#the whole campus will have to deal with it bless their souls

[angelizs]

Ramble anon back here again after reading the Jade romcom fic im crying cause im very happy again im so glad my ideas inspired you and seeing them being just made me 🥹😭✨ TYSM and im really glad you had fun and indulged yourself with it 🥺!! thats always good to hear.

really the fic was amazing and even had me kicking mt legs during it 😂,jade being smitten was adorable and ofc azul and floyd made me laugh with how done they were and how much they were bothering jade—sorry you two its not over yet the honeymoon phase is nigh

HELLO AGAIN RAMBLE ANON !!!

I'm really happy you liked it!!! I took a lot of inspo from your asks after all! I'd say it was a colective effort lol. ALSO YEAH IT WAS SOOO MUCH FUN even with me having a billion other things to do I managed to find time to write because of how much I was loving it and honestly I haven't felt that motivated in some time. I guess being self indulgent truly is the best medicine

I'm glad it did <3 Jade might have been a biiit ooc but I like to think he looks very composed while internally he's just. screaming with all his bottled up emotions. especially if the emotion is, lord help us, affection. such a vulnerable thing...

Azul didn't appear that much but when he did he was suffering the whole time LMAO I lobe you my pathetic little businessman <3 meanwhile Floyd was half having the time of his life half wanting to smash his head against the wall to not have to take a second longer of the tension between them

oh they tought these two were insufferable while just flirting with each other? good news, they're gonna get 100x worse now 😁 they better be prepared to hear Yuu's name more than their own for the next weeks <3

[wincore]

atlas | kim dongyoung

pairing: doyoung x reader

words: 15.4k

summary: kim doyoung has a lot of titles. student body president, music club president, favourite student of every professor who’s blessed enough to have him. in other words, he’s not your type and never will be. at least he’s a good kisser.

or, you feel the weight of the world on your shoulders and you do not know how to hold things as delicate as glass.

genre: college au, fwb au, hurt/comfort, angst, some fluff 

warnings: very suggestive content, making out, language, smoking, alcohol, mentions of sex under influence, me being pretentious,,

prompt: anonymous said: slippery + doyoung + "you can rely on me, you know." from the first dialogue link! LOVE YOU ❤️

song rec(s): playlist here !

a/n: yes it’s me experimenting out of my comfort zone again. yes you are required by law to listen to keshi while reading this hahahaha anyway writing this was painful. <3 (aka today i tried writing very complex human emotions and failed again. classic.)

In the beginning, there was no beginning. Ergo, this isn’t really a thing.

You shouldn’t be thinking of summer in Introduction to Latin. You are a good (perhaps great, if your ego allows) student after all. Here you are, though, listening to the ticking of the clock and wondering if you sigh loud enough, you won’t have to construct another sentence with the word for ‘death’. You pause to tell yourself that you shouldn’t be thinking of summer out of class either. Unremarkable; that's what it was and you don’t like unremarkable things.

When two people end up alone together, there’s not much to make of. 

“You know,” he had said, locking eyes. “We should get out of here.”

“And then what?”

“Fuck.”

So here’s the thing: this isn’t and won’t be a thing.

Doyoung has never been subtle when drunk, you found out, and he’s not as gentle as he looks. You flip the page of your notebook absentmindedly. You don’t like where your thoughts are going; the clinking of ice against glass rings in your ears again. It’s been far too long (one whole month) and you’re craving a bit of fun. You may forget yourself but you’re reaching your fingertips a little too far to call him again. More excuses pop up. See, in your world of perfection, there’s a hierarchy of things; men rank rather low. 

(Fun doesn’t.)

Here’s another thing: you forget yourself quite often. You know very well that you’re the one who continued this not-thing and now you’re daydreaming of Kim Doyoung in class hours. 

And under grey bed sheets with a tired smile, Doyoung is hard to forget. 

It was a party, it always is. That time, however, was the first party of the year Doyoung and you happened to be attending at the same time. You can’t remember who hosted it—the frat probably—but it was at a bar called the ‘The Meeting Place’ which had too many people you didn’t care about. Doyoung was there, in his laid-back glory, and you were drawn in far too easily. Being single did not help your case—and the alcohol certainly didn’t. You’re not sure if it was the gentle touches against your wrist or quick words that left his mouth or the attractive all-black get-up. All you know is that it was your mouth against his by the end of the night in a small booth, hot and impatient. Once, twice, thrice and you didn’t even need parties anymore. 

It’s not like you weren’t aware of what you were doing; it’s just that you were quick to give in—like you didn’t want to resist in the first place. And now, summer smells like Doyoung’s perfume. 

The first night had given Mr. Student Body President a near-stroke. You weren’t the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men at parties either so the morning had been full of awkward explanations to each other till you’d kissed him to shut him up (much like in a disgusting romantic comedy, minus the feelings) and somehow, it worked. He didn’t refuse and if you recall, he’d eventually pulled you closer by the waist.

You huff, twirling your pen. He’d never admit it.

You didn’t kiss so sloppily after that, unless it was to make out against a wall or while fumbling with the keys to your apartment. The lack of alcohol can bring wonders. You were a little surprised that he’d agreed—he is the Doyoung you’ve known since freshman year after all; blunt, rude, cares more for his grades than he’d ever for you. How laughable. He’s almost the same as you.

Here’s one last thing: Kim Doyoung is not and cannot be your type. 

You had the same part-time job in your second semester at a local fast food joint, and to summarize, your interactions were less than friendly. You can’t possibly count the number of times he yelled at you for trivial mistakes, and the number of times you sent angry, clipped sentences his way. So, yes, neither of you have told anyone—just acting friendly got you enough eyebrow raises.  If there’s anything worse than contradicting yourself almost directly, it’s having to explain that to your friends. So, you kept it a secret and so did he, for his own reasons.

You massage your forehead. If you think any more of this during class hours, you’re going to have to classify this as a terrible, terrible problem; like you don’t have enough already. You tune in to the lecture again, hoping it drowns out the rest of your thoughts. 

You tap your pen against the desk till you’re asked to stop by the professor. There goes your last resort. It isn’t the first time, but you breathe a sigh of relief at the hands of the clock. Casual means casual—you know it better than anyone. Maybe it would be easier if you could be more open about it. But you can’t. Your own problems aside, Doyoung would kill you if his reputation went down, even a nick. Men like that are so difficult, you curse to yourself. 

You run into Ten in the hallways, brightening at his absurdly wide grin. In fact, you haven’t seen him remotely upset since freshman year, when he couldn’t join the dance club, not because he failed the audition but because he mixed up the dates and missed it entirely. (It’s okay; he got in the next year.)

“Guess what!” he yells before you’re even in conversation range.

“What?” you yell back.

“No, guess,” he says, when you’re close enough.

You roll your eyes. “You scored a date?”

Ten deadpans. “No. I don’t even want one.”

“Loser.”

“No, you.”

“How clever.”

Ten flicks your forehead with no provocation whatsoever, making you yelp in pain. After a minute of cursing on your part, he squishes your cheeks to bring you back to reality—like he wasn’t the cause. You bite your lip to keep yourself from scowling. His hair is still light brown from the bleach, and you fix his bangs out of habit; your dumb friends are all you have at the end of the day. You sigh. They all lean on you unwittingly.

“Anyway, the news? I’m not guessing anything else,” you warn, taking a sip of your coffee.

“Well,” he draws out the syllable. “I heard- know you’re into the smart type. You know, student council kinda guys? So…”

You choke, the coffee leaving your mouth just as quick as it entered.

“Who told you that?” The laugh that leaves your mouth is forced and certainly fake but it’s the best you can do.

Ten rolls her eyes, still smiling. “I was thinking if you would be interested in a certain Park Hyungmin.”

Oh. Student body vice-president. He’s most definitely your type, with a gifted body and equally strong academic prowess—not to mention perfectly maintained tan skin and the most radiant smile you’ve ever seen in your life. 

“Oh, yeah, he’s hot,” you nod in agreement. “What do you want me to do with him?”

“He likes you. Like, totally has the hots for you. And I owe him so please help me out here.”

You furrow your brows, heaving a deep sigh.

“You...want me to go on a date with him?” you ask. 

You can oblige. Park Hyungmin is the hottest dude on campus (probably). It’s a win-win situation—in fact, it’s even better. A certain bitter taste finds itself in your mouth. It must be the coffee. You swallow it. 

“Yeah.”

And the deal’s done.

It was casual commitment, like most things you do for fun. You don’t think much of it, and the thought takes its final bow when you run into Doyoung himself.

Well, sort of.

You turn heel when he appears in your line of sight, pretending to fix your hair against a damn wall. You aren’t quite ready to face him yet, considering the coffee hasn’t kicked in—it’s not healthy how much you depend on it. Dependence is different, however, from consciously drowning yourself in it. 

See, Doyoung is anything but tolerable without a few shots of vodka. Or after sex. Or when he’s mumbling in his sleep. And you can’t erase any of those scenes. This is you trying to save yourself (and Doyoung) from embarrassment and a whole lot of explanation.

His coat looks expensive and you’d rather he had it on instead of on his arm. The tucked-in sweater and pants combo accentuates the line of his waist and the colour—you wonder where he found a teal so fitting—looks serene in the crowd. He’s wearing his glasses though, looking a little less put together than usual. Still, no one seems to notice and he continues to explain something to his group of friends.

God forbid you find Doyoung attractive during daytime.

His lips are chapped but pink as ever, the hair messed up by either the wind or his friends—you should stop staring by now. You give in. You’ll text him to book a hotel room tonight.

Sometimes you wonder how he has that large a friend circle, and always, the question answers itself. Eloquence, wit and regrettably, good looks—what does he lack? Maybe if he lost the habit to nag people around fifty-six times a day, he’d be the perfect man.  

An arm slings over your shoulder, punting the soul right out of your body.

“Fuck, Johnny, don’t do that,” you hiss, placing your hand over your chest involuntarily. 

The head of the photography club apparently spends his time terrorizing everyone he remotely knows. You make a foul expression but iIt’s not like he ever minds your scowling. He says he’s had enough practice from teasing Doyoung (and you’ll admit, it’s the only time you feel sorry for him). You were certain Doyoung would have filed him for harassment sometime in sophomore year. 

“What are you even looking at?” Johnny asks, raising an eyebrow at the plain offwhite expanse of the wall in front of you.

You feel hot at the neck. “I was fixing my hair.”

“In front of a wall?”

You click your tongue. “Do you not have class?”

“Oh, don’t be so quick to send me off.” He places a hand over his chest in mock hurt, fingers stretched delicately. 

To your dismay, the rest of his friends gather around giving you happy greetings—greetings only carefree college boys are capable of delivering. To your further dismay, Kim Doyoung arches an eyebrow at you, the same way he does on nights you’re doing things less than appropriate to think of in broad daylight.

“Hey, Doyoung, don’t you have anything to say? Or were you too drunk to remember?”

You bite down on your lip a little too hard. Doyoung, on the other hand, looks like he’s just seen God, stammering out a “what?” nevertheless.

“Weren’t you supposed to buy (name) a drink for driving you home that night?”

“Right,” he says, clearing his throat.

Oh, he’s bought you a drink enough times. Summer has waned but whatever thread you tied around your wrists hasn’t. Right now, your guess is that Doyoung has been ensnared in the common ritual for college boys to walk around campus and declare their friend is single just to embarrass him (or by some miracle, score him a date).

Everything, apart from the way you look at Doyoung, feels like a charade. You shake your head with a quick laugh, smacking Johnny in the arm and pay your condolences to Doyoung—keep it light. You’re good at it, or pretending you’re good at it, at the very least.

Doyoung’s gaze on you lingers for a moment and then you breathe. You’re going to be late for class—you offer the classic excuse and you’re out of there. In a way, it’s exciting. You’ve always wanted to have a secret relationship, even if this isn’t a real one. 

Doyoung is like the summer breeze, and you’d like for him to stay that way.

The next time you grace each other’s presence is when Doyoung’s tongue is in your mouth and his hands are running up under your shirt. 

He’s quite a pretty sight—messy hair, red lips and rosy cheeks. He moans into the kiss as he has quite a few times now and there’s the lovers’ high running through either of your minds. When he presses his lips to your neck, a soft restrained sound escapes you, not quite prepared for the sting of electricity through your skin. He moves to your collarbone and shoulders and then even lower, hands gripping your waist tight. The walls do not have ears here; these hotels are cheap but they’re built for privacy and maybe you’ll let yourself believe for once that you can belong to someone.

“Why did you text me in the middle of the goddamn night?” he mutters against the base of your neck.

“You want reasons now?” you whisper, hands running through his hair.

Doyoung has pretty fingers, pressing at the right places and prettier eyes that look at you with something akin to, dare you say it, love. He kisses you like he hasn’t had enough; and it makes you feel important.

He’s even better when he’s annoyed.

You wake up at around five in the morning. Propping yourself up on one arm, you take a moment to look at your partner. It’s easy to make out the line of his nose against the pillow, and if you focus, you can see his lashes against his cheek and his dark mop of hair clinging to his forehead. However gentle the moonlight is, it is kindest on a lover. 

Funny.

Too tired to sneak out, you go back to sleep.

“All I’m saying is that you have too much coffee,” Doyoung complains, slipping on his loose black sweatshirt. “It can’t be good for your health.”

You shake your head, scrolling through your phone as you lay on your belly. You’ve seen this view enough times—his back to you and sitting at the opposite edge of the bed, his incessant complaints and opinions about something that happened recently, running his hand through his hair when he sighs. You press on the calendar app and type in a note labeled ‘x’. Keeping tabs isn’t a bad thing; especially if you like order. Spending too many nights with someone is going to land you in trouble. That said, if you could trap love in a bottle, you would.

“You taste like coffee,” Doyoung adds with reddening ears.

Sometimes, it’s easy to ignore what he says if you listen to the sound of his voice instead. You sit up, scooting closer as Doyoung shoots you an alarmed look. He’s so cute like this; something about all the painted fences he puts up around him makes you want to lean in closer.

“So,” you poke his side. “How many relationships have you been in? Proper ones.”

“Three,” he answers, to your surprise.

Your eyebrows shoot up. “That’s more than I’ve been in!”

Doyoung furrows his. “How many have you been in?”

“One.”

He seems equally surprised but doesn’t probe further. After all, the price sticker that spells ‘youth’ clings to his forehead just as it clings to yours. 

“How many people have you fucked?” you ask suddenly, enjoying the visible flush across his neck.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he notes, flicking your forehead.

“Ow!” You place your palm against your forehead. “Okay, I get it, you have nothing to brag about.”

He shakes his head, an exasperated sigh leaving him. “I just don’t think you have to know. I like privacy.”

“Wait.” You gasp. “Don’t tell me- That night- don’t tell me you were a virgin—”

Doyoung squishes your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, a laugh erupting from your mouth. 

“Who’s a virgin?”

Nothing about this, you find yourself realizing, is complicated. It’s easy, gentle, natural, like a breath of fresh air—everything but complicated. Even under dim lights and within the depths of night, Doyoung is warm and uncomplicated. His chest, his hands, his lips—they are warm, as are his words. 

But Doyoung is a fucking fairytale.  

Even after these few months, all you know about him, in the definitive format, is that he plays the keys for more hours than he sleeps. What he does for fun, what his classes are, how he became student body president—you could play guessing games all night.

“Do your friends know where you spend your nights?” you ask, leaning back against the pillows.

“They know what I’m doing, not who I’m with,” he responds, running his fingers through his hair.

You purse your lips. It’s nothing hurtful but you don’t like the hush-hush in his tone.

“Why not?”

“Because this is a secret,” he responds as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Do you want them to know?”

He’s right.

“Ah, whatever,” you mutter, a stream of curses following when your elbow collides hard with the edge of the bedside table. 

“Your mouth is filthy.” He looks away to his phone. “I don’t swear as much.”

“Well, of course it is. I had your—”

Doyoung presses his palm against your lips with a tired sigh. “Please. Don’t speak. For the sake of my sanity.”

You smile under his hand and he returns it; and the November morning warms up.

“Where were you last night?”

You were expecting the question. Areum is the worst possible candidate for a roommate if you want some privacy. You don’t think she ever sleeps; sometimes, you wonder if she even showers because all she does is stare at her laptop screen and adjust her designs. Her lips are always chapped and her hair is always in a simple low ponytail but somehow still messy. You’ve never met someone so exhausted yet so full of life at the same time.

“Who were you with last night?” Eunji yells from the bathroom, before the two of them laugh.

You knew you shouldn’t have stayed the morning. You have the nosiest roommates anyone could (not) ask for. But they’re still your friends, you tell yourself begrudgingly. You would tell them about Doyoung if it weren’t for Eunji’s big mouth and Areum’s lack of common sense. And if it weren’t for the inherent comfort of privacy.

(Some part of you wants to keep him to yourself. You don’t care about student council president Doyoung or his friend group’s everything-regulator Doyoung or always-has-his-shit-together Doyoung. The one in your bed is the most loving.)

Areum adjusts her glasses, narrowing her eyes at you. “So? Any answer?”

You break out of your daydream at her voice, feeling a flush creep up your neck.

“I don’t have to explain anything,” you retort, snatching the coffee she brewed from the tabletop. “It was a Friday night and the two of you like Netflix more than me.”

“That’s mine,” Areum mumbles out a weak complaint.

“But don’t go out alone,” Eunji whines. “It can’t be safe.”

You laugh. “You know me. I don’t do anything too dangerous. Besides, you guys have that tracker app.”

They shrug, offering you a thin smile. A part of you is happy that they trust you but another part wonders what it would be like to be worried over. Maybe getting nagged isn’t so bad. 

You take a sip of Areum’s coffee and almost spit it out right back. 

“Did you add salt?” you ask, wiping at your mouth and hoping the taste disappears.

“Uh.” A reply so intelligent, you wonder if she ever pays attention to anything she's doing. 

You take a moment (a few), sigh (several times) and make your way to the shelves. Grumbling, you make her a proper cup of coffee before you leave.

Classes don’t wait for you (even if you think they should) and the world doesn’t wait for you (again, you think it should wait for people) so you’ve made it a point to understand the whole deal about rules. If everyone followed the rules, it would be quite a pretty scene; messing up is only valid if it’s done prettily. You laugh at the thought. That’s near impossible. The bus ride to the campus consists of music and thoughts of bleak tomorrows—an average commute for college kids, you think. You sure hope you aren’t alone in this.

Doyoung smiles at you in the hallway today, and despite your best efforts, it makes your day smell a little fresher.

Your day: classes, coffee break, classes, complaining with Ten, assignments, ‘me’ time. For someone who pretends to be laid back, you use your planner as though for survival. There’s no sticky notes or colourful sketches (except on occasion); just good old fashioned to-do lists and a calendar marked with time you’ve spent on productivity. Every day is a list to be completed. If people call routine a man-made cage, instinct is the biological cage. You’d rather be in control of the cage you’re in. You’d rather be in control of yourself. It’s scary otherwise.

So you know how to get the job done—it’s ingrained into you the same way you would place your hands over your ears at loud sounds, or the way you would run to your bed in the dark after switching off the lights.

It never occurs to you that the reason your world is so perfect is a sad one.

Sometime next month, it’s going to snow. Not yet though, and it’s still too cold.

The inside of the cafe helps the slightest, the heaters situated far back from where you sit. Christmas decorations are up already and the combination of red and green meshes delightfully into the form of an aching headache. The wood paneling on the walls are worn at the corners, the garlands hardly covering them, and the barista behind the counter seems as gloomy as the decorations are bright. You wouldn’t be noticing all of this if you weren’t stuck in one position.

You lean your cheek further into your palm and sigh, only this time Ten asks you to, quote, ‘shut the fuck up’.

He pulls up his sleeve and reaches for another pencil. His cryptic process continues, as it has been for the past half an hour and you feel yourself getting impatient, trying to not bounce your leg and get another bout of quibbling from your half-mad artist friend. You don’t usually run low on patience; but Ten has a special pass to test drive it.

“How much lon—”

“Shh!” He hushes you quickly. You can’t remember why you agreed to being his portrait study subject but you sure as hell regret it.

Around fifteen minutes later, you take a (permitted) breath. You have neither the energy nor the neck strength to glare at Ten but you make sure to show your displeasure by snatching the cookies from the table with a particularly sour look. He gets up and pushes you to the side of the small worn-out couch offered by the equally small booth.

“God, that chair was uncomfortable. My butt is frozen solid,” he lets you know, and you roll your eyes.

“You know, if we weren’t friends in high school, I would never be friends with you,” you state.

Ten tilts his head to the side, a mocking pout over his lips. “I would die without you, (name). Really.”

You smack his arm and he yelps, smacking your arm right back. The sound attracts some attention and giggles, and you make a gagging gesture to let them know you are in way or form in a relationship. The low-volume music changes to something with a more distinguishable beat, the sound of doors opening and closing almost every two minutes accompanying. Arriving on time is an accomplishment, especially arriving before rush hour on Fridays at the only decent cafe on campus, but both of your classes end early and there is no way you aren’t taking advantage of that. Leaving, however, is mostly done when you’re being glared at by the waiters and waitresses.

“Doyoung asked about you,” Ten says, all of a sudden. “Kim Doyoung.”

You try to not show concern, but raise an eyebrow. “What? So? He’s not my type or anything.”

You bite your tongue. That was too quick a response, too obvious. Your cheeks grow hot. Ten doesn't say anything, however, and for a moment, you think you’re in safe waters. 

“Are you guys… into each other or not?”

You cough, trying to show your surprise at something so outrageous. “Why would you think that? Does he look like someone who dates around?”

“Actually, he’s been on quite a few dates.”

“No way.”

You know that. He’s told you about it before, in vague references, but you know about them nonetheless.

“Isn’t one student council guy enough?” you mumble. “Why are we talking about Doyoung?”

He shrugs, a familiar feline smile on his face. “Just asking. He talks about you sometimes. Actually, we forced it out of him but whatever.”

You shake your head. “You’re all terrible.”

“You seem to like him though.”

“Who said that?”

Ten sighs, ignoring your question. “If you guys are dating—”

“We’re not.”

“—or fucking—”

“Ten.”

“—you should learn a thing or two about him. The guy’s not as annoying as he looks. Or stuck-up. He’s really nice but don’t tell him I said that.”

“I know that,” you snap, feeling warm at the neck all of a sudden. “I know him.”

“Oh, you do? Tell me what his hobbies are then. Or his major. Or the clubs he’s in, apart from the student council.”

“He- He likes to sing and he’s- he’s—god, what is this? An interrogation? I’m not going to meet his mom for dinner.”

Ten gives you an ‘I knew it’ look before leaning his elbow onto the table. “You’re sleeping with a guy you don’t know anything about. Serial killers would love you.”

You massage your forehead. “Look, I know he’s a good guy, okay? And he’s sweet- and- and—wait a minute. Oh my god, you tricked me.”

Ten lets out a snort. “Hey. Okay, look, the other guys might be dumb as shit but I have, you know, a working set of eyes. I can tell. It’s not that hard.”

You grumble but the cat’s out of the bag anyway. You should’ve known Ten would figure it out—he’s a nosy little shit, and he’s been that way since high school.

“Whatever. As long as Doyoung doesn’t start panicking about his tarnished reputation or whatever.”

“Oh, I think he’s desperate to let everyone know.”

“To you, Ten, everything seems obvious. It’s annoying.” You mess up his hair.

“No, I mean, I thought you were dating.”

“Well, we’re not.”

Ten shrugs. 

“And I don’t like him,” you add. “I like the- the thing that’s going on because there’s no feelings attached.”

He looks somewhat pained, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed, but doesn’t respond to your explanation. “Can I ask for a favour?”

“No.”

Ten sighs. “Come on. You didn’t even hear me out.”

“You’re going to say something stupid. Or insulting.”

“It’s neither, promise.”

You run your hand through your hair, breathing shallow. “Fine. I don’t have to agree though.”

Ten purses his lips. “It’d be better if you did.”

You hum in response, biting into the cookie and trying to ignore the glare from the nearby waitress. It’s about time you left anyway.

“Get to know him, dude. Don’t break his heart.”

“What?”

“Just kidding. There’s a party tonight. Hosted by yours truly. Finally moved out of that stinky dorm room. Bring over some friends but not more than three. And lend me some money for a juicebox.”

“That’s a lot,” you mutter. “You ask for a lot of favours.”

“Oh, speaking of which, Hyungmin—”

“He already asked me out on a date. Am I supposed to say no? You never mentioned he has such an attractive voice.”

“Oh, I’m not telling you to not go on that date. You have to, actually. I’m going to be in a lot of trouble otherwise.”

“That sounds good to me.”

“Shut up. I’m not done speaking.”

You roll your eyes.

“But if you didn’t, I could draw some conclusions.”

“What am I, your chemistry experiment now?”

“Well, you and Doyoung seem to be—”

“Don’t complete that sentence.”

“I was going to say something funny.” 

Ten flashes you a blinding smile and you sigh. By now, you’re about to get kicked out of here so you stand up discreetly while he packs up his stuff. You hug your jacket close to you as soon as you leave, shivering at the evening breeze. The sky is inky, but with a faint sort of ink—deep blue and light, all at once. From the crowd, you can tell classes just got over for quite a few people, eclectic chatter filling up the street.

“Fine. I’ll bring Eunji,” you tell Ten after some contemplation. “And whoever else responds to my text first. Areum never leaves the room. You know that.”

“Thanks, (name)!” he messes up your hair. “I would give you a kiss but someone will end up punching my pretty face.”

You furrow your brows. “Well, you’re not my type anyway.”

“I’m too good for you,” he responds in a sing-song manner, waving at you before running off and disappearing into the university crowd.

There’s always a sort of buzz in the air you can’t quite describe at college parties.

Even if this is a relatively small one, you feel an oncoming headache the moment you enter Ten’s new apartment, which you’re sure had a ‘no parties’ rule in the rental contract. You spot Kun, Ten’s roommate from the dorms and he flashes you a quick smile in greeting before he’s swept up by a doting crowd. Apparently, a cute guy in animal sciences is rare and it makes him rather popular.

Eunji disappears from your side the moment she spots Johnny, and the number of eye rolls you’ve given her haven’t warned her off him yet. You suppose it takes heartbreak to change a person. Sighing, you make your way to the kitchen only to be greeted with the strange sight of Yuta trying to balance Jaehyun on his back so they can imitate some anime formation and back out immediately. Living room, it is, despite its populous space. (You don’t really want to think of bedrooms right now.)

The apartment is quite big for what Ten told you the rent was. The hallway to the two bedrooms is narrow but you suppose something has to be sacrificed for space. You furrow your eyebrows at the two bedroom doors. Ten never said he was getting a roommate. You shrug it off, sitting down on the rather stiff couch. The lack of furniture, apart from the couch and a coffee table, makes the place look even larger and people sparse. You like the beige walls; Ten’s always loved warmer colours but something makes you think he’s going to be ruining them in a few days with garish green paint before he comes crying about that to you.

“Hey.”

You look up to the familiar voice, heart rising to your throat.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Doyoung remarks before sitting down beside you and offering you a cup of god-knows-what.

“I don’t take drinks from strange men,” you say, biting down your smile and crossing your arms.

“If you didn’t take drinks from strange men, we wouldn’t be fu—”

“Doyoung!” you hiss before looking at him with careful suspicion. “Are you drunk?”

“No. A little bit. Not enough.”

You sigh. “How will you get home now?”

“I live here, idiot.”

“You’re- You’re Ten’s roommate?” you sputter.

“Yeah. New one,” he responds. “He used to live across our room in the dorms, I can’t believe I actually agreed to this.”

“I can’t believe it either. I’ve seen cats and dogs friendlier with each other than the two of you.”

Doyoung laughs. “He’s surprisingly one of the better people to room with. I’d rather eat my own blanket than room with Yuta again.”

You laugh at his irked expression, eyebrows furrowed so cutely. The line of his brow bone to nose to lips, it seems a little too perfect to belong to someone. He relaxes his shoulders a little, leaning back on the couch as he looks somewhat lost in thought. (“You think too much,” you’d told him once. “And you think too little.”) If only that were true, you smile to yourself.

“Are you sure you can hold parties here?” you as when the music suddenly rises in volume.

“Well, it said student-friendly,” Doyoung responds, looking visibly disturbed. “Not sure if I want to test the limits of that so early.”

There’s a pause, filled in with loud pop music. You don’t think Ten, your dear introvert, would have agreed to such a party but there’s a chance Johnny or Jaehyun had something to do with this. You don’t know who to suspect when it comes to their group of friends.

“I still can’t believe you’re rooming with Ten.” You look at Doyoung.

“Well, that makes, what, eleven of us, I guess?”

You laugh, feeling conscious all of sudden. Maybe you should listen to Ten’s advice.

“Doyoung,” you call, looking at the cup in your hands a little too passionately. “What’s your major?”

He looks at you with eyes widened ever so slightly, and a pause over his lips.

“Linguistics,” he answers.

“Oh. You said something about it once,” you mumble, recalling something vague about an assignment of his. “You know mine?”

“Yeah,” he answers, eyes cast on his watch.

“Well, that makes me feel a little guilty,” you mumble as softly as you can.

“You should be,” he says. “You never listen to anything I say.”

You scoff. “You just complain most of the time.”

“Really now?”

“Yes,” you snap, looking away.

You look back again when you hear the sound of Doyoung’s laugh, a distinct brightness in it. Sometimes, you wonder if you really are as awful as you’ve made yourself be.

“You’re cute,” he says. “No wonder everyone is so in love with you.”

For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you.

“Everyone?” you laugh. You don’t care about everyone. It’s burdensome.

“Everyone. They hate you too, by the way.” He smiles to himself. “Heard you’re going on a date with that dimwit. Hyungmin.”

You feel a sudden discomfort in your being. Taking a sip of the drink, you try to shake it off as best as you can. 

“Yeah, I- I don’t think I’ll go,” you say, waving it off. 

Why are you lying? You left it hanging on a maybe. Part of you wants to tell Doyoung; he is your friend after all and you tell friends stuff like this. The other part tells you this is cheating; lying and pretending everything is okay—it feels like cheating. 

“Oh.” He looks lost before he focuses on you. “Why not?”

“Why do you care?” you ask, trying desperately to calm the uprising in your chest.

He stays quiet for a few seconds and then shrugs, looking away from you. It makes you feel a little guilty to dismiss the situation so quickly, another item to add to your troubles. You sigh.

“Sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, it’s okay. You’re right.” You can see his Adam's apple bob up and down.

“I’m not,” you say. “I’m wrong. I really didn’t mean it.”

He looks at you all at once, his gaze so gentle that it makes you think he wants to kiss you, or do something equally affectionate. Instead he sighs, downing whatever’s left of his drink before a wash of sudden looseness does away with the tension in his body.

“You have any more questions for me?” he asks, smiling. “What's it like to be student body president—or, or what instruments can I play? My favourite animal? Colour?”

You smile back. “What is your favourite animal?”

“I don’t have one. Don’t like them. Unless it’s a soft toy.”

“No way. You’re lying.”

“Now, I answer your questions and you call me a liar? Makes me a little hesitant to answer the next.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, next then. Why didn’t you join the frat? All your friends are in it.”

“Hurts my ego.”

You laugh. He’s still probably an honorary member. There is no way he’s apart from friends for too long with all those feelings of fraternity he has, no matter what he says. It’s the same as you. Affection leads nowhere though; just to short-lived moments of comfort.

You realize, through the course of the night, that you never asked. How he got into the student council, what his classes are, what he does for fun—you never asked. It’s almost like you didn’t want to know. 

How sad, you muse to yourself, to be this way. To be so wrapped up in your own problems that you fail to see people around you. Pity, however, isn’t something to feel at a party. You talk with Doyoung for the rest of the night till the sound of his voice makes you feel certain ghosts of butterflies, and till you have to take Eunji home before she does something she regrets. This is what it really means to have the price tag of ‘youth’ strung across you perhaps—when you feel old and immature all at once, and in between, when you feel nothing at all.

Doyoung is too old to mistake love. Or too young. 

Labels don’t define anything, especially when it comes to relationships—so even if he calls it love, whispers it to himself at midnight when he’s sitting alone on his bed while his friends are passed out drunk on the floor, it is empty. And then there’s you. The heat of your skin, the curse of your smile and that cheeky laugh you do to get on his nerves. He wants all of it and he’s not ashamed—but he’d be a liar to say he can shout it to the whole world. He’s not that kind of man, and what is his can remain his without the rest of the world prying its damn fingers in. The first night, no, the second—third? He can’t remember which night it was but something pent up in him exploded and he didn’t try to control it for once.

“Ow,” he mutters.

His throat burns from the whiskey. He hates drinking alone but you’re either asleep or with friends and he can’t think of anyone else but you. He tugs at the turtleneck collar, getting uncomfortable by the minute, and then proceeds to take off his coat.

For a moment, he considers getting back to the living room. There were more than enough people with lingering touches against his shoulder and longing gazes—they’re not you. He leans back onto his bed. Another hour and everyone will be gone; why did he even let them hold a party in the first place? Parties just remind him of you—he takes a whiff and smells summer and lemon vodka all of a sudden. A deep sigh leaves his lips.

You might not seem to find yourself especially sad, but Doyoung finds something oddly touching about you. Maybe it’s the way you say his name, he muses, like you’re desperately trying to fill the gaps. But it can’t be him in particular, of course—it’s a lover, any lover.

He hates long nights, just as he hates winter but lately, they haven’t been feeling too cold. Isn’t it ridiculous the way he’s running after you? Doyoung was never meant for this. It’s fucking pathetic and it makes him want to tear all his hair out but there he is, still and quiet in the same place. A certain agony makes its way through him. His hands are freezing and yet his insides are burning—nothing makes sense and right now, he doesn’t want it to. He presses his cold hands to the warmth of his cheeks and a laugh erupts from his mouth.

He must be going crazy to laugh like this in an empty room. The car lights from the window travel slowly from wall to ceiling, the only thing moving in the stagnant of his room.

Inevitably, he thinks of the end. It should come quick; in fact, he’s never been one to do this. He’s always been someone to get attached to people. He doesn’t know how the end will come because this shouldn’t have begun in the first place.

Doyoung’s out of breath.

“Crazy bastard,” he mumbles to himself, followed by a groan when he lifts his head up. As if on cue, the door opens and shuts with a bang. Ten walks in looking drowsy, running his hand through his hair with a disgruntled face.

“I hate to say this,” he slurs. “But you’re right. We can’t have extra furniture and parties. Gotta choose one.”

Ten lays down flat on the bed. “I vote out that ugly ass clock you bought. Why do we need it? We have phones and laptops.”

“It was a gift,” Doyoung mutters.

“Oh. Uh. Actually, someone already, uh—”

“Leave it. We’ll talk about that in the morning.” 

Doyoung massages his forehead, groaning at the pain when Ten suddenly decides he’s all up for cuddling. 

“Ew,” he says, scooting away from Ten. “Get away from me.”

“You don’t mean that,” Ten whines, trying very hard to pull Doyoung into a hug. Of course, his attempts are blocked by Doyoung’s palm against his forehead.

After a few more seconds of trying, Ten huffs and turns away, crossing his arms. “I don’t like you anyway.”

“I know,” Doyoung mutters.

Ten erupts into laughter, sounding more like a psychopath than a close friend of his.

“You do that every time you like someone?” he asks in between fits.

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “I just said—okay, yeah. Whatever.”

There’s a much needed silence and Doyoung wonders if he can just fall asleep without kicking Ten out.

“You should tell (name),” Ten says all of a sudden, Doyoung’s heart stopping at your name.

“What?” he whispers.

Ten looks at him as though he’s talking to a particularly stupid child. It makes Doyoung scowl but there’s too much alcohol in his system to know if he really means it.

“You don’t- you’re- everyone in this goddamn building knows,” Ten explains, exasperated. “Jaehyun knows, and he’s the densest kid I’ve ever met. God, if you like (name), go for it.”

Doyoung blushes so deep, he considers pressing his palms to his cheeks again. He thinks for the next few moments. Ah well, if they had to find out, he’s glad he didn’t have to declare it himself.

“Whatever, just ask (name) out. It can’t be that complicated.”

Except it is. You don’t have to spell it out for him—he knows the way you feel. The two of you only ever wanted one thing out of this. But if there’s something Doyoung isn’t good at, it’s keeping his mouth shut. He wonders how many times he let it slip, wonders if you even care enough to notice. God, it’s starting to sound pitiful for him.

“Ten. How much did you drink?” Doyoung asks, raising his head.

“Nothing. None. I’m not drunk.” Ten shrugs. “Just sleepy.”

A ‘wow’ is all Doyoung can respond with. He still isn’t quite finished figuring out what sort of horrific planet Ten stumbled from. A notification ding distracts him from kicking Ten off his bed and he has half a mind to toss it onto the bedside table but it’s still half. He softens almost immediately.

It’s a text from you: a ‘u’ followed by a smiley face and then a meme he can’t quite read through hazy eyes. He finds himself smiling anyway and sends a barrage of emojis, whatever he finds because he likes the way you get annoyed at them. Sighing, he decides that’s enough. He’s not in the right state of mind for conversation.

Doyoung shuts his phone off, attempts to push Ten off the bed one last time before closing his eyes and dozing off.

Not every day is meant to be fun—you know that in your twenties—but it’s still somewhat disappointing to have bad days. Like youth is meant to give you some sort of happiness daily. That’s what they make it sound like.

You groan, rubbing at your back. Sitting at your study desk for so long does not have good long term effects. At least, your temporary, meaningless assignments are done. You scowl at the text on your laptop screen; the more you look at it, the more you hate it and so, you shut it off. It’s not like your pissy professor is going to be impressed by anything you do. However, you like the orderly certainty of schoolwork.

Break time consists of guilt and sugary snacks. You’re done with most everything and you suppose leaving the final review of things to a later date can’t hurt. In fact, it sounds rather appeasing. A few more moments pass in making a decision.

You get dressed. The apartment feels eerie all alone, and you’re sure as hell not going to spend the rest of your evening here. You shiver, quickly striding out the front door and locking it before taking out your phone.

People misunderstand winter. Winter is only the end of things; and sometimes, the beginning. It isn’t cruel or crushing, it’s just taking its course. However, you have a tendency to blame seasons for all that happen in it. For instance, you shouldn’t be missing summer when you really miss the first night with Doyoung. 

He picks up after calling thrice. You wonder what he’s even up to, if Saturday evenings are also booked full for such a guy.

“Why do you take so long to pick up?” you complain. “Do you not get days off?”

“I’m busy,” he hisses. 

Something’s wrong.

You pause, unsure what to do. It’s not his voice but the one in the background that catches your attention. 

Inviting him somewhere. 

Rather sensually.

Your ears feel hot and you drop the call. Of course. Of fucking course. You’re the idiot thinking it was a thing. This whole thing is casual—feeling sorry wasn’t in the contract. Fucking around was.

It’s not like you’ll be heartbroken by something like this. Of course not. Of course. Doyoung and you never had a beginning so there isn’t an end, really. It’s fine. It’s fine. You take a deep breath and browse through your phone. With the onset of Christmas holidays, you have around three options left. Ten (yikes), Jaehyun (no way) or the latest addition, Hyungmin.

Well, you’re dressed. You have to go somewhere. And your statement about Hyungmin being the hottest guy on campus still stands.

You send two texts to the boy before deciding that’s apparently enough time waiting. He picks up after a few rings, voice groggy from what you assume to be a late afternoon nap.

“You up for a drink?” You cut to the point.

“Uh? Oh, uh, now? I am, of course- I just need—”

“Twenty minutes. I’ll text you the address.”

Nothing cheers you up like your favourite bar. Or friends. Or people who respond to calls.

Hongdae is as busy as ever. You knew the bar would be packed but not this packed. Still, you managed to grab a seat at the bar table. With the oncoming night, the smell is just going to get worse—so there’s nothing wrong with treating yourself to some lemon vodka (and its refreshing scent).

Hyungmin arrives exactly four minutes early, and the mussed up hair makes you think he must have been in a hurry. For what, you can’t be sure. 

You can still see the inklings of Hongdae nightlights on his hair right before he enters, and in the fallacy of that moment, you think it’s going to be Doyoung. You sigh. This isn’t the time for that.

“Sorry,” you say, gesturing to the bar table. “All the tables were booked.”

“No, no,” he responds quickly. “I actually prefer it here.”

He’s tall, not that it’s the first time you’re noticing, but even when he’s sitting, he’s at least two heads taller than you are. His shoulders are accentuated by the mocha coat, no doubt part of the latest trend this winter. As a fashion student, he hits the mark and more. 

For a moment, you feel bad for knowing his major. Ten let it slip about him and yet still, you feel guilty for remembering it. You’re not supposed to go into unnecessary detail about people that don’t matter. Does he matter? 

“Surprised you could make it,” you joke half-heartedly. “Aren’t you lot always busy with something?”

He laughs. “The student council? Oh, we’re busy alright.”

Busy. Right.

“What about you? Aren’t you part of like three different clubs?”

“So what kind of busy?” you ask, ignoring his question. You’re part of two, now that you left the music club last semester. It’s not like small talk matters though.

“Uh,” he hesitates. “You know- attend meetings and events, coordinate committee work, supervise stuff, etcetera etcetera. So busy, yeah.”

“Busy on Saturdays too?” you ask, before thanking the bartender for the drinks.

“Yeah, I guess. Doyoung has it worse than me honestly. Even now, he has to take care of stuff because of me. Hah…”

You gulp down your drink making Hyungmin raise an eyebrow in concern. “Stuff? Because of you?”

“Yeah.” Hyungmin scratches the back of his head. “He’s with the girls.”

“Girls?” you ask, playing with the glass. You’re starting to feel annoyed, red lining your vision.

“Yeah.” He makes no notion of clarifying his statement.  

“Must be quite the president,” you say, resting your cheek against your palm.

“Oh, he’s a nightmare.” Hyungmin laughs. “He has to control everything.”

You try to mask your scoff. You know what he can be like when you’re working beside him. 

“Oh, and the guy has no sense of humour,” Hyungmin laughs, the sound easy on the ears.

You blink.

“I think he’s funny,” you say quickly. You swear you have no idea why you sound so defensive.

He hums in response and you consider biting your tongue, telling him you’re only here for one thing and forgetting the uncomfortable churning of feelings inside your chest.

“Forget I- I’m a little confused today.” 

Is that an acceptable explanation? You can’t think straight enough to decide. The silence on Hyungmin’s part, however, worries you. The crowd around you fills in for the next few moments as your companion seems to debate something with himself.

“Look, I know you and Doyoung are… I don’t know, something.”

You huff in irked amusement. “God, does everyone seem to know?”

“Not until late actually.” Hyungmin takes a gulp. “He’s been acting weird. Doyoung.” 

You look away, breathing shallow. You don’t like it, the way things seem to be getting out of hand. All this time, the world seemed to be in the palm of your hand and now, it’s spilling everywhere; the sand in the hourglass is already up to your knees and you don’t know what happens when it fills.

“Do you actually like him?” he asks, leaning back just a little. You know where this is going. “Are you guys dating?”

“No,” you respond, checking your watch.

“Oh.”

There’s a moment’s hesitation in him but you’ve seen that look before. You know that look.

“Then we can- uh- we can—”

“Fuck?” you ask.

He gulps. “I mean, you can say no any time—”

You pull him by the collar and kiss him, hard enough to melt away your hovering thoughts. He kisses like you expect him to, not how you want him to. You know this sort, and somehow, that makes you feel comfortable. Knowing what you’re getting into is easing but it doesn’t lessen the weight of it.

It’s sickening. The way you’re pretending it’s Doyoung.

Hyungmin pulls apart, panting heavily. “Oh, okay.”

“Tell me you drove here.” 

He holds up his car keys in response.

You’re not the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men, but it’s better than falling in love with them.

So you follow a lover to a hotel room and try to feel something. Some time, when he’s kissing you against the hotel room walls, he pulls apart and asks, “You’re thinking of someone else, aren’t you?”

You know the answer; it just won’t leave your lips.

“It’s okay,” he says with a weak smile, “Let’s just have fun.”

And every time his mouth was on yours, every time you saw stars, you felt the ghost of Doyoung and his haunting touches. It was strange and unfair and unlike you—or at least, unlike the you that you built over the past few years. You feel as though you’ve misplaced something—like something was supposed to be there when you reached out but instead, it was empty space.

The night ends as it should and you leave right before dawn with an apology text you couldn’t put half your heart into.

Most winter nights, you wake up with pain so profound, it’s seeping into your bones.

It never made sense. You never tried to make sense of it. So you let the aches push you down by the shoulders, lodge itself into your neck and back; and you tell yourself, it must be what you deserve. It’s cold and you’re walking barefoot on frozen ground.

You gasp. The weight of who you are and who you have to be—it has its knee on the back of your neck, shoving you into the damp earth. There’s no particular reason to it; it makes it seem as though it’s insignificant. Unimportant. Irrelevant. But that’s the problem—the weight of the world on your shoulders makes no sense. Whose world are you even carrying? Whose approval are you trying to win? You scramble to get up, messing up your bedsheets in the process, and pull your blanket around you. Your own warmth surrounds you and it makes no difference. You frown.

You remember your phone call with your mom, and your lips tremble. You shouldn’t have told her about how crappy your finals went but it slipped. You tried to explain that you did work for them, that you gave it your best but sometimes things don’t work out. She didn’t have to say it out loud for you to hear her thoughts. 

You’re disappointing. 

You wipe at your eyes, feeling annoyed at the emotion. If you could let the ground swallow you whole, you would. In a heartbeat. You don’t even know what you’re doing most of the days despite that pretty planner of yours.

You get out of bed, pull on your cardigan beside the bed and grab your lighter and pack. The tiny balcony makes for a great smoking spot and while you would scold any of your friends for committing to this, you do it yourself. Hypocrite.

For all you try to shove into yourself—hobbies, student clubs, actual clubbing, friends—the more you feel less than enough, as if everything just vanishes into thin air inside you. As if you aren’t enough and never will be. You play by the rules and you lose, you break the rules and you lose. 

Maybe it’s because you let yourself be filled by the intricacies of other people that they like you. And thus, you cannot stop for fear of loneliness.

Just as you’re feeling crushed again, you picture Doyoung against your back, placing his nose in the crook of your neck—something he has never done—and you wonder why it helps. 

Sucking in air too fast, you cough. You shouldn’t have let it go on for so long.

It was fun—harmless fun. You shouldn’t even be thinking of taking a step in some other direction. You’re friends, barely, but you like where you are. If Doyoung was that important, you wouldn’t be going about this all backwards. You sigh, though it comes out jagged. The room is quiet and that’s the way it should be at four a.m, of course, but you crave music all of a sudden. Doyoung and you are just a temporary fix; and you let that thought relax you.

When you think of his chin on your shoulder, however, it feels feather light.

“Why are we doing this?” you ask. 

The atmosphere is warm and toasty, just like you expect it to be in a bakery with light pink doors and a collection of plastic potted plants on display. The decorations aren’t an eyesore here and somehow, it makes you feel better. It’s a little far but you decide it’s worth it.

Doyoung shrugs, sipping his hot chocolate. “It’s Christmas, and we’re both here.”

Your eyes follow the hanging lights over the counter, wrapped in pine tree stickers and eventually to the neat display of a ‘Season’s Greetings’ menu, the contents of which are currently at your table. A Christmas song by some singer who’s been popular lately plays, tunes light and dancing. You hate the end of the year solely because of the extra pressure January brings. Nothing you can’t handle, of course. Nothing you can’t handle.

You sigh. It’s been a little difficult lately.

“Doyoung, really, why are we doing this?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“Are you- uh- are you not enjoying this? I could—”

“No! No, it’s not that. I feel better, actually.” You bite your tongue almost immediately after. It’s not like he’s supposed to know the sort of hell week you’re having. A poorly received term paper, finals that weren’t up to your expectations, crippling loneliness without friends and, oh, the self-doubt—you are at the lowest you can be in college. The only sweetener right now is in the hot chocolate and the way Doyoung’s looking at you. 

You feel something close to guilt.

“Good.” He smiles. “You seemed… You seemed a little down.”

The sliver of warmth between your ribs makes you think this is unreal. It feels uneasy to be so affected by someone but you let it slide, turning back to your hot chocolate.

“Why didn’t you go home this time?” you ask, sipping your drink.

“Oh, I didn't really want to face my parents,” he says before leaning. “Didn’t do too well this semester. And my brother’s going to be there with all his achievements.”

You chuckle in disbelief. “You don’t like your brother?”

“I love him to bits. Just can’t stand my mom’s nagging when he’s around.”

“That’s rich coming from you.” You cross your arms, smiling triumphantly. You feel like children squabbling but it’s so lighthearted, you want to laugh.

Doyoung raises a pointed finger, about to retort but nothing comes out. He puts his hand down.

“I guess you’re right.”

You shake your head. “I’m sure she’s proud of you too.”

“I know that,” he says, laughing. “Of course she is. I don’t keep myself busy for nothing.”

You gulp, a sudden sourness rising at the base of your tongue. 

“Busy, huh? Didn’t know spending saturday evenings with girls also counted as busy,” you mutter against the cup, half-hoping he doesn’t hear you.

“What?” There’s a perplexed look across his face.

You wave your hand in dismissal. “Oh don’t mind me.”

“Are you talking about me giving a tour to the fresher girls?” Doyoung leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Hyungmin does that usually but Mr Man was sore from soccer practice and Friday fucking.” 

You blink. “Fresher… girls?”

“What, did you think I was at a brothel?” Doyoung laughs in amusement.

You feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “No! No, of course not.”

You wave your hands about for a few more seconds, trying to come up with an explanation. This makes things rather embarrassing.

“Sorry,” you say finally. “I jumped to conclusions.”

Doyoung laughs, rather deep and heartily, and you wonder if your apology really did sound as stupid to him as it did to you. 

“You do that a lot,” he notes.

“Thanks,” you quip, cutting the pastry with your fork a little too forcefully. His laugh follows. (You hate it so much. It sounds like pure adoration.)

The next few moments consist of scrolling through your phones (because Doyoung says his ‘mouth hurts from talking to you’) and you would’ve been in a better state of mind if everyone wasn’t posting pre-Christmas photos with their families. 

“You know they’re opening that park. What’s it called- Winter Wonderland or something. You said you wanted to visit.”

You look up at Doyoung amused.

“Let’s be honest. You want to be in bed, Doyoung,” you say. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I care,” he answers, looking at you with his doe eyes. “About you. You sulk when you’re upset.”

“I don’t sulk,” you reply but your smile is obvious when you exit the cafe. 

It’s like a date. The more you think of it that way, the more it makes you smile.

The evening is perfect—orange and pink and loving and happy. Doyoung trails behind you as you tread over the sidewalk with cheeky remarks about his speed.

“I’m in the track club, you know?” he huffs, finally tired of your jabs.

“As what, the start point?”

A fake, sarcastic laugh leaves him. “I wouldn’t get to see you if I walked ahead.”

You feel warmth creep up your face. You mumble, “that’s cheesy.” It’s too weak though, and it goes unheard. 

For the first time, you notice his eyes are a little like yours in what they reflect. You love them. 

So this is where the crowd went. The amusement park, or whatever you call it, is buzzing with a faint sort of excitement, mostly in the children that didn’t get to go on a vacation elsewhere. It’s quite the wonderland though so you can’t see them complaining.

“Do you think they’ll kick us out if we make out on the Ferris wheel?” you ask, smiling at Doyoung.

“I’m not making out with you on the Ferris wheel,” he replies, making a face.

You do end up making out on the Ferris wheel, and you get butterflies from it. It’s like a teenage dream but Doyoung looks even better. You pass on the cotton candy because frankly, you’ve had enough of sweet things. You sit at the frozen wooden seat, hoping it warms up while Doyoung brings the two of you some fries.

Your phone buzzes with a notification. Your eyes light up at the mail from your professor. You had turned in the term paper three days ago, weeks ahead of schedule and were particularly proud of the way it turned out. 

You look at the email and zero in on the word ‘redo’.

Your shoulders sag immediately. You spent four weeks on that—and it’s not good enough? You search frantically for how it could have gone wrong and come up with none. That’s not supposed to happen. Something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong. The week’s exhaustion swallows you up again.

When Doyoung returns, he looks at you concerned before quickly setting the fries on the table.

“(name). Is something wrong?”

“Huh?” Your voice sounds so weak and squeaky, you feel embarrassed. It’s embarrassing that after all these years, you still don’t know how to handle failure. 

Because it’s not supposed to happen. You tell yourself that over and over and it makes things worse.

You feel dirty, underneath all that dust and crumbled rock dangling in your hair. Whatever rests on your shoulders is cracking and collapsing, and you’re pushing in the wrong direction to make sure it all stays up. 

He reaches out his hand but you avoid it.

“No,” you mutter, weakly shaking your head.

You rub at your nose and eyes, hoping you can hide behind your forearms. Doyoung shouldn’t be seeing you like this, he doesn’t deserve to see you like this. You turn away from him, your palm gently pushing against the soft material of his shirt. 

Doyoung doesn’t move. Instead, he gently tugs on your wrist so you have no choice but to face him with your red-rimmed eyes. You’re not sure if it’s embarrassment or pity, but the concern in his eyes makes you cry harder. 

“You don’t have to do that,” he whispers. “You don’t have to find a place to cry.”

For the first time in adulthood, you learn what it’s like to lean your forehead against someone’s chest this way. Doyoung wraps his arms around you and the sound of his breathing soothes your near-erratic heart. 

“I worked really hard on it, you know?” you mumble against his chest. “My term paper.”

“I know,” he whispers.

Doyoung strokes your head delicately, fingers running through your hair with airy touches. Eventually, you let go of a final sigh and look up to his lips.

He seems surprised at the kiss but it’s all you can think of now. It’s gentler than usual and Doyoung moves cautiously though he seems to like it all the same. His arms feel comfortable around you. When he pulls apart, he looks at you yet still with careful concern.

“We can- we should stop if you want,” he says, and he means it. 

You shake your head. Night is creeping in overhead, deep and quiet and slow.

“I like you, Doyoung,” you say finally. “I really, really like you.”

Doyoung’s eyes widen, as though a rabbit wary of the traps it might set foot on but he eases into your touch almost immediately.

“I like… I like you too.” His lips waver but he looks away and takes a deep breath. “I like you so much.”

You smile and think that maybe everything is set right now, with his chin against your shoulder and your arms around him. 

Doyoung discards the jacket once you’re in your apartment, kissing you fuller now. Every other thought leaves you; you beg him to make you forget the rest of the world. The walls are comforting now that he’s here, and it’s warmer, hotter.

“Can we- Can we go a little slower?” you mumble, his arms still gentle when they wrap around your waist. He parts his lips from your neck to look at you momentarily before nodding.

You suddenly understand why he always makes you feel so good. There’s a certain fondness to his touch and warmth to his kisses. There’s no one quite like him, really.

“I love digging graves, especially if it’s my own,” you mutter against the pillow.

Doyoung laughs. “What did you do this time?”

“This time? Excuse me? Do you think I’m some sort of trouble child?”

“Hm. Let’s see. Yes.”

You pause. Why do you hesitate to tell him you slept with Hyungmin? It’s not like you were cheating—you weren’t dating Doyoung. Besides, that night with Hyungmin didn’t mean anything. A horrid feeling snakes around your throat, heavy and piercing. You resort to changing the topic.

“I’m… I took another course beyond my understanding.”

“That’s it?” he asks.

You nod.

No, no, no; it’s all backwards now and you don’t know how to reverse it.

Doyoung takes your hand in his, delicately and yet firm. His chest is against your back, bare and warm. When he presses his lips against your knuckles, the warmth that flushes through you makes you want to believe in something else entirely. You feel weak. 

A part of you argues that you feel honest—in a moment of clarity you don’t think you deserve. Neither vodka nor whiskey can make you this clear in the head; you struggle to breathe straight. How awful it is to feel warmth and not believe in it at the same time.  

“You can rely on me, you know?” he whispers.

The knot in your chest makes you want to cry.

You feel lonely and the opposite of it all at once. Doyoung is too much for you—too kind, too pretty and too true. He makes you realize too many things at once.

There are a few things in the world that can stifle loneliness. Like the notes Doyoung plays on the piano, like the songs he hums in the morning till you place open-mouthed kisses against his neck.

You realize, all of a sudden, that Doyoung really is your dearest friend.

And yet, you don’t think you deserve it. You’ve never loved, you believe, but you have. You don’t remember it well enough. The lovers’ touches you kept searching for led to this. Hypocrite. You wanted a lover’s touch and you rejected the love that came with it. What a complicated bundle of emotions. You weren’t always this way.

You loved your first cat when you were six, all the way till it died a warm death in your bed. You loved your mother even when she yelled at you for skipping your chores. You loved your middle school friends when you talked about comics and movies you saw for the first time. 

It’s hard to love the same way now.

You suppose sympathy needs a little backstory. Nothing is unconditional. 

It had all started when your heart had broken into two clean pieces. You put a bandaid on it and called it a day. No one taught you to ask for help.

Your friends know someone broke your heart; you tell them everything. Friends, friends—you wanted them so bad and yet, you keep them as far from you as you can. You pretend to be paper-thin and so shallow, sometimes you wonder if that’s all there is to you. But for all they know, they know next to nothing. It wasn’t just the aftermath of reckless puppy love. 

The first time your heart broke, it was watching your mother cry in the living room for a reason you didn’t understand. You wondered who committed the crime, who should be charged—and you found no one. A loveless marriage is cruel, yes, but you cannot point fingers. It isn’t just cruel; it’s infuriating.

The second time, the two pieces of your heart broke into a few more. It was a boy with an inviting smile and flags whose colour you couldn’t quite discern. They must have been red, but everything else was too—hearts, cheeks, lips, and the threads around your wrists. And eventually, he guided you to the conclusion that you are undeserving, unworthy, unloved. 

You were strong, however. It was easy to collapse on the bed and feel the weight of the world settling in, but you stood up again on shaking knees and you told yourself to have fun; you can have fun without feelings. You know better than to attach meaning to fun—you might hate insignificant things but it’s only fun if it’s pointless. You’re not letting go of this place you’ve worked so hard to arrive at, with all the shattered pieces in your hands.

It’s better to offer nothing at all than offer broken pieces.

“Can we stay like this?” Doyoung’s arms tighten around your waist, his breath shallow against your shoulder. “Just for a little bit.”

His voice is beautiful as always, but for a moment, it strikes you as sad.

Everything’s twisting up into knots and you are frantically running your fingers over them to straighten it all out. You know what it’s like to let things rot; and you are tired of it. Why can’t everything disappear for one moment? Why can’t you just let it be the two of you?

You sigh in response, nodding. 

“I might not know what’s happening in there,” he starts, drawing circles on your chest with his finger, touch comfortably light. “But…”

I’m here and I get it.

Is that what he wants to say? You don’t think you’ll get to know. You’re not exactly voicing yourself either. 

Stay the night. You want to say it but your lips are frozen.

Instead, you rub your thumb over the back of his hand, fitting into each other as perfect as a lie. You would tell him, you try to convince yourself, if you could say it with enough conviction. There’s no point to saying things that are half-meant, that are true but only just enough. You’re a coward.

And now, this has gotten complicated.

An end.

Tapping his pen against the desk, Doyoung grows increasingly annoyed. The council's next  meeting agenda isn’t going to finish writing itself but he can’t bring himself to either. Besides, Ten’s pacing outside his room is starting to get on his nerves.

“Ten!” he yells. “Can you quit it? You’re making too much noise.”

His disapproval is met with silence. For a moment, he spaces out and reflexively thinks of you, only to feel a confusing sort of emotion. It’s normal, he tells himself, and that it’ll sort itself out.

Doyoung feels like a glass box more often than not. If he breaks, who picks up the pieces? Who gets cuts all over their fingers?

‘Whoever breaks him’ should be the answer. But that’s wishful thinking. It’s not that simple. 

He’s so see-through that it’s painful. He used to tell Taeyong he’s wrong but he’s never been able to prove it. He is easy. It’s embarrassing.

But then again, part of him likes it when it comes to you. He likes it when you kiss him after a particularly heated disagreement, he likes when you get on his nerves just so he’d fuck you and most of all, he loves the push and pull. Fun is just that. He doesn’t know what he’d do if that heart of his he placed so gingerly into your palms falls and shatters.

The line between hate and love is thin; and he’s enjoying walking it too much.

He has nothing to offer but himself. He laughs at the thought and shakes his head. It’s somewhat dirty, and not just in the sexual sense.

“Ten!” he yells again. “Stop pacing!”

Getting up from his seat, he strides over to his door, swings it open and finds Ten scratching his head and glancing at his phone in repeated action. 

“Ten?”

He’s so in a trance that he hasn’t noticed Doyoung. He is the lovable sort of idiot if he ever chooses to be so. Most of the time though, he’s just a smartass.

“Oh, oh no, I’m a bad friend,” Ten mutters to himself, his pacing growing more restless. He scratches the back of his head, eyebrows furrowed and too inside his head to notice Doyoung. He wants to ask but something tells him he shouldn’t. 

Turns out, his apprehension isn’t strong enough these days. 

“Whose date did you crash?” Doyoung asks, more than annoyed already.

When Ten looks at him, Doyoung feels rather shriveled and freezes on the spot. Call it instinct but Doyoung respects fear and pain. Ten has a mixture of the two, amplified when he looks at Doyoung.

“Doyoung. Hey,” he says, trying to tone down the distress in his voice.

Doyoung still hasn’t recovered from the initial surprise of Ten looking that way.

“Did you fuck up? Did someone fuck up? Why do you look like that?”

Ten sits down on the small couch. “Long story… I guess. Too many details, you- you know? Just—”

“What the fuck happened?”

Ten still can’t look him in the eye. “The group chat’s a little…”

“Ten,” Doyoung snaps. “Cut the crap.”

“No, that’s- that’s what I’m- You’re going to be upset.”

Doyoung straightens, furrowing his brows. “I think I can fucking handle it.”

“You know that date I set up for (name) and Hyungmin?”

“You set that up?”

“(name) slept with Hyungmin.” 

Doyoung quietens. The silence seems to make Ten uncomfortable as he shifts in his seat, getting up when Doyoung speaks.

“So?”

Ten blinks. “You’re not upset?”

“Just what kind of loser do you think I am?” Doyoung mutters.

Glass shatters just that easily. Maybe he wanted you to shatter him. Maybe he was already cracking at the edges.

“Doyoung, you don’t have to—”

“Stop,” he exclaims a little louder than he intended. “Stop looking at me like that. I’m a grown man, I can handle shit like this.”

It still hurts though. You lied to him and he let you in. You lied to him. Doyoung sighs, returning to his room with a realization he should have had long ago. His night ends with more deleted drafts than he’s supposed to have and eventually, with increased discomfort, he delegates the job to Park Hyungmin himself with the excuse of sickness.

Doyoung does feel sick. He felt this way once, in highschool, but it had turned to red, hot anger ready to lash at anyone and everyone, spilling from his lips as easy as it was to breathe. And Doyoung can never feel that way towards you. He was different back then too, of course, but you—you’re unlike anyone he’s ever met. He loves the comfort of you, and something like that is hard to come by. 

He feels like laughing again but instead he finds tears on his cheeks. Silly boy, he can hear his mother tell him. You don’t give your heart to heartbreakers. 

So Doyoung falls asleep to the sound of upbeat music in his earphones, music he hates even just to pass the night. Morning will come and he will have to become stronger. Comfort is fleeting, after all.

With everything said and done, you know very well that if you were to tell someone you love them—genuinely, truly, from the heart—it would be Doyoung. It’s not a sudden realization, like the sky falling apart or a tidal wave crashing against the shore and sweeping away the city. It is like the gentle lapping of water, though, or the way the clouds change shape—natural and anything but alarming. You want to stare at it forever, and you want to believe that’s how it will be forever. 

“You told everyone we had sex?” Your voice is boiled to a shout. 

Hyungmin looks torn, lips moving but no explanation making its way out. “I- I told my friends, not everyone.”

“And you forgot that your friends talk? Everybody talks, Hyungmin, what were you thinking?”

He sighs before taking a step towards you. “Why are you so angry about it? As far as I remember, you had no trouble talking about whose pants you got into.”

You scoff. “With friends, not the whole campus.”

“That’s exactly what I did!” 

You cross your arms, feeling so upset you might cry and unsure as to why. You’re usually good at dealing with stuff like this, keeping things in the right place.

“It’s because of Doyoung, isn’t it?” 

You snap your head to Hyungmin. There’s a serene sort of look to him despite his unkempt appearance, and a look of understanding.

“I’m sorry. Really. But if you were so into him, you shouldn’t have called me that evening. It might not matter to me but…”

You broke his heart. All that devotion he had towards you led to this. 

“You’re right.” You choke on your words, leaning against the wall. “Fuck… Fucking…”

You turn around, making your way out of the hallway and hope the tears on your cheeks dry faster if you run.

You can’t remember the last time you ran. Your world didn’t need running from, it was right in the palm of your hands. Now that you look back, the world was always on your shoulders and heavy as it can be. Maybe you liked it—the weight. You could’ve shrugged it off any time; you didn’t need all those caging schedules or careful, elegant steps.

No. Atlas couldn’t shrug because his punishment was his existence. To have weight is to have meaning; and that is how you intended to live out your life.

Doyoung makes you see it differently. To love so fully even if it seems cautious—you, who has never loved at all, couldn’t comprehend it. And because he makes you see it differently, the box is now open and all hell is loose. 

For once, you don’t want to live in the world you crafted. You want more love, more hurt and you want to open the doors. You don’t mind hell if it’s for him.

You ring the bell to Doyoung and Ten’s apartment and pray the news hasn’t reached him yet. He said he was busy this weekend; maybe he was detached enough from his phone for once. You just want to be the person to tell him. It’s not a perfect apology otherwise.

Doyoung opens the door with pursed lips and cold eyes. There’s a sense of ease over his shoulders and arms but he won’t look at you and panic rises to your throat.

“We’re not fucking tonight, (name),” he says.

“That’s not- That’s not why I’m here.” Your voice is so meek, you wonder what happened.

Doyoung steps back, crossing his arms. He’s still looking at his feet and you feel the urge to reach for his face.

“I wanted to tell you- I… I just—”

“That you’re fucking other people?”

“God, Doyoung, stop with the fucking. I don’t care about that right now.”

“Really?” His voice is so sharp, it digs into your skin. “You were just in it for that. That’s the fun part in your stupid life, isn’t it?”

You feel a sharp pain in your nose and forehead. “You’re- Now that’s- Doyoung. I’m sorry. That’s what I wanted to say.”

“After—” His voice chokes up. “After everything is done? Stop with the excuses and face it for fuck’s sake. You aren’t made to fall in love. That’s why you dance around it all the time.”

Although he says that, he doesn’t sound angry. He sounds defeated.

“It’s not like you aren’t cautious,” you retort, throat feeling heavy. “You said it yourself- you don’t want to care too much.”

“I was wrong,” he says, voice hoarse. “I care about everything more than I’d like to admit. I care about you more than I’d like to admit.”

“The Hyungmin thing didn’t mean anything, okay? You were busy and—”

“So why did you lie?” He strains to not raise his voice. “Of course I knew our little thing didn’t mean shit to you. Why did you pretend it did? Last week, you said- you said—”

“Doyoung, last week- last week I- I wasn’t pretending, I swear.”

“You could’ve just saved yourself the trouble and the dignity.” A short, humorless laugh leaves him.

You feel your lips tremble, the explanation not quite made its way out yet. He looks so innocent like this, rabbit-like eyes watery and full of pain, pure the way they have always been. This is your mistake, isn’t it?

“Doyoung, please,” you manage to say. “That was wrong. I couldn’t clear up my head. Please don’t—”

“No. I was an idiot. Or you see me as one.” He frowns deeper, lips trembling. “I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t have. We shouldn’t have been at the same fucking party and I shouldn’t have drank so much. You’re- I’m not that kind of person.”

You bite down your lip. “What kind?”

Doyoung laughs, the sound raspy and empty. “The kind to not fall in love with you.”

It damn near breaks your heart to look at him. You have to say something, it shouldn’t end like this. You’re desperate and all you think is that you don’t want it to end at all.

“Please, I thought of you as a friend, that’s why—”

“And this is what you call being a friend?” he cuts you off.

You feel the sting in your eyes and nose, making you turn sharply to the side. You wish he’d just make you cry. It makes you feel the rancid guilt all the more.

“Make Hyungmin your friend for all I care. Let’s stop this.”

You stare at your feet, unable to respond. 

“You can have every boy in the world, (name). Don’t come to me.”

“Can you just stop talking about everyone else?” you yell, desperate. “Do I talk about your exes? Seungjae or- or what’s-her-name—” 

“That’s different!” He looks distraught, breathing heavily and with a painful red flush over his nose and cheeks. He runs his hand through his hair, tousling it further. “You lied to me, (name). You lied.”

Your cheeks are wet and the look that flashes over Doyoung makes you think he wants to step right out to you. He stays frozen in place, however, looking away to the side.

“Did you notice?” he asks softly. “Even once? How much I cared?”

You can’t answer, letting the tears drip down your face. It’s getting colder and colder. 

Doyoung bites down his lip before parting them. “All we did was have sex anyway. So please just- just leave.”

You take a long few moments but nod, hugging your coat closer and stepping out of his apartment. You think you hear Ten’s footsteps but it’s followed by the bang of a door—this is how it ends then.

The line between hate and love is thin; and you are deserving of neither.

You perfect your next semester’s academics, and the next. It still feels empty. You go out to drink with friends and return to a messy bed you sleep in alone. You smile as always and you laugh as always. No one asks you how you are as always. You never needed anyone to ask you how you are.

Ten tries but you push him away. You don’t need to drag in other people into a mess you made. He feels sorry for the whole thing but you tell him it was you that spilled the paint, Ten just handed a dash of it to you.

You were right. You don’t deserve Doyoung. At least, you made it so that you don’t deserve him. 

‘It’s better to have loved and lost than to not have loved at all’—it still hurts.

Every day is part of a list again. You doodled in some of the pages, when you thought you were starting to fall in love. There’s only a skeleton of it left now. Soon, you’ll let it crumble to dust too. 

You tear apart the planner sometime after graduation and cry and curse at yourself for doing that. No one’s good at parting with things they care about. You’re no exception.

It’s December again. 

This place is a little strange to visit right after graduating, especially with the memories flashing you by. Johnny said he booked one of the private booths (“A senior’s treat!”) but you feel your steps growing hesitant when you reach the neon signs by the stairs. It spells ‘The Meeting Place’ and smells of cigarettes just like it did the first time.

You stop midway up the stairs. For a moment, you think of Doyoung sitting there and wonder if you’ll ever be able to talk to him again. If you had the chance now, would you take it?

Of course, you wouldn’t. There’s too much to be set right and you can’t do it.

There’s supposed to be the six of you. Johnny mentioned Ten and you know Eunji’s invited too. You saw Jaehyun on the way here, still a student. You sigh. It must be him, the one they failed to mention to you. Kim Doyoung. There’s no one quite like him.

You spot him first. Looking a little forlorn as he gazes absentmindedly to the side, he faces away from you and you get the inevitable urge to run away. It’s a funny feeling. 

Your stomach is churning. You don’t want him to see you. Ten babbles on about something to Johnny, smiling like he found candy while clearing his drawers. Eunji looks tired, leaning against Johnny’s shoulder and you wonder if she already drank more than enough shots.

“(name).”

You jump at Jaehyun’s voice from behind you. 

“Hey,” you respond, giving him a wide smile.

He hesitates. “Are you okay? Not that you don’t look okay- you look really good actually. I mean, are you and… you know okay?”

“I don’t think so, Jaehyun,” you say and make your way to the booth.

It’s a little cramped for the six of you and Doyoung gets up before you can even greet him. It’s not like you deserve it anyway but it tugs at the wound.

“I’m going to go take a drag,” he mutters.

“You don’t smoke,” you say, looking up.

He stares at you momentarily and you look away. You think Ten and Johnny glance at you with pity but you don’t really care. 

 “Can I come with you?” you ask, barely a whisper.

“Sure,” he says, to your surprise.

The smoking area is so small, you’re surprised it’s even there. A glass structure overlooking the neighbourhood, there’s barely any light within. The only thing nice is how warm it’s in there. 

Doyoung lights his cigarette and then offers to light yours. It’s quiet, the music from inside numbed to the cold doors. You really can’t take it. You stub the barely consumed cigarette and throw it into the bin.

You’d rather just stay quietly in his presence.

“You’re not smoking,” he notes.

“It’s a bad habit.” You look out through the glass.

Doyoung chuckles. “You were a collection of bad habits.”

“And good ones too,” you quip. “I was a perfect student. I was perfect in most everything actually.”

Doyoung’s smile widens. “You were. You certainly were.”

A few more moments pass in silence, your eyes traveling over the outside scenery which seems to be growing duller by the second. City lights have never felt fainter.

“It was an accident, right?” You say suddenly. “The whole thing? Us?”

Doyoung hums. “Yeah. I fell in love by accident.”

You smile weakly. “Right. I never got to apologize.”

“I loved you on purpose.”

You look up at him. There’s not a lot of people who say what they mean. He looks the same as he used to under your grey blankets, with a warm blush over his cheeks and kind, wide eyes. 

“You’re so damn pretty,” he murmurs, “even now.”

You scan his face for signs of lying.

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” you ask finally. 

Doyoung blinks before easing into laughter. “You- You’re- You’re the same as ever.”

You let yourself crack a smile.

“Doyoung I- I really am sorry,” you say quietly. “And I did- do care for you.”

Doyoung stubs out his cigarette and discards it before looking you in the eye. You notice he’s wearing his favourite black turtleneck in the proximity, the grey plaid coat covering most of it. You really liked that look on him.

“I’m sorry,” you say once again. “I want you to know that. I didn’t want to hurt you and I promise I won’t ever do it again.”

You mean it. You’re never going to hold glass again. He doesn’t deserve it.

“That’s a problem,” he responds, breath mingling with yours. “I want you… I want you to hurt me. If you really do love me, I’ll take it.”

“Doyoung,” you whisper, turning away despite your whole body screaming at you to give in. “I meant it. I can’t hurt you.”

Doyoung cups your cheek with one hand, glancing at your lips for a moment.

“You’re warm,” he says.

He’s warmer.

“I want to kiss you,” he says.

You want to kiss him too.

“We went about this all wrong, didn’t we?” he asks.

“We did,” you answer, voice barely above a whisper. “I did.”

Doyoung pulls back. “Then let’s start again. I’m Kim Doyoung, I majored in linguistics. I was student council president and I made a mistake.”

You smile. “We don’t have to do that.”

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “After all the trouble I went through to make a good introduction?”

The two of you laugh, and it gets warmer. 

“I’m (name),” you say. “I was a top student and I made a bigger mistake, Kim Doyoung.”

“Oh? I wonder what it was.”

“Kind of a long story.”

“I’ve got all the time for you.”

You smile and start. He responds with gentle kisses. You’re piecing your world back together again; but this time it’s feather-light and fits right in the palm of your hand. 

[fanfickittycat]

One of Us

Title: One of Us

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen (anime)

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Reader

Genre: Angst to fluff

Fic Summary: You return to Tokyo where you are reunited with the man who broke your heart a decade ago

Rating: T

A/N: my first Nanami fic!!! I love him so much. Just a simple one-shot about rekindling your love after being apart with a fluffy ending. Yes, the title is an ABBA reference, no I will not be taking any questions on it at this time. If you'd like to read this on AO3 then you can here otherwise the fic is below the cut. Let me know what you thought!!!

I’m lucky that I came back during the spring, you thought to yourself, as you meandered around campus. The cherry blossoms were in full bloom, and pink petals danced around your ankles with every step. Even the scent infused itself into the air, carrying a bittersweet undertone to it as you reminisced about your time here as a student. The sound of chalk on the board; the feel of the grass against your cheek as you hit the ground during training; the look on Nanami’s face when he rejected you and this world. It had been spring then too.

“You’re here!” trust Gojo to spoil a melancholy moment. You rolled your eyes playfully, accepting the hair ruffling from your upperclassman with weak jabs back at him.

“Gojo, stop” you laughed “we’re not kids anymore.”

“Says who?” he pulled away, adjusting the black blindfold over his eyes “you still look the same.” He teased, patting your head for emphasis. You still came up a whole head shorter than him and then some.

“You don’t” you retorted “you look old. What are you, like 40?”

��What?! You know I’m not” he whined. He was so easy to wind up sometimes. You half listened to him as he complained to you, citing his skin care routine and the regular comments he got about how youthful he looked before nudging him teasingly. The two of you walked back down the path towards the main building, feeling the nostalgia seep into your bones softly.

“You really haven’t changed” you said with a smirk “still vain as ever.”

“And you’re still as sharp tongued as ever.” He sighed, putting an arm around you “still. I’m glad you’re back. I’ve been waiting for an excuse to throw a party.”

“You’re a lightweight, Gojo” you said, remembering the time he had snuck in vodka during the winter of his final year. He had wanted to show off and ended up throwing up after two shots, before he passed out in the same pile of vomit. He had never snuck in alcohol again.

“You’re not, I remember you and Nanami having a drinking contest one time.”

“It wasn’t a drinking contest. We were just having wine and cheese. It was a very civilised affair.”

“You must have done a lot of that kind of thing in Europe.”

“Not really” you shrugged “it’s not really something to do when you’re alone.” You didn’t mean to sound so sad, but it wasn’t easy to hide, especially from a man with Six Eyes. You were glad he didn’t press you on it, instead opting to blabber on about how great his new first year students were, and his unmatched skill as a teacher. Gojo always seemed to walk the line between being insufferable and incredible. Nanami had often winced whenever he heard Gojo start a new tangent, and you would rub his back reassuringly. It became an unspoken gesture between the two of you. When you’d failed at mastering a new cursed technique, Nanami would be there to hand you a tissue for your bloodied nose and rub soothing circles on your back. Maybe that’s why your final moment together was so sad. You’d told him you loved him, and he told you that he wanted nothing to do with sorcery in exchange for a normal, human life. He’d left you crying, and the absence of his palm on your back made you feel colder and more alone than ever.

“…so the official party is at 7 but the real party will start after. Are you listening?”

“Official party at 7. Real party after.” You repeated “I’ll wear something that can suit both.”

You had wanted to ask Gojo if Nanami was going to be there, but you held your tongue instead. You hadn’t heard anything from him after you two had split ways, with him becoming a salary man and you going abroad to conduct research. You already knew that if you asked, you’d be met with disappointment. Still, perhaps it was better this way. You might actually be able to relax tonight and remember what social interaction felt like. You wouldn’t have to worry about what to say if you saw him there, or overthink the black dress you were planning on wearing tonight. You’d heard that even Utahime was going to be there. You owed it to everyone making an effort for you, to be present and gracious.

The nerves were still there of course. You were happy to see the small collection of former classmates and teachers there, and excited to catch up. It was strange to think of how close you all were once and then you’d left and avoided talking to anyone beyond a few words at a time. Now, the bonds between you were a little rusty but still strong. It calmed the butterflies in your stomach to know that everyone still accepted you, though Utahime scolded you for it. Your eyes kept lingering at the door, in anticipation of him entering the room with a curt apology about his lateness but then you’d catch yourself and internally reprimand your actions.

“You’ve always been too tough on yourself” Utahime said, sipping her tea knowingly.

“Sorry” you apologised lamely, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

She huffed at you “stop apologising, it’s not your fault that men are idiots.” She eyed Gojo, who was trying to impersonate Yoshinobu, and sighed deeply. It made you smile.

“Thanks” you wanted to say something more but the lack of social interaction over the many years constricted your words. You didn’t even know what to say, let alone how to physically say it. Utahime didn’t mind however and squeezed your shoulder.

“God, I can’t stand him” she said, pinching the skin between her eyebrows. You turned to see Gojo laughing obnoxiously at something.

“Still single too, I presume” you said.

“You know he could never be tied down and imagine that poor woman” she groaned “it’s best he stays single. Imagine if he procreated.” She shuddered, making you laugh.

Ieri joined the two of you, shaking her head at her co-worker’s antics “I’m glad you’re back” she said to you “being a woman in this line of work is hard enough, and then you have to deal with that.”

You smiled “I’m glad to be back, even if it’s a little hard sometimes.”

“You know” Ieri looked down at her drink that she had spiked “wounds take time to heal and it’s important to cover them, but you also have to take the bandages off at some point and let it breathe.”

“You’re wise as ever Ieri” you said.

“Hmmm I don’t think so” Utahime said, frowning “if she was so ‘wise’ then she’d quit smoking.” It prompted a whole conversation, part jokes, part argument between the two and then Gojo stepped in to see what was happening which led to him being verbally bullied by the two women as you watched on and laughed.

“You’re all being so mean to me considering I planned this party” Gojo said, mock snivelling “and the after party.”

“That’s true” you said, perking Gojo up instantly “thank you for inviting everyone.”

“We’re not done yet” he said, bringing a corner of his blindfold down to wink at you.

The after party was more chaotic than you had envisioned. Despite not drinking anything, Gojo still managed to scream-sing the lyrics to every song into the karaoke microphone, sometimes even trying to elongate certain sounds in an attempt to emulate Mariah Carey. Needless to say, Utahime was so irritated that she agreed to join Ieri outside while she smoked. You wandered over to the bar and pouring a generous amount of wine into your glass, feeling warm and happy for the first time in a long time. Of course, you knew that it was the alcohol primarily, but it had also been so long since you’d had fun. You were going to allow yourself to enjoy it.

“Didn’t you think I was soulful?” Gojo asked, his grin wide and satisfied like the Cheshire cat.

“Very” you said, watching out the corner of his eye as he poured himself a coke triumphantly “I didn’t even know some of those notes existed.”

He shrugged mock casually “sometimes it’s a curse to be so blessed.” You two continued to talk, laughing at the ridiculous things Gojo said as he sat on the bar stool next to you, leaning casually against the bar. He sat up quickly at one point, looking past you with rapt attention.

“What is it, boy?” you jokingly asked and when he didn’t answer quickly enough you turned to look behind you. There, standing cautiously at the door in a jacket and tie was Nanami.

“Finally,” you heard Gojo murmur but when you turned back to confront him, he had disappeared into thin air. You felt afraid to turn, knowing that Nanami had probably seen you. You felt your heart race in your chest. He was here. This wasn’t a dream or your imagination. The wine made your legs feel weak and shaky as you clumsily stood, pressing your hands down your dress to smooth it out. Your palms felt clammy as you did so. Downing the remainder of the wine in your glass was attractive, but you could already feel his presence near you.

“Nanami” you breathed out, swallowing nervously as you looked up at him. You had often thought about what would happen if you met again and you’d played the scenario in so many ways; one where you were cool and calm, another where you cracked a killer one liner; even one where you’d pull him in for a kiss that would ignite the flames of your relationship. Instead, you felt your nerves shoot through your body and you felt like a mess.

“Your hair” you said lamely, reaching a hand up before stopping yourself and letting your fingers curl into your palm in shame “it’s different.”

“Yes” he seemed taken aback by your sudden note on his appearance “I changed it a while ago.”

“It looks nice” you said, feeling warmth flood your cheeks at your pathetic comment “it suits you.” This wasn’t a lie. The shorter cut emphasised the sharpness of his cheekbones, which looked lethal in the dimmed lighting. He was taller too, if only by a little, and broader as well. You hadn’t anticipated that he’d look better after all this time. It made it hard to think coherently.

“Thank you” he said, “you look well too.” Disappointment already tinged in your stomach. He was just as strict with his feelings now as ever before. You both stood there awkwardly for a couple of seconds, wanting to speak and yet not at the same time.

“How’s normal life working out for you?” You asked, hoping your jovial tone would make things less tense.

“Oh. Well, it didn’t” he said, taking a seat on the barstool and pouring himself a glass of wine to join you “I tried to do it, but I couldn’t. Work is shit.”

Your surprised both you and he when you laughed “and what? This is the height of luxury?”

He smiled into his glass “no, it’s shit, as well but at least I’m better at it.” He raised his glass to you to clink “to this sorcery shit.” You smiled too, eagerly charging your glass to meet his. You watched him sip, allowing yourself to really look at him. Your eyes traced over his profile, drinking in the angles of his jawline and the elegant slope of his nose.

“I’m sure Europe was better” he said, making you snap out of your daze “at the very least, the food must have been delicious.”

“Oh, yeah” you said inattentively, thinking about evenings in foreign capitals where you fell asleep over your work with a half empty bowl of ramen next to you.

“It was interesting, and I learned a lot” you said, repeating what you had told everyone “I’m glad I’m home though.” You looked at him to gauge his reaction. His face was impassive as stone as he nodded. Dejected, you swirled the liquid around your glass, unsure of how to proceed.

“You were so adamant about leaving” you found yourself saying, the wine loosening your tongue “I’d never seen you so determined about something before.”

“I thought I knew everything back then” he sighed “I was so sure that I’d turn my back on this and work hard to maintain a normal life with a stable job, and money, and a family to provide for.”

You felt stunned “I didn’t know you wanted a wife and kids.”

He smiled without humour “well, something like that.” You watched wordlessly as he emptied the glass down his throat.

“I guess this line of work makes it hard to have those kinds of things.” You could picture Nanami in your head, in a dark suit and tie as he kissed his wife and child goodbye before going to work. He’d probably be good at it too. Firm but caring as he helped his child with their maths homework or opened a jar for his wife who would cook dinner for him every night. He’d dote on his family too, taking them to the beach and up the mountains or abroad. He’d probably keep a picture of them on his desk at work too. It pained you that he felt he couldn’t have that; let alone that you could never give him that.

He turned to look at you “well that and I knew I couldn’t tie you down like that.”

“Me?” you couldn’t have hidden your shock if you tried.

“You wanted a career” he said plainly “one that involved research into cursed objects and continuing to improve your skills and techniques. I didn’t want to take that away from you.”

“You didn’t even give me a choice” your throat felt hoarse as you grappled with this new truth “you just made that decision for me.” You stood up, feeling woozy on your tipsy legs but determined all the same to get away. You needed air, and the chance to absorb everything you’d heard. All these years you’d assumed he felt nothing for you, and you’d been so embarrassed and upset that you put yourself in self-exile because of it.

“Would you have gone with me if I asked?” he said, following you up the stairs and out of the basement of the bar. The night air was cold and crisp against your hot body.

“Would you really have given up everything because of me?”

“I did give up everything because of you.” You said, turning to clutch the sleeve of his beige blazer, feeling your heart palpitate as your knuckle brushed the skin of his hand. Tears pricked your eyes and you looked down, feeling the rush of emotions you had kept chained away in the shadows rear its head into the light.

“I’m sorry I realised it all too late” he said, and before you could think he had pulled you into a tight embrace. You fought against him at first, wanting to be angry with him for assuming things on your behalf and making you suffer so miserably for so long, but you couldn’t. You gave in, letting your tears blot onto his rich blue shirt. His tie tickled your cheek as he let you press your face into his chest like you used to. His hand automatically began to take small, gentle laps on your back. He whispered his apologies over and over again, finally pressing a tender kiss on the top of your head.

“Nanami” you mumbled, pulling away so you could look up at him. His eyes were piercing as they regarded you. One of his hands remained on your back, whilst the other came up to cup your cheek fondly.

“I love you” he said quietly, pink appearing in his cheeks as he admitted it to you “and I hope it’s not too late to say it, however I’d understand if you didn’t feel the same. I was awful to you.” He opened his mouth to say something else but stopped when you pressed a finger against his soft lips.

“Kento” you said, tasting the way his name sounded for the first time “I love you too.” He took it as permission to lean down, capturing your lips against his in a kiss that you had been dreaming of since you’d met. He was still cautious as always, not wanting to push you too much, but you couldn’t help but enthusiastically pull him closer, standing on the tips of your toes to be closer to him. You shivered when he opened his mouth to take your bottom lip between his own, sucking on the plump skin as you felt a whisper of wind snake around the two of you, depositing fallen petals on your shoulders like confetti.

[iwriteficsandmore]

A Little Piece of You

Oh shit, haha! Forgot to put a preview here. Hi! I’m alive! Have been busy writing for my other WIPs but wanted to get this out here bc I love you guys and also this was a cute af soulmate au. Thanks to @insanemarshmallow for the wonderful explanation of this chibi soulmate AU! Also god bless the settphel pairing of league of legends. It gave me the right amount of inspiration for a cute and angtsy oneshot :D

For a child, it's a wondrous thought the one of knowing you would one day find a soulmate. Even more so when you constantly saw it everywhere you went. People going about their lives with cute tiny versions of that one person that belonged with them and whom they were to spend the rest of their lives with. It was a fairytale on its own. One that became yours to live once you turned eighteen and that little piece of them came to you. It was a strange thing to see it happen, but just as great as you thought it'd be when a tiny version of your soulmate hatched from its egg. It had been born alongside you, a reminder that you, too, had someone waiting for you once you grew. You took care of that egg when young knowing how precious it was after hearing so many stories of happily ever afters. And now you finally had it. Alive. 

The first thing that came out of the shell when it broke were red feathers. They poked out somewhat matted and ruffled as it finally emerged and huge amber eyes met yours. His tiny hands ruffled his dark blonde hair back. Chills ran down him as he shook himself out of his stupor and traveled from his head all the way to his toes and tiny wings, sprouting at the end like a blown-up balloon. He was adorable. And the first and only thing he said was his name: Keigo. Finally, you had your very own soulmate! 

But...the experience of having a soulmate was tiring to say the least. 

You didn't know if it was just Keigo, but taking care of this particular red bird was a full-time job. Quirks were already a problem to deal with in and of themselves. But that the small part of your soulmate's soul could readily use those wings of his to fly all around your house was a bigger problem in itself. When you got him at first you thought about keeping him in a cage whenever you had to go out and couldn't take him with you. The first few times, though, you noted how sad he was when you came home. The way he clung to you every time you let him out and how those massive tears welled up in his eyes broke you inside. You threw that cage away after a week of having it. Having no place to keep him however meant that you needed to teach him to be careful. If Keigo wanted to be free, he needed to be careful lest he be taken away or hurt. Little Keigo didn't take that lesson fully to heart until after a little incident with a cat. After that, he would stay close to you whenever you took him outside with you. It took almost a full year to get used to him, but once you did, it was like you two had been together for your whole life. 

Little Keigo was fun to be around with, always enjoying the things you did with him. His taste for chicken got you to learn plenty of new recipes. He slept soundly with you, his little hands always cradling your thumb when he slept in the palm of your hand. And those feathers. You kind of figured what his Quirk was simply by the way he would control all those feathers on his crimson wings. Thing was that he would try to help you at times with things a little too heavy for him which was both worrying and sweet in equal measures. 

Sadly not everything was nice. Not long after he was born did you notice that he began showing signs of pain. Always different places but very visibly hurting. Like someone was hitting or hurting him somehow. You knew the wounds wouldn't show, but seeing him always tired and in pain for days on end would cause your heart to ache to no end. There were also times when his feathers would simply fall with no explanation. It wasn't him controlling them either. They would simply fall and turn a dark brown like petals falling from flowers. And in a way, it was, because when that happened, it would take several days for new ones to grow. Although you were saddened that he was grumpy and glum from being unable to fly, a part of you was also glad. Only when his feathers fell like that did he ever seem to take any breaks and rest. 

'It's your soulmate,' your mother said when you asked her. 'He's reacting to the soul bond between them. There's nothing you can do except wait it out with him.'

And it's exactly what you did. You never questioned it nor chastised him. You knew it wouldn't serve any purpose. Instead, you took care that Keigo wouldn't suffer anymore from your end than his counterpart was already going through. It still hurt though, seeing him hurting. But what stung your heart the most was the way that sometimes tears would just spring from him out of the blue. It happened during the middle of the night almost always and when that crying woke you up, it tore at your heart that you could do nothing more than hold him close and soothe that tiny part of his soul. 

A couple more years went by like that—sometimes painfully, most rather joyfully—until you figured it out. 

It was during dinnertime. Now that you were out of home and living by yourselves in a little apartment close to campus, it was usually spent doing exactly that, eating. But that particular day, Keigo wanted to watch TV. It's not something you did often. You were what they called a country bumpkin through and through. Though you had the resources, you seldom were on the web unless necessary for a task. You had a TV when you lived with your folks but aside from watching cartoons every now and then you never really paid it any attention. The one you had in your tiny apartment was one that had been left behind by the previous tenant. Just a small box with antennas that worked only when it wanted. Complying with his request, you somehow made it work, having it close enough for him to watch while you both ate. And it was while chewing through a serving of yakitori, you saw him.

Keigo. A much, much bigger version. And he was saving people and beating villains on network television. To say you almost choked to death would be an understatement. Keigo—your cute, little Keigo—was the Number Three Hero in all of Japan. The hero known as Hawks. Disbelief was what struck you first and hard. But the more your little Keigo, that little piece of him that resembled the hero to a T, pointed at the flickering screen with a larger than life smile on his face, the more you knew there was no denying the truth. But how? How had you missed such a huge thing for so long? Sure your upbringing explained it a bit. That your parents weren't big hero fans in general also added to it. But that could only hide everything for a little while. Maybe the first year. But for the last four?

God, you seriously needed to see an eye doctor from how damn blind you were. 

You were still baffled as could be when you and Kei went out to the convenience store if only to get your mind out of things. But there was no time for you to space out when, out of the blue, Keigo suddenly perked up and flew away from his perch on your shoulder. Utterly freaking out when it was this late at night, you chased after the fast little pigeon, turning corner after corner and getting more lost the longer you did. You dodged some random people who were on their late night stroll or going back home from work apologizing all the way as you chased after that little red fluff of feathers as quick as you could. Finally, when he was getting too far, you shouted his name in an attempt to get him to slow down. He turned a corner, you did too—and crashed right into someone.

A hand firmly grasped your arm to stop you from falling back almost instantly. You hurriedly apologized not wanting to lose Keigo. But when the person spoke up, you froze in your tracks.

"Y/n?"

Almost instantly, your head snapped upward and met amber eyes. Rather familiar ones at that with those delineations on those eyes. The name spilled from little lips almost instantly without you even noticing.  

"Keigo?"

A soft glow took both of your attentions and made you face to the side were a couple of little things were floating in midair. It was your little Keigo and in his arms...a tiny version of you. Both were giddily giggling as he spun them in midair with his wings. The glow that caught your sight had been the one they were emanating as they danced. A glow that, like you'd been told by your mother long ago, meant that you and your soulmate had finally found one another and were truly bonded. Out of breath as you were, it took you a second to finally turn back to the man before you. 'Keigo,' you reminded yourself. Before you could say anything, he let out a hearty laughter that reached his eyes as he took off the baseball cap he had on letting windswept blonde tresses fall over his face. Curious how on him it was a rather handsome look instead of cute. 

"Who would've thought, huh?" As he laughed again, he reached out his hand to the two tiny versions of yourselves. Your little Keigo brought themselves back to the palm of his hand, the two holding hands and bumping their foreheads against each other like little doves. "Y'know, I always thought the little you was cute. Never thought you'd be this lovely in real life."

"T-Thank you." Dumb, yes, but you had no idea what else to say. Your brain was fried after all these surprises in less than 24 hours! The No.3 hero—your soulmate—was before you, and it was far more than you could take at the moment. When you noticed him staring, it finally brought back some of that notorious self-consciousness of yours as you fidgeted in your own shoes. "S-Sorry! It's a bit of a shock to find you, well, here. Now. And god, I can't believe this is happening now when I just found out about you."

Those amber eyes grew a bit quizzical at her statement. "What do you mean?" You were embarrassed to admit that you barely had put two and two together about his identity which got another laugh from him. "Honestly, not surprising." He reached up to ruffle the little you's head lovingly as a tender smile came to his face. "You never liked watching TV or playing with my phone. I always carry a book with me because you like to read so much. I never thought it'd take this long to find each other."

"How long have you been a hero?" you asked, curious.

"Since I was eighteen."

Oh. That explained so much. Yet nothing at all at the same time. Wanting to start things again, you cleared your throat and stood in front of him as your little Keigo returned to your side, sitting on your shoulder with a proud grin. "H-How about we start again? I'm y/n, it's nice to meet you, Kiego-san."

Keigo chuckled as the little you returned to the safety of his shirt pocket, peeking out from under the flap with as wide a smile as his. "It's nice to meet you, too, y/n."

[zertzertzhang]

Stand and Deliver: My Life Turned Upside Down CH.3

A/N: This is my first time writing on Tumblr, so please bear with me! I am usually active on FFNet and AO3, but since this fandom is basically nonexistent except for here, I thought maybe I could post my works for this movie here. The story is a fanfic based on the 1988 movie ‘Stand and Deliver’ starring Edward James Olmos, taking a deeper look into the lives of the impoverished students in East LA.

Eventual Angel/OC, and warnings of racial slurs with some physical violence.

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Chapter Three: Living Skills

By the time she rolled into the second week of Garfield High, Vianne was sure she saw the school at its worst. Had she been honest with herself, she would’ve thought she was beginning to get used to the rioting students. It was a surprise that she became somewhat good at blocking the excess noise from them.

Hateful stares and whispered insults about her ethnicity waned as the week dragged on. The initial weariness she felt from the people around her dropped as she kept to herself. Call it paranoia or what, she could sense the heavy atmosphere boring onto her back as she passed the lockers. It was hard imagining a whole year of silence. 

Vianne never saw herself as a quiet wallflower, but the situation at hand forced her mouth shut for far too long. The need to talk to someone had been building up since the day she arrived. If this was going to stretch out any longer, she could see herself  talking to random objects within her peripheral vision. As if the students needed another excuse to deepen the ostracization. In her own way, Vianne was in solitary confinement.

Wait why do I need them?! 

She shook her head, angry at her own slip up. There was no need for her to make any contact with people like that. Loneliness must've been a powerful force for her, for she now wanted communication from the very people set out to destroy her life. And it tore her dignity to shreds.

Biting the fleshy pulp of her lips, Vianne exhaled. There were still two more periods before she could jump into her car and drive home. Living Skills was next on her schedule, so she had to trudge across campus to her destination. The signs pointing to her class became clear as she neared the hallway. 

With five minutes before the second bell, Vianne discovered the almost empty room. It was custom for things like that to happen. Usually, people were either late or scrambling in at the last second. To her, that was a blessing. Any area could be taken for her choosing.

She spotted Ana by the side near the windows. The bespectacled young woman turned her head to look at her when she arrived at the scene. A shy smile crossed Ana’s face, and she waved. Vianne quirked her lips in an awkward attempt to smile back.

Ana was friendly, not just to her. A pang of guilt vibrated along Vianne’s chest. She felt a bit extreme in condemning everyone in the school; at least Ana made an effort to make her feel welcomed. It was because of that Vianne didn’t pull out her hair during Math 1A, so she owed it to her.

“Hey.” A soft greeting slipped from Vianne as she approached the desk. 

Ana shuffled some books to the side, creating space for her. “Hi! How was your lunch?”

Vianne sighed. “I’ve had better. The heat melted my sandwich.” She left out the part where she sat by herself for two whole weeks, not wanting to sound like some loser.

Her metaphor made Ana giggle lightly. It reminded her of the bells twinkling on the front door back in Napa; Vianne thought it to be rather calming. A breath of fresh air away from the screaming students was a surprising luxury around here.

“I know a place where there's an air conditioner,” Ana said. “You can come eat with me if you’d like.” 

The invitation caught Vianne off guard, prompting her to nearly drop her pencil. Ana still held her hopeful smile, like a lost puppy. That and the desperation to find cold air sold the deal.

Vianne grinned. “That'd be great. I’ll catch you after math tomorrow.” A satisfied hum left her as she leaned against the chair. It was nice to have a lunch buddy. 

It didn’t take long for the starting bell to ring. Mrs. Flores entered the class with a large trunk, followed by a hoard of people behind her. Everyone fought for a seat, breaking the calm atmosphere in seconds. Both Vianne and Ana resisted the urge to roll their eyes.

Mrs. Flores was a cheery plump woman in her sixties. Her floral dress was matched with a mint green camisole, making Vianne think of daisies and dandelions in a summer field. A pair of reading glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, giving her a jolly appearance of a librarian. Viane would reckon she’d keep a hidden stash of toffee under a desk somewhere for the children. 

“Settle down, settle down!” The teacher’s chirpy voice broke through the crowd. “I have an announcement to make!”

An exasperated glance was thrown at them as Mrs. Flores shuffled to the front podium. Her arms came up, hands clasping together in enthusiastic excitement. 

“I’m happy to introduce you all to our project of the semester,” she began. “There will be two parts, with each section worth fifty points. This will be a partnered assignment, so I expect you all to be friendly with one another.” 

Mrs. Flores gave them another knowing look, as if to warn them against their funny business. A few students avoided her gaze, fidgeting sheepishly on the chairs. To the side, Vianne looked at Ana, motioning back and forth between them. Ana caught the drift and nodded; it would be best if they could choose who they wanted to work with.

It was still too early into the school year for Vianne to be comfortable with anyone on the premises, but Ana had been the only one to show acceptance. She’d take that over anything.

“Each pair will receive a doll.” 

The next instruction baffled the class. Vianne stared on with wide eyes as Mrs. Flores took out a raggedy dummy from the trunk. It was a dress-up doll, with the color of its skin ashened by years of dust coupled with torn bits of its dress. 

Mrs. Flores sighed with strange contentment as she continued. “This year, the health department wants us to learn how to be responsible adults. As we are nearing senior year, the closer you are all to adulthood. And one of the graduation requirements is to pass Living Skills.”

Vianne didn’t need to hear the rest of it. Playing make-believe house was one of the projects required in Sex Ed class back in Napa, only it was to be taken during senior year. It would appear that it was happening sooner for her. Praying to whatever deity that came to mind, she hoped that she was allowed to choose partners. There was no way she was going to be stuck with a haughty, nose-picking man-child. 

“The fuck ma’am?!” Another shout rang from behind. “Who needs this?!”

A wave of murmurs agreed to his outcry, with some joining in. Mrs. Flores huffed, using her index finger to push up her glasses before glaring at the mass.

“If you want me to teach sex, then the right thing for me to do is to teach you the aftermath of it, too.” A light smile danced around her lips, a brow raised along with it. The boys’ cheeks flushed bright red at the comment, while the girls took a sudden interest in their books. 

Vianne felt the same sentiment, her ears tingling with warm embarrassment. Mrs. Flores was a lot of things, and bluntness was one of them. 

“Can we pick partners?” one of the girls asked. 

Mrs. Flores shook her head. “I’ve already made my decision last night about the pairs.”

Vianne’s stomach twisted at the revelation; she was already having a shitty time adjusting to the new school, and now she had to deal with a hotheaded student who probably hated her guts. Dred pooled down her back, soaking her in fearful anticipation.

Before them, Mrs. Flores took out a sheet of paper. Her mouth moved to speak, but was interrupted when an ear-splitting crash came from the door. It sounded like a dense mass falling onto the lockers. All eyes turned to the source of the sound, Vianne included. Another bang followed the crash, before all was silent. She sucked in a breath.

With a crack, the door flew open, revealing none other than the very boy who made fun of her days before in Math 1A. It would appear that barging into class midway was his style of rolling.His eyes drooped in lazy discontent, and there was dust all over his bomber jacket. Upon closer inspection, Vianne could make out the beginnings of a bruise forming on the corners of his left eye. 

Great. She shared another class with him, too. Oh goodie. Vianne was starting to believe that she was cursed before she stepped foot in LA. Or maybe she fucked up really bad in her past life. Because no one could have this much bad luck in one month. Mrs. Flores, on the other hand, seemed way too surprised at his grandiose entrance.  

“Well, well, Mr. Angel Guzman,” she tutted. “It’s a pleasure to finally see you grace my class with your presence.” Sarcasm dripped from her voice as she stared him down, not bothering with formalities.

Angel rolled his eyes with a click of his tongue. Sauntering to the nearest desk, he slumped into the seat, angling his legs wide open. Without context, one might believe him to be a gangster boss overlooking his new crew. The relaxed stance in his posture gave away nothing about his mood, but the dark look in his eyes spoke for him. 

 If Mrs. Flores was miffed by his disposition, she didn’t show it. “Since you’ve expressed so much excitement for this assignment, I’ll give you the honor of knowing your partner first.” 

Scanning the paper, her eyes landed on the very bottom of the list, and she spoke again. “You’ll be with Miss Yang over here for the project. Now, Adeline, you’re with Thomas. Ana, you’re with Daniel, Clarise-”

Vianne didn’t take in anything else other than the first sentence. Her ears rang, and she could see her soul departing her body for the heavens. This was the final nail on the coffin, pushing her over the edge of sanity. Her worst prediction had come true; she had the most deadbeat partner she could ever find in this school.

Her instincts had her look over in his direction. Angel’s gaze caught hers as she did so, however his face still held their impassive stare. Breaking contact, he moved to pull down his beanie again, shielding his eyes; he was preparing for a nap. Vianne groaned into her hands, earning a pity glance from Ana. It was the I’m-sorry-but-you’re-kinda-screwed look.

Mrs. Flores was still speaking, thus rattling Vianne back to reality. “-come up and grab your supplies! Please make a line and wait your turn.”

Half of the class rose and made a beeline for the trunk. Ana had already gathered hers and was now sitting by Daniel, leaving her alone. Angel was leaning against the chair like he was by the beach with his hands behind his head, and that told her more than she needed to hear. Vianne pursed her lips, hoisting her body from the desk. 

The teacher smiled too brightly when she came up to collect her doll. “Congratulations! It’s a girl for you!”

Handing Vianne a bottle of cleaning solution and a hair brush, Mrs. Flores patted her with a good-natured smile. It made Vianne’s soul twist in its grave. She turned around with robotic stiffness, and headed back to Angel’s seat. The young man took no notice of her arrival, continuing to stew in his state of trance. A toothpick hung out from his mouth, giving more into the lazy fashion.

Shit. I’m going to carry us both. The grim thought crossed her mind, and she winced. 

“Uh, we need to fill out the form.” Vianne pointed to the paper left by the teacher, snapping her fingers to get his attention. It was a fake birth certificate for the doll; Mrs. Flores was going above and beyond for the final project. Had it been under pleasant circumstances, Vianne would’ve given her kudos for her creativity.

Angel canted his view upwards, staring at her with mild curiosity. It was only then she noticed the deep set of eyes, with equally thick brows to match. His hands refused to leave his head, but his lips parted ever so slightly. Nothing came out of them.

Right. The guy never brings pencils. Realization hit her and she slumped onto the chair next to his. This is gonna be so fun.

As she tapped her pencil onto the paper, Vianne ignored the bouncing of his legs to the side. It was taking her attention away from thinking of a name for the doll. After another few minutes of awkward silence passed, she noticed they were the only pair that had almost zero progress on the first section.

Open your mouth and get him to talk, damn it! 

Scowling, Vianne turned to the young delinquent, who was actually on the urge of falling asleep this time. Vexation burned her mind, and she shoved the paper to his side. 

“Come up with a name,” she said. The sudden movement jerked him from his slumber, causing him to blink several times before his eyes settled back to hers with a glare. Vianne was not about to back down from a glance alone, so she crossed her arms, huffing at the dramatic display of resistance.

“I know you understand me.” The memory from last week was still fresh in her brain cache. “So come up with a name.”

At that, Angel smirked. “You’re the smart one. What ya need me for?”

Oh the little shithead.

Vianne returned the remark with a scowl of her own. “Believe me, I’d love to work by myself given the situation. But I’m not gonna carry you across the semester.” If the brat thought he was going to get an easy A because of her, then he had another thing coming. 

Her hissy fit seemed to have gotten to him; his eyes narrowed while he bit down on the toothpick. “Puta, you’re so fucking annoying.”

“What did you just call me?!”

“Figure it out, smart one.” A lopsided grin appeared on his face, though it was miles away from friendly. His eyes flashed, almost like a warning. But like that would deter her.

She was about ready to slap the paper into his face when she remembered the way Escalante would handle him when he got up all over his ass. A slight smirk painted her lips as she thought of an idea; if he was going to be an ass, then she was going to be an ass back.

“Are you simply trying to hide your illiteracy?” Vianne asked, her voice filled with over-saturated innocence.

Angel nearly swallowed his toothpick. “What?” The stare he sent her screamed a thousand red flags, but she held a hand against her legs to keep them from shivering.

“Oh, y’know…” she began. “I thought coming up with names wouldn’t be too difficult. Seems like it is for you, though.”

The muscles of his jaws clenched, darkening his guise. Angel’s nostrils flared as he looked at the piece of paper before him. Vianne could practically see the gears turn in his head. They were in a classroom, so there was nothing extreme he could do even if he was pissed. The thought of trapping him between a rock and a hard place made her feel a little better after the previous taunts.

Just when she moved to retrieve the materials back, his hands slammed on the paper. She flinched at the action, but kept her eyes glued to the desk, not raising to meet his.

“Camilla.” His raspy hum sounded quietly in the background. Had Vianne been further away, she wouldn’t have caught it.

“What?” She peered up at him, opening her mouth to ask more, but he was already looking away.

“The name,” Angel said. “It’s Camilla.” He made it sound like he was talking to a five-year-old.

Vianne breathed a sigh of relief and took the pencil. She began to fill in the required information about their ‘daughter’. He still refused to write out his part, so she relented for now.

“Camilla Guzman it is then,” she spoke to herself.

Now it was Angel’s turn to be perplexed. “Camilla Guzman?” He stopped chewing the wooden stick in his mouth for a moment.

His partner scoffed from her seat. “Well, you’re the dad, Angel. Unless you want me to have full custody.” Vianne rolled her eyes at the thought of having a daughter at her age. Ms. Lin would have a heart attack and be driven to an early grave. 

When she didn’t hear anything else from him, she feared her jokes flew over his head. Vianne raised her head just in time to catch a light smirk tugging at his face. Sensing no real threat, she went back to writing.

A clap from Mrs. Flores turned both their attentions to the front podium. The teacher had gathered everyone’s eyeballs towards herself, and she cleared her throat. 

“Since class is coming to an end, I’d like to make sure everyone understands their part of the assignment.” She paused for a second, before taking out another batch of files. “One ‘parent’ takes care of the doll for a week, alternating with their partners over the course of the semester. By the end of each month, I’d like a report summarizing the difficulties of parenthood. The rubric is simple; if the doll ends up in tatters, or if it becomes lost, then you will be automatically given an ‘F’. Keeping your ‘children’ in pristine condition and well-clothed is the primary goal. That’s all for today. Now figure out who’s taking custody first.”

Vianne looked to Angel, and then back to their ‘daughter’. This was a tough cookie, and she wasn’t sure she trusted him with not losing the doll within the first few days. 

“Rock papers,” Angel offered.

She wanted to guffaw at the suggestion, but logic told her it was a fair method. “Sure. Loser takes the kid.”

It turned out to be a horrible move on her part. No matter what kind of tricks she threw at him during the sparring, he either met her with the same level, or defeated her. If she used rock, he met her with paper. When she went for paper, he countered with scissors. At last, on the third try, she pulled a rock again, only to be faced with another rock from him.

Two loses and a tie; it was a no brainer who the kid went with for the first week. Angel sizzled with smug pride as he counted the points against her, his wicked grin broadening.

“Guess you’re not so smart after all.”

Oh fuck you. Vianne knew nothing good ever came out of that smirk. There was no guarantee he was going to show up after her week was up. For all she knew, Angel could easily ditch her for the rest of the year with the doll on her own. It wasn’t like he cared about his perfect track record. Her heart sank at the thought.

“You are coming back next week, right?” Skepticism laced her words as she eyed him. 

Angel clicked his tongue, raising a brow. “Who knows?” It was the closest to an answer she would get from him. And it was not reassuring at all. 

Vianne glared, hoping that by her looks alone, he would get the message. But her efforts were in vain. Angel soon reverted back to napping for the rest of the class, not wasting a second longer on her.

:

:

A/N: As per usual, shoutout to @classic80sand90smovieloves2 for encouraging and helping me get over writers block and whatnot ;) 

And thank you to all my followers who happened upon this piece in the sea of posts here on tumblr :p I love y’all and hope I didn’t disappoint!

[dredreadsdrawing]

Oc-tober Day 27: Fantasy

A bunch of my isekai ocs with original stories. Oofy. I will make the quickest of beginnings for em. These don’t tell the whole story, just how it starts and maybe some future details. I got carried away with some lol. Also, please don’t mind the absurd names XD I couldnt think of any, and isekais tend to have weird names anyways lol. Looking at you Miss Sidekick.

1. Second Best: Probably the one I have planned out the most and have even written like the entire plot for in a Quickie Summary ill post another time. This started as an isekai, but uh, i found no need for her to be reincarnated after I developed the story more. Still, the original inspiration for this was isekai lol.

Born in a lower noble family with high ambitions, when she was born plain, they planned to push her to be educated, but an accident defaced her at the age of three and that was it for them. They saw her as a lost cause and found it easier to give up on her. They were having another child anyways. So she was kept in the old, secluded wing of the estate, raised by maids and a single ill-kept tutor while her sister, born blessed and pretty, was spoiled. It happens. The protagonist is restless and takes to running away from the estate, going into the neighboring woods to explore. One day she finds a crying boy, hiding from his servants. She helps him and after hearing him out, they create a childish plan. To murder his step mother.

2. The Villlainess's Lackey:

A girl, let's call her Bronze, is reincarnated into an otome game she played nonstop. She was a hardcore fangirl of a particular character. Not the love interests, or the protagonist named Gold, but the hidden villainess that showed up once the characters graduate. Silver, the protagonists's own best friend turned jealous. Our girl is reincarnated as the lackey of the fake villainess, just a cliche bully trying to kick the protagonist out of high society. Bronze isn't too pleased about being stuck with her. She instead gets to working in the shadows, cornering Silver and spilling the beans on the game's entire story. On how Silver would lose. But not to worry! Bronze will meddle and lie and cheat and perhaps even murder for Silver! Silver is confused and refuses, but comes to accept the help with time. So far everything Bronze predicted has come true. But one thing she believed is wrong. Silver didn't rebel because she was jealous Gold got a guy she liked. She was jealous because she loves Gold. Love triangle shennanigans ensue.

3. To Serve (another that started as isekai but isn't anymore lol)

Eclair is a clumsy new maid, forced to take the job when her parents kicked her out. She was hired to a manor the owners never visit only to use her as a scapegoat. Her job: to take care of the young master. To her surprise, the boy of nine years is malnourished and neglected, the staff predicting his death soon. Unable to give up on such a young boy, Eclair uncovers the mystery on why he's kept secret. He's half fae, and part of his sickness is due to lack of magic. So she goes on a quest to get the boy an artifact to keep him alive, and on the way... Her clumsy ass dies. Her spirit pops out, much to her surprise, and she watches her body get up. A new aura around herself. It seems a wanted criminal has recently been caught and killed, but his soul latched on to the nearest body. Now they have to share it. (lol, yaddayadda he agrees to help the kid, they get the artifact, he slips and dies as he tries climbing the manor windows and she returns to her body with him as a spirit now, she nurses the child but as soon as he is better the fsther wants to just outright murder him so they flee the household to travel to the Fae country and along the way they get closer. Also Eclair is a lesbian and the criminal is gay and their attraction to a nonbinary stranger is a mess they need to make a peace treaty with. :'D)

4. Just a Bystander:

A gal is reincarnated as the first love interest of the Hero of the story. She's meant to be kind, passive, a stepping stone for the Hero to later abandon for more beautiful and powerful women. A stupid role in a story. Because she denied her reincarnation so much, the dick god made her mute. Still, she won't be a pawn. Before the Hero even arrives to the orphanage they meet at, she teaches herself how to read and write, a skill most adults in the village don't have. Once he arrives, the encounters start the same, but our protagonist doesn't play along. The Hero is a brat with a complex already and she ignores every bit of it, making him simultaneously dislike her and try harder to get her attention. His attempts end in a terrible clash where he is supposed to save her from a beast, bearing a scar from being hit by it, but the roles are reversed and she gets hit in the face. In the frenzy, the Hero pulls a sacred sword and is revealed to be the one legends speak of. The adults make a big deal out of his newfound glorious fate, but among the chatter comes the concern of the protagonist's face. She's already mute, and now she's been mutilated. She doesn't have much chance at marriage. She's personally not too sad about it, but to her dismay, the Hero takes it too seriously. He proposes to her and they get 'engaged' (these are children, this promise is entirely on his word, she never agreed to this). Before he goes to get trained in the capital, she gives him a letter he can't read. He takes it as a lover's note and for all the time he spends learning in the academy, he finally deciphers the looong note. It's detailed accounts of how he misinterpreted everything she did and how she has no interest in him at all. And by the time he goes back to the village she will be gone. He runs away on a stolen horse to confront her but it proves true. She got a job with a passing merchant in copying script without telling anyone and is long gone. So begins her independent life.

5. The B-Plot:

Cedar is reincarnated into a game where she is the Villainess, the one to bully the Heroine for seducing her fiancee the prince. In the story, after she is confronted, she is incarcerated and later killed in a fight with the evil forces. Cedar does not want this. So since an early age, she looks for ways out, and surprisingly comes to find she can use magic. Since this was never mentioned in the game, and magic is so rare, she hides this. With research, she realizes her engagement with the prince will mean she gives up over half her magic capabilities to him. That explains it. She will fix this. Once the time comes for her to be engaged to the Prince, she requests to add amendment to the contract, to the surprise of the adults, but they allow it. Her only addition; if three hidden words are spoken that all clauses from the engagement nullify. She would keep her magic. The adults don't realize the extent of this addition, but she holds it dear. As years go by, she trains with what little she has. She makes plans. She realizes the neighboring country is the same as a shounen novel's own isekai series and she seeks to explore it after her ban. She is ready. But.... She has also come to befriend the prince. He's an earnest kid that looks up to her. It's hard to believe his innocent voice would be the death of her. But her resolve is tight and she knows what will come. After he goes on a mission to retrieve the Transmigated Heroine, his attitude shift is clear. And he pubicly shames her at their graduation party, as foretold. Instead of crying, she asks him to repeat his words. He does. "I hate you." The air crackles as her magic comes back with force, draining him of it. She's back to full power, and it's more than she remembered. Everyone looks on with fear as she laughs. She's free. She's sad but she's free. She bids then farewell as she snaps her fingers. She teleports to her room where everything is packed. Then she teleports to the hidden shack outside school campus. She's drained after those big moves, but she has one last thing to do. A potion she brewed that just needed a little magic. She drinks it. And transforms. She won't be Cedar anymore. He will be Oak. And he's going to find the Hero of the neighboring country and join his party.

6. The Selfish Route

A kid is reincarnated as Felicia, the protagonist of a novel where both princes of the land dote on her and she marries into Queendom. Felicia lives without her parents in a manor. The staff mostly takes care of her, as her parents are diplomats and move from country to country. While she has been shown love, she’s always been a nervous wreck, pushing herself hard to get everything right as to not be seen as uneducated by her circumstances. Instead, she is seen as perfect, as she makes a big splash at the first party she attends. She regained her memory at the same age she died, now ten years old and already having met both princes at said party were they were stunned by her. If she remembers the story correctly, the first prince will visit first, named Nicole, then the second prince, named Arthur. She’s back to being nervous and decides to play things as they were written in the story. Going off track feels dangerous! Nicole is written as intelligent and kind. It should be simple enough... But her first visit... completely fails. She stumbles over herself too much, her posture and manners lack, and her gaze never meets the prince’s. He might have been written as kind, but seeing the nervous Felicia, he’s disappointed. He leaves early, and Felicia’s fear solidifies. She’s not as good as the real protagonist was. She can’t sleep that night, and come morning, her staff notices. They crowd her with love and affection, telling her they know her true worth, and that no matter what, they will always be on her side. This comforts her somewhat, and she decides for today’s visit to think outside the box. The second prince is adventurous and daring. She’s still nervous, but when he arrives, she’s already put on clothes for the outside and has a picnic ready. She tells him they’re spending the day outside. He’s confused, but agrees. Their time is spent playing games, eating snacks, and having fun. It ends with them watching the sun begin to set while under a big tree. Then they get to talking. She asks him what he likes to do, and his response is long and convoluted. But it’s essentially this. His brother is better than him at everything. She shakes her head and gets an attitude. She didn’t ask him about his brother. She asked what ARTHUR likes to do. When he doesn’t respond, she makes fun of him. He’s so worried about not being the same as his brother, but he doesn’t have anything he likes. He’s boring. This gets him to respond, and in defending himself, he realizes he does enjoy certain things more than others. Horses and riding them, weapons, learning about the forest and terrain. So she asks him why he isn’t trying to do more of that, instead of barging in on all of his brother’s lessons. Arthur takes this thought to heart, and as he gets up to leave he laughs. He tells her she’s weird, and she starts getting visibly offended. He defends himself, it’s a good weird. He was scared when he learned his brother visited her first, because he’s terrible at formal meetings, but she made this fun. She takes this compliment to heart as well, and as he leaves, she resolves to live the rest of the story not trying to follow the protagonist. But herself. And part of that change, as the year goes by, is her realizing she’s trans. He’d much rather live as a boy. His household is concerned at first, but they slowly become more supportive. It’s the same child, just named Felix now. His parents come to prepare for his coming-of-age ceremony and he’s nervous but he tells them. To his surprise, they accept him. They’ve learned a lot in their many travels, and have broadened their views. In their eyes, this country should do the same, and it’s a pleasure to have their son be the one to start it. They’ll always support him. Nice family moment. Ever since the prince visit, he hasn’t gone to more parties, having been too nervous. But he’s been the talk of nobles his age due to the second prince starting rumors. After he tried rubbing his good day in Nicole’s face, the first prince called him out for liking such a brutish girl. He said they suited eachother. From this little comment, Arthur spiraled. With Felix’s advice, he focused on his training instead of his studies, made friends and became better. But when asked about the interest he showed in the young Felicia at that tea party, he resorted to talking shit. She’s not a well-mannered little lady, she’s a weird girl. Everyone knew now, and waited eagerly for her to make a fool of herself in her coming-of-age ceremony. When the invitations were sent, to Felix’s surprise, one was rejected. The first prince’s. He saw it as a waste of time since he already judged he didn’t like him. Felix becomes scared again, but not over himself. Over the villainess, Lily, who is supposed to be comforted by the prince after being mocked at by other noble children. The day of his ceremony, Felix resolves himself to escape his staff and go watch. He hopes someone else can help her. But as he waits and hears her crying, he realizes no one will. So he steps in. She’s startled, but he calms her down. He’s clumsy in his approach, but sincere. He asks what’s made her sad, and she can’t help to be honest. She tells him that her family makes powerful enemies, and their children always target her. They pick at all her flaws, but the biggest is that she is abnormally tall. Felix comforts her and reassures her that her height adds to her uniqueness. She’s beautiful, and they’re just jealous she can easily be the center of attention. She doesn’t agree. Being the center of attention has been bad in her book. Felix laughs nervously. On that, he can agree. So he gets up instead, and promises her she won’t have people’s eyes on her for the rest of the night. When she asks why, he tells her to go look at the host reveal. He leaves and she gets up. Just as she reaches the rest of the party, the music stops and Felicia’s name is announced. Everyone waits in anticipation to see if Arthur’s rumors were true. Then the speaker changes the name to Felix instead, and out walks the boy that talked to Lily, his mother holding his arm. They dance and the room stares, some laughter hidden poorly behind hands. When the dance is over, it’s customary to wait for volunteers to start a second dance. Only then can everyone join in. Felix waits. And waits. Seconds keep flying by. No one is coming. He expected this, and resolved his heart for it, but still, he’s panicking. Just as he’s about to call it quits, he hears footsteps and looks up at Lily. She asks if she can have the honor of his second dance. He agrees. As they go through the motions, he asks her, didn’t she hate being the center of attention. She told him she does, but if she’s going to have people staring at her anyways. She smiles as they pause. She might as well have a friend by her side with the same problem. He can’t help his own smile from forming, and for the rest of the night they stick close. So starts their beautiful friendship <w< and mayhaps something more.

[xavierpak]

Self-para 001; When things get fucked up, the fucked up get going.

Alright, fine, he’ll admit it - perhaps the exposing got to him more than he initially led on. He claimed there to be no motives behind the reckless outbursts of tweets, that he was just exercising his right to defend himself, the whole ordeal nothing but some online banter people would soon forget. After all, somebody literally got exposed for murder a week ago and it seemed as though nobody even remembered his name anymore. So, that was that, some rumors, a couple of mean-spirited messages, and wandering eyes following him as he walked down the hall - in a day or two, everything would go back to normal.

Besides, all he did was crack a few jokes - changing your twitter handle to fit the narrative you’re being accused of? C'mon, that's hilarious. And even if it's not, all it is is going along with the joke. With no receipts to support the claims, no secret confessions or account numbers linking the two together, no one had any reason to believe the whole Kapu thing was meant to be taken seriously anyway, there wasn't as much as a picture of Xavier in the same room as one of Kapu’s paintings, nor an acknowledgment that he's ever even heard of the artist at all. The only connection the two shared in the public eye was Mrs. Imogen Park. The same Imogen Park that has not spoken to her son in years.

Though he’d never admit it, not even to himself, somewhere deep, deep down - way down, buried underneath a pile of empty liquor bottles and cigarette buds - Kapu stood as a bridge between his family and him; an excuse to send an email to his mom, even though it boasted a stranger’s name. A hope that maybe, just maybe, creating a fake persona could stand to become a successful attempt at gaining his parents' respect. At the end of the day, did it matter if their letters of praise sung about one mysterious Kapu, an artist they relished and poured hours of support and appreciation into, unbeknownst to them that the words of love were read by no other than a boy who longed for them all his life? Did their words not hold the same kind of recognition?

No, no they didn’t.

And yet, as it turned out, his intentions behind the project didn't matter at all. It was a fraud, so they said, a quick crash grab. Another empty soul trying to reach stardom - a scam. As though the paintings weren't the same as they were, as though it wasn't his hand that traced the lines, his disdain for the corrupt world of art-trade that fueled the stories behind it. As though his face alone was enough to strip an art piece of its value. Sure, he was the first to claim the paintings held no meaning in the first place, but that's beside the point. Nobody cared about the real value of art anyway, he felt like a fool for having believed anyone would stop and take the time to listen to his message at all.

Truthfully, he’s never felt heard before, and he wasn’t sure whether that stood as the cause or the result of his struggle to express himself. One of the very reasons he fell in love with art was just that, its ability to transcend words, deliver a message through color, shape and atmosphere, fill the air with a feeling, rather than a saying. Ironically, he found himself utterly useless at that as well, countless unfinished poems, smashed figurines and torn-up sketches ridiculing the incoherent strings of thoughts whirling in his mind. He never thought to put them aside and revisit them after the heat of the moment had passed - no, if it wasn't perfect the first time round, it would never be perfect at all.

If it couldn't make the family proud, it was time to chuck it aside, pop out a new one, and make that the sole recipient of all the cultivated love and support. The old one had already been deemed a lost cause anyway.

Anyway. Another shot of whiskey and all was well again. Another one, and the distant cries for help echoing within no longer reached his ears.

What exactly did they want him to do? Pick up a phone? Call a friend? What friend? The only friend he has just might be well on his way towards becoming the only friend he had - just as it usually went. Even those who stuck around after the first signs of trouble had to admit defeat sooner or later, forced to realize there’s no honor in fighting somebody else’s demons when they won’t even put up a fight themselves.

He was one of the most popular kids in high school, but hey, fuck it, with a big-shot football scholarship and an off-campus apartment at UCLA, he didn’t need those high school losers anyway. A semester into the first school year, alcohol convinced him he didn’t need the scholarship either. Well - it wasn’t the alcohol that drove his decisions, not at first, it was merely a distraction from the deep-rooted issues he wasn’t quite ready to deal with yet, a convenient scapegoat to unload all of his problems onto. Until it became the very center of his battleground, leaving him without a family, without a girlfriend, without a scholarship, and, after his friends had realized weekend-long parties were only holding them back, without his status of a party god as well.

He went from living in a Manhattan mansion to crashing on strangers couches within the span of four years, burning every bridge along the way. Who did he have to call? That guy whose bathroom he threw up in four months ago, and was then allowed to spend the day on his couch out of sheer pity? That girl who, bless her heart, recognized him at one of the parties as ‘that guy she used to take a business class with’, wanted to help him get home safely, only to realize he had no home to get to? He managed to spend the better part of two weeks in her bed - it’s crazy what all people will do for a pretty smile and a touch. At one point in time, he even got involved with a group of local artists and convinced them to let him drag an old mattress into their art studio, and so he lived somewhere between a sketch and a masterpiece, paint fumes helping him color in the edges of reality.

Long drags of flavored cigarettes, his nude body draped across the bed, sprawled all over the floor a moment after, his trembling fingers drowning in buckets of paint, indulging in the sensation, just to splatter a bright colorful mess all over the big white sheet hung across the wall, first yellow, then orange, then green, topped off with a flood of black.

The moment he realized art wasn’t real.

The story behind it didn’t matter, no title deserved its praise of a cathartic cleaning - there was no cathartic cleaning. There were empty buckets of paint on the ground, holes in the canvas, and tension within.

A day before mother’s day, he plastered the word HYP OCR ITE onto a blank canvas and sent it off to his parents' house. As his friend had later described it, the last thing they did was open google translate, typed in ‘buffoon’, and chose a random language to translate the word into - and so Banksy’s newest rival was born.

Oh, the days when people cared enough to stick around and fill him in on parts of the night he didn’t remember. Back when getting kicked out of his apartment seemed like the start of an adventure, albeit a solo one. 

He used to think people intentionally tied his feet down onto the pier, chaining him in place while boats came and went, mocking him with the wind in their sails; he used to think everybody wanted to slow him down, just so they could soar. He was never able to see the ropes around his feet for what they were; safety nets, keeping him from going adrift and losing himself out on the open sea, alone. He still couldn't. 

With great haste, he swung at anyone who tried to tie him down, failing to realize time and time again it didn't have to be just him against the world.

But it was. And if it took a secret of his getting exposed to remind him of that, then so be it.

Caught up in the whirlwind of asperity, he almost thought to force out a tear, even if just for the theatrics of it, even if just to prove the cold-hearted man walking the halls of Masters remained nothing but a mask - Instead, his body was as lifeless amidst the dirty sheets, the joint in his hands having burned out a long time ago, his face as unhinged as ever.

[inkofamethyst]

March 27, 2020

Day 87 of the cute campaign: The only reason I’m excited for school to start back up is so that I have an incentive to get dressed and start looking cute again.  Then I’ll start feeling cute again, I think.

Day 15 of quarantine (I’m definitely not counting this correctly but whatever): bored out of my mind.  I’m lucky that I don’t have to be concerned with whether my parents will lose their jobs and whether I’m going to have the opportunity to do well in school despite the fact that it’s online.  Not lucky.  Blessed.  I’m so happy thankful that I don’t have to deal with that anxiety, and I... I pray to God that everyone who is feeling that anxiety will find peace.

SPEAKING OF PRAYING TO GOD.  (This post will have more of my feelings on the cult of which I blasted last night.  (Please read the posts from March 26, 2020 for background.)  Enjoy.)  One of the most common illustrations used was that I was separated from God by my sin.  I don’t deny that this is the truth, but I honestly think it made me feel so much more uncomfortable with prayer and trying to grow my faith.  Yes, I am unworthy and so is everyone else of a relationship with a higher power.  But me feeling down about myself never gave me any hope of the possibility that I could achieve a relationship with God.  Sure, you (as in, the woman who approached me and will now be referred to as The Woman) got right with God despite the fact that you sexted and feel tempted to flirt with guys despite the fact you’re married.  Good for you.  That doesn’t really help me?  I felt completely separated from God.  Period.  If God was supposed to bring me joy then why was I nearly in tears in every individual study.  Newsflash: crying doesn’t feel good.  It majorly depressed me.  And you can say that I was depressed because I wasn’t right with God, but I just can’t believe that that’s the truth.  I absolutely did not look forward to talking with you ever because there was a part of me inside that was afraid of you and the power you had over me.

And now I’m ready for that to stop.

However.

Every time I think about how I need to craft a message to the woman to tell her that I cannot study the Bible with her anymore, I feel a physical drop in my stomach.  I know that I’ve got to work quickly.  I send the text to her, I get out of both GroupMe’s, I’m gone.  She’ll probably respond, and I’ll send a curt, final message of “Stop contacting me.”  I don’t have to tell anyone anything.  My reasons are my own.  And I’m sure they’ll mourn the loss of another soul or whatever, but it’s not for me.  If they send people to text me (at least four others in the ministry have my number), I don’t have to give them my reasons.  They’re good people following a bad doctrine.

This day in history: Last year yesterday I found out that I’d been accepted to my choice 1 without any scholarship.  A lovely day but one that also hurt a lot.

Today I’m thankful for the fact that I’m financially secure.  I’m so massively thankful for that.  Thank you, God, from the bottom of my heart.

Also, speaking of God, I’m wondering if I should tell my now ex-roommate about the fact that the campus ministry has cult-like ties and tendencies.  Like, she was super supportive of me in this whole semester-and-a-half endeavor that she never had to experience because she went to the Catholic center one day and was basically at home, but I did mention my parents fears to her once, I think.  Maybe she’d find it funny.  Maybe she’d confront the girl in our llp about it which is not something I want her to do at all.

Anyway I gotta figure out how to craft that message before they ask to do another Bible study with me.  Hopefully this resolves peacefully.  I’m also thinking that this experience could bring me closer to God (...should he be there at all, I guess).  I’m already feeling such a great amount of relief after making this decision, and I’m sure it’ll only grow once I actually cut ties.

[jamesashtonisbae]

The Freshman Series Ch. 4A

Word Count: 3,765

Pairing: James x MC

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Language

Summary: My own fic set between the events of Chapter 4 and Chapter 5.

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they belong to pixelberry studios.  This is solely written by me - no dialogue from PB.  I will change the storyline a bit when things are out of character for people, particularly Lacey and James. 

Ch. 4A

Lacey awoke for her very first day of classes early.  Eerily early.  So early that the suite was empty.  She brewed some coffee, having dug out her single-serve coffeemaker the night before because their group coffeemaker had broken.  Thankfully, she’d been able to find the time to unpack more than just her sheets and bedding.  Her room was coming together, her college career was on track not only to begin, but to continue, and she was relieved.  She didn’t know of many journalists who didn’t have college degrees.

 Lacey grabbed her Washington Post mug, now filled with steaming hot coffee..  Her dream was to write at the Washington Post someday.  She read it every day, she followed every writer, every section, every part of the Washington Post interested her.  It wasn’t that it was the Times, or the New Yorker, or that it was exactly the type of writing she was best at, but it was in DC, the heart of everything, where everything happened.  And she wanted to cover it.  But, she had to get her degree.  And this was the beginning.

 She leaned against the railing, having made her way up to the rooftop, holding her mug and pulling her robe tighter against her.  The campus was covered in a mist that gave an eerie calm to the campus.  Lacey thought it was the most beautiful place she’d ever seen.

 It brought a smile to her face to think that this campus symbolized what was ahead of her.  She was so excited to get started. 

 Her mind went to James.  She had dated a guy in high school, obviously slept with Chris, but the way this man made her feel was something she had never experienced.  Her high school boyfriend was sweet and simple.  He wasn’t going anywhere.  He had little to no ambition, but she did love him.  And he was her first, after prom.  But, that hadn’t stopped her from breaking up with him after graduation.  Somehow she knew she would find something more here.  And Chris was hot.  Alarmingly hot.  He also had a sweetness to him that Lacey found incredibly attractive.  They were both great men, but neither of them spoke to her heart the way James did.  She felt as if she’d known him her whole life.

She glanced down at her OrangeWatch and saw that she had an hour left before class began.  Her first class was an Introduction to Geology course, and she was relatively excited to start.  Her Monday classes were Geology and Math 101.  Then on Tuesdays she had Intro to Fiction Writing, Research and Writing, and Sportswriting.  She knew that she would like her Tuesday classes most, because they were all writing, but her general classes would be interesting if she made sure to apply herself.

 After finishing her coffee and the muffin she’d brought up with her, she headed downstairs to get dressed.  She settled on a pair of dark wash jeans and her favorite green long-sleeved tee.  It was soft, with a relatively deep v.  She pulled on a navy bralette underneath that peeked out as she shifted to slouch the tee off of her shoulders.  When she decided that if she ran into James, she would look good enough to at least elicit a blush from him, she straightened a couple of strands of her already mostly straight midnight colored hair, put on some light makeup, and sat down to read over her Geology syllabus again.

 At seven forty-five, Lacey left, her suite still dead, for her first class.  She strolled across campus, where there weren’t many people, and took in the crisp air.  It was beautiful.  She was blessed to still be there.  And that was what she needed to remember when things got tough.

 “Lacey!” she heard and glanced at where her name had come from.  She saw James striding over to her, a messenger bag slung over his shoulder.  He grinned when he made eye contact with him.

 “Taking an 8 am class?  That’s brave,” James said with a chuckle.

 “Well, you know me, I don’t scare easily.”

 James’s lips quirked up into a wide smile, “I guess if you did, you’d be gone by now.”

 “What are you doing up so early?” Lacey asked.

 “I write my best at 6 am.”

 “Yeah?  How’s that going?”

 “It’s okay.  I’m a little bit stuck with a couple of things that seem wrong.  Would you want to grab lunch and look over a scene today?”

 “Yes!  Where do you want to meet?” She was elated at the possibility of seeing James later.  And even more interested in reading more of his play.  He wrote beautifully.

 “Oh, that depends.  When’s your last class before noon?”

 “I have the 8 am and the 9 am today.  I’m kind of an early bird.”

 He rolled his eyes at her, still incredulous about how much of an early bird she was, “Okay you crazy girl.  I TA for Vasquez until 11:30, so I’ll be in the English building if you want to meet outside and we can head to the dining center or student union.”

 “I think I like the union best, if that works for you.”

 “You’re such a freshman,” he shook his head as his the corner of his mouth quirked up into a smirk.

 “Hey!” Lacey pouted, her wide eyes boring into James’s soul.

 “I’m messing with you.  Being a ‘freshman’ is a good thing.  You approach things with a very different perspective than me.  An optimistic and joyful one.  You’re a cool girl, Lacey.  And strong, too.  I am impressed by you.”

 “Just impressed?” she tilted her head, and shoulder, letting her shirt slip to the side.

 He glanced down, quickly, almost imperceptibly, before meeting her eyes, though she could sense he wanted her to look away so he could glance back down, “You’re too much, Lacey Morgan.”

 She smirked, “You know you love it.”

 He laughed, and started backing away from her and towards he English Building, “I’ll see you at 11:30, Lacey.”

 She waved to him, then sauntered off, making sure to add a little extra sway to her hips, just in case he was watching.  A glance back to where she had left him confirmed that he was indeed still watching her, a wide, dopey grin on his face.  She turned back to her current course and hustled to her first class.

 As she settled into the front row seat in her geology classroom, she grinned, recalling her banter with James.  She was kind of confused by him.  One minute, he was looking at her like she was his muse, and the next he was poking fun at her.  And suddenly, the rocks she was about to learn about seemed boring. She struggled to pay attention to what was being talked about by the professor, even though it was just syllabus things and she'd read her syllabus ten times at least.  She was distracted, and it was not okay.  She needed to get him out of her system so she could focus on her education, the real reason she was at Hartfeld in the first place.

 After class, she went to the front of the room to introduce herself to Dr. Jones.  He was an elderly gentleman who was soft-spoken, and passionate about rocks.  He'd been everywhere in the world, and seen every rock. Every type of rock, every color of rock, if it was a rock he had seen it, as was evident from the few moments she had paid attention during the first class. She was surprised to see that out of the large lecture class, she was the only one approaching the professor after class.

 "Hi Dr. Jones, I'm Lacey Morgan,” she stated reaching out her hand to shake the professor’s.

 "Good morning, Ms. Morgan, what can I do for you?" 

 "I actually just wanted to introduce myself.  I'm excited for this class, though.  I've been interested in it since my class in high school covered metamorphic and sedimentary and igneous rocks.  It was very brief, and I'm sure I'll learn more while I'm here!" 

 "Ms. Morgan, are you hoping to be a geology major?"

 "Oh, no!  I am going to be a journalist, but I'm fascinated by this and just wanted to take it." 

 "You could always consider a minor.  And it's helpful to have broad, basic subject knowledge anyway.  I hope you enjoy the class, Ms. Morgan."

 "Thank you, Dr. Jones.  I can't wait to begin!"

 Lacey shook his hand again and walked out, over to the next building for her math class.  She glanced up and saw a seat next to Tyler and Zack, who she didn't know were going to be in this class, but she ventured over to where they were seated and sat down with them anyway.

 "Hi guys!  Fancy seeing you here!" 

 "Lacey!  Where were you this morning?" Zack asked, moving his bag from the seat next to him so she could sit.

 "I have the 8 am Geology class!"

 "Why?  Do you hate yourself?" Tyler asked jokingly.

 "I'm a morning person, so it's not too big a deal."

 "I already regret the 9 am.  Especially since I have with the two of you.  Now I have no way to skip unnoticed!" Zack moaned.  Lacey and Tyler chuckled at him as their professor, Dr. Atiyah, began the lecture.  It was, again, a syllabus day, and they did next to no math.  

 After the lecture concluded, Zack and Tyler left for their next class, computer science, and Lacey approached Dr. Atiyah.

 "Hello," the professor greeted her before she could say anything.

 "Hello Dr. Atiyah, I'm Lacey Morgan, and I just wanted to come introduce myself to you."

 "Nice to meet you, Lacey.  Are you here to get the math requirement out of the way like most of your peers?"

 Lacey didn't know Dr. Atiyah yet, so she didn't know that she was asking kindly, so Lacey took a cautious approach, "Well, I'm not very good at math, but I do like it.  When something clicks and you can go through steps to get a correct answer, it's more rewarding than just finishing a paper or test.  But I figured if I didn't take a math class for a while, I would kind of forget how to do it.  It's not like riding a bike for me."

 "Well, we're happy you're here anyway.  And if you find yourself struggling, don't hesitate to talk to me."

 "Thank you, Dr. Atiyah.  I'm sure I'll spend as much time in your office as I do Dr. Vasquez's this quarter."

 "Are you his new assistant?"

 "Yes.  It's been a wild ride, but I'm optimistic.  His TA, James, is helping me get the hang of it."

 "I'm glad.  James is a wonderful young man who I’ve had the immense privilege of working with on many occasions.  He will be a great help to you."

 "He seems very nice and helpful,” Lacey left out how he was dreamy and everything she had ever wanted in a man. “I am looking forward to working with him."

 "Best of luck to you, Lacey,” she said, knowingly.

 "Thank you," she nodded and smiled, then packed up her bag to leave.

 There were a couple of hours between when she needed to meet James, so she decided to check out the rec center.  She rushed to her apartment, didn't see anyone sitting in the common areas, and changed into leggings and tennis shoes and a Women's Basketball tank.

 After an effective workout, she decided to grab a basketball and shoot some hoops.  She was pulling up and shooting a three point jumpshot when Ericka West, point guard for the real team entered the gym.  With a nod towards Lacey, Ericka took up a spot underneath the hoop, pulling her long braids up into one ponytail.  Lacey drilled the shot, and Ericka grabbed the rebound.

 "Hey, I'm Ericka," the other girl said, passing the ball back to Lacey.

 Lacey caught it and took another shot, the ball barely touching the net as she made it, "Ericka West!  Hey!  I'm a big fan.  You're really talented.  I can't wait to see how you lead the team this season!"

 "And why aren't you on our team?  We're short in the shooting guard position."

 "Ah, that's because I'm not a true shooting guard."

 "Well we're short at the point too.  If anything happens to me, we're SOL.  Try out to be a walk-on."

 "I am flattered that you think I could, but I promise you I'm not good enough."

 "What's your name?  Where'd you go to high school?"

 "Lacey Morgan, Water Heights."

 "Ahh, public school in Boston.  Me too."

 "Not to be creepy but, I know.  I dreamed of playing here forever, and following your career was inspiring as I tried forming my own."

 "Why don't you want to play in college?"

 "It's not that I don't want to, I'm just afraid.  I'm afraid if I keep playing it competitively, I won't love it and want to come here and shoot for fun."

 "Can I tell you a secret?" Lacey nodded in response.  "If you loved it in the first place, nothing can make you fall out of love."

 "I'll take your word for it,” truthfully, Lacey would have loved to have been a Hartfeld Knight, she just didn’t think she was good enough for a basketball scholarship, and she didn’t know about how much time it would take as opposed to how much time she would have on top of her studies.

 "You know, we are always looking for managers to practice with us.  We usually use guys, but coach wants us to find women to practice against, which is hard."

 "Yeah, I can see that.  But I don't know if I'm what you're looking for."

 "Let's play some one-on-one then.  I don't believe you when you say that you're not what we're looking for."

 "Okay,” Lacey agreed, only because she wanted to play basketball with one of Hartfeld’s greatest point guards of all time.

 Lacey took the ball first, because Erika was infinitely better.  The two of them traded buckets for a while, when Lacey was finally able to get a stop on defense.

 "Hey, nice play Morgan.  Looks like you're not as bad as you thought you were.  You should try out to be a manager.  You're a helluva athlete."

 "I'm flattered Ericka, but, when would that be?  I don't want to commit before I know my workload for the semester."

 "It's in a month or so.  I'd be happy to train with you in the meantime.  I think we'd push each other well, even if you decide against it."

 "Oh, yeah that'd be great!"

 "It pays, too.  So if you need some spare change, it'll help out.  It's a big commitment, but you would still get to play."

 "Thanks Ericka, I'll think about it."

 "Awesome.  See you around Lacey.  How's 6 am tomorrow for you?"

 "Perfect.  See you then."

 Lacey stood for a minute in shock.  Had this just happened?  She went from not having any money, to having a research assistant position to pay for her costs of attending, and the opportunity to try out for a job doing what she loved.  Even when her life seemed to be falling apart, it still had a way of coming back together.

 She rushed home and showered, then changed.  She remembered how James had looked at her earlier, and since it had warmed up since the morning, she pulled on a navy tank with two thin straps, and a pair of white jeans.  Her breasts looked perky, and she was showing a tasteful amount of cleavage.  Hopefully he would like it.

 After slipping on a pair of brown sandals, she rushed off to meet James outside of the English building.

 When she got to the front of the building, James was walking out.  His face lit up when he saw her, and she could tell he was restraining himself from greeting her with a hug.

 "Hey!"

 "Hey, James!  How are you?"

 "Long morning.  I'm glad to take a break with you though."

 He was giving her the muse look.  She didn't know how she wasn’t melting under his gaze.  

 "I'm sorry.  What happened?"

 "Vasquez stuff.  He's been really hard on these freshman already, and I don't see it improving anytime soon.  They are terrified, and I think they're scared of me, too.  Even though I didn't say anything."

 "Well, that's probably why they're scared of you.  Maybe if you talked to them before class, just a couple of them, kind of casual, that would probably help a bit."

 "I'm not a particularly social person, in case you hadn't noticed."

 "James, it's your job to help Vasquez and these students.  Quit being a baby, you can do it.  Promise."

 "Damn, you're a hardass, Morgan.  Remind me never to cross you."

 "Don't put yourself in a position to cross me."

 They had walked across the quad and reached the student union.  James held the door open for her and she crossed in front of him to enter.

 "Thank you," she called behind her as James followed through after her.

 "What do you want to eat?  My treat, since you're helping me out," James offered.

 "Oh, are you sure?  You don't have to..."

 "I want to," he insisted.

 "Okay, then you pick since it's your money." 

 "Hmmm..." he looked around, and Lacey wondered what was taking him so long.  "I've never actually eaten at any of these places."

 "James!  McDermot's?  Metro Subs?” when he didn’t respond to her, she made an executive decision, “Come on, we're getting McDermot's."

 Lacey grasped his wrist and tugged him along.  There was a small line, and James asked, "What does one even order from here?"

 "James!  A burger and fries is a good start."

 "What do you order?"

 "I'll get either chicken strips and fries, or the Southwest chicken salad."

 "A salad.  At McDermot's?"

 "Don't knock it 'til you try it."

 "What should I get?"

 "What do you like?"

 "Order for me.  I want to know what you think I would like."

 "James!  You're going to be stuck with what I order!  What if you don't like it?  Who am I kidding, it's McDermot's, you won't like it."

 By this point, they had made their way to the front of the line, and Lacey ordered, "I'll have the Southwest Chicken salad, and an order of chicken nuggets and fries, with BBQ sauce."

 James paid, then turned to her and said, "Why BBQ sauce?"

 "That's what I would have gotten with them."

 "Okay.  Let's try then."

 After a couple of minutes of small talk, their orders were ready, and they grabbed their drinks.  James led her to a quiet corner of the food court, and they took a seat.  Lacey watched as James opened his box and his sauce, and looked on intently as he glanced up at her.

 "What are you doing?"

 "I just want to see your first bite.  I'll stop being weird after, I promise."

 "Bold of you to assume you can stop the weirdness,” he teased good-naturedly.

 "Hey!"

 "This isn't my first chicken nugget, Lacey."

 "Okay, then just eat it," she opened her salad, pouring her dressing on, squeezing out the lime.

 He glanced over at her, "If you must, you may watch."

 "Oh, I may, may I?  You're really inhabiting the era of your play aren't you now?"

 “Lacey, Lacey, Lacey… you are funny aren’t you?”

 “I know I am,” Lacey winked at him and they ate, throwing a couple of insults back and forth, joking with one another, smiling, enjoying each other’s company.

 Once they were both about done with their meals, James asked, “So, do you mind looking over this scene for me? Something feels off for me.”

 “Of course, what scene?”

 “It’s, ah, it’s a scene close to the beginning. It’s actually a flashback to where William leaves for the war.  Would you read it?”

 Lacey took the printed sheets of paper and read over them.  It was a scene where Elizabeth was sorrowfully pleading with William not to leave her.  He explained over and over that going to the war would allow him to rise above his station, and be a man worthy of marrying her.  And then, tragically, he left.

 I must, Elizabeth, I must away.

 You cannot leave me.  For if you go to war, you may not die, but I will.  I will die without you.

 Lacey scribbled on the paper, her one note. She was in awe of what he’d written. She had tears slipping down her cheek.

 “Oh, James.  This is beautiful.  So beautiful.”

 “What was your note?”

 “Oh!  Just that Will sometimes speaks to properly.  I think he should call Elizabeth, Lizzie.  So for example, instead of I must, Elizabeth, I must away, say something more casual, maybe like, Lizzie, the train… it’s here.”

 “Lacey, you’re a genius!  I knew I made the right decision in asking for your help.  God, you’re so insightful.”

“I’m just a second pair of eyes, James.  You just need someone else, it doesn’t have to be me, just someone.”

 “No, Lacey, it has to be you.”

 “Why?” she looked up and saw he was leaning closer to her.  They were a breath apart, and all she wanted, more than anything, was to lean in and kiss him.

 “Lacey,” he gazed into her eyes.

 “James…”

 “We’re in the student union.”

 “Please,” she whispered, “why me?”

 He sighed, “Lacey, I am inexplicably drawn to you. I want to make fun of you.  I want to meet you every Monday in the student union. I want you in my life, Lacey.  I have fun with you, Lacey.  I don’t have a lot of friends, because in case you haven’t noticed, I tend to spend a lot of time in my head, thinking, and I don’t really observe things well.  But when I met you, I don’t know.  I was brought out of my own head.  I saw you. You bring me out of my own head. I’m glad to have met you, and I’m happy to do what I can to keep you here, and to keep your job with Vasquez. You’re different than his other assistants, by the way.  They were all incompetent.  Even stripe guy.  In fact, he was the worst.”

 “But not me?”

 “No, not you, Lacey.  You’re a grand talent.”

 “James, you don’t know me.”

 “Maybe, but I can’t wait to get to know you.”

[theyrejustadream-away]

Soulmate!Jimin

Park Jimin; fluff

Happy late birthday Jimin! We love you! 

Word count: 1769

Alright yall welcome to my first official bullet scenario

Let’s see how this goes

Ok anyways

It’s Jimin’s birthday and I wanna do something special for him

I hope he gets better,, i know it isn’t serious but still

And the whole soulmate AU is something i love wholeheartedly and i want to write one

Let’s get it (imagine jungkook saying that)

So Jimin’s a junior in college

Jimin is pretty well known on campus for his dancing and although he isn’t as outgoing or social as Taehyung or Jungkook, he still is pretty popular

Mainly because he’s hot but

So being a junior, he basically knows most of the “secrets” on campus

Like where to hang out, study, eat breakfast, you name it and he’ll tell you

Oh yeah he’s such a sweetheart

Will walk you to where you need to go if it’s dark out

Carries your books if you look like you’re about to drop them

The whole “prince charming” deal, it’s understandable if hordes of girls chase after him

Who wouldnt, right?

Welp with the creation of the Soulmate System, it sorta gets rid of the idea of unnecessary crushes

Which seems sad BUT it reduces heartbreak and all the sad stuff that comes from failed relationships

So the way it works is that everyone has a black rectangle on the inside of their left wrist

And everytime they speak to their soulmate, the rectangle gets lighter and lighter until you can read the name

Of course there are flaws and your soulmate might have a different person on their wrist or you just never end up meeting them

But we aren’t gonna talk about that, this is going to be a happy one!!

Back to Jimin

As i was saying, he always knows what places to hit up

And of course, the only way to know this is if he goes there himself

One day, he finished his last class of the day and stepped outside only to get hit with a strong gust of wind and a sudden chill

Its F A L L

Which means cafes!! Warm drinks!! Sweaters!!

Once he composes himself and fixes his hair, he starts wandering through the city surrounding his college

After drifting from place to place, he finally spots a small coffee shop that’s hidden by a fancy department store

Like it’s literally right next to the store but it’s so minimalistic that you just dont really notice it

But he does!!

So he goes in and he’s just met with warmth and soft piano melodies coming from above and the smell of something sweet in the oven and he just melts

This is exactly what he needs

Walking up to the counter, he looks at the menu and decides to get something simple

Because if this place cant make a good cappuccino then it fails in his eyes

Speaking of eyes

As he was collecting his change from the cashier, you just happened to walk in for your shift

And boy did his heart do a weird thing in his chest and he just couldnt take his eyes off of you

Honestly you were just in your uniform (white button down, navy apron, dark pants, hair up) and not in the best of moods because you may or may not have forgotten to turn on the alarm and was late for your first class

Always double check your alarms friends

Basically you were just not looking your best at the moment

But did Jimin think that?

N O PE

The poor boy almost left his wallet at the counter because he just couldnt stop looking at you

Although that may sound creepy at first, it was more of a ‘who is this angel in front of me’ stare with eyes bright and shining to the point where it was just endearing

That didnt stop the person behind him from coughing and letting him know that there is a full line right behind him ohmygod jimIN MOVE

You, on the other hand, didn’t notice a thing and went to your station where you made drinks and call out people’s names and all that jazz

He picked a seat near the back of the cafe after he ordered, where he had a view of everything

And by everything, i mean you

“She’s so pretty wow i want to talk to her but what if she thinks im weird??? What would i even say? How would i eve-”

“Jimin? Your order is ready”

“Ohmygod she said my name what do i do??”

“Jimin? Is there a Jimin here?”

“Ye-Yes!”

His voice cracks and he feels his face heat up

Gone is the charming and confident Jimin

Hello to the shy and clumsy Jimin

The poor boy almost spills his drink because he’s nervous and his voice already cracked and you’re giggling

Bless your soul for trying to hide it behind your hand and spare him the embarrassment

But you laughing isn’t helping because now he’s even more red and thinking ‘wow your laugh is so cute can you literally get any more adorable’

“Does coffee make you this nervous?”

“No, it’s the cute girl giving it to me”

He’s thankful that he didn’t embarrass himself anymore and somewhat recovered

Because now you’re the blushing one (he’s still a little pink from before but he decided he enjoys seeing you flustered more than anything)

Eventually he had to leave because wow it’s late and he still has homework to do

So he sadly walks out, taking a glance at where you were working but you were busy with another customer so you didn’t see him look at you

BUT he comes back almost everyday just to see you

It does a number on his wallet but hey, who needs money when you’re in college, right?

I’m kidding being a college kid is so expensive ohmygod

Everytime he comes by, he always tries to make you blush or laugh

Maybe at the same time

He just wants to get to know you better because you’re a really sweet person and he has this urge to hold your hand or hug you or kiss you but he pushes it down

At the same time, the mark on the inside of his wrist has been getting lighter and lighter

He can faintly make out the name hidden and he oh so desperately wants it to be you

You, on the other hand, could read the name on your wrist

Guess what?

It says Jimin!

You were so happy the day you found out

And when you saw him the next day you were just !!!!!!!

But he didn’t say anything about it.. Not even a small hint to let you know he knew

So you were confused

Did he just not like you in that way?

Or even worse

What if you weren’t his soulmate?

You confided in your best friend once you got back home after seeing him

“He didn’t even mention the mark? What if it isn’t my name?”

“Does he know your name?”

“..I think he does?”

“Wait how are you not sure??? Haven’t you guys been talking for a month now?”

A few days passed and Jimin still doesnt know your name

But his wrist says ‘Y/N’ and he can’t remember anyone with that name

So he decides that today is the day he’ll ask you for your name

Because he’s also worried that he isnt your soulmate

You knew his name already, and if he was destined to be yours why hadn’t you told him?

Did you not like him?

He kept stressing over it for hours on end and his roommate finally told him to go out and ask

Although it was just to stop Jimin from pacing around their shared dorm and making his roommate dizzy from all his sudden movements

And being Jimin, he dresses up and styles his hair

To be honest, if you hadn’t already fallen for him then you definitely did when he walked through the doors

“If your man taking you out on a date, he looks hOT”

“Jackson shut up i swear i’m going to spill hot coffee on yo- hi Jimin!”

It all goes according to plan at first

He hasn’t embarrassed himself or had his voice crack

He goes and waits near you, and since there weren’t many customers you could talk to him without having another cranky customer yell at you

looking at you, old man who came in and ordered hot water. who even does that what it wrong with you

You were still a little upset that he hadn’t mentioned anything about his mark

But you acted as if nothing was wrong

So when he just says “What’s your name?” without even saying hi, your heart sort of knew what was going to happen before you did

It started beating faster and a smile was threatening to show but before you did anything dumb, you answered

“y/n… why?”

And he gives the brightest smile, like the Sun can fight me because Jimin’s smile outshines it in this very moment

“Because I think you’re meant to be mine”

Cue the various aww’s coming from your coworkers and that sweet old couple who’s been shipping the both of you ever since Jimin brought you a lily he saw on his way that ‘reminded him of you’

Jackson also starts screaming a little and jumping because finally you two pieced it altogether

Jackson knew ever since you asked him about your whole dilemma because once you took a sick day and he ended up talking to Jimin

And coincidentally saw Jimin’s wrist and went :D

But he couldn’t say anything because he wanted the both of you to reach that conclusion on your own

Still, it was really obvious that there was something there

Back to Jimin and you,,

As soon as he said that you ran around the counter and tackled him in a huge hug

Jimin didn’t see that coming but he caught you in time and he sort of stumbled back but who cares because ohmygod he finally gets to hug you

This is all he’s been dreaming of

He feels so warm and soft and smells a little like peppermint and you can hear his heart beating just as fast and yours and his whole body is shaking with laughter because he really can’t do anything other than smile and laugh

He’s hugging you tightly and everything felt right in the world

Jimin found his other half and you found yours too!

hope you enjoyed <3

[wutbju]

You knew it was going to happen. You could feel it. And of course it was a Herbster.

Here's Matt's whole statement:

Dear Dr. Bob,

My heart has been grieved recently with the way the past of Bob Jones University has been dragged through the mud. As I have read much of what people have been saying, I've often thought, "if this is all true about the BJU of the past, how in the world did anybody leave Bob Jones and do anything positive for the work of the Lord?" And that's the point, right? Those things aren’t true. BJU was not a "legalistic, externals based, pharisaical, only concerned about the outward and not the heart" kind of school. That isn't the school I attended. I’m no Bob Jones apologist. There were plenty of things I didn’t like during my years of training, but that is the point, it was training! BJU was known as a boot camp for life. It was only 4 years. It was meant to train soldiers for Christ and that meant it would be hard, strict and have some ridiculously silly rules. I think we have all heard of how the marines handle their recruits in order to train them for war? I think we forget that we are in spiritual warfare and Bob Jones was a place devoted to training people to be uncomfortable, deny self and limit our liberty for the greater cause of serving the Lord without distraction. We were taught discipline, self control, concern for others and deference. Many of us who graduated from BJU weren’t following the rules because we thought it made us justified (legalism) or more worthy before God. We were doing it because we loved God and wanted to serve Him with all we had and submission to authority, even in silly rules, was a part of it for those 4 years. There were plenty of rules I didn’t like, but that is to be expected from a young and immature 18 year old. You know what I did like? I enjoyed praying in the early mornings with my friends under the stairs at the end of Smith first floor. I enjoyed getting on our knees in prayer group and bringing our requests before God. I loved extension to the boys home or to bible clubs or park basketball that ended with sharing the gospel. I enjoyed my teachers who lovingly and diligently sought to do all they could to help me be as ready as possible to serve the Lord with my life. You and I both know that no place is perfect and there are plenty of things that you would do differently, but Dr. Bob, there are people serving the Lord all over the world who were saved, changed, shaped, challenged, grown, and sharpened because of their time at BJU. I'm one of them. I still have much growing to do, but my passion, knowledge and desire for the Lord grew during my time at the university. It grieves my heart (and also makes me angry) to hear people speak of the school the way so many have been speaking the last few weeks. My heart has grieved for you. Thank you for your tireless work and investment into thousands of students during your time as President. Thank you for willingness to do the right thing even when you knew you would face criticism. Thank you for your chapel messages and Sunday sermons. Thank you for the excellence that was evident all over campus. Thank you for not compromising on doctrine, but also keeping the worship lofty, music excellent, modesty appropriate and separation important. Thank you for keeping the preacher boy program as a priority. Thank you for challenging graduates to go help a small church. Thank you for keeping us reminded that souls were dying every day. The school that everyone is trying to save wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for the sacrifice of you and so many others. I'm sorry you're having to deal with this right now. I know I'm only one voice, but I pray there are many others who are writing you and expressing the same kinds of things. God used my years at BJU to shape me and grow me to a useful vessel in His service. To God be the glory. Thank you for serving the Lord. God bless you.

Joyfully serving Him in Hong Kong,

Matt Herbster

(Please, no negativity or arguing in the comments. Thank you!)

And you know the accolades would follow!

And then Clifton Cauthorne asking for a Matt-generated Letter for people to sign:

[onceuponaprincessworld]

CaptainSwan One-shots Recs p.12

Hello CS Fandom, this in my 12th list of One-shots, thank to CSJJ, CSLB and to all those amazing writters this list is again long. It also contains some old ones,  but  there are just too wonderful not to read. And of cource because I couldn’t fit all of those in one list, there is at least, one more coming. Ok, definitely there are more lists coming. Hope you enjoy!

If you are intrested you can find my other lists here.

Promise, @xemmaloveskillianx

Killian Jones, EQ’s second-best bail bonds person, has been a thorn in her side since he strutted into their offices with his stupid hair, stupid elf ears and stupid British accent. She’d hate him if she wasn’t so hopelessly crazy about him.

Lost Luggage, @nowforruin

Emma regrets her decision to go along on the Nolan's ski trip when Killian's luggage shows up but hers doesn't. She regrets it even more when they're the only two whose flight gets in on time...or does she?

Smoke and Mirrors, @lifeinahole27

Tweaked from the prompt “I was burning scented candles and fell asleep. You’re my neighbour who bashed the door down when my smoke alarm went off.”

Two-Day Shipping, @high-seas-swan

Come in we’re open! Jones Brothers Bait and Tackle Shop. All Emma Swan wants is a beach chair and a quiet place to use it. Here’s hoping Storybrooke’s Bait and Tackle Shop has what she is looking for.

Ends, Ways, Means, Risk, @blessed-but-distressed

Sheriff David Nolan is stepping down, leaving his two best deputies to decide between themselves who’s going to replace him. Will it be his daughter, Emma? Or Killian Jones, the guy she’s been sleeping with on the DL? Both of them want the job. But with just 4 days until the public announcement, how far will they go to get the other to back down?

Handprints On My Soul, @hookedonapirate

Leaving home and a career as a roller coaster engineer on a whim with his six year old daughter was one of the last things Killian Jones wanted to do. But after falling in love with someone he’d met online to find out he’d been catfished, it seemed like the best idea. It seems even more appealing when Emma Swan, musician and bartender at a charming Irish Pub, enters his life… even if his brother and daughter have to be the ones to help him realize it.

Cup’ing Treatment, @welllpthisishappening

It takes, exactly, one piece of French Toast, a small army of Stanley Cup protectors with impossibly white gloves and a few moments on a slightly rickety swing set for him to realize.

Killian Jones wants to marry Emma Swan.

Liam and Elsa are never going to let him hear the end of it.

Glitch in the System, @pirateherokillian

Emma isn't all too familiar with the world of online content creator conventions, and finds out the rough way how intense the gamer crowd can be when she has an unpleasant encounter with 'The Captain' of popular youtube trio 'The Brothers Jones', Killian Jones. Written for Captain Swan Little Bang.

36 Questions, @wellhellotragic

They say all it takes is 36 questions. 36 questions between you and a complete stranger and suddenly you’ll both fall madly in love with each other. 36 agonizingly personal questions that force you to reveal your deepest darkest secrets. Well, that, and 4 minutes of staring into the most devastatingly blue eyes you’ve ever seen.

Knowing Little Notes, @accio-ambition

Emma Swan doesn’t do kids. Or, more accurately, she hasn’t done kids. But when a friend in need asks her to do kids - more specifically teach them - Emma dips her toes into the education field. Her first foray into substitute teaching is for Mr K. Jones, who proves to be a great asset in this whole “learning to teach” thing. It helps Emma understand what her friends get out of the job: that the best life lessons sometimes come from students and a nice little note.

Decking the Halls and Slippery Falls, @hollyethecurious

CS Holiday AU based on the prompt: I just wanted to put Christmas lights up but I ended up falling off the ladder and crashing into you while you were delivering something to my door but oh god you’re hot. With a dash of snowed in, loss of power, and keeping each other warm to boot!

Letting the Fates Decide (and other fairy tale nonsense), @msgenevieve447

She's tired. Tired of answering stupid questions, tired of looking at beautiful travel books but never actually going anywhere. Her best friend just wants her to be as happy as she is, but Emma knows there has to be something more out there for her. All she has to do is find it. Or, as it turns out, let it find her. Captain Swan AU.

Checked Out (Tales of Storybrooke Vol. 1), @mahstatins

Emma doesn’t get the appeal of romance novels. If only the library assistant was so easy to dismiss.

When In Venice, @word-bug

Killian Jones was one story away from establishing himself as a successful writer - that is what his publisher said and he completely believed it. He knew he should be pouring his heart out but his muse had other ideas, it seemed.

Emma Swan used to love her job but the monotony of the routine had finally caught up with her and she no longer enjoyed the job she once loved.

Can the two lost souls find what they were looking for when they meet each other at a restaurant and end up striking a deal that could change how they were?

how not to meet your neighbor…, @startswithhope

Here’s a bit of modern AU nonsense, starring Killian and Emma…

Long Nights,  hayleybop123

I run the night slot on campus radio and some jackass keep calling in to insult my music taste and request high school musical songs instead.

Untitled, @hook-come-back-to-me

I’m a government worker and I had to seduce you for a case but I’m starting to like you legitimately.

First Snow, @secret-captain-swan-blog

"It’s just starting to snow the day that Killian Jones meets Emma Swan for the first time." // In which Emma and Killian meet and save each other during the first snow of the season. (A Lieutenant Duckling-ish Fic)

The Bookstore Pirate, @mryddinwilt

It's Emma's first Christmas with Henry and she is desperate to find him the perfect gift. Which is how she ends up in a pirate themed bookstore talking to a complete stranger about the stress of gift giving. Captain Swan Modern AU that's kind of like a non-cursed AU. One-shot.

Hat Trick, @bookstoreromantic

When Killian Jones, the Rangers’ star right-winger, breaks his hand after blocking a shot, Emma is tapped to get him healed and back on the ice.

to Learn to Expect, @effulgentcolors

"But it's the way Killian puts an extra foot between them and the way he clenches his now empty hand into a fist at his thigh that makes her eyes sting worse than the allergy she had throughout the whole first month of being Princess Emma of the Enchanted Forest."

Still Get Jealous, @resident-of-storybrooke

Killian knows Emma still has some walls up, but what if these walls contains secrets Killian can't handle? tumblr prompt: Could you do a prompt with jealous!Killian or jealous!Emma? Anything else is completely up to you but maybe (please!) can you include Victor Whale (!) and Liam?

the men they want to be, @alexandralyman

Captain Charming ficlet - David notices something has changed for his son (in law), as Killian and Emma prepare to welcome their first child.

you are not on my list, @rouhn

Emma has a list of things she wants to do with her boyfriend 2017. Now she only has 11 days left and after breaking off with Walsh she has no hope of finishing it by herself in time. But her best friend, Killian, has other plans.

Take Me Out, @seriouslyhooked

Reader requested CS college AU oneshot where Emma and Killian are lab partners and she’s been waiting for him to get his shit together and ask her out, but it’s the final class of the semester and Emma has grown tired of waiting. My reader didn’t give a me a song for this one (just specifically asked that there be some very slight angst before a fluffy end) but I think it couples pretty perfectly with a song that I really enjoy, ‘Take Me’ by Aly and AJ. 

Packing Poles, @forestiyari

[choices-and-more]

The Underlying Messages of Materialism and Spiritual Transcendence as well as a Compromise in the Endless Summer endings

Endless Summer is the first book series to feature three different endings - the Rourke ending, the Endless ending, and the Vaanu ending.  The Rourke ending rewrites the past where Rourke is named Emperor and all the Catalysts have gone their separate ways, merely concerned about themselves and their families.  Taylor/MC and Varyyn are the only ones who remember their past lives, and Furball is nowhere to be seen.  With the death of Vaanu, the island of La Huerta perished.  When Taylor/MC chose to make a deal with Rourke, he/she has chosen to benefit his/her own flesh and blood instead of acknowledging that he/she could have used his/her inner power for the greater good of saving everyone at the cost of his/her own life.

Rourke’s offer to Taylor/MC is akin to the serpent which tricked the first humans into eating the forbidden fruit found in the tree of knowledge of good and evil.  True enough, Rourke acts as the serpent, or hydra, which seduced Taylor/MC into draining the Island’s Heart for the promise of being granted a normal life - complete with a family of his/her own, everything.  However, it came at a very high price - his/her friendships with his/her Catalysts are all for naught, and his/her romance with his/her love interest will be undone, since the handfasting was consummated at La Huerta. 

Rourke’s rewriting of history made some significant changes to the Catalysts’ lives. Quinn’s illness resurfaced, since the cure was only found on the island.  Grace’s mother was banished for launching a revolt against Rourke, who had made himself into a god, just as he wrote in his diaries.  Jake and Mike had become wanted men, and Craig was proud to serve under Lundgren. Sean was living under the shadow of his father, Marcus.  Estela went back to her cold, distant self, while her mother, Olivia, as well as Lila, are resurrected and willingly serving Rourke’s new order.  Zahra was Taylor/MC’s roommate.  Aleister had to accept the fact that he would have to obey his father as the emperor.  Raj feared that the Hartfeld campus would be a recruitment ground for Rourke’s conquests.  Diego is the only person who remains Taylor/MC’s friend, while Varyyn had been imprisoned in a detention facility.

On the other side of the spectrum, the Vaanu ending represents the spirituality of the human soul, and the strength to transcend beyond the physical.  Although Taylor/MC was not born an ordinary human, but rather an entity created by Vaanu, he/she acknowledged that he/she had a single purpose in life - to save everyone and the whole world, as well as to give the Catalysts back their futures.  Ironically, Ducitora’s ruler, Empress Azura once said, “For every life, a purpose.”  Taylor/MC’s selfless act was to be remembered as the greatest purpose he/she served.  By merging with Vaanu, Taylor/MC had transcended beyond all things material.  A true hero has given his/her life for the greatest good of all, and every timeline had joined altogether, thereby unifying them under Vaanu. 

In between the Rourke and Vaanu endings is the Endless’s ending.  While Taylor/MC resolved to return the energy back to Vaanu, he/she chose to remain on the island for the purpose of staying human.  He/she preferred a compromise - by staying on La Huerta, Vaanu will never leave Earth, and the timelines will forever be scattered.  In a way, the Catalysts (except Taylor/MC) have been chosen, through their Catalyst Idols, to be the only humans who would survive Raan’losti.  It is similar to Noah’s Ark in the sense that Noah, his wife, his sons, and their respective wives would be the only humans to survive.  Staying on La Huerta is both a blessing and a curse - while they have been promised everything on the island, the Catalysts will have to accept the fact that there is no future outside La Huerta.  They are trapped forever within a time loop, living in the present, just as the Endless had wanted. 

While PB intended the series to be one that involves time travel, as well as the truth that “Every summer has to end,” the writers unknowingly made references to materialism (Rourke) as against spirituality/transcendence (Vaanu), and the compromise in between (the Endless).

[marshmallow-the-vampire-slayer]

MTVS Epic Rewatch #180

BTVS 7x02 Beneath You

Stray thoughts

1) I’ve always got some strong Run Lola Run vibes from the opening scene of this episode…

It’s the setting, the music, the pace, the fact that the girl is – duh! – running, and her look and outfit. It’s all very Run Lola Run, right?

So, do you think this was an homage to the movie, plagiarism, or Joss’s idea of what Germany is like based simply on one movie he’d seen?

That aside, these scenes bring up a lot of questions about how potential slayers are treated in other countries. We know that Kendra was raised and educated as a potential slayer, knowing that one day she may become one. I think Kennedy was, too. We also know that Buffy and Faith weren’t. But the two girls shown in the opening scenes from episodes 7x01 and 7x02 seem to be aware they should run away and they’re not asking for help in the regular way any citizens would do, you know? Like, they’re not screaming for help or going to the police? So it kind of feels they knew what their deal was and why they were being chased…

It’s all the more interesting because Buffy was having a prophetic (or live action?) dream about the German girl. I’ve always loved Buffy’s prophetic dreams, and I wish her connection to other slayers through her dreams would’ve been explored more in depth in the show.

2)  Spike’s chasing rats just like his dad did back when he got his soul back...

3) I love how excited Dawn is to have Buffy around school!

4) This was sweet…

XANDER Those kids are damn lucky having a slayer and a friend on campus there for 'em. I hope they appreciate it. I know I did. Days gone by, huh?

It really takes you back, doesn’t it?

5) Dawn made a good point. And I guess she was officially one of the Scoobies...

DAWN You guys need to really to ease up with the whole dating demons thing.

BUFFY Uh, hello, I'm sorry. Wasn't that you having the smooch-a-thon with teen vampire last Halloween?

DAWN See, this is why I don't want you talking to my friends.

6) This season is super heavy on the self-references and I love it.

PRINCIPAL A little authority can be a wonderful thing. Just remember that while you are here to help, you're not here to be their friend. Trust me, you open that door, and these students will eat you alive.

BUFFY You heard about Principal Flutie, right?

7) The cutest!

BUFFY I was, uh, just curious, you know, uh—not that I'm not grateful or anything. But, uh, I guess I was wondering why I—

PRINCIPAL Have this job?

BUFFY I still haven't finished college.

PRINCIPAL I know.

BUFFY Was it my sparkling personality? Or maybe you enjoyed my work at the Doublemeat Palace?

In case you were wondering: no, Wood didn’t provide a satisfying/convincing answer, 

8) 

GILES Willow, we could spend another two years here training and practicing and learning to hone your powers and still there'd be no way of knowing for sure that the friends you left behind you are still your friends.

WILLOW Well, sure. I mean, if you put it that way, duh.

GILES I'd love to offer you some guarantee that you'd be welcomed back to Sunnydale with open arms, but I can't. You may not be wanted, but you will be needed.

So… are we supposed to believe that neither Xander nor Buffy cared enough to check up on Willow? To know how she was holding up or if she was doing any better? That they didn’t call Giles IN MONTHS? I mean, he MUST have known something about how they felt about the whole Willow-going-dark thing, right?

9) LITERAL NIGHTMARE! NOT WITH THE DOGGIES, YOU BASTARDS! 

10) This is sad…

DAWN Should we round up the gang?

XANDER Good thinking, except... this is the gang.

11) Explain this…

Why hadn’t Buffy bothered to do the spell that removes Spike’s ability to get into her house without an invite? Why hadn’t Dawn or Xander? Yes, he was gone, but they couldn’t know if he would be back and they were giving him free access to do as he pleased. And yes, Willow and Tara (*cries*) were not around to do the spell, but I’m sure the Scoobies could’ve managed somehow if they wanted to.

12) I can understand Buffy’s nonplussed reaction to seeing Spike again in Lessons because she was caught off guard. But when she sees him again here, she had had some time to mull it over and to come to terms with how she wanted to deal with him. I have to say, I hate how they wrote the - delayed - attempted rape aftermath. Buffy facing Spike again after what he had almost done should’ve been written with more care and respect towards her character, considering she was the victim. Instead, the focus was shifted and it became about Spike’s pain with little - and even that is an overstatement - regard to Buffy’ trauma. Regardless of how I feel about Spuffy in general and during the course of season 7 in particular, I have to be unambiguous about this: this is bullshit. All of it. The whole attempted rape scene and what they did with its fallout. How they didn’t address Buffy’s pain. How the would-be-rapist became the victim in the narrative. Bullshit. 

BUFFY Do not start by saying you're sorry.

SPIKE I didn't come here to atone.

BUFFY Then what the hell do you want?

SPIKE I'm here to help you.

BUFFY Help me what?

SPIKE I was hoping you'd tell me. You're the slayer.Connected to the visions. Long line of worthies, right? I'm just a guy with his ear to the ground, and even I can feel it. Something's coming. I don't know what exactly, but something's brewing. And it's so big, ugly and damned it makes you and me look like little bitty puzzle pieces. I mean, if I'm wrong, say so. Lovely. No hard feelings. I'll go out that door and you can lock it behind me with any spell you like. So, am I wrong?

BUFFY Everything about you is wrong, Spike.

Something big coming or not, Buffy should’ve sent him off the minute he set foot in her house. She shouldn’t have wanted to engage in casual conversation with him. Not yet, at least. Not before they had addressed what he almost did to her. It feels wrong, and I hate they did this to my Buffy.

13) FORESHADOWING, though.

BUFFY Since when did you become the champion of the people?

14) It just doesn’t make any sense for Buffy to be accepting Spike’s help so easily. It just doesn’t. No no no.

15) Bless you, Dawn Summers. At least someone was reacting somewhat appropriately...

DAWN Spike. You sleep, right? You. Vampires. You sleep.

SPIKE Yeah. What's your point, niblet?

DAWN Well, I can't take you in a fight or anything, even with a chip in your head. But you do sleep. If you hurt my sister at all... touch her... you're gonna wake up on fire.

16) And then we get this moment…

SPIKE Hold the torch, would you? (Seeing Red Flashbacks...)

BUFFY Look, this... us working together—it's not a way for us to get back together, if that's what you want.

SPIKE It's not. Look, I can't blame you for being all skittish.

BUFFY Skittish? That's not a word I would use for it. You tried to rape me. I don't have the words.

And while I do appreciate the fact that we finally have Buffy saying it out loud and calling it for what it was, it feels too little. She shouldn’t be hanging out with her would-be-rapist, especially not so soon and without addressing her trauma in any other way than this.

17) Of course Xander even thinking of daring to go on a date would end up in utter terror. OF COURSE. 

18) I love how Anya just uses the word “penis” as a cuss word.

19) Okay, so Spike was present when Anya revealed that the worm-monster was, in fact, the girl’s ex… This will be relevant later.

20) I’m Anya.

BUFFY Anya, that thing you created burst through solid pavement and ate her dog.

ANYA Ooh, puppy!

XANDER Wait, that gets your sad noise? People's lives are in danger, and you give it up for the Yorkie?

ANYA You never understood me, Xander.

21) There’s not a single thing that I don’t love about this whole exchange…

ANYA Hey, hands off the merchandise. Spike, you don't get to go there again.

SPIKE Please. I've already forgotten about our little time together.

NANCY I thought you were Xander's ex-girlfriend.

ANYA I am.

NANCY But you and Spike...

ANYA Had a thing.

SPIKE Didn't last.

NANCY But weren't you Buffy—

SPIKE Briefly.

BUFFY Never serious.

NANCY Is there anyone here that hasn't slept together?

22) I love Anya’s reaction when she realizes Spike got his soul back…

ANYA Oh, my God!

SPIKE What are you staring at?

ANYA Oh, my God!

SPIKE Right. Let's go.

ANYA How did you do it?

BUFFY Spike, what is she talking about?

ANYA I can see you.

SPIKE Nothing. Let's go. Got some worm hunting to do.

ANYA How did you do it?

SPIKE Shut up.

ANYA You shouldn't be allowed to.

SPIKE Shut your mouth!

ANYA I mean, how did you get it?

23) Anya vengeance make-up looks a lot different but in a good way.

24) So, we Spike fans can agree that this moment has given us all fantasies, right?

25) And he was clearly trying to piss her off so that she would take it out on him, right? I mean…

BUFFY You haven't changed, Spike.

SPIKE Working out some personal issues, are we? Hey, I guess this would be first contact since, uh, you know when. Ooh, up for another round up on the balcony, then? Right you are, luv. I haven't changed. Not a lick. And watching your face trying to figure me out was absolutely delicious.

It’s almost as if he saw what we see - the fact that Buffy wasn’t reacting properly to him showing up again. She should be angry, scared, repulsed, outraged. And yet here she was, patrolling by his side and saying she didn’t have any words for him. Spike said he wasn’t looking to atone, and I believe that. I think he was looking for punishment.

26) Why were Buffy and Spike running on the rooftops, though? Wtf

27) He was attacking a man who had been turned into a giant worm, which he was fully aware of, so how surprised could he be that he turned into the man again?

28) James Marsters really nails the breakdown, doesn’t he?

SPIKE Right. Wrong. All wrong. Wrong maneuver. Not hardly helpful.God, please help me. HELP ME!

BUFFY You're not the one who needs help. He's going into shock.

SPIKE No. No. Too much. Too much. Too much. Too much. Too much. Too much. Too much...inside me all the way. (...) Deep, deep, deep inside me.

BUFFY Look, Spike, whatever you're doing—

SPIKE Get away. Get. Uhh—

BUFFY Do it somewhere else. I am through with this.

SPIKE Oh, oh, lucky girl. Call it quits. Now, there's an option. If only it were so easy. If only— If only— If only— What the hell are you screaming about? I can hear you. No need to SHOUT! I get it. The joke's on me. Lots of laughs. Yeah. Hey, bring the wife and kiddies. Come see the show 'cause it's going to be a circus. This... just the beginning, luv. A warm-up act. The real headliner's coming, and when that band hits the stage, all of this...  all this... will come tumbling in death and screaming, horror and bloodshed. From beneath you, it devours.

The circus references remind me of his part in Giles’s dream in Restless. 

29) I appreciate Xander supporting Anya and acknowledging what she did was courageous. Credit where credit’s due and all that.

XANDER You did the right thing here.

ANYA Tell him that.

XANDER You reversed the spell. It took guts. I know this is bad, but it could be worse.

ANYA Oh, it will be.

And Anya knows there will be consequences for her actions...

30) And then the scene… so beautiful and heartbreaking, so dark and twisted and sad…

SPIKE I tried to find it, of course.

BUFFY Find what?

SPIKE The spark. The missing... the piece that fit. That would make me fit. Because you didn't want... God, I can't... Not with you looking. I dreamed of killing you. I think they were dreams. So weak. Did you make me weak, thinking of you, holding myself, and spilling useless buckets of salt over your... ending? Angel—he should've warned me. He makes a good show of forgetting, but it's here, in me, all the time.

SPIKE The spark. I wanted to give you what you deserve, and I got it. They put the spark in me and now all it does is burn.

BUFFY Your soul.

SPIKE Bit worse for lack of use.

BUFFY You got your soul back. How?

SPIKE It's what you wanted, right?  It's what you wanted, right? And—and now everybody's in here, talking. Everything I did... everyone I— and him... and it... the other, the thing beneath—beneath you. It's here too. Everybody. They all just tell me go... go... to hell.

BUFFY Why? Why would you do that—

SPIKE Buffy, shame on you.  Why does a man do what he mustn't? For her. To be hers. To be the kind of man who would nev—  to be a kind of man. She shall look on him with forgiveness, and everybody will forgive and love. He will be loved. So everything's OK, right? Can—can we rest now? Buffy...can we rest?

I know this doesn’t make up for the fact that he attempted to rape her. Nothing would ever make up for that. And even if his intentions in going after the soul may have been rooted in selfishness, what stands out is the fact that he did it in an attempt to be the kind of man worthy of Buffy’s forgiveness - even if getting his wish meant he wouldn’t see himself in that way. 

[itscaramelli]

WHAT'S UP PEOPLE ALL OVER THE UNIVERSE! 🙋🏻🌎💫✨💜 greetings from this long-awaited-and-now-finally-a-fresh graduate with Fashion Business Diploma of LaSalle College International Jakarta!!! all glory with unspeakable gratitude, first and foremost, to the one and only Savior, Provider, source of strength & hope; my Lord JESUS CHRIST!!! 😭😭😭 its been a long-life dream of mine to just get in in LaSalle. and now im even graduated ON TIME from here, I couldn't be more thankful for His grace in every step of the way. to the love(s) of my life; Papa, Mama, Kakak & Jj. I couldn't count how many times I complain about this school, my friends, my living conditions, the weather 😂, the city and pretty much errthang! but againnnn, they're my physical source of joy and comfort. pertama kali pindah jkt, NANGIS TERUS TIAP MALEM SELAMA 2 MINGGU bokkk 😂 pas seteres, maag kumat, selalu ada waktu buat aku to make sure im taken care of. DAD! my best friend, my numero uno go-to person, speed dial number 1. i literally don't know what would i do without you around!!! besides financially supported me on this, you really believed in me ❤︎ you put your whole trust in me knowing that everything's gonna be jusssssttttt fine 😭💜 dari training naik angkot & busway, sampe ke pelosok2 gang2 di jakarta buat nyari kosan yang aman dan deket. i just can't thank you enough for paying attention to the big and little things for me. what i really love from these past 2 years is that how it makes us closer. i'd never thought i could be this close and attached to you, Pah. thank you for being my hero. MOM! yang paling cuek pas aku berangkat ke jkt 😂 gak ngerti juga kenapa smpe akhirnya mama jelasin and now everything makes sense :') remembering those days, you didn't have to do anything to make me miss you. to be honest, you were the one miss the most. thank you for your unconditional love and encouraging words to keep me going. KAKAK! we rarely do any deep talks, but once we do it's really deep 😂 thank you for the unasked advices,for trying to always make me see the bright side of everything and everyone, and of course for your prayers. tho i have people here i consider as my big sisters, you'll always be the best one for me. J 🙄 i remembered that last Sunday i had in Bali, you cried your heart out behind the drums. that was the sweetest thing. thank you for loving and caring for me without even showing it. and oddly im okay with that :) please keep protecting me from the bad guys. to my Bali homies; my big family, tante Ester ❤︎, MSI Bali, ENC core team, BSA family, HIMEE, the Suadikas, the Suryadis, my Princess Boo Cau, TRG, tCO, the Sejatis, the Lienatas 😭💜 thank you for your visible and invisible support. for always and always making me feel like your big baby. aku selalu ngerasa disayang dan di peratiin. ga pernah ga nangis kalo harus ninggalin bali lagi. thank you for loving me 😭😭😭 to my Jakartan family; the Simanjuntaks, the Ganis, the Thomases, the Wowors, the Dinars, ate Charm & cece S! one thing that i cant thank you enough is for making me a part of your family. you didn't have to try, i already feel like the older sister for the little ones here and a daughter of yours. thank you for the warm welcome in 2014 and tagging me along to your family celebrations since then. you all own a special place in my heart. to Ms. H. S.; you are actually an answered prayer for me. i never had to have any more companions since i know you. thank you for existing and being reachable. what im trying to give back to you is nothing compared to what you've done to my life. i know you're not Jesus, but thank you for never turn your back on me no matter how annoying i am. life has been livable with you in it. to C.A.; i wouldn't know how to survive this school without you in it. you're probably the other reason why i want to get up and go to campus everyday. thank you for making college life easier and yet crazier. i never thought id have a lifetime soul mate coming from my college days. you will always be one of my speed dials. to BUBUCACA; kalian semua ayang ayang akuuu! i hope kita langgeng banget sampe tua ❤︎ thank you for existing and making college days even more memorable. makasih buat pertemanan ini. i will cherish it forever. and of course, to LaSalle; my dream. i dreamt about fun art sessions, drawing ideas and various experiments on fashion. but yet i got, sleepless nights, pressuring assignments and unique lecturers😭😂 everything was beyond my expectations. you have taught me more than just what's written on the book and what's displayed on the screen. it's been a heck of a ride and im dealing with a lot of emotions ending it now. thank you for making me, me. nothing that i can do to give back what you all have invested in my life. i am blessed and loved, and forever thankful to have you all to help me be better. now i know graduating from LaSalle is just the beginning; the first biggest dream that came true and the start of the real adventure of my life. i cant wait for what God has prepared for me this year and the years ahead. i've been waiting for this moment, God made me live my dream. so don't ever let other people underestimate your dreams. it's yours, own it like you mean it. tho it doesn't seem possible that you actually start to forget about it, but God won't forget what you said in each of your prayers. ask and it will be given to you. i asked for more surprises this year so, let's see what's more after this! have a sweet day! love, Caramelly.

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: A Helping Hand From Beyond (2/?)

Summary: “You know, sometimes the deceased stay with us, waiting until they’re sure we’ve moved on before they can move on themselves. Giving us a helping hand from beyond, as it were.”

When Gloria Rush and Rum Gold meet one cold October morning, they quickly come to the realisation that they share a common goal – to help those they left behind in life to move on and find happiness again. Using what little means available to them, the two lost souls team up to ensure their widows’ future, and find their own peace.

Rumbelle, Rushbelle, Gloria/Nick.

NB: This fic will contain a lot of discussion of death and what comes after.

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[One] [AO3]

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Two

Reminders

Gold receives important news by proxy, and reflects on what these latest developments mean for him and Belle.

Gold has always tried to keep his distance from Belle, working on the principle that if she could somehow sense his presence then it would keep her from moving on and finding happiness again. Tonight though, he needs to know what’s going on in her head so that he knows how he can help her. So when she leaves work in the evening and enters her little apartment off campus, he follows her home and slips quietly in behind her. He’s been very good about not coming in here, letting her have her space and her life as she wants it, trying not to taint this place he’s never been to in life. It was different when they were still in Maine and Belle was still living in their marital home. She was already surrounded by memories of him there, but here is a place she has created for herself, a unique melange of her life before, beside, and beyond him. The shadow of his death does not belong here.

There’s no denying that this is Belle’s apartment, crammed with books and the antique tea cups she collects. That was how they met, when she’d come into his shop in search of new pieces to add to her growing set of mismatched cups and saucers.

“Not a whole set?” he asks as she pays for a single cup from a set he cannot sell complete due to damage to some pieces. Belle laughs and shakes her head.

“Where would the fun in that be? A complete tea set is just a complete tea set. It’s beautiful, of course, but it’s boring. A tea set made of different things, now that’s more interesting. Every piece has its own story, and together they can make a novel.”

Gold just hovers in the doorway for a while, leaning on his cane. An advantage to death is the blessed absence of pain and fatigue. He doesn’t need the cane any more, but he’s so used to walking with it, to setting his weight in a certain way to compensate for his bad ankle, that he can’t part with it now. Besides, where would he put it? He’s quite happy to stand for as long as Belle needs to settle, instead of trying to find a place to sit and constantly having to dodge her. Here he can stay on the fringe, not venture too much into a place that is just hers, that he has had no influence on.

All the same, there are still reminders of her life with him here. They were married for six wonderful years, after all, and those years cannot be forgotten no matter how painful the end might have been. She’ll never be able to cut him out of her life completely, of course not, and despite having sold up all the property and everything that was tying her to Storybrooke, she still has links to it. Just no links that keep her cemented there and prevent her from moving on and spreading her wings. Bits and bobs from her old life, just the very best memories. On the shelf beside the door is a photo of them together at Neal and Emma’s wedding. They had only been married a year themselves, and Belle had felt very conscious of being asked to sit on top table in place of Neal’s mother. But Neal had insisted, and there they were.

Belle had always been more of a mother to Neal than Milah had, despite being only eight years older than him.

He wonders why he chose that picture to display in pride of place, what meaning she attaches to it. It was never displayed in their home in Storybrooke, just placed lovingly in an album full of snaps from the wedding.

Belle’s in the kitchen, cooking. That was one of the worst things about watching over her after he had gone. He had always done the cooking, and watching Belle struggle in those first few weeks had been heartbreaking, especially dealing with the desperate desire to just sweep in and have a plate of her favourite spaghetti gamberoni waiting for her when she got in from the library. It’s not that Belle can’t cook. She managed on her own for years before she met him. It’s that the kitchen had always been his domain, and she couldn’t bring herself to push his memory out of it and go back to her old culinary lifestyle after so long of letting him cook for her. The town had rallied round her, though. Granny had made sure she was fed until she could get back on her feet. Now she’s experimenting with flavours more, recreating some of the favourite dishes she discovered with him and improving them.

The phone rings just as she begins to eat, and she rolls her eyes in the way she always did and takes her stir fry over to the sofa, wedging the phone under her ear. Gold doesn’t want to listen in on a private conversation, but he can’t leave without opening the door. He makes no impression on the world, there will be no indent in a cushion he sits on, but he’s not incorporeal and can’t walk through walls. He’ll be in the apartment until Belle leaves it, another reason that he does not normally come inside.

“Hi Neal,” Belle says brightly. Gold’s glad that she kept up the connection with Neal. He had worried that his death would push them apart, but if anything, their grief has brought them closer together. “I’m doing ok,” she continues. “California’s not Maine, that’s for sure.” She gives a soft laugh, spreading her tea-stained skirt over her knees and spanning the brown blotch with her hand. “I bumped into my astrophysics professor today, literally. Made a right fool of myself. Don’t know why that stuck in my head.”

Gold gives a small quirk of a smile. He knows.

“Neal!” Belle says, scandalised, and Gold wishes he knew what his son said. “I’ve been in one lecture with the man and spilled coffee down his shirt.”

But she’s still thinking about him, evidently, and that’s a good sign. Gold smiles.

“Oh yes?” Belle sits up a little straighter, her brow furrowed, and then a wide grin breaks over her face and she waves her fork around with excitement. “Oh Neal, that’s brilliant! Congratulations! How is she?”

Gold quirks an eyebrow.

“Oh, that’s good to hear. Well, if I remember correctly then wheat toast and apple juice got her through it last time…”

Gold has to lean back against the door in shock, and he doesn’t take in the rest of Belle’s conversation. These words can only mean one thing; that Emma is pregnant again. He’s not entirely sure what to make of this news, where that leaves Belle in relation to everything that’s happening - or will hopefully soon be happening - here in California.

Still, Belle stays smiling for the rest of the evening. More than once, she touches the tea stain on her skirt and a ponderous expression comes over her face as she looks at it. It’s always her left hand that ghosts over the patch, and her rings catch the light, the diamonds in the engagement and eternity bands sparkling brilliantly. Belle’s not really one for jewellery, but she always wears her three rings without fail. Gold wonders what she’s thinking, whether she’s entertaining the possibility that Neal obliquely alluded to.

Once she goes to bed, he stretches out on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling and thinking as he gets ready to spend the night. He doesn’t sleep; he’s sleeping enough in his grave, he doesn’t need it in the afterlife.

Gloria said that they were benevolent souls, and would not sabotage their significant others’ chance at happiness. Gold is not so sure. He loves Belle with all his heart and it has been so painful to see her so miserable, and he is not so selfish as to prolong her misery because he can’t stand the thought of her being happy with someone who isn’t him. All the same, the morning’s chance encounter, and now this news from Neal, all serve as a painful reminder that all around him, life is going on, a life that he can never be a part of again but is doomed to watch over for as long as it takes for his unfinished business - the love he left behind - to finish. There is nothing else for him in this world; Belle is the only thing he exists for here, and the thought that she has to be the one to let him go is a bittersweet one. He wonders if Gloria feels the same way, knowing that her Nicholas has to do the same. In the short time he has known her she seems to be at peace with the idea and looking forward to helping the two of them out. It’s a brutal thought, but Gold wonders if it might be because she had more time to get used to the idea of death before it claimed her; she knew that it was coming and that life would go on without her. His death was sudden, unexpected, and no-one had seen it coming. Perhaps it’s because she could prepare for this a little better. Gold did not have that same time. One moment he was alive and next he wasn’t, trying to navigate this maze of afterlife on his own, and watching Belle navigate her grief, both of them sinking into the darkness of death and taking a long time to claw their way back out again.

Gold is glad to see Belle smiling, though. It’s been too long since he saw her smile without that tinge of melancholy in her eyes.

In the small hours of the morning, his reflections are disturbed by Belle’s bedroom door opening; she floats through the apartment to the kitchen and in her pale satin robe she looks almost like a ghost herself. For a long time she stares out of the window with a glass of water, and then she moves over to her desk, picking up the photo frame there. It’s a family snap, of himself and Neal and Emma and a six-hour-old Henry, and Belle smiles as she traces her thumb over his face.

“You’re going to be a grandfather again, Rum,” she says softly, and Gold’s heart clenches. She hasn’t talked to him like this for months. She doesn’t know he’s really there, that he can really hear what she’s telling him, but in those first months after he died, she’d told Archie that it had helped her to talk to him like this. She liked to think that somehow, somewhere, he could hear her. Oh, if only she knew just how close he was, and just how much his heart is breaking now to hear her speak to him completely unaware.

“Emma’s due in May. Neal and Emma are hoping for a girl, but Henry wants a brother. You know what kids are like at that age, they’re convinced that the opposite sex are strange aliens from another planet.” She laughs. “They’re still arguing over whether or not to find out at the next scan. They probably still won’t have decided by the time they actually get there.”

She continues to look at the photograph for a while, smiling fondly, and then she passes back into her bedroom. Gold sighs, scrubbing his hands over his face. It’s at times like this that he really, really feels the curse of his in-between state. He wants to go over to Boston, to check up on Neal and Emma, but if he keeps forming new attachments to the family that he left behind, then he will never be able to move on, always hanging around waiting for the next event and the next milestone, but never being able to truly live in those moments and experience them to the full. He cannot afford to become attached to his new grandchild in any way, because he will never be able to hold him or her, and never be able to bring this bond to a satisfying conclusion. No, he must stay with Belle. He’s always stayed with Belle before, because even though Neal was just as affected by grief, Neal has Emma and Henry to pull him through. Belle has plenty of friends, but no family, no-one as close to her as Emma is to Neal, as Gold had been to her.

Gold sighs, and settles himself back on the sofa to wait for morning, trying to process what to do with this new information, and the unsettling thought that Belle still talks to him.