before others could. Fear of judgement, so you acted purposefully irrational to feign carelessness; were you maybe deeper damaged than you cared to admit? Or did you know Han’s secret, after all, and so were adamant to do everything in your power to stop him from ever admitting it?

The more you thought about it the more your head felt as though bursting. It was hurting, and the scorching sun in your eyes wasn’t much help to get rid of the headache, despite the dark sunglasses you were wearing. You couldn’t wait for summer to pass, for it to make room for colder temperatures and a cozier atmosphere. Fall had always been your favourite season, though, as you made your way over the sizzling, black asphalt, it seemed so very far away still. You sighed at the thought of it, hummed, then, when you finally entered the main hall of the music department. An artificial chill welcomed you, granted by stone and concrete, engulfing you in a familiar scent and a silence so sacred you almost grew embarrassed of your own footwear echoing through the building. You took off your shades, placed them on the top of your head to imitate a hair band, creating a wanted mess of your bangs, some falling in frames around your face, some tucked behind by your sunglasses. You passed classrooms, few people who greeted you politely, professors who you were familiar with from previous semesters; before you stood before Mr. Bahng’s classrooms. Professor Hwang’s classroom, to be precise – though you haven’t given latter man a thought in the past weeks altogether. Now that you remembered him again, you hoped he was fine, and on his way to well-being; then again you hoped he’d stay absent for a little while longer, for Mr. Bahng would vanish if he didn’t. Cruel, sick, and you couldn’t decide between being disgusted or confused with yourself. You chose both, before you knocked on the heavy wood of the entrance door, and entered Mr. Bahng’s classroom without waiting for an answer.

The plan had initially been a different one. You were supposed to meet next week, right after a shortened music class. Just before yesterday’s rehearsal you had wondered how you could possibly wait a whole week for private classes with the teacher you so badly wanted to fuck, had wanted to for the past five years; until said teacher had shot you an E-Mail that night, when you had reached home after the unsuccessful practice, proposing to meet the next day if you could make time, due to a busy schedule the entirety of the next two weeks. You had tried to dismiss the fact that the Mail had rolled in a little past midnight, had tried to dismiss the causality of its’ tone. Yet you had grown giddy, and had answered the very moment; you hadn’t cared to play hard to get. Your time with Mr. Bahng was limited, and you would use every second that was granted to you. You had texted that you could squeeze in an hour between your Uni classes and afternoon rehearsals, and Mr. Bahng had answered – momentarily – that he looked forward to tomorrow. He had attached a smiley face at the end of the sentence, and you had been a lost cause.

Now you stood before him, a day later, an hour from rehearsal, an hour away from seeing Han again, from speaking to him, from hopefully finding back normalcy. You stood before Mr. Bahng, clammy hand fisted around the strap of your dark handbag, the other forced to casually hang by the side of your body. Your bejewelled wrist clanked against the chains you had added onto your dark jeans, matching the silver around your neck. Your top – short, little, exposing far too much skin though it didn’t necessarily raise a question in the hot weather – was dark and simple, as though you hadn’t much thought about your outfit altogether, and had thrown together the first thing in your closet. As though you weren’t trying too hard. No one needed to know you had spent over an hour getting ready in the morning, for this moment alone.

“Hi, Yn.”

Every coherent thought you had formed up until this very moment, up until his greeting had been wiped with as little as two words, with the singsong of his voice. You feared to flush, to turn a dark shade of red at the sight of your teacher, feared to sweat profusely – lose, white dress-shirt, black pants. A watch adorning his right wrist, silver, matching the dainty necklace dangling on his chest. His chest, that he wore exposed, only enough, with two buttons of his dress-shirt kept open; what was it about him that made you revert to a hormonal teenage girl, needy for a man’s attention, giddy when he granted it? What was it about Mr. Bahng that made you lose all sense of moral, everything you stood for – what was it about him that made you lose yourself, entirely?

“Hi, Mr. Bahng.”

Your voice was stronger, more secure than you had expected – you feigned confidence while your body ran hot and cold all at once, while your knees dared to give out if you as much as moved an inch. But Mr. Bahng bought it, didn’t sense your nervosity; he gave you a smile, kind, welcoming, while he waited patiently for you to set down your things and take a seat by a table right in front of his own. You felt his eyes on you with every move you made, while you bend down to drop off your bag under the table, while you sat down and ran a hand through your hair. You felt his eyes on you even when you pretended to fix your attire, picking at your top and jeans – was it normal to look that much? Was he staring? You were surely reading too much into it.

And then you saw his eyes on you, when you finally, after having let him wait for a while, reciprocated his gaze; maybe it was normal to look that much, but you could swear to have seen Mr. Bahng’s cheeks redden only a taint when you locked his gaze with your own, from beneath your lashes, dark make-up sure to accentuate your piercing eyes. You weren’t seductive, you’d argue, not yet – though you were teasing. On the brink of seduction, though not quite there yet; letting him quiver, making him wait and wonder if he was the one reading too much into it. Into you.

The teacher cleared his throat, gave you another kind smile. “Alright, should we start?” A nod from you, and Mr. Bahng stepped from behind his desk to lean on it before you. You looked up at him, barely two meters away from him, face levelled with his core, his crotch, and a quiver made its’ presence in the pit of your stomach. Your thighs squeezed a little, and you wondered anew what it was exactly about him that made you lose all control over yourself.

“Tell me about your singing first. When did you start, where did you learn and so on.”, his voice was serious, just the teacher. Kind, but disciplined. “Oh, and… just call me Chris. We’re both adults, and I’m not your official teacher anymore. No need for formalities.” A smile, a grin almost, if you read too much into it, and it was then your entire world seemed to start spinning.

Tell me about your singing first. When did you start. – you could not, for the life of you, remember. Anything. About your singing, about the band, about Han. All memories wiped away in Mr. Bahng’s – in Chris’s – presence. In how casually he treated you. In how easy, you suddenly realized, it would be to wrap him around your finger. He wasn’t the unattainable man from five years ago anymore. He was here and present, having suggested dropping formalities, showing interest in you, spending time with you solely by his own wish, uncoerced. He was far realer now – and the realization hit you like a truck.

It was about twenty minutes later when you and him stood before a music stand, warm-up sheets presented before you. Talking with Chris had been easy, fun. He was a good teacher, a good listener. A good explainer. A good talker. A terrible flirt, though. You couldn’t possibly be any bolder, you thought. The fleeting touches all upon him – never inappropriate, but always surprising, once seemingly coincidentally passing his arm, or purposefully swatting his shoulder in light manner at a stupid joke he told, or standing so near to him it wasn’t all that necessary, but also not enough for him to back away – seemed to make him nervous, but you weren’t sure if he picked up the signs. He was flushing, ears red and glowing, the coughs stuck in his throat never seeming to end. It was adoring, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t yet what you wanted, wasn’t yet close to meeting your goal – though that was given. A married man wouldn’t jump at the first opportunity presented to him, if he bore even the faintest presence of a moral compass. It would take you far longer than a simple one-hour lesson to get the teacher exactly where you wanted him.

“Hm… I’m not feeling it… is this right?”

Chris stood in front of you, inches away, watching your hand hovering on your throat. He had told you to sing and to feel what exactly your vocal cords were doing – you weren’t even much sure what you should be feeling, what your vocal cords really should be doing while you sang the practice melodies on the sheet in front of you. Not that you weren’t listening to your teacher – techniques, as sorry as you felt for Chris, were of secondary importance to you today, though. You bashed your eyes at him, fluttering lashes, brows furrowed as though genuinely confused, fingers caressing your neck – you hoped you looked somewhat seductive instead of making a fool of yourself.

What you didn’t know, what you were blissfully unaware of – Chris was running laps in his mind, was sweating profusely. His dress pants, normally perfectly fitted to his body, had started to feel far too tight over the span of the last forty-five minutes. The lesson was coming to an end – and the teacher was almost thankful for it. You were a good student, adapting anything he explained quite quickly; though you always asked for a second explanation, one that, not seldom, required physicality. A hand on your jaw, or your shoulders to put you in a proper posture, or on your chest, to check your breathing. Touches and brushes of skin against skin not necessarily unusual for vocal lessons – but with you they felt too intimate, too close. But maybe Chris was reading far too much into it. You had been his student once; if not for long, and half a decade ago, and though he only barely remembered you – you had been his student. Should he feel disgust towards himself, at the feeling of his tightening pants rubbing against his core, with every further touch you granted upon his body? He couldn’t really be blamed though, he thought – you had grown into a woman, and he couldn’t as much as recall you as a teenager. He had barely recognized you, when he had spotted you in the universities’ classroom a week ago – he had spotted you and his body had gone up in flames, his limbs running hot at the sight of you; and only then he had noticed you had looked familiar. Only then he had been able to attach your face to the name he first read five years ago. And only then, only after initial attraction, after followed revelation, only after both embarrassment and bashfulness, but also a wave of desire had filled his every fibre he had remembered his wife, his kids; he had felt a horrible husband, are far more horrible father.

And now it wasn’t any different. The thought of his wife, his family, flashed through his mind only shortly, and only after having worried about every other possible thing – about whether it was wrong or not to feel the attraction he felt towards you, about whether the half-boner in his pants was at all appropriate or not, about whether his nervousness was your doing, even, your goal, or if it was his very own hunger for intimacy, his thirst for physicality which blinded him, lead him wrongly. If your flirting wasn’t flirting at all, only your persona, your nature. If he was the problem. Only then he thought about his wife, when Chris’s hand lay on your throat, to check for proper technique, on your warm, sweat-laced throat, bobbing with each gulp you swallowed, with each word your spoke, your piercing eyes through his own, your slow blinking, your slower licking of your lips, your hand then on his own, why he couldn’t quite make out, that he thought about his marriage. When his face was inches from your own, when you had stopped singing already, when your voice, strong and sure and rich, wasn’t echoing in his mind anymore, when it needed only a wrong move for your lips to meet, with his fingers still wrapped around your throat – that’s when he thought about his family. Only when it was almost too late. He thought about his wife, not having seen her in over a week, to get space, to clear both your minds’, and he thought he couldn’t really be blamed for his attraction to you – he hadn’t seen his wife in over a week. You were attractive, you were flirting, profusely so; and he suddenly felt a horrible husband again.

So, he didn’t act on it. He thought about his wife, Chris felt your breath on his skin, on his face, he remembered how he hadn’t been this close to his own wife in ages, how he hadn’t seen her in over a week; and he took a step back. His hand fell to his side, left your throat cold and empty – left you cold and empty. Left you with your hopes up, left you falling against concrete made of bitter rejection. He had been so close to you, so near – you had felt his breath against you, his tightening grip around your throat; and with the blink of an eye, it had been gone. A memory, a thought flashing past him and there was distance between you again; which was given. He was a married man, one carrying a moral compass – it would need you longer than this. More effort than this.

Chris cleared his throat – you lost count how often he had done this throughout the hour of your lesson. The room was hot, the sun scorching the old, dark wood. You could see dust particles dancing in the rays of light as Chris stepped behind his desk again, heaving his bag on top of it. you weren’t sure if you imagined the bulge in his pants, or if it was really there, but either way you grinned at it, internally. It needed several moments before Chris granted you a look, after checking the time on his wrist-watch – the hour was over, though you had hoped he wouldn’t have noticed.

“So… that was good for the beginning. You’re a good singer…”, he packed his bag, scattered stuff all around the desk which he stuffed hurriedly, though feigning calmness. You did the same, though much calmer than him, no need to fake it – you had gotten him nervous, you had gotten his exposed chest to be flush, even now, minutes after he had created physical space between your bodies. “We just need to work on details, stylistic choices, techniques. It’s obvious you’re self-taught, we’re gonna work on that-“, his bag was packed, and you stood with your own thrown over your shoulder, in front of him, calm as can be, satisfied, smirking. He looked at you, questioningly, “…same time next week?”

When you had stepped outside the classroom, bidding Chris goodbye and watching him set off to the exit, granting you one look back, bashful when he’d noticed your staring and shy over his own antics, you checked your phone – Han had answered your text from last night. Finally. An hour ago, when your classes with Chris had begun, asking if you’d be up to grab a drink. He couldn’t know of your classes with Chris – he had been asleep, or, at least in his darkened bedroom – when you had come home, and he had been out the door before you’d been awake that morning; you had never gotten the chance to tell him, though you wouldn’t have done so anyways, under different circumstances. You would have kept quiet about Chris, because Han’s sensitivity towards the matter still got to your head; though now, looking at his text, at the followed question mark fifteen minutes after the first message, you didn’t want to lie to him. You didn’t want to lie, and you didn’t want to hurt him, or upset him, or do whatever he thought you were doing any time Chris was the object of your conversation; you didn’t want any of it, didn’t want him strange and quiet and unknown to you, almost. Didn’t want him different. So you went with a half-truth as you made your way to the studio, shooting back a text that you were busy with lessons – it wouldn’t work on him. Han knew your schedule, and you knew his. The half-lie was only uttered to save time, to not leave him waiting on an answer any longer, to not shoot yourself into a position deserving of his condemnation once again, in a matter of seconds. The distance between you was enough as it was; the lack of shared dinner last night was nagging on you, the absence of a sweet Coke on your tastebuds suddenly strange. It wasn’t like you, the silence, the distance. And not even the high from ten minutes ago was vibrant enough to lull out the worry.

☆.☆.☆

Han sat on the shabby, sheeling sofa in the stuffy studio, staring at his phone, staring at your message. He wasn’t sure if you thought him dumb, or if your respect for him was finally reduced to null.

16:44     sorry, was busy with lessons. let’s grab a drink after practice ^^

Han wasn’t stupid. He was aware your schedule was supposed to be free now – he was aware your lessons had been probably private, and probably in presence of Mr. Bahng. He hated the guy. He hated you for liking him, for having this teenage crush on him that didn’t seem to leave you alone. And he wasn’t sure why. Han wasn’t sure about the reason his body seemed to set aflame whenever Mr. Bahng’s name occupied your mouth, the sound of it so repulsive it shivered within the boy, despite the flames set inside him. He wasn’t sure just why now, in the silence of the room, in its’ loneliness, only instruments and the faint, static sound of electrics granting him company, he couldn’t be at ease with the thought of you spending time alone with a teacher he despised – for seemingly no good reason. Why now, as he watched dust particles dance in the heat of the room, illuminated by the sun only for seconds before they grew invisible to human eye, only shortly shining in golden rays before they vanished, why his heart bled, had started bleeding when you had first told him of Mr. Bahng. Why since then, it hadn’t stopped bleeding. Why since then, whenever he looked at you, whenever his eyes met yours, or only your face, your figure, he saw someone else now; still you, but changed. Not the girl he grew up with, not the girl he taught the guitar, the girl he had spent endless nights laughing with, about nothing, careful to not wake parents. Suddenly, he wasn’t seeing that girl anymore, not a girl – he was seeing a woman. A woman who desired a man he didn’t like; was it brotherly protection? Was that the reason his heart was beating faster whenever you entered the room, any room, whenever you laid your eyes on him, soft, known, familiar? He never felt like a brother to you, though; closer than a best friend, though never a brother, not quite. Something in between, something linguists haven’t found a name for, yet. Something linguists couldn’t name, maybe, because it only existed between the two of you. Or something only he believed existed, and you were entirely unaware about.

Maybe his heart bled not because you desired a man altogether, but because you desired him. Mr. Bahng, who he simply couldn’t stand. Must there be a reason for his hatred, he thought? No one can like everyone – his ill feelings towards the teacher could be entirely unsolicited, random at their core. It wouldn’t make it more right, but it was possible. Han wasn’t obligated to like him, nor did he need a reason – though it only felt like an excuse, nowhere near the answer he was looking for.

The answer he was looking for – what, exactly, was he looking for? He stood from the sofa, turning off his phone and throwing it onto the cushions where it bounced two, three times before coming to a halt, denting into the old, brown leather. The others would arrive soon – he made his way over to his guitar, busying himself with tuning it, warming up. He would use the time he had working, instead of thinking – he had enough of the insides of his head, the very depths of his brain. Seemingly, it was useless to think, altogether; it’s not like he was aware of the purpose behind all the thinking, anyways. He knew only three things, and none of them were of much help: he hated the teacher you so much adored; he didn’t know where this hatred came from, didn’t know why his heart yearned, suddenly, for something he couldn’t name; and that he saw you in a different light, though you had never changed. He saw you as someone who desired, who loved. Who wasn’t only a best friend to him, the singer of his band, his entire childhood. He was aware, now, that both you and him had changed. That you could, but did not, did never, desire him, desire Han; someone between a best friend and a brother, someone unnameable, something previously unknown to Han.

The door to the studio opened, and you tore Han from his spiralling thoughts. Thankfully so, or not, he wasn’t sure. But you stood in the little college studio now, skin glistening from the sweat the summer sun had drowned you in, eyes careful, searching. For him, for a sign in him – what sign neither of you quite knew, but you doubted you found it, now as you looked at your friend. Your friend you barely recognized – when had he turned so different? When had he turned away from you? Was it when you had first mentioned Chris? If so, it was stupid – it didn’t make sense.

Han’s eyes weren’t flickering in excitement as you stepped closer to him, his mouth was silent, no words gushing out to tell you of mundanity which always meant the world if it was the two of you. He stood and looked at you, for a moment too long, only looking, before he went back to his guitar. His teeth fiddled with the ring around his lip, the silver chains around his neck sounding against each other as ever, his grown-out roots dark in contrast to his bleached, dry hair. He looked as always; yet he didn’t look the same.

It was you who needed to break the silence – you were scared that otherwise, if no one uttered a word, it would stay silent forever. That silence would swallow you forever. And you weren’t sure why. You didn’t know why this moment felt so fatal, so deadly if you as much as breathed the wrong way. That if you did, everything around you would crumble – you didn’t know why, within the four walls of the small studio, time seemed to be frozen, waiting for either the right or the wrong, before everything would shatter, or go back to normal.

“Hi.”

Your voice was hopeful, almost. Desperate, one might say. Desperate for normality, for Han to look at you, to return to himself. He halted in his movements of tuning his guitar at the sound of your voice. He did look at you, granted you a smile, not quite awkward, but something close to it. A smile you would greet a good friend with, or a class acquaintance you met outside of class for the first time – not a friend of decades. And all desperateness was gone, all hope. Every bad feeling brewing in the pit of your stomach vanished to give room for sudden anger. You looked at him, ever tuning his guitar, the sun only inches away from blinding him but instead choosing to illuminate his hands, to find home there, to make the red on his instrument shimmer, and he looked so peaceful in his uneasiness. Who was he to feel peaceful? While you were worrying about him, choosing the right words say and the right actions to do – lost for, of course, the wish to sleep with Mr. Bahng –, actually trying? Who was he to smile at you, almost awkwardly, without a word before going back to his fucking guitar? Anger in every fibre of your body, behind your lids, flames in the tips of your fingers.

“Why are you being weird.”

 The question wasn’t asked as a question at all, said like a statement instead. With a voice so stern it made Han face you momentarily. You hated your temper, you hated your stubbornness. You hated him. You hated yourself. He blinked, once, twice. He played a couple chords on his guitar, as though he hadn’t heard you at all – you hated his fucking guitar.

“I’m not being weird.” The tone in his voice undetectable, unsure what it meant.

“Yeah, you are.”

“I’m no-“

“You are. Why aren’t you talking to me.”

Han looked at you again. You haven’t moved from your spot beside the door ever since you walked in, bag still thrown over your shoulder, your chest heaving in heavy breaths. Han trembled under your gaze. He trembled, and every thought he had been gnawing on before you had entered was suddenly forgotten about. He only saw you, your questioning eyes, awaiting eyes, as though desperate, clinging onto something he wasn’t aware of. He saw you, your frustration – and if it hadn’t been directed at him, this frustration, this anger, he would have found you beautiful. The revelation came like a tidal wave and almost drowned him entirely. You stood before him, and he felt as though unable to breath, looking at you. Actually, truly looking at you – he wasn’t sure if he ever has before. He had never believed you to be beautiful – he had never believed you to be ugly, but he had never paid enough attention to your exterior to have believed you to be either. The thought scared him, intimated him; you intimidated him, the way you were standing there, looking at him, expectantly, having taken only one step towards him. And he was quick to free himself from the waters that were you – was quick to join your anger, because it seemed to be the only thing holding the both of you afloat.

“You’re the one who was too busy fucking your teacher to answer my text, so…”

You knew he regretted his words the moment he uttered them. You weren’t sure why you knew, but you did – be it the years of friendship, be it intuition, be it whatever you wanted to call it. You looked at him, his eyes feigning steadiness yet laced with regret, and you fumed. Though not at him; at yourself. Because he was right, because you couldn’t blame him, not really.

You sighed, making your way to the guitar stand. You dropped your bag off along the way, it joined Han’s phone on the dirty sofa. The instrument felt heavy in your hands; heavier, for some reason, than you remembered, even after years of playing. Strange. Maybe it was your spirit that was weighing it down, the lack of motivation you usually only seldom felt before rehearsals.

“Don’t start with that again. Please.”

You threw the leather strap of your guitar over your shoulder, plugged in the aux, started tuning. Without a gaze to Han, but you heard the lack of notes from his own guitar. Maybe he was looking at you, maybe he wasn’t, maybe he was about to apologize. You didn’t really care; and yet you couldn’t possibly care more.

“Why?” His voice provoking, almost, and you weren’t in the mood to fight – but you would, if he wanted to. If his version of not being weird meant offence, you wouldn’t back away.

“How was it? Did you get Mr. Bahng…”, he spat the name, “…to cheat yet? Or is that still-“

“Shut up.” Your voice interrupted his, and it hadn’t needed much volume to. Despite his words, almost hateful, too hateful, unknown coming from him, there wasn’t much weight beneath them, no support. He didn’t mean what he was saying. Not a word of it. As though his mouth wasn’t part of him, saying the exact opposite of what he meant, only to bask in regret right after. He wasn’t able to control it, his mouth. He didn’t want to hurt you, not with a single word he uttered, but he did. Because maybe it was, after all, the only way to stop the tidal wave flooding him whole. Maybe it was the only way to forget that suddenly, he believed you to be beautiful. Why were you beautiful, so out of the blue? Had you always been?

“I don’t wanna talk about this. I fucking hate talking about Chris, it always leads to a fight.”

It was the use of Mr. Bahng’s first name which set Han off, which made his head cock in subtle disbelief. You called him by his first name – what had happened during your private lesson? And why did he care so much? You were grown, you could do whatever you desired to do – why was it bothering him so very much?

“Ohh, so it’s Chris already, huh.” Chris. The name tasted even sourer than the man’s surname. Han saw you roll your eyes at him, his words – he understood why. The comment was bitter, petty. It didn’t carry any meaning, anything. He would have rolled his eyes as well. He did, internally, at himself. But he couldn’t stop the pettiness. The fabric around his neck pulled on his skin, marring it red, and he saw that little strands of your hair tangled in your own leather band, the one around your neck. It was red, too, your skin, as you were tuning your instrument. It was pretty, your neck. The little hairs were, your eyes, though angry still, were too. You were pretty. Notes and unfinished melodies sounded against hurtful words, words not meant. Words not real.

“God, I’m fucking tired of you. What the fuck is this? You bash out yesterday fucking leaving me to worry about you, and you bash out now out of fucking nowhere? I haven’t even fucking mentioned Chris before you brought him up, because, guess what! I fucking notice how you become a fucking pussy every time I mention him, as if you’re fucking jealous.” Your voice loud, too loud. Your words real though now, so real you’re scared of them yourself.

“You’re not my fucking dad.”

A beat, a silence in which Han looked at you, disbelief crossing his features, shock, maybe. You had never screamed at him like this. Meaning everything you said. And being right, with every word, every letter spilling past your mouth in spit and wetness. Why did he think you to be beautiful, even now?

“Or my fucking boyfriend.”

Before Han could further dwell on those words, trying to make sense of the feeling they left within him, Changbin burst open the door, making his entrance known loud and clear. The other’s followed right behind him, Lino closing behind him with a heavy click. You and Han stayed silent, while the others greeted you, not yet picking up on the coldness icing the room, the storm brewing in the space between you and Han. Only Lino was curious, careful. He watched you both as he made his way behind his drum set, discarding his bag next to him – it was covered in small bits of cat fur. He watched you intently as both of you continued playing chords to warm up, not speaking a word – not even looking the same direction.

The small studio erupted in sounds of various instruments. The room smelled of heavy smoke, of leather, of sun. It was stuffy and sweaty bodies only made it stuffier, meaningless conversations made it smaller, tighter. Changbin and Jeongin, talking about classes they missed, notes they needed to borrow for an upcoming exam. Chatting with Lino, who was still more concerned about the pair of you, not about whatever Changbin was nagging him about – and then the bassists’ eyes found you and Han. You could see the wheels in his head rear and turn, work their way to a coherent thought, to make sense of the silence he wasn’t used to. He squinted his eyes, furrowed his brows, lay a finger upon his chin – a caricature of a man thinking.

“Yo, what’s up with you two lovebirds. You hadn’t said a word since we came here.”

Both of you shot him a look, both glistening with impatience, with frustration and regret and worry. Both of your gazes made the bassist take a step back. Rehearsals had never felt so dreadful, and the hour has barely even started.

“We’re fine.”

We. Even in times of distance, when you couldn’t seem to stand each other, it was you against the others. A united front, against all odds – against, even, yourselves. The thought made you melancholic.

Changbin glanced over at Lino, who wasn’t paying any attention to him – his gaze was fixated on you, questioning, brows furrowed. Though not in innocent curiosity, like Changbin; the older man was worried. After the few years he grew to know yours and Han’s friendship, neither of you had ever acted like this, not towards each other, especially. There would always be giggling and laughter, bickering conversation and banter in your corner of the studio. Always exchanging looks, always aware of something none other picked up. A secret language, a secret code. You barely fought, and if you did it never carried weight, and was forgotten within the hour. Lino lived with the two of you sometimes, too – the two of you were a synergy. He was never able to explain the relationship you seemed to carry; it has always felt deeper than the one you would describe best friends to have, though you always denied of being together, of being in love. Lino wasn’t so sure about that. He wasn’t so sure love and feelings had never been object in any of your hearts – but he wasn’t one to push, or to dip his toes into business not meant for him.

But the two of you were different now, that everyone noticed. Why, no one knew – but Jeongin, being him, applied the same theory to everything he crossed. “They probably fucked.”

Two sets of eyes met him, angry, fuming. Though wordless. You and Han looked at the youngest, unsure if to throw him out of the band or kill him altogether. He looked at you both, questioning, as though analysing. “And it was probably bad, so now they’re awkward.”

It was said with a chuckle; he wasn’t at all serious, teasing, as always. Though neither of you caught the tone – both of you took the words as personal offence, not less after your previous fight hadn’t yet cooled off your nerves. Both of you agitated, both of you ready to jump at the next thing which flashed before your eyes, which made a wrong move – and both of you not looking at the other, because that would be the worst of all. You denied Jeongin’s accusations in a choir, a simultaneous ‘No, we didn’t’ sounding through the room – against your words instruments, tapping of feet, the sun, suddenly, loud too. Too loud. Everything was making noise, and it was too loud. You even heard the damn dust particles dancing before you, tickling in your nose.

“Well, then maybe you should. Wouldn’t be so worked up all the time.”

It had only been a murmur. Jeongin might have not even meant the words, just said them to say them. To wash over the uncomfortable atmosphere you and Han had created. But Han heard every of his word, and with each further one his blood dared to boil. The temperature almost hot enough to make it run out and over, and his face reddened as he tried his best to shut his mouth, to stay silent against the speech which wanted to spill. He looked at you as you pretended to not have heard Jeongin, adjusting your microphone stand, getting comfortable behind it; not looking his direction. Pretending like he didn’t exist. And he couldn’t even blame you – he had been an asshole today. And, as it seemed, he would continue being one – because before he could restrain from it, words were bashing past his lips and into the hot, stuffy room, tight and small and clammy with hate and regret and judgement already, and he made matters worse. He filled the room further though there was no room, filled it with more dust and anger, ignited it to burn.

“Well, that’s gonna be hard for me to arrange. Yn likes to fuck older men who happen to be her professor.”

The room, having erupted in a variation of sounds before, fell silent now – entirely silent. You don’t think you’ve ever heard this studio so very quiet; but then again, within you, within your head, thoughts were screaming and roaring so you took into account only little of said silence. You looked at Han, and it was the only thing you noticed. Him, his eyes of regret. He didn’t mean it, you knew. Though it didn’t make it better. It didn’t mend the fact he had broken your trust; you were aware he wasn’t in peace with your crush on Chris, but you would have never believed him to blurt it out to the others. It had been a secret, never told as one and yet known to be a secret. No matter how angry he was, no matter if he meant it or not, the sight of him now, already begging for forgiveness, silently, only with his eyes, repulsed you. You didn’t know him. You didn’t know the man that stood before you. It surely wasn’t Han, not the best friend you knew and held so dearly.

Only out of your peripheral did you see the others faces – shock lacing it, and a fear of moving, of speaking. Everyone stayed silent; no one said a word. Changbin and Jeongin exchanged gazes, Lino’s was ever fixated on you and Han; trying to understand, trying to make sense of a situation so absurd it didn’t feel quite real.

And then the situation dissolved itself. As though unreal, after all. After moments of stagnation in which you held Han’s eyes with your own, hurt, laced with disbelief and drowned in betrayal, you took a step back, and when you looked away Han felt everything he was crumble. You got rid of the guitar around your neck, placed it onto the standee, fled to grab your bag.

“I’m not in the mood for practice today.”

Your voice quiet, but a whisper, though everyone heard you in the silence of the room.

Han, in his confusion, in his frustration, in his chaos of thoughts, knew only two things: he had hurt you deeply. So deep, he wasn’t sure he could repair it. Your friendship had survived worse, deeper bruises – but this one he had claffed open again and again, not having let it rest. And he wasn’t sure either of you were capable of mending the wound, deep and bloody and tearing you apart.

He only knew he hurt you; and he knew, now, that you were beautiful. Still, after storming out the studio, having left open the door – a stray cat found its’ way inside, and Lino pet it absentmindedly. The revelation yet felt surreal; you were beautiful, enticing, and he had written a song for you – a song he feared to never hear now. Because he had hurt you.

taglist: @es-kay-zee @jeyelleohe @angelwonie @yvniek4ng @ppiri-bahng @bintificreads @svintsandghosts @llunapastell @sensitiveandhungry @minniesvenus @junebug032 @noellllslut @wolfennracha @unexceptional-h @like-a-diamondinthesky @katsukis1wife @binniesbang @astraystayyh @chrizzztopherbang @qtieskz @rylea08 @miss-fallon @sikebishes @h0n3yj4y @lashaemorow

[hw4-l1z]

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Ot6 reaction to being called 'good boy'

Sub!xdinary heroes x dom!m!reader

Cw: mentions of gym// mentions of food// mention of sex for gunils (?)

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Gunil

♡ Blushes so hard.

♡ Just the way you said it made him feel so weak in the knees.

♡ You didn't even mean it in a sexual manner. He was helping out with making dinner for everyone and he was cutting up some vegetables to add in to the meat you were currently cooking. You come over to where he was since you needed to add them in now. You thought he had done a really good job so you gave him a pat on the head followed with a 'good boy'.

♡ He just stood there frozen, eyes wide and his jaw slightly open, a light blush spreading across his cheeks. You just chuckled, smirking to yourself at this new information that your boyfriend likes being called a good boy. You definitely use it on him in the bedroom.

Jungsu

♡ Smiley boy honestly

♡ He was so happy when you called him it

♡ You had asked him to help with some cleaning up since you had a bit of difficulty due to your injured wrist and ofc he said yes...he's a good boy. Since your wrist had been bandaged up you asked him to do the dishes for you since you couldn't get the bandage wet. About 20 minutes later you come back from cleaning your bedroom and he had just finished up putting away some dishes.

♡ 'All done, anything else?' he asked. 'Nope that's it' you gave him a little smile as you walked up to him. 'Thank you, good job...my good boy' you praised him as you gave him a little kiss on the lips. His eyes immediately brightened as a silly little smile appeared, 'I'm a good boy?' he asked rocking on the balls of his feet. 'Yes, you're a very good boy'.

Gaon

♡ Honestly he turned into a giggling blushy mess

♡ Ended up squealing cause he was so excited at the name

♡ You had taken him out to an arcade for a date. He was practically bouncing in his seat the whole car ride there, you had to try settle him down cause you thought he would explode tbh. Once you had both got there he was instantly on the machines while you went to get some more extra change for the day. You may have lost him for a few minutes since he had run off to play on more machines but you eventually found him at one of the claw machines. 'I'm gonna try win this one' he said with a big child-like grin on his face, 'not to burst your bubble baby but claw machines are rigged, they make you pay lots of money before you can win them' but oh how you were wrong

♡ It took him only 3 tries and he had gotten the stuffy he wanted. The look of shock crossed your face as he looks at you a smugly holding the stuffy, 'never mind... good boy, I underestimated you' you said giving him a pat on the head. He didn't really register anything else you said but 'good boy'. his face lit up as he jumped up and down and squealed, you just looked it him confused. 'I'm a good boy?' he said with a big smile, 'of course you are' you chuckled.

O.de

♡ He just blushed

♡ Didn't say a word...just sat there flustered

♡ You had come to the gym with him since he had begged to be your gym partner. you did go regularly so it wasn't a bother for you, you just didn't know if he could keep up with you. So you put it to the test, you wore this poor boy OUT. He knew he'd be in a lot of pain the next day but he likes a challenge so he full sent it. He was doing his last few squats when you told him 'five more', he sighed out as he began to do five more. 'One more come on' you had said that one to many times, wanting to push his limits. Eventually he was on the last one, his body unable to do anymore as he fell onto the ground with a yelp.

♡ 'Good boy, you did a good job' you said patting his back. He just looked at you slowly, not understanding why those two words gave him butterflies. You crouched down next to him smirking 'what? did i fluster you?' you said teasingly as he turned away and pushes you over 'shut up'.

Junhan

♡ Blushed a little

♡ Issues out a little 'thank you'

♡ He had been away at band practise for the day so you decided to pay him a little visit. You had brought him some food along the way so he could have a big lunch to last him for a good while since you know he forgets to eat. You took him away so it was the two of you as you ate the food together. Usually he doesn't tend to finish his meals so to see that he had eaten everything you bought for him it made you happy.

♡ 'Oh good boy, you ate it all' you say with a smile, he looks up at you with a shy look and a soft smile, his ears and cheeks a little pink 'thank you...' he slightly bows his head at you. 'Of course, now...you should probably get back to practise'.

Jooyeon

♡ Another super happy smiley boy

♡ Had the biggest smile on his face

♡ He had been working away at his computer for a while. He was writing up some lyrics that he had thought of. He'd been working hard for a good few hours now and you were wondering if he'd ever stop. Eventually he did, finishing it up and saving it to his computer. He asked if you wanted to have a read and of course you said yes. You thought they were great and he explained all the deeper meanings to the lyrics which impressed you a lot so of course you praised him for it.

♡ 'Wow you did a great job baby I'm impressed...good boy' you said, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him into your side. He turned to look at you with the happiest smile on his face 'really? thank you!'

°☆°☆°☆°☆°☆°☆°☆°☆°☆°☆°☆°☆°☆°☆°

[helpimstuckposting]

Okay man idk idk this worm wouldn’t leave my head I just love making Steve miserable and tbh he’s not even sad enough here so I’m still not satisfied, I want that man ripped in two

I’m a ghost and you are a shadow

Part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven

—

“Steve Harrington is dead! So what the fuck are you?” Eddie screamed in his face. The world froze for a second. Not the same frozen-in-time that Steve got from downing a bottle of whiskey, where he was the only one on earth and it didn’t matter what happened to him. This was like ice down his neck. Like a shock up his spine. Steve stared at Eddie like he’d just grown three heads.

“Dead?” He repeated back. “What the fuck do you mean dead? C’mon Eddie, seriously you’re freaking me out!”

Eddie just stared at him, and in the silence Steve could hear people at the front door, yelling over each other, calling out to Eddie, checking if he’s okay. He thought he recognized the voices, but that didn’t make any sense. There were always ghosts at Steve Harrington’s door, but they were just in his head. Now, they were banging on the wood as someone fumbled for a pair of keys, and Eddie glanced nervously in their direction. Steve couldn’t get any words to choke out past the growing lump in his throat, couldn’t get any air into his lungs to beg Eddie to tell him what was going on.

The key finally clicked through the latch, and the door swung open with a bang. A stampede of feet trampled their way into the kitchen where Eddie still had Steve pinned to the wall, still stared at him without saying anything.

Steve frantically turned his head toward the people he’d seen die, the people he couldn’t protect, who haunted his every waking thought. He didn’t even care that the motion dug the knife into his throat. They were there. They were right there. Dustin and Eleven, Max and Nancy and Robin. Robin was staring at him, holding Dustin back by the shoulders, and looking like the world was crashing in on her. Steve knew his own expression was the same, couldn’t believe his eyes. Eddie’s grip on him loosened and Steve slid to the floor, unable to hold himself up anymore on wobbling legs. He kept staring up at them all, noticed the age that hadn’t been on their features when they’d… when they’d left him. He took in every line, every scratch, every healed over scar that spoke of years and years of life, life that Steve knows they didn’t get to live.

The air still wasn’t making it past the lump in his throat and he tried to breathe deeper, tried to grasp onto one breath, one lungful of air, but it wasn’t enough. The kitchen swam around him, and he was certain that people were yelling or talking or making noise but Steve couldn’t process any of it, he just saw Dustin eaten alive by demobats, wounds too wide to heal. He saw Robin and Nancy pinned to the wall of Henry Creel’s house, the air getting squeezed out of their lungs and they were gasping just like him, pulling in air that wouldn’t come and listening to the blood rush through their ears. He saw it. He was there.

Until he wasn’t.

Until Eddie was in front of him again, hands on the side of his face, telling Steve to breathe and count the pictures on the wall. His eyebrows scrunched up, pictures on the wall? What pictures?

But Steve looked behind Eddie to the usually bland kitchen wall. There used to be a large painting of nothing, some pretentious gold accents that his mother liked, but he had burned it in a drunken moment of pain. The painting he remembered wasn’t there either, and instead of a blank wall there were dozens of pictures. They looked like family pictures, photos of him and the kids, of the kids by themselves, of him and Robin. There were even pictures of he and Eddie — which Steve knew they never took — and blank spaces that were clearly waiting for more. Waiting for more memories, for more additions and times to look back on.

“Steve, Steve are you with me?” Eddie asked, begged, pulling Steves attention back to the man’s face. He didn’t look angry anymore, but Steve couldn’t tell what emotion was there. He’d never seen it on Eddie’s face before. “How many pictures? Steve?”

“Th-Thirty-Eight?” he whispered back. Eddie nodded, hands still clutching Steve’s face but they were gentler now, not directing his view or holding him still, they were just… touching.

“Is it really you?” Dustin asked from where Robin was still holding him back. Steve glanced over at him, taking in the age and the height, the features that were so new to Steve he seemed almost like a stranger. Whatever had happened, Steve knew he wasn’t dreaming or dead or hallucinating, because through all of his nightmares, the ghosts never aged. They all stayed exactly the same as they’d died, Steve couldn’t even picture them aged if he’d wanted to, all he ever wanted to do was forget. But there they were, there they were, and Steve didn’t know what to think.

He nodded at Dustin’s question. His cheeks were cold, Eddie’s hands had dropped from his face and he was standing by the kitchen counter, arms crossed. The distance between them was suddenly an ocean and Steve was almost sad to see it. Eddie was the only familiar thing in this room to him, the only one who wasn’t impossibly here, the only one who didn’t make Steve feel like the world had ended and was now taunting what he could have had. He still looked like he didn’t believe it, like he was calculating something in his head and didn’t trust Steve at all. He wished Eddie’s hands were still on his face.

Still, no one moved toward him and he couldn’t really blame them. He didn’t know what was happening but he hadn’t ruled out some kind of trick yet. This could all be a trap somewhere in his mind, and if it was, it was the cruelest trick Vecna had ever played. But Eddie had said the same thing, right?

“Well we can’t just leave him on the floor,” Robin said. Her voice was quieter than Steve had ever heard it before. The usually boisterous voice that spoke a mile a minute was soft, hesitant, like she was trying not to wake a sleeping dragon — or agitate a dead man.

She slowly stepped out from behind Dustin and walked over to Steve. He watched as her sneakers stopped an inch away from his own, the gap both too close and not close enough. She stuck her hand out, and his eyes flicked carefully between her outstretched hand and her face. What if he reached out and she disappeared? What if he grabbed her hand and she pulled him into a trap? What if she disintegrated into dust the moment their hands touched? But she was right, he couldn’t stay on the floor.

As if she were made of tissue paper, he slowly and delicately reached out his hand, stopping just a breath before touching her palm. He glanced back at her face, took in the gentle curve of her lips as she tried to give him a reassuring smile, however small it was. He placed his hand in hers.

She was so warm. Her hands were soft, though callused in a few places Steve didn’t remember, and she gripped onto him like a lifeline. Her trembling fingers sank into the rough edges of Steve’s hand, and he could feel the dirt caked under his nails but she didn’t seem to mind, just gripped his hand harder. He couldn’t believe how much he craved that touch over the years. He ached for it. Blood pounded through his ears, as if he were underwater, and the only thing keeping him from drowning was the grip Robin had on him, keeping his head above water.

She was so warm. His heart was in his throat, and Steve was choking now for a different reason. It had been years since he felt Robin’s touch — since he felt anyones touch, really — and his eyes burned, throat clenching around the sudden sharp pain that spoke of unshed tears.

He didn’t think he would ever have this back, assumed he would drink himself into an early grave, assumed that the only way he’d see everyone again is if he died as well. If he followed them into the next life, then he’d get his family back.

But here they were. Here Robin was, hand in his, and she was so warm.

Instead of pulling Steve to his feet like she’d intended, Robin sank to the floor with him. He gripped her hand, her arms, her shoulders, he gripped her so tight just to make sure she wasn’t going anywhere and he could feel her damp tears against his neck, soaking into the collar of his shirt.

“I missed you,” she whispered into the fabric, voice as raw as Steve felt.

“I missed you too, Robs. I missed you so much." He clutched at the back of her shirt, face buried in her shoulder and prayed to a god he didn't believe in that this wasn't a trick, that he really had his family back.

—

A little more comfort in this part. I still don't have a plot in mind but I guess my brain is just winging it because I keep thinking of scenes and I just gotta write them down. I've already got most of a part three done, because this part was getting long and I cut it. Stay tuned, folks.

@weirdandabsurd42 @sirsnacksalot

[medusas-daughter]

Coming out as Show!Blood&Cheese defender. Of all the things they changed from the books this isn't a mistake. Helaena has been autistic coded from the start. She disassociated. That is a common reaction among neurodivergent people. "It doesn't make sense" to you. Mental illness don't make sense, to you if you don't have them. "She didn't scream" there are more than one way to react to trauma. Not everyone can be a perfect victim to you. The books were weritten by a male historian who did not see anything with his own eyes and can only imagine female pain as tears. We had Catelyn's guttural scream. We had Cersei's enraged schrieks and then we had her silent grief. We had Rhaenyra's and Rhaenys' delayed tears. We even had Rhaenys warning us at the beginning of the episode, some mothers don't cry until they see their child's remains. Helaena disassociated, focused on her daughter and purposely refused to look in her dying son's direction and just walked away in shock. She hasn't seen her boy's remains yet. She will cry when the shock passes and she processes. She's human. Humans do illogical shit sometime. And I will defend Phia Saban's acting with all my heart, I was frozen I couldn't look away from her, she broke my heart and in such a short scene too. "We didn't see Jahaerys' decapitated head" I never expected to see a five year old's head tbh, a lot of people keep saying they wanted Red Wedding type of scene, first of all the Red Wedding scene was so impactful because none of us saw it coming (speaking as a person who read the books after watching GoT and i'm pretty sure most people making these comments are the same), we were completely took by surprise and also no children were ever shown getting decapitated in GoT or HotD ever. Reading a graphic scene is one thing, filming and hsowing that is another. If you want gore porn that's another conversation altogether. Personally, the sounds alone were enough to make me freeze because that is a five year old child. Use your imagination. "She gave up the heir" they could have killed all three of them, they could have killed the girl, searched her, realized it's a girl, then killed the boy anyway and she would have lost both her kids. In a show based on the repercussions of mysoginy yall are real mad the daughter was saved over the son for some reason?

[orange-imagines]

a five-year-long romantically charged pining phase you say……. heh. well.. would you happen to have any thoughts on how Leonard would act during that?

Relationship: Romantic

A/N: One hot plate of mutual pining coming right up o7

God help him, tbh.

As previously mentioned, he's not used to the presence of strong, long-term romantic feelings, especially those directed at one of his best friends. It would take him a while to even realize that the things he's feeling aren't platonic (he just thinks you're a really good pal for a while), but once they click he starts acting very weird.

Len: I always act stupid around people I like. You: But you act stupid around me all the time? Len: Yeah. Don't read too much into that.

Not to be dramatic, but he basically goes through the five stages of grief. And he's stuck in denial for a long time.

He doesn't like the idea that things could change between the two of you if his feelings came to light, or, even worse, that you might think less of him because of what he feels. So he represses all of his sappy romantic urges for literally as long as possible, as bad as he is at keeping them hidden.

Danny and Mick pick up on it very quickly. They know their friend and know when he's acting weird for no reason, and after about five seconds of interrogation, Danny immediately calls him on being into you ("That's all this is? You like Y/N? Fuck's sake, I thought you were dyin'!" "I AM. FUCK OFF").

You'll definitely notice him being a bit more abrasive and standoffish toward you for a few days, similar to the way he was when you first met- not that he wants to, it's just his natural defense. If you ask him about it he'll apologize and try to manage himself better, and if you press him he'll end up venting about "his head feeling all screwy lately". He won't give you any details because he'd rather saw his own leg off than admit he has a crush on you, but he appreciates you listening to him regardless. It does make him feel better.

As much as he tries not to let his feelings get the better of him, they often slip through anyway. He'll end up looking out for you without even thinking about it, taking extra steps to make sure you're alright during missions, shielding you with his body if things go wrong, insisting he patch your wounds up himself afterward. He also lets you borrow his jacket whenever it's raining. Yeah. The ultimate show of affection (Dan and Mick were SHOCKED when they first saw you leave with it. Leonard doesn't even let them touch it, yet he's fully letting it out of his sight with you. He's down bad).

Any flirting you attempt will send him out of his mind, even if he seems to take it in stride in the moment. He enjoys bantering with you and maintaining a snarky back-and-forth, so a lot of times he'll start on something like that, and it'll end with the two of you hardcore flirting. He can be suave when he wants, but when there's obvious romantic tension in the air because of it he chickens out every time, usually clapping you on the back before going off to join the others. He's not oblivious to how much he fumbles moments like that with you, and he overthinks it all the time whenever he's alone.

He doesn't know what the right answer is when it comes to you. It used to feel natural, and in most cases it still does, but he's largely out of his element when romance is involved and second guesses himself every time. You might think he's sending you mixed signals or leading you on, but I swear he's not, he's just bad at this. He wants so badly to be near you and to feed into the feelings he gets from it, but it's really hard for him to shake his fears. Abandonment, deceit, and betrayal have all taken their toll on him, and although he knows you've never given him any reason to doubt you, sometimes his worries just get the better of him. He doesn't want to get his hopes up for something like this that feels too good to be true, but eventually all his feelings are going to become too much for him to stomp down. They'll explode on him, and you, and when he finds out that you wholeheartedly reciprocate it'll be one of the happiest days of his life.

[jeannereames]

Your top 5 Alexander the Great moments?

Top Five Alexander Moments

One issue with answering this is to figure out what events actually happened, especially when it comes to anecdotes! Here are four I find either significant to understanding his charisma and/or which explain how he functioned and why he was successful, plus one I like just because I’m a horse girl.

1) To my mind, the event that best illustrates why his men followed him to the edge of their known world occurred in the Gedrosian Desert. While I’m a bit dubious that this trek was as bad as it’s made out to be (reasons exist for exaggerating), it was still baaaad. One story relates that some of his men found some brackish water in a sad little excuse for a spring, gathered it in a helm, and brought it to him. Given his poor physical condition after the Malian siege wound, he no doubt needed it badly. He thanked them (most sincerely), then carried it out where all (or at least a lot) of his men could see, raised it overhead, and announced that until all of them could drink, he wouldn’t. Then he poured it onto the rocky ground.

That gesture exemplified his charisma. And it absolutely is not something the likes of a Donald tRump could even imagine doing—nor most dictators, tbh. They’d be blaming everybody else and calling for heads while drinking Diet Coke, not suffering alongside their people.

This wasn’t an isolated event of that type. While he almost certainly didn’t have time to engage along with his soldiers in every project, we’re told he would drop in from time-to-time, to inspire them and to offer a little friendly competition.

He also dressed like his men for everyday activities, especially early in the campaign. As time went on, some sources say he inserted more distance—probably necessary as his duties exploded—but he still seems to have found time to “just hang out” with his Macedonians on occasion. The claims that he was too high and mighty to do so appears to have been exaggeration (as such accusations often are) in order to forward a narrative that he was “going Asian.” Troop resentment over court changes was very genuine—I don’t want to underplay it (especially as I’ve written about it in a few chapters in this), but it tended to boil up during certain periods/events, then die back again. Alexander was trying to walk a very fine line of incorporating the conquered while not ticking off his own people.

2) Reportedly, he once threw a man out of line because he hadn’t bothered to secure the chin strap on his helm. I pick this one because it tells me a whole lot about how he saw himself as a commander, and what he expected of his men (and why he tended to consistently win).

On the surface, his reaction seems almost petty. It’s precisely the sort of mistake students whine about when professors ding them for it. It’s just a chin strap! I’d have tightened it before I went into battle! (It’s just a few typos; you knew what I meant! Or, Why does everything in the bibliography have to be exactly matching in style? Who cares? What a stupid thing to obsess about!) These objections are all of a piece. First, they’re lazy, and second, they indicate a disconcern with details. In battle, such disconcern can get a person killed. And on a larger scale, for a general, such disconcern loses battles.

One of the striking aspects of Alexander’s military operations was just how well his logistics worked. Consistently. We hear little about them precisely because they rarely fail. Food and water was there when they needed it, as were arrow replacements, wood to repair the spears, wool and leather for clothes and shoes, canvas for tents, etc., etc. All those little niggling (boring) details. If these are missing, soldiers become upset (and don’t fight well). Starting with Philip, the Macedonian military was a well-oiled machine. That’s WHY Gedrosia was such a shock: the logistics collapsed. Contra some historians, he did not do it to “punish” his men, nor to best Cyrus.* He had a sound reason—to scout a trade route.

Alexander understood that details matter. It starts with a loose chinstrap. (Or an unplanned-for storm and rebellion in his rear.) Everything else can unravel from that.

3) Alexander sends Hephaistion a little dish of small fish (probably smelts). He also helps an officer secure the lady of his dreams. And writes another on assignment (away from the army) that a mutual friend is recovering from an illness. While technically three “moments,” these are all of a piece. Alexander knows his men, and is concerned not only for their physical well-being, but also their mental state: that they’re happy. Granted, these are all elite officers, but it suggests he’s paying attention to people. I’ve always assumed he sent Hephaistion the fish because they were his friend’s favorite, and/or they were a special treat and he wanted to share. That he didn’t punish an officer for going AWOL to chase the mistress he wanted but offered advice, and even assistance, on how to court and secure her suggests the same care.

I don’t want to take away from what appears to be his serious anger management problems(!), but little details like those above strike me as the likeable side of Alexander—why his men were so devoted to him.

4) Then we have the encounter with Timokleia after the siege of Thebes. While probably a bit too precious to have occurred exactly as related, I think it may still hold a kernel of truth.

Alexander had a reputation of chivalry towards his (highborn) female captives. If some of that was likely either propaganda from his own time or philhellenic whitewashing later by Second Sophistic authors such as Plutarch (and Arrian), poor treatment of women is not something we hear attributed to him.

Ergo, while the meeting was probably doctored for a moral tail, he may well have freed Timokleia as an act of clemency to put a better face on a shocking destruction he knew wouldn’t sit well with the rest of Greece—who he both wanted to cow yet earn support from. (A difficult balancing act.) Also, if Timokleia hadn’t been high-born, she’d probably have been hauled off to one of the prisoner cages with little fanfare.

Nonetheless, I find his actions surprising given the casual misogyny of his era. If we can take the bare bones of the story as true, and it’s not all invented, Timokleia was raped as a matter of course during the sacking of Thebes, then managed to trick her rapist and kill him by pushing him down a well and dropping rocks on him. I assume this happened when his men weren’t there, but they found out soon enough and hauled her in front of Alexander to be punished for killing an officer. To the surprise of all, Alexander decided the man had earned it and freed Timokleia. One might be inclined to call this overly sentimental, but….

There’s a similar story that occurred much later in the Levant, when two of Parmenion’s men seduced/(raped?) the mistresses/wives of some mercenaries. Alexander instructed Parmenion to kill the Macedonians if they were found to be guilty.

In both cases, we have an affront against (respectable) women. In the latter case, Alexander was (no doubt) working to avoid conflict between hired soldiers and his own men, who—in typical Greek fashion—would have looked down on mercenaries as a matter of course. Some sort of conflict between Macedonians and Greek mercenaries up in Thrace had almost got Alexander’s father killed. Alexander saved him. No doubt that was on Alexander’s mind here.

Yet what both events illuminate is a willingness on Alexander’s part to punish his own men for affronts to honor/timē that involved women. Yes, this is clearly about discipline. But it also shows an unusual sensitivity to sex crimes in warfare: actions that would normally fall under the excuse of “boys will be boys” (especially when their blood is up).

I doubt he’d have felt the same about slaves or prostitutes; he was still a product of his time. Yet without overlooking his violence—sometimes extreme (the genocide of the Branchidai, for instance)—I find his reaction in these cases to be evidence of an atypical sympathy for women that I’d like to think isn’t wholly an invention of later Roman authors. And just might show the influence of his mother and sisters.

5) Last… the Boukephalas story…because who doesn’t love a good “a boy and his horse” tale? Obviously the Plutarchian version is tweaked to reflect that author’s later concern to contrast the Macedonian “barbarian” Philip with the properly Hellenized Alexander. Ignore the editorializing remarks, especially the “find a kingdom big enough for you” nonsense.

But the bare bones of the story seem likely: unmanageable horse, cocky kid, bet with dad, gotcha moment. You can imagine this was an anecdote Alexander retold a time or three, or twenty.

——

* His attempts to copy Cyrus may be imposition by later writers. In his own day, he may have cared more about the first Darius, for reasons Jenn Finn is going to explain in a forthcoming, very good article on the burning of Thebes and Persepolis.

[ladysophiebeckett]

having watched betty finding out the truth five different times fm different versions and skim watching them at different times, it's interesting to see the acting\directing styles.

you can tell when there's appreciation for the original work and when there's apprehension.

'jassi jaissi koi nahin' (india) uses the same dramatic music ysblf used. or it uses some cues but in a different note. 'not born beautiful' (russia) is, to this day, the most faithful adaptation. there's appreciation in accepting the story as is and not making any outrageous changes. 'yo soy bea' (spain) makes a lot of changes but those changes come from the production's knowledge that they're not gonna be as iconic as the original--they know they're not gonna hit the same marks. So a lot of the narrative decisions come down to doing the opposite of what the original did. It's apprehensive in that way, but they commit to those narrative choices and you accept it as an audience member.

the mexican adaptation is rebellious. it's wants to be a comedy. it wants to be dramatic. there is no rhyme or reason to its editing. it wants so badly to one up the original it's based on, not understanding that the original was made with a lot personal touches. the other adaptations mentioned above all have personal touches that ground its audience and you believe everything that's happening.

i could go on forever about overall directing styles of the same thing, but i really want to talk about is The Scene--Betty Finds Out The Truth.

in ysblf, Betty takes her time reading the letter and reacting to it. from a slight happiness bc she sees the gifts and that gradual change as she's reading the letter and you see her entire world fall apart. but it happens slowly. there's an incredulousness to it bc she's been living out a dream and we audience have known the entire time that it was based on a lie. her tears are silent, she's in shock. we suffer with her bc we have to see her process it.

Katya (NBB) and Jassi (JJKN) have similar reactions despite editing styles of these programs being different. both go from ecstatic to slow dread. it takes them time to believe and process what's happening bc its supposed to be a shock to their system.

For Bea (YSB) its completely different bc she doesn't find out fm a letter and is therefore exempt from this, however it should be noted that she goes catatonic and becomes ill at the shock of it all.

Moving on, Lety (lfmb), tho the circumstances of how she finds out are...different (a psychic tells her to find the letter)--her reaction to it is too much, too soon. I'm not saying Angelica Vale is a bad actress bc she's not. But her acting choices plus the direction she received, is less about Lety the character and more selling Vale as a dramatic actress.

It feels like there's a secret motive to it.

Because why does Lety immediately believe the letter? And then starts crying like she's gonna die? There's no emotional build up. Even the staging of it feels unnatural. Lety goes from standing, sobbing to sitting on the floor in front of Fernando's desk to standing up again and going back the chair. All the while violently crying, shaking, yelling. And no one hears this?

It's sad, but we don't see Lety's world collapse the way we see it in other versions. It's like Lety already suspected it and the letter confirms it. She's been ready to cry and scream about it. And this is after the honeymoon filler with Fernando ends. She was happy that morning. The revelation should have confused her.

Not that this didn't pay off, Vale won an award for her work on this. But these creative choices, in hindsight, look like they're serving someone else and not the story you're trying to tell. TBH, a lot of the creative decisions that are made in Lfmb, often feel like Lety The Character, is the one being sacrificed. When it's supposed to be her story.

I know it seems like I'm getting on lfmb's case again, and I am, but it comes from a place of frustration bc every time I analyze something about it, I realize how self serving it is to the people involved in it's production and how the actual story they're adapting gets secondary importance.

There are great scenes in lfmb that hit, but they're overshadowed by everyone and everything else. Lety finding out the truth should have been about Lety, not Angelica Vale's ability to cry on cue.

[calciumcryptid]

How do you feel about a we are au where Phum and Kluen end up good friends all of a sudden? After, like, a few weeks pass of Phum dating Peem.

Like, suddenly people are starting to see them together, hanging out and talking calmly, even smiling amusingly at each other— like they are having fun. And Phum’s friends are confused, because is this the Phum that would tense and look like he’s a minute away from hissing at Kluen everytime he appeared? Is this the Kluen that would smile dryly at Phum and mostly ignore him?

It could a fun idea, especially with scenes where maybe Toey or even Q think Kluen might be bothering Phum so they kind of try to fend him off, and Phum is like, “Guys, no need.” He’s just so confused at their defensive stances, and THEY are so confused with his easy-going energy.

Oh, imagine Fang’s reaction fuehdjrhejjd I wouldn’t even think. Or Beer’s.

Peem is especially the most confused. Kluen went from trying to seek him to seeking his boyfriend, who was so jealous of Kluen not a long time ago. Now they are spotted at Aunt Pui’s cafe??? Drinking their coffee together and having winded convos?? With hand gestures and all???

Like a 5+1 type of fic; five times Phum and Kluen were seen together and that one time they reveal they are actually friends.

I saw your post about writing a fic in Kluen’s pov and I thought: Yeah, sure, I personally made Kluen kind of a bad guy in my omegaverse fic, but just because it’s plot relevant for very important scenes. I don’t dislike the guy that much tbh.

And this idea seems fun. Like, Peem asking Phum about it after a while, kind of cautiously because he doesn’t know how to breach the subject (He doesn’t want to give Phum the impression that it’s a wrong thing, this new development with Kluen. It’s just shocking.)

And Phum just blinking at him, and then going, “Well, I was trying to make peace with him for you, because I know you guys get along. 🥺 But then I realized we actually have a lot in common. I guess it just happened.”

I just imagine Peem going oh, and then being so very proud that Phum did that. That he and also Kluen got over all the petty stuff and got to know each other for real, and now they are friends!!

When he tells Phum that, Phum makes a “☺️” face that quickly morphs into a smirk, and says, “He’s not that bad, yeah. He liked you, after all. No one who likes you is bad.”

Peem flicks his nose, cheeks redder, and mutters, “Shut up, you.”

But Phum can see the fondness in his face.

This… is a long one. I just had to get the plot bunnies out after I saw your post. (I hope you’re having a wonderful week. ✨)

!!!

Cole, you have no idea how much I love the concept of Phum and Kluen being on good terms whether in a frenemies way or in a genuine friendship way!

Mainly because I think Phum deserves even more friends, and I believe Kluen deserves some good in his life after the confusion he went through at the volunteer camp. Plus, I am always down for more architect and engineering friendships.

Oh gods, everyone's reactions! I know Q and Toey would be concerned and defensive, we saw them when Kluen talked to Peem for three seconds at that art store and how Toey dashed off. I can see Fang getting defensive too for his little brother, even willing to punch Kluen if it comes down to it!

Now if you don't mind me pushing my BeerKluen agenda a little more I like to imagine one of Phum and Kluen's little meetings happening like this.

Beer: *leaves*

Kluen: All I'm saying is your best friend is hot.

Phum: Stop it!

Plus, you saw the energy Kluen carried in the show sometimes. I think Kluen and Phum should be petty and judgemental together instead of at each other.

Oh gods, Phum using the conversation with Peem as a chance to flirt, that made me so soft.

For the record, I don't think Kluen is a bad guy in your fic. Antagonistic? Yeah, but Q makes it clear to the audience Omega!Kluen needs to work through some stuff. I don't think Kluen is any different from canon, just returning Phum's (honestly kinda vile) energy a little more during the volunteer camp. I love Phum, I love that he can be an asshole, but he was an absolute ass during the volunteer camp arc.

(I am having a wonderful week, as my fall break is about to start Wednesday! I hope you land that job!)

[teabreakpancakes]

GENSHIN SAGAU Headcanons

hopping on because @mirology explained lmao, why HCs only? too lazy to write rn, ill do it tmrw or some other day, this is the old SAGAU btw, not the one wherein they're the creator n shi

Genre: Fluff

the characters become concerned with how much space the game is taking up so nahida ends up tampering with the code so you have more storage

rlly appreciates the fact that you still do your commissions and farm despite it being 1am alr, especially since you have school/work

you have more crystalflies than usual, not that you notice, but diluc collects the ones at dawn winery for you, albedo collects the ones he comes across in dragonspine and in general, they all just, collect the crystalflies they see

they argue about who deserves the good weapons lmao: beidou subtly flaunts her feats when the claymore users talk abt it, diluc acts like he's done with em but he also acts like he's most deserving of it, eula is indifferent but when they try taking hers, she gets defensive, you gave it to her, why do they get a say in it?. Meanwhile, itto is ranting abt how he obviously deserves it, chongyun is just silent but he does want the weapon too, dori is rich enough to buy anything, xinyan wants it too and sayu is just, tired why claymore? i love claymore

they're concerned abt your health, have you seen how tired you look? they wanna be able to take care of you irl :(

they send their letters even if you don't manage to log in, it's okay, they understand but don't leave them for too long

if you're rlly busy, you still try your best to play, they really love that

you always win the 50/50 or get them and a standard five star character

somehow, your mains rarely come home tho, esp(especially) if they're a four star. like, you've got the others c6 but they're still like, below c3, they're rlly sorry but they can't tamper with their drop rate like the five stars can :( chongyun main here : chongyun was so frustrated with himself when he didn't come home with shenhe to you, he didn't come home, not even once

eventually, when they found out how to watch you from outside the app, they took advantage of that: they save you from rlly awkward situations by playing your ringtone hehe, they're also capable of calling the police if you're in a shit situation

they like to remind you abt stuff you have in your to-do list

the harbingers, including the fatui and tsaritsa, were a bit.. eh with you, at least, until they heard you talk abt them, you wanted to pull for them?? meet them in game?? YOU WERE EXCITED FOR THEM?? HUH? wow, they felt shocked and maybe a bit flustered,, just a bit

man, they rlly wanna taste the food you have in your world, esp xiangling, the food looked rlly nice okay? oh and if you're bad at cooking, ei relates dw, even benny is astounded by how bad it is tbh

zhongli is embarrassed to hear you rant abt how often he talks when he's idle, childe actually teases him abt it no, we won't talk abt how people ship em, they're actually a bit.. eh abt that, like cmon, haven't people heard abt platonic relationship?

benny actually feels really upset when you get bad drops or artifacts and he's in the team, tho the others depending on who they are reassure him that the drops are even more bad occasionally even without him

okay, even without you having that five star, you've got their sig dish, like wha-

you like their clothing? man, they wish they could give you some of their clothes, they'll try their best to bring you into teyvat, besides, your world is shit anyways-

okay so, for context, i copied zhongli's red eyeliner thing and modified it to suit me if you copy their makeup look and you like it, they feel so flattered, they're so smug abt it too ahdajkdbkf

if you cosplay one of them, they're gonna B R A G, i mean bro, cosplaying takes so much effort okay

[dr-tonytonychopper]

BATFAMILY AS FOLKLORE SONGS

i’m honestly shocked i’ve haven’t done this one. this one is a little different tbh, usually i just do characters and maybe lyrics but this time i did actually did explanations and i was watching the long pond sessions so i could get accurate notes on each song. DISCLAIMER there’s a lot of run on sentences and i hope it all makes sense, peace and love-ssb✌️🫶

the 1: steph and tim, i see this as being from both of their povs. i think a relationship between them wouldn’t work long term it would’ve been fun if you would’ve been the one

cardigan: dick/babs, i know that all writers have their own opinions on who is the “other woman” but timeline wise it’s kori so i see this as being from babs pov bc she goes back to him no matter what

the last great american dynasty: The Wayne’s, i feel that after Bruce adopts his kids and starts collecting others he starts kinda shifting what the wayne’s are where as when he grew up it was about image, poise and galas he starts to change and all he cares abt is if his kids are comfortable i had a marvelous time ruining everything

exile: jason and bruce, even though this song is like two lovers fighting i think it can be interpreted as jason being upset after tim becomes robin and it took you five whole minutes to pack us up and leave me with it and i can see bruce’s pov of being fed up with giving jason the chance to do the right thing but him not doing it like you’d get your knuckles bloody for me second, third and hundredth chances balancing on breaking bridges, i couldn’t turn things around you never turned things around

my tears ricochet: damian and talia, “it’s a song about greed. it’s a song about how somebody could be your best friend and your companion and your most trusted person in your life and then they could go and become your worst enemy who knows how to hurt you because they were once your most trusted person.” Taylor Swift long pond sessions you had to kill me but it killed you just the same this whole song and specifically this part and the quote reminds me of when talia made and had a clone of damian kill him i didn’t have it in me to go with grace and you’re the hero flying around saving face you hear my stolen lullabies

mirrorball: Stephanie, i’ve never been a natural all i do is try i know everyone is like this is dicks songs it’s not he’s the natural however i feel stephanie is put on this pedestal for being independent but she’s not and i feel like she morphs herself into a different version of herself depending on who she’s with “we have mirror balls in the middle of a dance floor because they reflect light they are broken a million times and that’s what makes them so shiny. we have people like that in society. they hang there and everytime they break it entertains us” Taylor Swift long pond sessions

seven: damian and jon, it’s a song abt besties idk 🤷🏻‍♀️ past down like folk songs the love lasts so long

august: kori/dick, IM SORRY DICKORI/ KORI STANS! to me when writers write this love triangle they write babs as the one, she’s smart and sensible and someone to settle down with while kori is written as a fling and something that is just someone who’s there in the moment and that’s what august is about it’s about this girl who was seen by this guy as a fling while she is truly falling for him and from everybody’s pov she’s this bad girl and temptress while all she wants is to love and to be loved

this is me trying: tim, they told me all my cages were mental so i got wasted like all my potential, tim is often now written as this happy go lucky character and i think that in red robin he’s fighting some real demons but in the newer runs he’s fighting to make it through the day or insecurities about his position in the family or as a superhero or even as bernard’s boyfriend and i feel like it’s just so real like no other character is going to compare to me when it comes to that and when it comes to his position in everyday life he is the definition as wasted potential he is crazy smart and charismatic but he just hates school and hates studying i was so ahead the curve that the curve became a sphere

illicit affairs: bruce/ talia, bruce and talias relationship is not healthy but i do believe that they both or at least bruce loved the other person and i feel like it shouldn’t even be described as an relationship because it seems like a means to an end

invisible string: the entire batfamily, definition of right place at the right time

mad woman: cass, in the comics and fics cass is often written to be a crazy, feral woman and i think that it’s a narrative constantly written about women and i feel like men are written as traumatized while women are not written or perceived with that tone they are written as vindictive or crazy

epiphany: babs and jim gordon, epiphany is written paralleling WWII to the pandemic and i think the perfect parallel in comic book history is babs and commissioner gordon fighting the same fight but taking different paths or routes and aaron dessner describes the song as comparing taylor’s family history and hero’s of today and i feel like that’s the perfect way to describe it

betty: babs/dick/kori, i already described my thoughts twice but i feel like dick would maybe take more accountability

peace: bruce/selina, imma be honest i don’t know if it’s canon that bruce doesn’t do relationships bc of batman but it’s fitting and i feel like it’s probably that even in relationships with other heroes is a conversation to be had bruce truly can’t give selina peace, he cannot promise stability or a promise of staying alive or not being over tabloids as he’s the richest man alive all these people think loves for show but i would die for you in secret

hoax: duke, duke is the one character that i can’t really get a read on but as the newest member of the batfamily i feel like there’s still this feeling in him that’s like i have this new family and i love them but at the end of the day i want my parents my parents that raised me at the end of the day he’s a boy who wants his parents. i also feel like he’s still trusting of people and he reaps what he sowed everytime

the lakes: tim/bernard: tim always has an exit plan and it’s always escaping by himself to be by himself and i feel like it’s the same no matter who he’s with but when he met and started dating bernard he finally found someone to escape with and exit the hero world for im setting off, but not without my muse

batfam (taylor’s version) is coming so lmk what albums you guys want next🤭🤭