#and also some finer details that i cant figure out

[spiritualviolation]

so what if i made..... a persona x empires smp au...... with an original story derived from the empires plotline.......

(more drawings and some info under the cut)

[TW FOR UNDER THE CUT: GUN TO HEAD, SUICIDE]

so i had some ideas rattling around my brain last night that would just NOT leave me the fuck alone so

it uses the ‘shadows as inner demons and manifestations of insecurities’ from persona 4, but i have ideas that are going to make this au almost as dark as persona 3

if anyone wants to message me and interested in this au, please do i want to discuss this au so BADLY with someone

#empires smp #persona x mcyt #solidaritygaming #smajor1995 #dangthatsalongname #mythicalsausage #seriously im not joking #with the way my ideas are in my brain #you would think it's like i'm trying to make my own persona 6 #there are still so many decisions im still thinking #and also some finer details that i cant figure out #but good God the brainrot is so bad #evangenny art #empires smp fanart #persona x empires

[resetoaster]

I am so glad to be involved in the @malevolentbigbang ! It was such a lovely experience and I got to interact with some amazing and creative people such as Quakergoth (A03) (Writer of the AMAZING fic all of the artworks are based off of), and Strumdunkle (Instagram and tumblr) who also created some brilliant art from this fic!

The fic is: You Shall Walk With Me Tomorrow , Everyone should check it out! I have by now read it more times than I can count.  

Image ID's, top to bottom:

ID: An image of warm colours- mainly yellow- Arthur stands to the left site of John, exclaiming "John what are you doing?!". John is standing in the middle, right hand raised to feel at the white mask on his face with a look of surprise. He's wearing a yellow robe, much like the faded figures which surround the two. A hand is pointing directly at John.(edited)

ID: The king in yellow, standing in front of a space scene- the king is looking over their shoulder to the scene behind him which is somewhat fused with his back. There is stained glass in the middle, on either side there is two ghost-like statues reaching up. there are two tables scattered with bottles of whine and fruit. A hand is laying across the bottom part of the image, holding a knife covered with their own blood and a pool of blood forming below the arm. The arm has scars and is wearing a baggy yellow sleeve.

ID: A scene containing a fence, overgrown with trees and grass. In the top left is Arthur shoulder-up, smoking with a speech bubble which simply says "... Oh.", this is cut off by smoke from Arthur in the bottom right- standing in front of the fence- exhaling smoke while saying "I suppose it is".

ID: A mainly blue coloured artwork, John is in a robe and is being lifted by the arms- around about the elbow area- by a figure which cant be seen. He is in purple-like water within a mirror frame and is being dragged down by one regular hand and one faded-out hand. A crown sits on top of Johns head- emitting a blue glow. He has almost next to no expression on his face.

ID: Arthur stands in a pool of water, one hand (left hand) faded holding a cane, with his pinky finger being the only section of it which remains in a form- wood. He's smoking a cigarette with the other hand, the smoke littered with eyes and said hand is drenched in blood. The coat he wears is floating on the pool of water in a circle like motion.

ID: A man stands with mostly warm brown colours. His eyes are covered with smoke emitting from the cigarette he is smoking in his right hand- which is covered in blood. He's got a long jacket, striped waistcoat, brown trousers, orange tie, dark brown hat, off-white shirt, brown hair, and brown shoes- along with a cane. His left foot and arm are gray and whispy- the rough form of the limbs remain the same but there is no finer details. (Arthur Design)

#malevolent podcast #podcast #podcast fanart #john malevolent #malevolent pod #malevolent #malevolent fanart #malevolent big bang 2023

[twinsoftriumph]

last but not least...... Ames. the Came Back Wrong oc. who i am actually painting currently so if i like it i will post it :3

hashtag Edgy Backstory

ames wears Some sort of abyss mask modified just to be more unique but probably most similar to cackling cannoneer's. they also have melancholy mope hair, overactive overachiever's cape but modified to go around the whole body, anddddd. some sort of long pants outfit thats most similar to the aurora runaway outfit. or maybe like confident sightseer's outfit Again but more grey/cool toned.

no matter what outfit theyre wearing youre Barely going to see anything besides the legs anyway because theyre not one to take up much space or make very grand gestures

from isle! very interested in the history of the sky kingdom and spirits and the rebirth cycle (uh oh)

professional emotional wall builder. and archer i guess. they picked up that skill in forest back when vedesa still lived there which is how they met in my beautiful brain

they were the very eager sort of moth which eventually culminated in them having some rather large but also quite dangerous ambitions. aka fucking with the rebirth cycle and having to deal with the consequences of that

im still working on the finer details but they basically unded up stuck in the shattering void for A WHILE and witnessed a ton of memories suspended in time both of their own and other people's including from WAY before they were born and also feeling fluctuations of light and dark. very normal experience for one's psyche. but they escaped after like at least a year and theyre so normal about it and you cant even tell (lying)

vedesa's involvement comes from her being the one who spent ages trying to figure out a way to reach them which is how she ended up primarily spending time in vault in the first place and ALSO why she's trying to spend a lot less time in vault nowadays

so of course when ames escapes on their own theyre Pretty Damn Pissed but also really dont know what to do. and they lay low for another unspecified amount of time and are presumed missing or just permanently dead. they are very much neither of those

they ended up wandering into prairie after a while which is where they very much startled lalut due to literally looking like hell. lalut was very concerned to say the least but offered to take them in and they've been warming up to each other since :)

ames is just grateful to know someone who doesnt know their whole batshit backstory and is non judgemental and tries to just treat them like any other person

they are quite protective and will purposefully leer at people over your shoulder if they get bad vibes.

wicked chef. could theoretically be bribed with food (few have ever tried)

can be very meticulous and careful and is really quite gentle in most everyday stuff. very quiet footsteps. you will get jumpscared

used to be the lighthearted silly teasing type but has become a lot more dry and sharp about it. it has also become harder to tell when theyre just joking around

anyway theyre basically plotting to track down vedesa and properly confront her about what happened. id say yay for communication but god knows what they actually plan on doing or even what vedesa plans on doing with all that guilt. (guy who literally created them) (dont worry i have some ideas i just might draw them out another time)

#sol talks #sky cotl #oc #ames

[turtletoria]

i am curious exactly which reasons you hate mcyt now even tho you used to be a fan. As an outsider I know vaguely some of the people have done bad things but im interested in your specific reasons. You have no obligation to answer obviously

no dont worry i love talking shit its my hobby (joke, btw. my actual hobby is being cringe online)

under a read more bc this is long i just hold a lot of parasocial hate in my heart. hope you guys like reading !

edit: also to be clear im not trying to start any fights i just want to be left alone by mcyt fans. ok guys take it easy

tl;dr the Three Who Shall Not Be Named and their blasted SMP friends/acquaintances are all my parasocial enemies. Theres fun cringe and then theres mean cringe, and i feel that this corner of mcyt goes in the latter.

from my experience i think that they're really manipulative of a typically younger and vulnerable audience... i just remember them always promoting subscribing to their stream or purchasing donations to kids (that, i believe, honestly saw them as stand-ins for parental figures in their own lives) and that honestly disgusted me so much. i remember being frightened at the way that (mostly teenage/minor) fans on twitter talked about them like they could do no wrong... it was a weird kind of adoration that still freaks me out when i think about it too long. while they cant control the age of their fanbase, they could at least act accordingly... if i knew my audience was full of youngsters as young as 10 or 12 i would not say or do half the things theyve done, i will say that much.

moreover, i think they were very bad at handling their rapid rise to fame -> the Main Three Who Shall Not Be Named were frankly quite young and very immature, so this might be unfair, but honestly watching them felt like if you took the really unfunny highschool bullies and gave them a twitch stream to go nuts in. they couldnt control their rapidly growing and rabid fanbase in a way that felt safe to participate in.

i really didnt appreciate how they treated some of their fellow streamers. it felt cruel, and i cant understand how people could keep watching what would otherwise be bullying, even if it was all a "joke" or "prank."

And, much worse, was the casual racism and misogyny and other bigotry. i remember the misogyny especially was so bad, particularly from the young blonde and british streamer, whose main shtick was being rude to women because it was "funny." it was just crass and immature, and made my younger sister and I very uncomfortable, especially with the way his fans seemed to really enjoy that. a lot of these guys' and their friends' jokes hinged on being edgy or shocking, and honestly that shit was so overdone and unfunny.

I honestly can't remember finer details, and im not about to go looking (so take this with a grain of salt), but i just remember their content being full of a lot of uncomfortable moments. it was like experiencing some kind of microagression every 10 seconds and not being able to comprehend the insult until it was too late. it made me feel small and stupid, especially because i thought i was the only one who felt that way (and still do, honestly). call me oversensitive, but thats just how i felt (and still feel). moreover was the discomfort of them using language, which for lack of better words, reminded me very much of performative white liberalism. you know what i mean - when someone talks a lot about good things, but then they treat minorities like shit or allow these minorities to get treated like shit.

also, as the cherry on top of this rancid pile, the Main Three Guys and their SMP friends all seemed super okay with certified shitty people like Pp pie and notch. Very uncomfortable that they would be okay with being associated with them, let alone look up to them??? Huge red flag.

the fact that ive gifted my time and energy (through fanart) to a piece of media that has hurt me is so revolting. in the grand scheme this isnt a huge deal, but it definitely hurts that ive made shit for shit people and that fans still behave like i made this art for them. in reality i want to throw everythign into a pile and burn it. it just makes me very sad and hurt.

i could go on, but this is long enough as is.

Anyways, i'm not here to tell people what's right and wrong, but i honestly think that these guys are more hurtful than anything else and i simply dont want to interact with anything associated with mcyt ever.

but if im gonna be completely honest, i cant really blame teens or tweens for being into that awful cringe (derogatory) shit becuase that is the nature of being stupid and young, and hopefully theyll grow to understand why that shit is so bad. but if you are a college student or older and still into them im side-eyeing you so hard...

Theres fun cringe and then theres mean cringe, and i feel that this corner of mcyt goes in the latter.

#ask #anon #im worried abt waking up to hatemail but whatever i just want the mcyt fans to leave me alone!!!

[actualaster]

Destiny plz make some of the old content more accessible instead of making people do confused googling and sifting through hour-plus long lore vids that are entirely inaccessible to anybody who doesn't have the ability to sit down and watch some dude ramble about their theories and how it supposedly connects to the lore for ages to find 10 seconds of audio because they missed a few seasons and are trying to figure out what's up

#destiny 2 #im just asking for in-game summaries #and an archive of important audio and a theater mode type deal with custscenes #not asking to make all content from past seasons and expansions playable again just #its a massive weakness to force people to third parties to ferret out information if they had to take a hiatus or are new to the game #aka reasons i can never in good conscience suggest this series to new players at this point #vast amounts of story and lore-relevant stuff just isnt accessible in-game anymore #also some of us just have bad memories and cant remember finer details of what happened in past expansions or seasons #and trying to look it up to refresh our memories is often more trouble than its worth at this point #sorry im not watching 10 hours of some dude talk about lore so i can figure out what i missed during times i couldnt play lmao #i have adhd i cannot focus on videos like that more than once in about three dozen blue moons #anyway i found my answer entirely 100% by mistake stumbling across it in the middle of skipping desperately around a 30min+ video #of seasonal voice lines and that's... kind of a fucking important detail to have to go to third parties to discover/confirm?

[wincore]

runway (m) | jung yoonoh

pairing: model!jaehyun x fashion designer!reader

words: 18.7k

summary: there are some things that come with dedicating your life to fashion: a taste for finer fabrics, a splash of love for art, and an appreciation of the human body. none of these are supposed to include the hottest model you have ever laid eyes on, or the fact that you completely, utterly hate his guts. 

genre: enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, light smut, comedy-ish

warnings: sexual content, mentions of anxiety

a/n: woohooooooo she’s finally here!!!! i cant believe this!! everything aside, i do not have first hand experience working in the fashion industry so please do take this with a grain of salt. i’m also going to pass out. good night <3

A list of things you appreciate: colours, satin, comfort.

A list of things you do not appreciate: Jung Yoonoh. Jaehyun. Whatever.

The hum of the car engine has little effect on you; you travel like this almost every day. Tall buildings, scorching pavement, the blare of traffic—it’s Seoul, after all. You sigh, more of a short expression of annoyance, scrolling down with your thumb and back up again. Since when did he get permission to post pictures from pre-fittings? And one of your works, no less. 

His feed is so messy. You click your tongue. For a model, that is. 

You open the story again and consider messaging him. It’s your cherry red coat, or rather the collar of it, golden thread sewn in swirls of patterns, and a sheer floral shirt extending all the way up to cover Jaehyun’s neck. You frown. It’s meant for showcase, not teasers. Even if the picture extends just from the curve of his shoulder to his parted lips, you can’t stand the sight of it on him. It’s not bias, you try to tell yourself. This is business. You tap your fingertips rapidly against the back of your phone. This is obviously business. 

Seoul Fashion Week is the height of your anxiety, which means you have little regard for anything else decorated around you. With a new frenzy arising in every minute of your day—you don’t have time to think, a sense of madness in the way you keep busy. Your Elixir collection is more than what you had hoped for it to be, a twinge of satisfaction sitting at the pit of your stomach. It nicely puts together everything rich and extravagant, humanity’s first love—everything you despise really, so Jaehyun wasn’t a bad choice for a model. 

You backspace on your text. Is this rude? Should you care if you’re being rude? How unprofessional, you imagine his voice saying. It wouldn’t be the first unprofessional thing you’d done.

The final text reads ‘Glad you’re enjoying my designs, but they were not meant to be publicly displayed before the official show, as common sense predicts.’ 

No, of course you’re not trying to be snarky. It’s perfectly formal. All that time writing professional complaint letters to companies for ripping off your designs paid off, you suppose.

You exit the Uber, thanking the driver quickly before you rush into the building, checking the time on your watch. It’s sunny, and hotter than you anticipated. You can only hope it’s cooler tomorrow so the heat doesn’t suffocate your models.

The company building is another madness in its own. Joohyun greets you with a quick smile, a bunch of fabrics being handed to her before she can make any conversation with you, and the rest of the workers bow in greeting before getting back to their own individual windstorms. You step over a few boxes on the grounds, beelining to your workspace so you can settle down your bag.

You’re team leader, you tell yourself, a short breath tumbling out of your mouth. Even so, you don’t do very well under several pairs of eyes on you at once. Some part of you is still the timid fashion designer, packing your entire identity into a small sketchbook.

The sunlight is blaring out of control in the place—it’s meant to be spacious and sunlit, of course, but the heat makes you adjust your collar before you can move forward. The bustle of the style and design team along with the production team in the same place is akin to a nightmare, and you trace your steps quickly.

“Guys,” you begin, fidgeting with the leather strap of your watch as you continue, “Firstly, good job.”

There’s a bunch of short cheers and clapping to interrupt before you can continue. 

“As for tomorrow…stylists, I need you to touch up the collars in all the Western-style coats. The detailing needs to be kept clean and sharp. I want the audience to be able to see it.”

You pause, your tone still neutral. “And let’s not start again on the lacing. We had that discussion yesterday.” 

There’s some nods and sounds of affirmation. 

“Production team…I don’t think I can say much to you without Doyoung getting on my case.”

There’s collective laughter and you crack a smile. With a few more rapid words, you dismiss yourself, walking over to your colleagues to help them out. You’re team leader, the one with the final say in all the designs, but you can’t possibly imagine completing it without Joohyun or the others. 

“Good pep talk there, (name),” Joohyun says, walking over to you as her hands sharp and steady as they go through the clothes rack. 

“They think I’m an asshole,” you say, breathing out. You know your words are too direct. Drunk co-workers on a Friday night are not the best place to discover facts about yourself. Sometimes even you think you sound bossy. You check the key parts for each item, knowing you’ll be doing this once again before the show.

“We wouldn’t be going anywhere without direction,” Joohyun responds, laughing as if you’d said something silly. “We’re all glad you’re here, (name).”

Words like these are so easing for a mess like you, not that you’d admit it. Joohyun has always been a sort of mother figure to you after you entered this company, followed by Doyoung. A good few years senior to you, she started out as a model before she moved on to designing. 

It’s her last year working in this place. But of course, it’s a given when she’s starting her own label (mom clothes and children’s apparel, she’d called her clothing line, rolling her eyes) and one of the most well-known names in South Korean fashion not having her own label is sacrilege (according to your colleagues anyway). She’d said to contact her when you start your own family, and maybe she’ll send a congratulations package for both you and your baby. You’d laughed. Out of all the insults you could ever receive, that was perhaps the loveliest one.

Ridiculousness aside, you’ll miss the comfort of her presence. You were still in school when your designs led you to a showcase in New York Fashion Week, your sponsor more than generous. You stepped into it too soon, too eager. It was breath-taking and awful all at once—and the first time you saw a world outside of your own. It was overwhelming. There are few people in this new world as kind as Joohyun.

The sound of your notification snaps you out of your thoughts. You swear you kept it on vibrate, a little irked at having to search for your phone when your hands are full. The notification itself brings on a stronger wave of vexation.

_jeongjaehyun:

My manager told me it was good publicity

But I could take it down for you

The ‘for you’ adds an unnecessary effect, you think as you hold back a scowl. And what does ‘could’ mean? A miscommunication with the sales team isn’t even on the list of things you need to worry about. Honestly, you don’t have time to fight him, quickly typing out a ‘whatever. it’s okay’ before looking back up.

You jump, the look on Joohyun’s face a little suspicious for what might come out of her mouth.

“It’s not a crime to text people.” She shrugs, shuffling through the rack one more time to take the clothes for transportation. 

You’re quick to jump to your defence. “I have nothing to do with him.”

Joohyun looks at you, amused. “He’s not a bad person, you know? How long are you going to keep hating him for one thing he did?”

“It’s not one thing,” you groan, averting your gaze to the clothes so as to help her. “I just- he’s so- so- oh come on. You know how I feel about him.”

“I’m just saying you don’t have any reason to. Everyone’s different from what they appear to be. Especially in this line of work.” Joohyun balances the clothes you give her across her forearms.

“So he’s fake. I hate that even more.” You sigh, pulling out the blue silk overcoat, the colour matching Joohyun’s work dress.

“You mean unreal? Models tend to be that way—don’t be so harsh on him, honey.”

You simply shake your head, words entering one ear and out the other. Joohyun presses her lips into a line but lets it go soon enough. She knows you’re capable enough to separate professional from personal and that should be enough. You’re not keeping a tab on something as warming as spite. 

You can’t believe you’d ever been within five feet of him without turning your nose. You can’t believe you’d smiled at his jokes once, even if it was just that one night. He was the godsent Prince Charming, just perhaps not yours. Paris surely had a distressing effect on you that year. 

You don’t make the same mistake twice.

You walk back to your desk to take a seat and scavenge through your belongings, most of the people already outside. Fashion Week, which once upon a time was a faraway dream, now is part of life—exciting and exhausting. It’s almost always over in a flash, your love for it whisked in peaks of bittersweet. (“You work your ass off for six months and it’s, what, fifteen minutes long?” your mother had asked after you’d brought her to one of the shows.)

This line of work is a nightmare without mental preparation. You have a degree, you have experience and yet it doesn’t feel enough, confidence easier to drain in a person than blood. And you’re not very fond of pale cheeks.

It came to asking yourself if you really have it in you for a few months—a test of sorts everyone puts themselves through at least once in their lives. At that time, your favourite professor, a bald man nearing his retirement years with the wrinkliest face you’d ever seen, had asked you just one question. 

Do you love it? 

Of course you fucking do. 

You couldn’t say that to his face, sure, but you know he saw it in you—either the effort you put out every day of the semester or the way your hands moved across fabric like a machine, your designs made with the persistence of nature. Your final year project landed you an internship at one of the largest clothing brands in Seoul and your internship landed you a job at the same. Your job, well, lead you to Jaehyun, among many other things. 

You scowl at the image of his face that appears when you close your eyes, massaging your forehead—it’s hard to not see it everywhere already, from Cosmopolitan to Vogue.

While you were biting your nails in New York, Jaehyun had flown out to Paris with Saint Laurent, one of the younger male models to show his face for the first time. He’d taken the whole place by storm, you had heard from a friend. To say half the world had fallen in love—either with his dimples or his confident walk—would be an understatement. A privilege, to be gold-plated in a mercenary world.

You’d briefly made eye contact at the airport the first time you saw him, a year later, when you were arriving in Incheon and he was leaving it. It was London, that time. For him, Milan. As much as you couldn’t believe living a fashion student’s dream, Jaehyun’s face was truly, unironically much more unrealistic. Your classmates’ gabs and gossip in sewing class had suddenly made sense. You taught yourself to not be swayed by faces, even if they look like they’re stitched together by Aphrodite and Apollo with their bare hands—friendly advice from seniors at the orientation night ‘party’. 

You’d met him formally in Paris, after you’d graduated from fashion school. He was certainly the most beautiful face in the room—and you weren’t the only one aware of it. The entire night you’d been starting conversations you couldn’t relate to, till he came along with his charming dimples and a faux connect. You were naive, and a little tipsy. The attraction was obvious, and it had been you by the bathroom pulling him in for a drunk kiss till he’d snapped out of the daze—as if it were some joke you’d been playing. He’d apologized before leaving, like it wasn’t a big deal, with silken lips parted in a gesture of remorse and a short, firm bow. It didn’t settle very well alongside the merlot in your gut.

You. You’re a big deal. 

You were alone in a room full of painted faces and he sat atop the throne they worshipped. Why had you expected any more from him—in the understanding nods or the few kind words that escaped his lips? You felt stupid. He made you feel like smiling for the first time that night and you hated him for it—you’re sure he doesn’t care either way. Or maybe he does, with the wonderfully irked responses he graces you with. 

Jaehyun made something out of himself in these nine years, just as you have. Runway supermodel to the face of South Korean men in fashion to an entrepreneur, he might as well have a documentary on him—and he would if he didn’t evade paparazzi and reporters like his life depended on it. Enigmatic, the articles wrote. You scoffed. Conceited, more like. After the initial years, he decided to settle in New York, frequently flying to Seoul and other fashion capitals for business and contractual events. Some of those occasionally include your shows.

Having Jaehyun gets more attention but it’s not like you’re a new, doe-eyed kid. Your works have been featured for popstars and foreign celebrities, and you’ve been invited to several interviews with big magazines. You’ve gone global (albeit under the brand’s name) and you’ve been to places you’d only seen pictures of in the very same magazines you looked up to. They can describe your work as unique all they want—and you don’t mean to sound fucking pretentious—but your job is nothing more than an expression of the self. It’s a part of you; you first started sewing patches onto things simply because your closet lacked colour. And eventually, you found yourself searching for more—colours, fabrics, dreams. You’re devoted to your job because you love it, you want to do it. You’re allowed to be a little arrogant about it. 

If only trying desperately to be arrogant did something about your insecurities.

You hope your works redefine themes, your need to stand out contrasting with your fear of it. Eye-catching is always your forte; this time it’s fairy tales and royalty in a mix of East meets West. 

D-1. Same feeling, new season.

The press is here, you take note. Photographers. Models. Students. Vloggers. It’s a burst of colours down there.

You hate running late, rushing down the stairs to the plaza through the crowds of people. Some recognize you, as they make their way to you but you end up walking a little faster to minimize your presence.  You curse yourself for wearing the jacket. It goes nicely with the rest of your outfit and March isn’t supposed to be this hot. You wipe the sweat from your hairline, hoping the makeup is waterproof like it said.

You consider stopping at the café for a fix of coffee but stop when you notice Joohyun holding a bunch of cups by the venue. She doesn’t look too happy about the sun, or the burdening errand of fetching coffee. You adjust her little red beret at her request, smiling at her annoyance but trying your best to keep it hidden. You don’t want to get cussed out by Joohyun. 

“Someone tell Doyoung to get his coffee,” Joohyun complains. “I’ve been waiting for half an hour.”

“I’m sure that’s an exaggeration,” you say, sipping your coffee. The taste fills your senses with a pleasant dose of energy and you hum out a satisfied note. “Why are there so many students out here? Influencers? Did we sponsor this many kids?” 

Joohyun shakes her head.  “Jaehyun just got here.”

You suppress an eye-roll. “Wonder why he still comes back for Seoul when he’s booked full for New York.”

“It’s his hometown.” Joohyun shrugs. “I’d come back too. Even if I’m paid more out there.”

You finish your coffee and duck into the fitting room, much to Joohyun’s displeasure as she’s left alone again. Doyoung’s in for an earful, you chuckle thinking about it.

It would look like a hell of a mess to anyone not accustomed to this. Everyone is a flurry by themselves alone but if you mix them with the eclectic crowd you find at a Seoul Fashion Week backstage, it’s more of a disaster. A colorful one, at the very least. 

New York was worse. You were too young, in a world that was too big. It’s a miracle you even received an opportunity from so big a name. But, you suppose, it hardly matters now.

You no longer live in a world where Seoul is far from Paris. Fashion and art are things unmarked by place of origin.

It’s easy to spot Jaehyun in a corner, two people adjusting his coat for better fitting at the waist. His makeup’s done, you notice as you get closer. Good, you think. If any makeup were to get on the fabric, you’d go feral (although you do have full confidence in the makeup artists here and their choice of product).

“Jaehyun,” you greet. Your co-workers give each other a look before excusing themselves. You raise an eyebrow, too late to stop them. They didn’t finish the looping of the belt properly, you take notice. You wrinkle your nose. Sloppy. 

“(name).” He responds with an equal lack of amusement. 

You pull the belt at his waist, Jaehyun stiffening at the contact.

“What are you doing?” he asks, looking down at you with a raised eyebrow.

“My job? What do you think, genius?”

Jaehyun presses his lips together and lets you complete the altercations. The chiffon shirt allows you to see the hazed definition of his core, a rather flustering thing to be exposed to for anyone with eyes. When you look up in a moment’s mistake, you’re reminded of why his face is everywhere. Flawless, almost. You hate it. Averting your eyes, you fix the collar so the pattern stands out more. You can feel his eyes over your outstretched hand all the way to your face, subtle as ever. If Jaehyun thinks you’re bothered by it, he’s an idiot for believing so. 

You take a step back to analyse the coat. The golden threads are flawlessly detailed, spiraling in patterns of different flowers and vines around the collar, gradually getting larger as they twine at the base of the neck. They meet the polished rhinestone buttons a little lower. You almost smile. You’d sewn each thread and each button in yourself the first time. It hardly looks the same now.

Bright red is an eyesore if you look at it longer than five minutes, you realize. The frown that’s been itching to show up finally does. Suddenly, you’re glad Jaehyun is modelling this piece. You shake your head and look back at his face, from his deep-set brown eyes to his full, tinted lips before pausing. The little Swarovski pearls line strands of his hair in a starry display, perfect in every angle of it. It’s easy to appreciate the human beauty when you see his face, and even if you claim your vehement dislike for him, you’re not a liar nor an idiot. 

How infuriating it is, to let things be. Bad blood can only dry to an ugly, unusable brown.

You narrow your eyes at the thinning layer of glitter on his peach-blushed cheeks. He doesn’t exactly need much more of it but the unevenness bothers you.

“Your makeup needs retouching,” you say, frowning. “Did you touch your face? I thought you were a more...professional model than this, Jaehyun.”

“You walked in,” he replies, casually. “I was distracted.”

You feel your cheeks colour. “That’s- that’s not a reason.”

He smiles politely. “I suppose I’ll leave you then. You must have other work to do.”

You hold back a biting remark. His playfulness doesn’t sit well with you; he’s polite just enough to annoy you and straightforward just enough to make you want to throw something at him. He could’ve directly told you to fuck off maybe—but oh no, it’s Jung Yoonoh, seamless and radiant, with only the sweetest collection of words on his tongue. You think of the first time you met, something warm in the corner of your heart. You’d mistaken it, of course. 

He didn’t care for you, or any of the people trailing after him and his silver flute, or the rest of the shallow carcass of a world so undeniably obsessed with him. It didn’t hit you till he’d left you hanging, mangled memories of something close to hurt. You’re glad you didn’t kiss him. You wouldn’t be able to get over the embarrassment, the blow to your pride had it escalated any further.

And of course, the one thing he did to make you absolutely certain of his distaste—was simply choose another designer’s work over yours when given a choice. It seems silly, unprofessional even, but the lack of response to your Fall/Winter ready-to-wear collection had been embarrassingly low, someone else’s designs sold out at an equally awful rate. You—your insecurities—wanted to blame your own failings—maybe it was the lining of the coats, or the colours maybe— the fabric? Perhaps, you hadn’t focused on comfort all too well. But it was clear, a word from Jung Yoonoh could change the minds of a fashion-forward youth as easily as his face and physique scored contracts with the biggest brands and labels. And it was clear he didn’t like you very much.

You walk over to the other models, eyes scanning down to the T. You glance over one of Joohyun’s designs, a modern men’s hanbok. The blood red paired with yellow is certainly easing on the eyes, though the shades vary from top to bottom, like a sunset. The dark grey chunky shoes fitted under dark tights complete the entire future oriental look you suppose she was going for. She’s only showcasing two of her designs this year and they’re just before the centrepiece. You shake your head, clutching the fabric of your jacket sleeve. You hate seeing other designs before a showcase, even if they’re a friend’s. 

You turn your head to make eye contact with Jaehyun across the room. It takes a few seconds but you snap your head in another direction to break the spell. 

How strange. You haven’t had nearly enough coffee to feel jittery under his gaze.

You’re forced to take a breather away from this jungle of liveliness. 

The amount of people outside the venue gives you yet another headache. Excited college students and fashion vloggers stand outside expectantly, and you give a short bow and polite ‘hello’ to anyone who approaches. You desperately want to be left alone. Even if it’s for a few seconds.

You walk quickly, your feet soundless against the floor. Your mask performs considerably (and surprisingly) well in hiding you. You consider visiting the Design Market to enjoy a seat alone and charge your phone before it’s show time.

Open spaces. You need open spaces. Suddenly, the DDP seems to be suffocating you despite its tremendous size.

“Hey!” You’re greeted with a sudden force to your right side, an arm wrapping around you. You look up to see Johnny, a wide grin on his face and you let yourself mirror it, shaking your head.

“Big day,” he says. “Want me to take some pictures? I’ve got some time between shows—lovely outfit, as usual.”

It’s strange how Johnny’s the photographer and not the model—you’ve heard he receives a lot of requests to get on the other side of the camera though he always refuses. He doesn’t visit Seoul as often, but he has much to do in uplifting the mood with his strangely effective sense of humour. The coffee-coloured shirt he’s wearing goes well with the plaid grey coat, reminiscent of Fendi’s Spring collection, and sometimes you wonder whether a job as a fashion photographer ever had much to do with his style. Johnny has always been effortlessly impressive. 

You politely decline, your mind still focused on the smooth running of things. Nothing’s ever on time when it comes to Fashion Weeks—yes, it’s called fashionably late but it just makes you annoyed. You consider ducking back to your venue, adding some final final touches and any more last-minute altercations. Years have passed and you’re still not used to it, fingers itching to do something about everything. You’re grateful the company gives you your creative space but it only makes you wonder just how far the limits are. 

Johnny accompanies you to the charging station till he’s distracted by some of the children in the latest Fendi kidswear and you make a mental note to never bring your kids to Fashion Week, if you ever choose to have them.

You breathe in and out for a few moments, feeling lightheaded before the sense of reality touches on you. People walk in and out of the stores lining the pathways, a soft buzz of conversation in the air as your eyes follow their movement. You wonder if you’ll have your own stores opened in plazas like this—here, in Seoul, and on brightly lit streets of the world outside. After all, colourful dreams are the hardest to get rid of. You sit quietly till you get a text from Doyoung asking you to get your ass over there quickly with several exclamation marks. You smile to yourself. Joohyun might have had a sour effect on him.

You arrive back at the venue, trying to tear your eyes away from anything that might want to make you fix it. You avoid Jaehyun’s eyes even more so, like you’ll jinx something right before it’s showtime. 

The buzzing reaches a peak before everything is drowned out.

The show finally starts. And it’s over. Twenty-two minutes, this time.

That’s the way it goes. You hold your breath till you’re sure it’s safe to let go, blind to everything that goes on in between. Sometimes it’s underwhelming, sometimes you can’t give a fuck when you love doing this anyway.

You breathe a sigh of joy when everyone gathers backstage, Johnny making all the models pose together for one giant group photo. It’s like a ritual for him, always finding time for a backstage picture with the models goofing off.

Jaehyun looks at you instead of the camera, a nervous shiver running through you. His gaze is not something of inconsequence, eyes piercing into you with words hanging in the air that you don’t care enough about. You think he sends you a smile, cockier than you’d like. Despite your efforts, you have to look away.

Now, what should your dear Fall collection look like? You exit by yourself, relief humming through your veins when you think of getting back to your apartment, papers to be sketched on in your hands, soft fabric to be sewn on your table. Maybe they’ll display your works in the front rows of the stores, maybe you’ll even have displays outside of Seoul. You’re not a student anymore and your job has taken you enough places. 

Even so, Paris and Milan sneak into your dreams often. You used to dream of them so much that it was hard to consider them reality—finding yourself in those streets, in between all those beautiful picture-book monuments.

You prefer Seoul, you decide after conscious thinking. You don’t have to worry about the world outside. 

Afterparties are not your thing. 

You somehow still find yourself in them, hoping to catch a drunk video of Doyoung for blackmail or make eye contact with an attractive stranger only to stop at exchanging numbers because you never find the time. 

It’s a social event. You’re supposed to be doing social things. It’s exhausting.

The last person you expect to bump into is Jaehyun, drinks in hand as he looks down at you with a greeting of surprise on his tongue. He’s wearing a simple dark Oxford button-down, two buttons at his chest undone, and tucked neatly into his pants. His hair looks untouched since afternoon, parted in messy waves, minus the pearls. The music changes to something with slower beats as you stare at each other for a few moments.

“What are you doing here?” You raise an eyebrow. There are other afterparties he could be attending. Big ones.

Jaehyun tilts his head, cracking his neck before smiling. “Charming, as always. I’m here because I want to be here, obviously. So does everyone, I’m sure.” 

“Fucking narcissist,” you mutter to yourself. You think Jaehyun might have heard you because you get a dirty look thrown your way, masked with the signature apathy across his relaxed lips.

“That’s a little rich from you,” he mumbles.

The muscle by his mouth twitches but he doesn’t say anything more. This is probably the most emotion he shows, you think. Wouldn’t his lovestruck magazines relish seeing him riled up like this? They’d still find a way to fall in love with him.

You could have, too.

No way. You tell yourself that’s ridiculous. 

You’re aware he’s booked for at least three other shows this week. It’s a miracle he agreed to yours, considering your mutual distaste for each other. You suppose it had more to do with his agency than himself but it wasn’t like you were the keener one. Jung Yoonoh is the face professionals look for and your company loves the publicity, although you keep telling yourself your designs would still shine without him. 

Jaehyun excuses himself before you can get on with any unpleasant conversation you might have. At least you have something in common—that is, trying to avoid each other as much as possible.

A few minutes (and uncomfortably snaking through swarms of bodies) later, you find Doyoung, unfortunately sober and intending to remain so, people congratulating him with claps on the back for securing the position of PR Head. You think it was supposed to be a secret, but someone higher in the ladder must have spilled early. Joohyun never attends these, and honestly, good for her. 

Afterparties are not your thing.

You shouldn’t have taken those shots but you’re on the dance floor now anyway—what more could happen? It’s easier when you’re not paranoid about all the eyes on you, dancing against a stranger with a lion tattooed against his neck. Maybe you’ll go home with him, maybe you’ll leave at the first signs of attraction. Romance isn’t quite on your to-do list, but an occasional intoxication with the skin works just fine. You could live like this for a few moments.

Your back runs into someone else’s rather forcefully and you turn around, apology bubbled up to your tongue already, mixing with the alcohol.

“Oh look.” You roll your eyes. “It’s the prince of high fashion. What can I get you today, sire?”

Jaehyun drives his tongue over his lips, quite definitely over your antics. Soft breaths leave his mouth in a rhythm irrelevant to this box of laughter and blaring music called a party. You love how he never knows how to respond—what new words will he choose to keep false dignity? If you think about it, he’s the embodiment of why you always thought everything was so out of your reach—big names, exclusive parties, not for kids like you. They were never for fashion students too honest to know their own worth.

“Jealousy isn’t a good colour on you,” he says, just loud enough for you to hear.

You scoff, a pang of annoyance sizzling through you. “Jealous? Of who? You?”

You sneer at the last part, Jaehyun’s frown deepening. Some days you just like to think you’ve won. A few moments pass between you two, the sound of pop music filling in the gaps. 

Jaehyun presses closer to you, your chests almost touching as your breath hitches in your throat.

“Do you know what makes success?” he says, head dipping lower to look you in the eye. The smell of alcohol disturbs you for a second before your heartbeat gets loud enough to drown it. You try to not focus on how his mouth is so near yours—and perhaps if you were drunk enough, you might commit a mistake against the very core of your being, something you’d been dangerously close to once.

You stay quiet, the pulsing in your ears too loud in the shallow distance between the two of you. You swear it’s always the two of you pressed up like this once you’re drunk enough, the dislike growing stronger and stronger with every breath exchanged. You’ve intertwined each other into a strange garden of contempt, easy to forget when you're facing him. Jung Yoonoh has the prettiest face in the industry, and the only one you can’t bear seeing. 

“It’s confidence,” he answers, as slow and steady as ever. “And there’s a thin line between confidence and arrogance I intend to keep. I’m not so sure about you.”

The rest of the night passes without conflict and you retire early, Jaehyun’s breath still hot against your face. Only when you collapse on your bed do you get an urge to shout, yell, anything that doesn’t make you call him up and scream at him. You have your precious dignity too, something he seems to look past. The effect he had on your breathing, the crawling over your skin—God, you hate him. You’re too stubborn to not continue doing it.

“What’s this?” you ask, your eyes darting in between the director of design and Lee Taeyong.

To say you were surprised to see him would be an understatement. You note the simple dark rimmed glasses in contrast with his light dyed hair, the mellow blue of his cashmere sweater sporting his own label’s logo—Lee Taeyong is a household name. You feel yourself shrink the tiniest bit.

This industry’s all about names, you think miserably. You meet people and you remember the ones who can get you ahead. It’s tiring.

Taeyong started his career even earlier than you did, and before he had changed his major to fashion. He’s a little older than you, though he doesn’t look it and he had begun with working exclusively on jackets. Several rejected designs later, he had popped up as one of the designers to look out for in Seoul Fashion Week. Now he has his own global label slowly turning brand, several worldwide stores and everything dreamers in the same place as you look up to. You think you’re fine here, you tell yourself despite that.

The director smiles at you, her hand gesturing rapidly at you to come forward.

“You’re going to be so happy,” she says, signalling Taeyong to continue.

“Uh, hi,” he greets.

A little awkward for a world-class designer, you think.

“I’m Lee Taeyong. You might have heard of me—”

“I know who you are,” you interrupt, ignoring the disapproving look of the director.

“Oh, that’s good!” He smiles. “I’ve seen your work—I’ve been following your work for a few years now…and, well, I’d love for you to work under my label—in a collaboration of sorts. You’ll have full creative freedom, of course! I’m just there more or less for supervision, really…”

You think you feel your heart stop for a few moments, Taeyong’s sudden stream of information fading out. The pinnacle of your career, you believe, had been Paris Fashion Week four years ago and you’d been dreaming of it ever since. This is a business contract, you’re sure, and you don’t know if you have a real choice but maybe you could take that step forward you’ve always wanted to.

“Isn’t that great, (name)?” The director interjects. “You get to work under the Lee Taeyong label. And…surprise! You’ll have your work presented at New York Fashion Week in September. They’ll hit the stores a week later.”

You freeze. 

“New York?” you manage to squeak.

“Yep!” Her voice a notch away from annoying. She’s not the first person you’ve met who sounds so goddamn manufactured. “Pack your bags, darling. You’re flying next weekend.”

You must be looking like a deer caught in the headlights because Taeyong opens his mouth to say something, alarmed. You speak before he does.

“Okay,” you say, more to yourself than them. It should be a good thing. It’s supposed to be a good thing. Even so, you feel the anxiety in your ribcage threatening to overgrow into thorns. 

“I’ll- I’ll do it,” you clarify. Looking from your manager’s bright yet stern face to the hopeful smile on Taeyong, you don’t think you have much of a choice.

New York, huh. How long has it been? You shudder at the memories, your focus a little off for the rest of the day.

Joohyun visits you a day before you leave. She places the box of chocolates on the coffee table, that Doyoung apparently sent for you. 

“You know, I’m really happy you’re getting this chance,” Joohyun says, crouching down beside where you’re splayed, trying to count the travel essentials and everything else on your messy checklist.

“He gets promoted and now he can’t even come visit me, huh?” you say, shifting to grab the box and tear off the clear wrap.

Joohyun laughs. “He’s certainly enjoying his duties. I can’t wait to boss him around again after I leave.”

Your shoulders hunch, a sigh leaving your lips. “Great. You’re leaving. Doyoung’s too busy to annoy. And now I’m a part of this godforsaken project for almost six months.”

Joohyun softens a bit, running her hand through your hair. “I heard you accepted it. All by yourself. You’ll do just fine, don’t worry.”

You feel yourself turn pink, a feeling of warmth you’ve been missing for a week. It’s cozy in your apartment, always the right temperature with a tinge of happy memories. You wish you could find comfort in people as easily as others do. Everything happened so fast, you can barely remember the conversation you had with Lee Taeyong. A few moments pass, Joohyun and you picking out chocolates before you can rummage through your suitcase again.

“I hate New York, Joohyun. Just what else can you throw into the mix to make me hate it even more?”

She freezes for a fraction of a moment, pressing her lips together before clearing her throat. “Oh. Uh. I probably shouldn’t tell you what I was about to tell you then.”

You turn your head to her, eyes narrowing. “What?”

She shrugs, eyes not meeting yours. “You know. New York. Fashion capital of the world. Lots of things to love.”

“What are you not telling me, Joohyun?”

She sighs, defeated. “A certain someone might be on the same flight as you. I was about to give you his number in case you needed help.”

You pause to think, curling your lips. “It’s Jaehyun, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

You groan, dropping your head back and yelping when it hits the coffee table. Joohyun moves to rub your head and ease the pain as you let out a stream of complaints.

“You really thought I’d call him for help?” you yell. “Him? Of all people?”

“I think you’d rather have a known face there. Besides, he’s a good kid,” she reasons, looking you in the eye. “And stop yelling.”

You quieten a bit at her glare, gulping. She adds the number to your contacts, saving it with a professional ‘Jung Yoonoh’ before she helps you clean up, advising you on how to manage your finances abroad. You know she’s trying to ease you, but how could she—after dropping this awful news on you like it shouldn’t matter at all? She doesn’t even know what happened—almost happened in Paris, or the fact that your honeyed feelings had turned bitter so easily. She’s worked with him before, you know this, when he was a much younger model and she trusts him more than you ever could. 

But maybe, just maybe she can’t see what you see—after all, she’s also part of the elite, crème de la crème of this industry, more so in this country. It’s frightening, and so vague what goes on up there, at the top of the chain; and whatever you have—it might never be enough. 

You’re you. Sometimes, that isn’t enough.

You jump at the water rushing from the shower, too cold for skin and scramble to twist the knob the other way. This time, the water’s too hot and you yelp, shutting it off altogether.

You press your hand against the shower glass, breathing heavy. You’re trying—you’ve been desperately trying ever since you landed a week ago. Change is not something you can take lightly. You miss the dim lights of your apartment in Seoul that Joohyun always warned would get you some brand new prescription glasses. You miss walking down the streets to your favourite convenience store at three in the morning to get honey butter chips. You miss picking fights with Doyoung over which detail to scrutinise during your project discussions. This project seems to have torn apart several things that belonged to you.

You can’t seem to get your head into it either—even spacing out during the meeting you had with Lee Taeyong among several other things. You can’t remember a single design detail he’d specified or what the theme was even supposed to be—a bunch of bright foggy lights replacing whatever fuzz was growing in your head. A twenty-something-year-old shouldn’t be letting homesickness affect them like this. 

You finish the rest of your shower with a heavy heart and a clouded head. 

Taeyong booking a luxury suite for you was a bit…much. Not that you’re complaining, but it gives more fuel to the profound sense of emptiness you keep drawing. There’s no intimacy to this place, no love. It’s a little hard to create things without love, and comfort.

Still, you grit your teeth and get dressed into something more comfortable for the night. If not today, then tomorrow. Something will have to give, even if it costs you—whatever the hell your parents keep telling you when you’re going through problems. What if you don’t want to be cost things? Compromise isn’t as delicate as it sounds. You try to comfort yourself, rocking yourself on the much too large couch, hugging a pillow close and trying to think of things that don’t immediately make you want to throw up.

The memories of your first visit are a little less than pleasant. You think you cried after the entire ordeal because you thought you did a bad job of talking, socializing, the most ordinary things. There are some people who are good at wearing masks—good at making copper look like gold, good at shining under dim lights, and good at using words that don’t have much meaning to their existence other than being pretty. 

You were not one of them. 

The intense need for everything to be perfect was still there, even when you couldn’t possibly have achieved it. You wanted to make things and show them to the world—what was so wrong with that? Why did being there make you feel like you could never even touch your dreams? You were so out of place, feeling completely out of touch with yourself. There were people from the top there, established and famous. It felt out of your grasp. You felt fake.

The city lights twinkle with life but there’s no sound, the windows shut tight. The ambience of the room is kept to a caramel minimum—the best you can do to honour your sweet little home back in Seoul.

The hatred for everything pretentious was born with your first step into this place, into the game that the big boys play. It showed in your designs, your choice of fabric, your distaste for certain people. You wanted reality—you wanted a taste of life in your everyday clothes. You wanted that flavour you feel on your tongue in a room full of strangers or the one on a quiet night by yourself at your apartment rooftop. You didn’t want dignified fur coat ensembles, you wanted the naive chaos you feel every day and you wanted to make it look good. It’s driving you insane just how much you feel like you’re losing now.

You take out your phone after what seems a few minutes of contemplation. 

Jung Yoonoh. Your finger hovers over the call button. What would he say if his night is interrupted by your voice?

You’d met at the airport after landing, though you were only two seats away in the plane. You’d made no error in acknowledging his presence, browsing through the inflight magazine half-heartedly. Truth be told, sometimes you couldn’t really seem to get over him. Sometimes the thought of him made you so pissed, you had no idea what to think of it. 

“Welcome to New York,” he had said shortly after you’d exited, a giant crowd of people greeting out-goers, holding up placards with names of people, in numbers you’re unaccustomed to. Or, used to be accustomed to.

You hadn’t talked since—and really, you weren’t expecting to.

You press your home button, any lingering thoughts of him vanishing at the force with which you tell yourself it’s not worth it. How is Jung Yoonoh better than anyone else you know here? He might have been living in New York for quite a few years now, and he’s probably the only one you’d feel comfortable enough to swear at—that doesn’t mean you’d actually ask for help. That doesn’t mean he’d actually help. Joohyun must have had her hopes far too high to have convinced you for even a moment.

The couch feels colder all of a sudden, and you turn down the air conditioner. This place will never adjust to you, and your stubborn little self won’t either.

You think of Jaehyun from the afterparty, loose shirt and knowing eyes, and you wonder if he feels just the same frustrated agony, if not more. You think of his parted lips and breathing words close enough to be provocative, discomfort growing at the base of your stomach. Who does he think he is? He might have the airs and dignity of someone way up in the hierarchy of society but you know what people can be like. You know envy, you know malice, and you know lies. He has to fit in there somewhere—and perhaps you would have hated him less if he did.

Even if you’d scoffed at the idea of jealousy, that might very well be the closest to what you feel, what you keep hidden in the darkest corners of your locked chest. When you first met at that star-spangled dinner, you’d felt what it’s like to watch a fireworks show or a big musical opening; but the fireworks are being blocked by skyscrapers and you’re only the helping staff at the theatre, watching from a balcony at the very back. Jaehyun was impressive with barely any words. It annoyed you so much and somehow, the only solution you arrived at was the tremendous need to understand him, pick him apart and see what made him.

No. That’s wrong. You were annoyed because you still wanted to kiss him after he’d pushed you away, his dislike steaming clear. It strikes you as gently as lightning that the only reason someone would have to hate Jaehyun is being attracted so violently to him. God, you hate making a fool out of yourself.

You pass the night in quiet contemplation, promising yourself a better tomorrow. After all, no one else is going to do it. 

You walk with your chin up as if you don’t feel the weight of the world on your shoulders. You picked out your black Harrington jacket to look at least a little more professional, but you might have miscalculated the size and the material in the equation because you look completely and utterly ridiculous in it. No one would look at you and think you even work in fashion, much less be competent in that line. 

(To be fair, you wear the same beige sweater and black corduroy pants to work and if your coworkers choose to judge you, you wouldn’t blame them.) 

It’s only been a month and somehow, it translates to forever to you. You think you’re adjusting better now, and you pat yourself on the back for it. It’s not raining today at the mercy of the skies, a tidal wave of sunlight splashing through the buildings every time you take a turn. The city doesn’t scare you all that much anymore. It’s a good day, for once.  

You lean your head against the car window, eyes trailing up and down the reflective blue of each skyscraper. You can barely see any clouds, and the sky’s endlessly the same, comforting blue. Just like back home, you think for a moment. Your eyes move back to the sidewalk, people passing by—mothers with their babies in strollers, kids clutching the strap of their school bags as they run, men and women in all levels of professional clothing. No one stops in this city. Except the fucking traffic apparently.

You sigh, glancing at your watch. Only moments ago, you were moving and yet again, you’ve stopped. The cycle keeps repeating and you’re trying to keep patience focusing on things around you that you can appreciate. 

Maybe you jinxed it when you said it was a good day.

You reach Taeyong’s studio just in time (not that you’d get yelled at or anything, he’s too nice of a guy). Your eyes fixate on the numbers that light up on the elevator one by one till it finally reaches the first floor.

You walk right into someone’s chest, an apology tumbling out of your lips as you bow out of habit. 

“(name)?”

You look up to find Jaehyun in the elevator of Taeyong’s building, a casual white shirt clinging to his frame that’s tucked into his jeans to look somewhat formal. A pink overshirt hangs at his forearm and from the windswept styling of hair and his perfected dark locks, you’ll assume he’s here for a shoot—even without it, he looks like something from a teen magazine, someone people would see and instantly daydream of. Best known for high fashion, Jung Yoonoh is still a spectacle in casualwear. 

“I can’t believe I have to see your face here too,” you mutter, getting into the elevator. You’ve had your share of moments with him.

“Good to see you too,” he says, bemused. 

You make a sound of acknowledgment, taking out your phone to turn the damn notifications off so you don’t feel it vibrate in your pocket every few minutes. You feel eyes on you for a moment and snap your head to the side.

Jaehyun has his eyes focused on the door, quiet breathing fresh against his lips and you hesitate before concluding you might have been mistaken in your perception. 

“You’re here for a shoot?” you ask, curious about his relationship with Taeyong. 

“What else can I be here for?” He says nonchalantly. 

“Sarcastic. Very nice.”  

“It’s a little weird, you trying to make conversation with me. You’re usually raving about me too much to actually talk to me.” He smiles, the dimples provoking and eyes the familiar beguiling brown. 

“I’m not trying to make conversation,” you hiss, crossing your arms. “I’m sorry, I forgot you’re only a person in front of cameras.”

Jaehyun takes a sharp breath before turning to you, a not-so-happy look on his face despite the calmness over his features. You’ve seen it enough times.

“How long are you going to keep up the pretentious this and pretentious that before you face it, really?” He looks at you with tight lips, poisonous implications in his question. “Why you love to get up in my case all the time?”

The words take time to settle in. You shake your head when you realize, a sardonic laugh leaving your lips. Of course he’d think that.

“Oh my god,” you scoff. “You’re so full of yourself. You think I’m interested in you? Don’t let what happened years ago get to your head.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Oh, what did you mean then? Pray tell.”

“First of all, stop cutting me off,” he says, taking a step towards you. A certain feeling of uneasiness runs through you when you detect annoyance in his quiet statement.

“Secondly,” he says, taking a another step forward just as your back hits the wall of the elevator, “Stop treating me like I’m the bane of your existence. I have nothing to do with you.”

He’s right, of course, but the words sting where they hit. Asshole, you think. He has no business telling you what to do and what not to do. But in this moment, you can’t fish for the correct words—you don’t have the strength to when you’re so close to each other like this, the scent of his cologne syrupy and sickening. His tall stature is intimidating, with his straight shoulders and proud jawline.

The elevator dings at the seventh floor, Jaehyun stepping away from you without a glance or care, striding out just as smoothly as on a runway.

You take a moment to breathe, unsaid words burning holes into your tongue. You wish you could’ve said something better, anything that didn’t make you feel so pathetic. Maybe you should’ve told him to stick his words up his ass, sounding vulgar being the least of your worries. You wait patiently to reach the last floor, each ding souring your mood little by little. 

You are so glad you didn’t call him that night. To think he’d ever help you knowing it’s mutual, the whole hating each other’s guts. You just can’t believe the audacity of him—to accuse you of, what, romantic feelings? In an industry where you can’t tell apart gold from copper? Where all the people warming up to you are fair weather friends and competitors? He must have let all that attention get to his head. Runway faces aren’t as easy to fall in love with as he thinks.

“(name)! Come quick!”

Taeyong’s voice urges as soon as you enter and you settle your bag down, rushing to him. His smile drops when he sees your seething figure place your bag on the desk with a loud thud. You turn to him, without a hint of sweetened formality and ask him the day’s schedule.

Taeyong gulps before responding, undoubtedly afraid of your lips, a twitch away from a scowl, but he explains nicely nonetheless.

“Can you do a rerun of these designs for me?” he says, arranging the papers on the desk. That’s how he says these need improvement. No wonder the interns love him.

Taeyong’s in his usual attire, still too chic for you but strangely comfortable to look at. You nod, immediately scrutinising them, your (almost pointless) years of training trying to give you hints as to where you went wrong. You’re not really expecting to find big flaws or anything—just details you can enhance. You’ve learned enough about Taeyong in a month and it’s that his sense of style encompasses comfort, even in the most abstract of concepts. You respect him for that. It doesn’t change the fact that you think it’s a little overdone maybe.

Taeyong laughs, breaking you out of your daze. You raise an eyebrow.

“Is- Is something wrong?” You look at him, perplexed.

“It’s just that- It’s just you remind me a lot of the fashion students.” He smiles at you.

Your shoulders droop. Amateur. New. Unprofessional.

“Oh.”

Taeyong rephrases himself quickly, waving his hands about. “I don’t mean it as a bad thing! It just means you still…love doing it.”

It sticks with you longer than you’d expect, as you work throughout the day. You think Taeyong is too nice to criticize you properly but he eventually gets the point across—stick to the theme, written in Taeyong’s dainty handwriting and pinned to the softboard. 

Secrets. 

What an atrocious concept. Firstly, it makes no sense apart from sounding like a fucking lingerie collection. Secondly, when you went over Taeyong’s designs with the layers and patches, you supposed he wanted to focus on the inside of things because everything he’d drawn was inside out. Thirdly, when you heard him explain it, you were a little taken aback to hear it was going to be all about you, us. The designers, the models, the photographers, the magazine editors—there are millions and millions of people working to make sketches come to life, for a few items of clothing in someone’s closet. It feels nice to hear that from him. You promise you’re going to perfect it. 

And perfection is your dear old friend. 

It’s what you always strive for, but end up with something else that’s a little less beautiful. You take slow breaths, removing and adding details (after all, art is in the details). But perfection can easily grow tiresome. It makes you increasingly frustrated and you don’t think you have the heart to tell Taeyong everything in his studio stresses you out.

“So, you’re working with Jaehyun?” you ask, trying to look less antsy.

Taeyong blanks out for a moment before responding. “Yes. Why? Is he- Is he making you uncomfortable?”

Uncomfortable wouldn’t even begin to explain what he makes you feel. 

“No,” you deny. “Just curious.”

Taeyong smiles. “We usually work on summer shoots together. It’s like tradition.”

“That’s…nice,” you say, trying to reciprocate his smile.

“Oh, but we’re having terrible weather so the shoots keep going longer than planned. That’s why I’m having to compromise planning time with you. Sorry about that.”

You try to keep your posture despite the mild annoyance brewing at the back of your head. Great. Now you have to see Jaehyun’s unbelievably annoying face every time you walk in. Maybe if you plead enough, you’d get permission to leave early and not want to throw some insults at him. 

You decide to walk, despite Taeyong insisting his driver help you get home. He doesn’t act like it but he’s a busy man, with side projects and interviews coming up so often you lose count. It’s no wonder he had to, and you hate using this word, hire someone for the label’s next venture. You think articles like Lee Taeyong loses touch and hires designers instead of doing his job would make him upset but he seems to genuinely not let it bother him. It’s about ideas to him. His label, almost large enough to be a brand, is for ideas; what a pretty thing to base your business around. While you thought you were a big shot back in South Korea, you’re almost nothing more than Lee Taeyong’s co-designer—assistant here.

You feel drops of what you felt years ago trickling down your throat. Overshadowed. Powerless. Imposter. Something about New York makes you want to pull all your hair out. You wish you hadn’t been here in the first place, maybe then this would seem more of a fun trip than memories weighing you down. But then if you hadn’t been here, you might not have even started.

You hug yourself at the sudden downpour, clouds kind enough for it to be nothing more than showers but you’re soaked anyway. Kind, but still a little cruel. Running under the eaves of a store, you curse yourself for not bringing an umbrella the only day you needed it. You stand there for a while, just breathing.

Real life is never like movies, is it? Cameras lie. Pretty faces lie. Sometimes you end up stuck in New York rains without an umbrella or a friend to call or a lover to protect you. You end up getting an Uber, taking awfully long to arrive due to the traffic the rain had ensued and try your best to ignore the disgruntled driver mumbling about you wetting his seats.

You still don’t know how the goddamn shower works. 

You manage to complete without either scorching your skin off or freezing it to Greenland and back—a feat much more successful than whatever you had going on for today. You slip into the absurdly soft mattress, pillows and covers swallowing you into a state of sleep.

You start the day almost pouring coffee onto Jaehyun’s spotless white shirt. And you might have were it not for immense self-restraint, and the fact that Taeyong’s eyes were trained on the two of you.

“So…are you two…a thing or something?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“No,” Jaehyun responds calmly while you sputter it out.

Taeyong apologizes, a laugh following. “You seem to have worked together before. Jaehyun, you never told me that.”

“I…I thought you knew,” he answers, leaning back against the tabletop.

“Ah, well,” Taeyong shrugs. “Thanks for helping me out with this, (name). Maybe- maybe we can draw some inspiration for the collection from outdoors.”

“Of course,” you say as you smile wide, trying hard not to break the coffee mug in your hand.

If you’re being honest, you had a gut feeling you’d be asked to help with Taeyong’s (apparently) infamous summer shoot. He walks into his studio every morning with hair in a disarray, talking to more people than he might enjoy and the entirety of New York weather against him. There’s only so much time a man can have and under pressure, he’s going to have to choose. It’s easy to feel sorry for someone like him.

This should be the stylist’s job. Jaehyun stands with his chin up as you adjust the fitting, smoothing out creases and making sure the cerulean shirt is pinned right, satin feeling cool and nice under your fingers. Sleeveless is back in trend this summer, and so are low-cuts.

“Careful there,” he says when you hand brushes a little lower, just below the full-grain leather belt.

You hope your face isn’t steaming from the rush of heat but you manage to limit your emotions to a sound of discomfort, remembering the horrendous accusation he’d thrown at you. “I don’t care about your dick, twit.”

Jaehyun laughs, bending a little to whisper. “I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

“You look like you’re having a wonderful time making me uncomfortable.”

“You’re just so easy to work up.”

His dimples are getting on your nerves. You reach up to button his collar, perhaps a little too harsh because he chokes, an uncharacteristic sound leaving his mouth as he winces. You suppress a smile, glad you managed to do something about the look on his face.

The sunlight over this park feels like Christmas come early, with the way Taeyong is flitting from model to model and stylist to stylist with the intensity of a five year old after an ice-cream truck. 

“Is he- Is he usually like this?” you ask, eyes on the makeup artist getting directions from Taeyong.

“I just assumed all of you are this way,” Jaehyun, responds looking at the same sight.

You roll your eyes. “We’re not all crazy.”

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe a little bit,” you correct yourself, watching Taeyong almost trip over someone’s bag in order to greet the magazine’s style director. 

Jaehyun chuckles, eyes meeting yours for a moment before the two of you go about your own business.

You like magazine shoots for the most part. You never find a glass of water anywhere, but some intern or the other will definitely be there to fetch you Starbucks. There’s at least three people fussing over each model and at least two exasperated photographers trying very hard to snap clean shots. The stylist and designer look as though they might explode any minute, although the relief on their faces after it’s all over is something worth looking at. The skies are so bright and blue, you think, for a cosmopolis. The trees and shrubs lining the park are in a state of tranquility compared to the chaos it encircles.  

Magazines might not be as important in an age of social media advertisement, almost part of nostalgia now—but maybe some of you are not yet willing to deny kids the thrill of reading a magazine under their blankets in the middle of the night. It often gave hope to little boys playing dress up and little girls sewing their own clothes. 

You’d forgotten just how exhausting shooting with magazines is. The models must be having it worse but their masks don’t come off easy. If you had ever underestimated their job difficulty, it comes back to throttle you at full speed every time you’re at a shoot.

 Looking good in front of a camera is pretty damn hard. 

They don’t even get to keep the clothes, unless some asshole of a designer decides to pay them in apparel instead of actual money. Most models leave New York in debt. Men are paid even less than women. You’re surprised Jaehyun is as celebrated as he is—or the fact that he was clever enough of a businessman in launching his own high fashion-themed restaurant. You’ve heard he barely visits it, like a careless afterthought. But you’re not one to get carried away by sketchy articles on the internet. All you’ve needed are more reasons to hate him.

You sip the iced coffee, its effect pretty much worn out during humid afternoons. It’s time for a break, but no one’s willing to break momentum. You find yourself feeling a little awkward, as nothing more than a guest with creative advice, and so you sit under the comforting cool of the giant green umbrella at one of the tables. You could sink into your chair were it not so damn uncomfortable.

Jaehyun takes a seat right beside you to your surprise, offering you a box of diced mango before you fervently decline. You still think he’s an asshole. It doesn’t make any sense—why accuse you of unsaid affections and then flirt with you like he never said it? It’s not like you’re even friends, how ridiculous. There are quite a few jerks you’ve met in your life, but Jung Yoonoh really takes the cake.

“What?” you snap when his gaze gets on your nerves.

“I didn’t say anything.” He raises his hands defensively, eyes still on yours. “You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself.”

“I enjoy the air conditioned suite Taeyong booked me more than this, yes.” You sigh, leaning back. “I don’t really have anything to do.” 

“I’m assuming he booked you the luxury suite on the fifteenth floor,” he says, chuckling.

You furrow your eyebrows. It’s not impossible that Jaehyun knows Taeyong’s favorite suite to book for guests.

“The view’s pretty nice from there, right? Oh, and you must be enjoying the silence.”

“I actually like the outside sounds,” you defend. “It’s calming.” 

“Not when you’re on the third floor,” he says, shoving a piece of mango into his mouth with a fork. “All you hear is middle aged men screaming.”

You rest your elbow on the table, placing your chin against your palm. The shade is separated from sunlight by a thin line against his chest, pale blue satin glimmering where the sun meets it. Jaehyun’s eyes shine a darker hue of honey under the shade, moving to the box in his hands occasionally before trailing back to the background noise again. Taeyong really does love pretty fits, but this might just be one of the most gorgeous pieces you’ve seen this summer (and you’ve already been through all the ready-to-wear lookbooks you possibly could). A thought passes you in a breeze, that maybe it's the model making it seem that way.

“You’re talkative today,” you note quietly, the sun harsher on your cheeks than before.

Jaehyun shrugs, hurrying to finish all the pieces. He suddenly pulls a face, one you don’t see very often in high fashion websites and Instagram pages. It’s almost cute. 

“Sour.” 

You find yourself laughing, a gentle influx of peace filling the inside your chest. You quickly recover, looking back up to see Jaehyun simply staring at you, breathing. He looks caught off-guard, no camera to warn him. You straighten, your cheeks flushing with heat.

“Is- Is something wrong?”

He immediately shakes his head, more to himself than you. There’s a pause before the two of you are happily distracted. The style director appears to be gesturing at him from the other side and Jaehyun responds with a curt wave.

“You’re doing two different concepts today?”

“Three, actually.”

You raise your eyebrows. Well, they’re definitely taking advantage of the good weather. They could just photoshop it, in your opinion, but authenticity is everything when it comes to magazines nowadays. 

“Well, don’t let me hold you back,” you say, your tone dismissive. “Go get changed into whatever pretty shirt Taeyong has up next in his collection.”

“The next shoot doesn’t have a shirt,” he says, the corner of his mouth quirked upward.

You almost choke on your coffee, blaming the heat for your weak state of mind. You’re just having one of those strange days—just that, nothing else.

You finish the rest of the coffee, cup resting in your hand till you find the energy to get up and find a trash can.  

Jaehyun was right. This time the shoot’s a little too wet and a little too much skin for you to enjoy. The only thing added to Jaehyun above the waist are a dainty red scarf knotted over his neck and a small, flat hoop earring on his left ear. The velvet fingerless gloves, although you’re not very fond of them, complete a rather rugged yet soft look. You didn’t expect Taeyong to come up with something like that. 

Jaehyun’s well-developed physique, while you’ve seen it in other shoots and online articles, is completely different when you’re a few feet away from it. The dark blue cargo pants, silken, are a signature style of Taeyong but the details don’t distract you easily enough. Funny, this is the first time you’re feeling somewhat flustered in a place full of half-naked models. 

You suddenly think of reds and oranges, lilac shrubs and a hint of Burberry men’s perfume. In a way, it reminds you of the strums of the guitar your roommate used to play while you stayed up late, coming up with concepts. Cherishing, soothing—and special, just enough. The corner of your lips twitch and you take out your pocket sketchbook. It’s never too late to add a design to the collection, right? After all, you have secrets too. Maybe Taeyong was right about the outdoors for inspiration. 

Something sets into motion, subtle but sharp.

The next time you walk into Taeyong’s studio, you feel the sun on your face better. Everything seems to be fitting into place, as you smooth through designs at a pace your student self would be jealous of. When Taeyong praises your work, you feel a rush of pride smearing the inside of your chest and you finally feel like everything’s not falling apart. It feels good. It feels like you’re someone.

The days go by in what seems like barely seconds—you know what they say about New York minutes. The mustard cloth draped over your desk to the cottage blue of your curtains, the colours around you change as quickly as the wind. Sometimes they’re abstract—and other times, well, they have more to do with a stranger’s eyes, or the swirls within a coffee cup. It’s the way in which transition occurs around you, that you often forget it moves something within you too. 

You’ve put together some samples with Taeyong, most of them by yourself; the process of making is ever comforting, fabric even more so. You’ve sent the revised designs for production, feeling giddy about whatever is to come like it’s something new. (It shouldn’t be.) 

You fucking hate how different this is. Seoul is nothing compared to New York. The anxiety is nearly ten times worse, the streets are far more attractive when it comes to inspiration and the figure of Jung Yoonoh is no longer as easy to ignore. 

Even after the summer shoot’s over, Jaehyun often comes by to hang out at the studio, dressed in what you would call the simplest fucking thing you’d ever seen and still managing to look just as gorgeous. He blends in well with university students, often wearing the ugliest baseball cap you’ve ever seen, and the look of his face feels much, much worse than ever before. It’s at ease, smug even, but never failing to smile at you when you’re trying to focus. You don’t care how good of friends Taeyong and Jaehyun are—you want to tell him to leave. 

But you just can’t bring yourself to. It’s not that you don’t trust yourself, you certainly do, but whatever New York has done to you, includes making you feel a different way about him. Sometimes you find yourself pressing your legs together harshly, stiffening at any proximity with him and a pool of warmth at the base of your stomach you’d rather not feel.

It’s embarrassing to even think about it—the fact that he makes you feel that way, so hot and bothered like it’s your first time. You blame your lack of going out these few months because after all, anyone could fall in love with runway faces. It doesn’t have to mean it’s him you want. You carry on doing what you’ve been doing for the most part of your career, your best to avoid him. There are more pressing matters, and your head might just implode if you keep on worrying about things (a man, of all) you need not. 

Time passes even faster when all your thoughts revolve around the same thing.

One month. D-30. Whatever the hell you call time before the end of the world.

Your palms sweat a whole lot easier here. It’s a little weird, considering you don’t find much difference in humidity between Seoul and New York. Your heart often catches up in your throat too. Not a great feeling, your heart choking the breath out of you, but you’re used to it. You cope and you learn, that’s what it means to be human.

You pull your hand down before it reaches your teeth. The day ended in a meeting with Taeyong’s production team—everything’s running smoothly so you need not worry, he said. 

Why are those the words that make you worry the most? 

You check the time on your phone. 23:05 and a whole month to go. You better get some sleep for all the meetings you have scheduled tomorrow. You close your eyes and for a while, everything falls quiet.

You dream of New York Fashion Week. People come here to feel included. Everyone wants to be a part of something they don’t understand.

The models walk down the runway in increasingly uncomfortable outfits. You didn’t design any of them. Where are the ones you worked on? You can’t move from your seat, or turn your head from the runway, anything at all. Something’s wrong, everything’s wrong. You don’t belong here. Thunder strikes outside the venue and you wake up with a gasp caught in your throat, and the clock on the bedside table flashing 2:14.

You’ve had enough. You swear you’ve had enough.

You get up out of bed, pacing the giant bedroom, the empty spaces making you feel more and more miserable. The city twinkles with innumerous stars beyond your window, curtains half drawn so they can comfort you whenever you need—but these lights don’t shine for you, or anyone else. They shine for themselves. That’s what it means to be in New York again. 

What time is it in Seoul? Could you call your mother? Joohyun? Everyone must be busy right now—you don’t know what to do. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt so helpless. There’s a reason you’ve been avoiding New York for this long and now it’s come crashing down on you. 

This was a mistake. All of it was a mistake.

You look down at your phone, the light hurting your eyes despite being set to the lowest brightness. You think a little, and then some more. There’s no one else you can call. Even if he’s busy charming all the other employees whenever you see him, even if half the world is in love with him, there’s no one else you can call. This time you don’t stop yourself.

You tap the call button beside the Jung Yoonoh saved neatly. Tapping your foot against the floor nervously, your mind goes blank for a few seconds or so. He answers when you’re just about to hang up, breath hitching in your throat at the sound of his voice.

“Hello? Hello? If this is a reporter—”

“It’s me, Jaehyun.”

The line goes quiet for a moment and your voice overlaps his before he can begin.

“I- I didn’t mean to call so late. Sorry…uh.”

You scrunch up your face at your own voice. This is not getting you anywhere.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, voice lower.

You fall silent, unable to answer without breaking down into tears. You did not call Jung Yoonoh for that. 

“Yeah,” you choke out. “Fine. Completely fine. I just…”

You trail off, trying to get yourself to breathe.

“I’ll send you an address. Be there in an hour.”

You blink back tears, confusion adding to the burning pile of worries inside your head. 

“What?”

“Address. I’ll text you. Be there. One hour.”

“I’m not stupid, Jaehyun,” you snap, strength refilling your voice. “Why?”

“I’m not answering questions, just be there.”

With that, the line goes flat and an embarrassing amount of ‘hello’s get you to realize that he hung up. A notification pops up a minute later and you’re too groggy to decipher it, logging it to Maps instead so you can follow. It’s fifteen minutes away, you realize with a sigh of relief, so you can at least present yourself within the given constraint. 

You can’t grasp what you feel in the moment, the night air and warm streets beckoning you to leave the clamped apartment soaked in fear. You think this is unlike Jaehyun, what he’s doing, but you’re too shaken to care. You need some respite, even if it comes from somewhere you can’t picture.

“You…wanted to meet me at a Korean barbecue restaurant?”

Jaehyun’s ears turn red, as they often do when he doesn’t know how to respond to you.

“I-It’s not that I…Never mind,” he tries to explain, fidgeting with the cloth over his shoulder. “We can go somewhere else if you want.”  

We? You think, eyes scanning his face in confusion. If you want? Where’s the uncaring Jaehyun you’ve known, foreign eyes and impassive lips? He hardly looks the part he’s meant to play—a billboard face with a confident jawline and nothing more behind it. Outside of work—you don’t even know what else to call this—Jaehyun looks hardly intimidating, or abrasive. He seems different, gentle almost, although the dark circles under his eyes might have something to do with it. Maybe he’s too tired to say anything more and that’s it.

But he still came all the way here.

“Aren’t you a little…overdressed?” 

There comes the remark you were hoping to not hear. You just wanted to look nice; you’d hardly call this overboard. The loose, mustard-colored chiffon shirt cinches at the waist, paired with your nicest (only not faded) pair of light blue jeans and shoes that haven’t seen the light of day since you arrived here. You barely ever design clothes for yourself anymore but you thought you looked good in this.

“No,” you defend quickly, feeling your face grow warm. “You’re underdressed.”

You say that, but he clearly looks good in anything he wears. Could you expect any less of  a supermodel? He doesn’t seem to have dressed in as much a hurry as you had. Clad in a plain black T-shirt that’s half tucked into skinny jeans, he’s added his hideous baseball cap and a pair of navy blue shades which looks just as ridiculous as it sounds. You really think he shouldn’t be leaving his house without the help of a stylist. 

“I…I just mean you don’t wear anything other than the same sweater and pants combination to work, so… please excuse my surprise.”

Jaehyun's eyes flicker over your figure before masking it with an awkward cough. You reach out and pull the shades over his head, the look bothering you more than anything else. He doesn’t respond to it, at least not in a way that’s obvious, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to do—you fixing his hair and unquestionably awful sense of style.

“There’s a soju place a few blocks ahead. Or if you’re not into that, there’s a noodle shop just at the edge of K-town,” Jaehyun rambles on, not meeting your eye. “If you’re looking for something inexpensive—"

“You came all the way here to give me directions?” You raise an eyebrow. You might even be enjoying this, although your inner voice bites back at you, denying it.

Jaehyun shakes his head, the red in his ears pulsing back up. “No. I…I needed some fresh air.”

“You…have someplace to be then?”

Jaehyun might not realize it, but the answers he gives always have room for teasing. Aloof. Vague. Yet somehow sweet.

“And you’ll go alone? At this hour? No, I’ll accompany you,” he says out loud, trying to play off the sudden vocal inflection. You sigh. Boys will be boys, as they say. Even if they’re twenty-six.

You let him keep you company. Though the first few minutes are painfully quiet, neither of you knowing quite what to say without starting a disagreement, you continue your walk through a city that never sleeps. It’s awkward even, being side by side without you seething at his charming, (undoubtedly) fake smile. He feels real, for once, and you don’t know how to react. There seem to be some gold-tinted cracks appearing in your reality, slowly but surely, and you’re not very good at patching anything other than fabric.

“You know, it’s actually a little relieving to see Korean letters here,” you say, sighing. You never thought you’d be so corny, but it really does feel good being here. 

Or is it him? 

“Thanks,” you add quietly, hoping he doesn’t hear. No, maybe you do. You can’t tell at this point.

“I…I know what it’s like,” he says, so softly that it almost gets carried away by the wind. He clears his throat, an ‘ah’ escaping his lips as he stops abruptly.

“We…We missed the turn,” he declares, a little sheepish as he scratches the back of his head.

You look at him in disbelief. “Jaehyun, how long have you lived here?”

“Oh, I was born here actually,” he says, tilting his face to look at you, blunt sarcasm evident on it. “How many times have you lost your way to the convenience store in Seoul?”

“Literally zero times.”

Jaehyun puffs a cheek before going back to normal and turning a hundred and eighty degrees down the street.

“Hey, wait up!” you huff at his increased pace, half jogging to keep up.

You reach the acclaimed noodle shop, your breath barely within your lungs and swearing at Jaehyun who looks like he wasn’t bothered one bit. He reaches his hand out to help you and you swat it away, chest still heaving with your hands on your knees.

“Dickhead,” you hiss.

“I don’t think I deserved that,” he responds with a widening smile. 

“Asshole,” you say, standing up straight to glare at him.

“What would Seoul say hearing their beloved designer swear like this?” Jaehyun looks almost amused, as if you hadn’t shared an awkward time together, like two teenagers who were forced to walk home together from the bus stop.

“They can go to hell,” you retort. “As can you.”

Jaehyun laughs, a strange sound to hear and you blink a few times, unsure of what to do. You wonder if it’s the night playing tricks or if Jaehyun really is an actual person, not the basket of preprocessed insults you were used to. The cracks are widening—you’re not sure if they’re meant to be patched.

Perhaps you were a little eager to enter someplace warm, but you feel immense relief in this little shop, despite the smell of chili paste and noodle soup wafting through the air. It’s a little empty; in fact, you two seem to be the only people there apart from some students at the other corner, but you sit there in your own bubble, talking with Jaehyun of all people about which singer is better. He laughs occasionally, still managing to catch you off-guard with how honest it sounds and you wonder for a moment, how nice this feels. For the first time in a month, your heartbeat seems to have settled at a normal rate.

“What?” you enounce, a little offended. “What’s so wrong about my love life?”

“You just- You just don’t seem that type,” he explains, his ears as red as the bowl.

“I don’t have time for commitments, Jaehyun,” you sigh. “It’s what happens when you’re good at your job.”

Jaehyun nods, something akin to agreement in his response. 

“So, your, uh, what is it? Training camp? What’s that about?” you ask, in between blowing your food.

“You could really Google things once in a while, you know?” he replies, bringing his chopsticks close to his mouth.

You roll your eyes. “I’m sorry I’m not one of your creepy stalkers, Mr. Jung.”

“Nothing to do with that,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s for kids interested in fashion, modeling, photography—stuff.”

“Oh? How so?”

“I just sponsor them. You know how difficult it is to get noticed in…this industry,” he explains, like it’s not a big deal. Nothing ever seems to be a big deal to him.

You nod, unable to help the smile. Maybe it isn’t a big deal, but you’re sure now that you were mistaken. Just a little bit. 

“I was lucky,” you mumble. “I can’t believe they saw those ugly embroidered patches and decided to sponsor me, oh my god. That sweater was hideous.”

Jaehyun laughs loudly. “They saw me cleaning outside my school and decided to pick me up and ship me straight to Paris.”

“Nothing’s worse than the first day.” You take another mouthful, the taste savoury and filling. 

“You know, I’m pretty sure they photoshopped my ears out in the first magazine shoot I had.”

You laugh, leaning in a little closer. “Your first year was rough, huh?”

He hums, his eyes flickering from your nose to your lips. It makes you a little self-conscious, blood rushing to your cheeks at an unexpected pace. Who knew Jaehyun could have such an effect on you? 

Your eyes flutter over his face once again.

He’s handsome. But it’s the sort of handsomeness that tells you, you don’t know much beyond it. You look back at your bowl, sobering up and completing the rest of the noodles.

It’s still midnight blue in the faraway sky as you walk down the streets. Most of the people you see out and about are those drunk off their faces from club hopping or a particularly enthusiastic group of tourists. The watermelon soju, while better with budae-jjigae and arguably the best soju flavor, somehow had little effect on you with the bitter aftertaste still settling in. The crowds in other places would make for great people-watching but you walk in a lonely street that calls for proximity. Beside you, Jaehyun sneezes, the sound of it making you jump on the quiet sidewalk.

“Jesus Christ, Jaehyun,” you huff, wincing at the sound, “you sounded like a fucking tractor.”

Jaehyun laughs, looking down at the pavement. When he looks back at you, the circles underneath his eyes seem to have darkened and you wonder if yours are the same. Yours can’t possibly be as important as his, though, and you wonder if it’s appropriate to laugh at how dorky he looks.

You find yourself not wanting to walk back into the safety of your suite. Jaehyun has a look of calm across his features, drawing over the landscape around you. New York lights don’t faze him, they only reflect in his eyes. 

The way his soft breaths fan out against his lips remind you that he is human, after all—he has a soul and body, thoughts and its beautiful intricacies. When he turns back to you, you feel those criminal feelings all over again, except this time it’s even louder. It feels so wrong, and yet you can’t help but think of the liberation that could come with his lips on yours. 

You could swear out loud, all the colorful words ready at the tip of your tongue.

“Your collar’s…”

Jaehyun’s voice trails off, his hand moving to fix your flipped collar, and when the heat of his skin brushes your neck, you try to not think of where else his hands could be, his lips could be. 

In fact, there’s a moment within where it’s perfectly reasonable for him to kiss you, the taste almost on your tongue. But Jaehyun moves away, an indecipherable look across his face.

“I should get going,” he says, “I have a- I have a shoot early tomorrow—today.”

You nod, cheeks coloring at your own unsaid thoughts. Just what have you done to yourself? Why is your skin searing, why does your stomach feel upside down and why were you so ready to give in to him? To Jaehyun? You’ve never felt want like this before, this need to press skin against skin in a manner so illicit. 

You part with a short goodbye, the sudden loneliness in your path making you want to backtrack, ask if you can go somewhere else again—maybe there’s a club nearby so you can see him through a round of shots as you usually do. Maybe the bitter feelings will return then. 

When you think of the words you exchanged over the course of so unusual a night—your former unforgiving words contradict you. You hate the realization but being so obscure in front of a camera doesn’t have to mean he’s pretentious. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe someday you’ll even admit it.

You feel a flash of heat in your face. You are not running to Jung Yoonoh—what an embarrassing thought. If the very core of your being isn’t repulsed by it, there’s something wrong with you. 

There’s something definitely wrong with you, love.

You breathe sharply, trying to organize your thoughts. As if the paparazzi wouldn’t have a treat out of this meeting you had with him if they got to know. You’d better limit it to the only one.

You bite your nails out of force of habit. It’s not going to help. You know. But there’s hardly anything else to cool your nerves.

Front row tickets to New York Fashion Week—the most mortifying dream out of all the ones you’ve ever had. The way Taeyong fidgets, you want to believe he’s in the same boat as you—it makes you thankful even. 

Even outside of New York, Lee Taeyong is known for booking out exclusively intimate spaces. There are some props for the pre-show photography, including inked sketches on giant vertical banners stuck to the walls and tables with a messy collection of coffee cans, pencils and a sewing machine. Diverse types of fabric roll off the table in long strips, gently lining the floor till they end midway to another table. It’s a mess—a mess you made look good.

You’d left that and the backstage behind now. All eyes are on the sparsely lit runway, your aspirations coating the air in a thick veil. Are you ready? You won’t know till the first model steps out and till you can elicit a response from the audience.

Jaehyun’s at another venue—career before friendship, or, heaven forbid, attraction. You’d seen the fitting, cape skirt doing daringly well with his long legs clad in black pants, and a classy vest over a ruffled white shirt. You hate seeing other designs before a show, but god, were you glad you’d visited Givenchy to meet Johnny. 

But you’re relieved even, that Jaehyun isn’t here. You don’t have the strength to face him anyway, all your energy directed into this chasm of whatever you’d call six months of effort. You want to call yourself accomplished. You want to be proud of yourself.

So this time, you remember all twenty-six minutes of it.

God, they look so beautiful up there, when they’re being looked at, seen for what they are—you’ll never get over it. There’s still hardly much to remember, except this time you’re happy to do it all over again. Effort only exists if it’s acknowledged.

It settles in quite a while later, the weight of all you’d done. You could almost cry, but that’s better left to pillows and the unrelenting skies above a midnight-coated rooftop. This is your moment. For once, you’re anything but afraid. 

Afterparties are still not your thing. 

However, you had your nicest outfit picked out and Lee Taeyong’s fancy, themed afterparties are something notorious among your colleagues. You’ve heard designers tend to go all out, wearing the best things they’ve designed even if it makes them a little embarrassed to be wearing their own work.

You feel a sigh leave your lips as you finally find a place to sit, your earlier conversations leaving you drained of social energy. You don’t feel alien—it’s strange—and their compliments feel almost warm. The music playing over the speakers is something, you’re sure, from a 60’s American movie, and while it has its own strange allure, the champagne gives you a larger dose of relief. 

In fact, if you’re not mistaken, it’s quite like the ballroom in Paris, although significantly smaller. Burgundy wallpaper and lit up crystals hanging in hexagonal shapes across the ceiling—it’d look lovely on a dress too.

Taeyong’s speech, of course, gives you a spike of anxiety with the sudden announcement of his label’s future, a brand now. He smiles on the small podium, everyone admiring his radiance when suddenly he gestures at you, the glass in your hand feeling hotter and hotter.

“…I couldn’t do this without the only designer I felt was up to this—the first designer to work under my brand, as of now…” 

You try not to blush under all the pairs of eyes that turn to you. 

“(name), thank you.” 

Success feels good. Gratitude feels even better.

Everything feels natural, as if a dream gone right. You’re no longer afraid of the world you stepped into, or the accumulation of feelings that molded you into the person you are now. The confidence you so chased after as if it were morphine, you’re going to be keeping an eye on it before it can run away again.

There’s still one little problem to your night of triumph, though. 

Jaehyun hasn’t taken his eyes off you ever since you entered, a conversation yet pending. You already know he looks good in the plainest of T-shirts, so it might be a no-brainer that he looks absolutely stunning in a suit. The crystals lining the lapels of his coat glimmer amidst the crowd he’s gathered. It’s hard to come in contact, however. He’s magnetic, almost formidable in the way he attracts attention, and you know it’s something that comes with being a man of few words. 

“You’re not enjoying the party?” you ask, taking in Jaehyun’s figure on the veranda overlooking the garden. He sits on one of the mahogany chairs, swirling the glass of champagne with a look of indifference coating his eyes and lips.

“I am,” he says, turning to face you. “Needed a short break.”

“I suppose being the most attractive man in the room needs a break,” you say, taking a seat beside him.

A wry laugh leaves his lips, as he lays his eyes on you. “You don’t seem bothered by it though?”

“I believe that pretty is as pretty does,” you say, your lips twitching.

Jaehyun smiles, furrowing his eyebrows yet still. “You think multimillionaire companies are built on things like inner beauty?”

He’s right. What’s inside is beautiful—it’s too idealistic a phrase. You sigh, adjusting your sleeve. It’s a difficult life, walking the runway no one dares to step on. 

I think you’d make that cut too, you want to tell him.

“You know the best thing I got told today?” you ask, diverting the stream of conversation. You think he’s a friend. Even if it could be the champagne talking. Even if you want something more than the innocence of friendship. 

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow. “Did Cristóbal Balenciaga’s ghost show up to compliment you?”

“No,” you emphasize, laughing at his pronunciation. “It was this girl. A student. Said she wrote an essay about me.”

Jaehyun hums, dimples marking his cheeks. “I didn’t know a student could get you so giddy.”

You laugh, looking down at your hands before resting your gaze on him again. He leans forward in his seat, strands of hair falling over his face from the rest and a contemplating look over his features. He looks much, much different from when you first saw him, and even handsomer, if that were possible. He’s grown up from the awkward boy you saw in the press release pictures of the Saint Laurent Fall Collection—he looks sharp and valiant on front covers, his shoulders broad and his eyes darling. Jaehyun is still unironically the most breathtaking man you’ve ever met. He might even be one of the sweetest, inside out. 

You look to his lips, full as ever. Perhaps you have something to confess. Secrets aren’t meant to be kept so long.

“Jaehyun,” you call, bringing his attention before faltering. It’s not like you’re the only one fawning over his smile. You get up instead, excusing yourself. “I’ll see you inside I suppose.”

“You know I like you, right?”

You turn around. “What?”

Jaehyun gets up, brushing his suit and fixing the lapels. The gentle night haze and the contrasting calls of the brightly lit party inside brush over an effect you’ve never felt before. “I…I like you. It’s pretty straightforward, I think.”

You deny it, or rather, some repressed little emotion inside you denies it vehemently. “Jaehyun, really. I admit I was a complete asshole to you and- and...it was…kind of you to accompany me that night but—”

“Stop. Don’t- Don’t call that kind. You’re not seeing the full picture.”

You stand there, unsure of what to do as you feel your chest grow warmer. Jaehyun turns his head upwards, letting out an audible breath. You can see conflict on his face, the struggle of someone still mulling over the perfect words.

“I don’t hate you. I never really hated you even if I wanted to.”

You suppose it wouldn’t be the right time to say that you might have indulged in that.

“I did,” you confess. “I hated you for a very, very long time, Jaehyun.”

“I know,” he whispers, looking straight at you. “I didn’t mean to leave you hanging—”

“Jaehyun, I don’t care about that,” you say, your voice rising, “You told me you felt suffocated in bow ties and laughed when I asked if you wanted to run away with me. I just ended up thinking you were a goddamn liar.”  

“Fine,” he says quietly in his baritone timbre, sounds of the chatter from inside numbing away. “Then let me be honest.”

“When I met you, I thought there was someone like me doing just the same—so…suddenly in the midst of everything. Even if you were a complete asshole to me. You were still real.”

He phrases it delicately, lilting, as if that hasn’t been your whole purpose here.  He’s only a breath away from you, but you don’t want to push him away this time. There’s a moment’s pause.

“Between work and myself, which is more important? For once, I thought I could answer that question.”

Your breaths are soft and shallow as they fall, trying to understand his words.

“And then you just fucking stopped. You stopped flying out and I’d barely see you outside of Seoul like you- like you gave up or something. I didn’t understand—what happened to you?”

Jaehyun looks at you with a hardened expression, ears turning red as if he hadn’t expected this outburst of truth. He gulps, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. It’s not like him to open his mouth and let out words that are raw and honest; it makes you feel the weight even more. You were still kids that night. You’re not anymore.

“Jaehyun,” you whisper before reaching your hand out and placing it against his cheek.

It’s so hard to not take in the details. The prominence of the muscle by his mouth when he speaks, the fine lines by his nose which appear sporadically or the look of complete reverence in his eyes when he’s staring at you like this—everything those runway shots can’t possibly capture. Your eyes trail to his lips, your own drawn to it with a desire you don’t know how to comprehend—and don’t quite wish to, either.

You want to believe he made the first move but you give in so easy, it’s alarming. Your lips move against his in a rhythm new and frantic, his hands gripping you with full strength at the waist and you part your lips to allow a deeper kiss. Your hands are free to roam his perfectly styled hair, tousling it in a fashion that makes him groan, only to push you harder against the wall. 

“I should’ve- I should’ve let you kiss me that night,” he mumbles against your lips. “Maybe I…I wouldn’t have made you hate me.”

“Maybe you should shut up and kiss me right now,” you respond, your tongue pressing against his, effectively doing the job.

It’s not difficult to see stars when his hips press against yours, his hand resting on one thigh to pull it up slightly. You feel the impact of it head-on, almost moaning out loud when his fingers press harder against the back of your thigh.

“Tell me- Tell me you want this,” he breathes out when he breaks the kiss.

You respond with reconnecting your lips, your tongue sliding against his in fervent affirmations. You’ve already forfeited your modesty, there’s no reason to stop.

You leave early, getting into the car you’d booked for the night. It would be far more embarrassing were it not for the separation between the front and backseats, when Jaehyun’s hands are up your clothes and his lips rough against your neck. The lip colour has smudged by the side of Jaehyun’s lips, a short giggle escaping you when you notice. It’s not enough to halt the kissing, or feeling each other up —something that feels long overdue. You try to keep your sounds to a minimum but Jaehyun seems to not care about things as worthless as shame, at least for the moment.

“Well, you’re about as graceful as a sea lion when you’re off the runway,” you hiss when Jaehyun’s teeth prick your skin.

“I haven’t done this in a while,” he responds in a low tone, the rest of his retort pushed away by his lips against your mouth.

You don’t have time to take in the details of Jaehyun’s apartment because he’s already carrying you to the bed, your legs around his waist and continuing to kiss you as if making up for something. All those years, you could have been doing this. Maybe you do have some regrets.

The material of his dress shirt feels expensive but clothes are not what you need right now. His phone rings once but he drags a finger over it to reject the call, his mouth still pressing against your collarbone. The only sounds you hear are rugged breathing and you fumbling with the buttons of his shirt as you pull it over his shoulders. The city lights below you reach through the drawn curtains, all the unrelenting complicacies left behind in those faraway streets.

Jaehyun makes a sound of annoyance at the phone ringing yet again. He breaks apart from you, receiving the call while his fingers massage his temple.

“Hyung, I’m fine. I’ll talk to you later—”

“I was just wondering where you disappeared and you don’t even grace me with a hello?” Johnny’s voice rings clear in the all too silent bedroom.

“Hyung—”

“Wait a minute.” There’s a pause within which Jaehyun seems to tense up. “Are you fucking? Like did you leave the party to get la—”

“Hyung. I’m hanging up.” 

The coral pink spread over his ears is almost as pretty as the look of pure annoyance over his face.

“That—”

“Didn’t happen,” you complete, giggling. If someone were to tell you’d be seeing Jaehyun like this a few months ago, you wouldn’t know whether to be embarrassed or exhilarated.

You place your hand at the nape of his neck, pulling him into another kiss.

Sex is barely ever beautiful—even if it’s Jung Yoonoh over you, planting kisses from your mouth to jaw, neck to chest and whispering sweet, delicious words against each part. He certainly knows how to use that tongue of his, better than you’d expect from a boy so pristine.

It doesn’t matter if it’s not beautiful, when it’s just like a slow dance—in shared solace and love out of time. You bite your lips to stop smiling too often for it to feel as serious and indifferent as all the other times. Sometimes you feel Jaehyun grinning into the crook of your neck, the giddiness of love taking over the movement of your hips against his. The perfect anatomy of his, paired with his candied words makes you think that maybe you do fit together.

Jaehyun pushes into you at a steady pace, your fingers digging into his back and over his shoulder blades only to draw out sounds more pleasing to your ears. You let someone else take charge for once, his praising whispers of ‘that’s my baby’ or ‘you just look so good’ far too teasing but he follows through, your body barely able to respond apart from shaking and shuddering till you reach your high. 

The sound of skin against skin dies down well into the night and you get cleaned, still blissed out from making the summit of all your senses. It’s warm inside, despite turning the air conditioner on.

“Jaehyun,” you call, lowering yourself to press a quick kiss to his lips. 

“Hm?” He gives you a drowsy smile, arm under his head and hair sticking to his forehead funny.

“Did you really not hate me? Not even once?” You rest your cheek against your palm as you lie beside him.

Even under the dim lights, it’s not hard to spot the blush on him when he positively glows. Jaehyun reminds you of warm auburn and the touch of cool satin—it’s easy to make things, find inspiration in love.

“Oh my god, you were lying!” you accuse, sitting up straight. “There’s no way you didn’t hate me. I called your modeling as good as a coconut’s!”

“As you so love to remind me,” he mumbles.

There’s a brief moment before the two of you crack up, his deep laughter perfectly mismatched with yours. There’s hardly many sounds on the eighteenth floor, but maybe you’ve always been yearning for this privacy—this proximity in shared laughter and warm touches. 

“No, I didn’t,” Jaehyun answers your question after it’s quiet once again. “I thought...I think you’re…”

Jaehyun trails off, his eyes flickering over your face before fixing on your lips as his own tug into a smile. He gulps. “I think we’d be in trouble if the paparazzi saw us throwing choice words at each other, don’t you think? You were barely out of school then.”

“Me?” You laugh. “You were thinking about me?”

“And a little bit about me.” 

You fall asleep against Jaehyun’s chest with the certainty of kinder tomorrows, a thing he teaches you through whispers against the pillow and fingers playing with your hair. There’s something private in the way he holds your face, something delicate and homely running from his long fingers to his flushed knuckles and the rest of his hand as it presses against your cheek. It’s warm here, and safe, and maybe home is where the heart is, after all.

“Really? You’re not even a little bit sad I’m leaving?” you ask, placing your hand over your heart. “Who’s going to help you when you’re getting bullied in the workplace now?”

Doyoung huffs in annoyance, placing the box down beside the moving truck. “You’re the only one who bullies me in the workplace.”

You adjust the ugly baseball cap on your head, the one Jaehyun had pulled over your head in an attempt to stop you from complaining about his messy apartment. You hadn’t realized you’d worn it all the way to Seoul till the articles about your questionable choice of accessories had surfaced.

“Your boyfriend’s calling,” Doyoung says, making a face as he picks your phone up from the box near him. “I can’t even believe this. All those years of flirting and—”

You snatch it from him, glaring at him for the choice of words. He raises his hands defensively, rolling his eyes at your sudden movement.

“Are you sure you don’t want me flying to Seoul?”

“Unless you’re planning to work in a truck rental.”

You hear Jaehyun laugh on the other side of the line. Is it normal to have blood rush straight from your chest to your ears at the sound of laughter? You hope that doesn’t change.

You’d visited him a day before your flight. It hasn’t been all that long but Jaehyun certainly makes it out to be, just so he can use his cheesy one-liners. You try not to smile thinking about how he had flung his hair band out, immediately tousling his hair back into a pretty mess and struggling to keep a straight face when you’d visited out of the blue. Jaehyun wakes up at one in the afternoon when his schedule is empty and it had appalled you enough to help him out with basic chores before you left. (It didn’t end well. He kept putting his chin on your shoulder and sneaking his arms around you while you did the dishes.)

“(name)? (name), are you daydreaming again?” 

You sigh. “You can’t wait three more days, Jae? It’s, what, one in the morning there!”

“Do you want me saying something cheesy?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I don’t think I can sleep without waking up to your face.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, unable to grace him with a response. The dreamy languor in his voice is more than recognizable and if you’re not mistaken, he’s going to be saying something highly inappropriate.

“Do you know what dream I had last night?” he asks, the smile almost evident with how suggestive it sounds.

“Jaehyun, no,” you warn before lowering your voice. “I swear if it’s another dirty dream—”

“Come home and I’ll tell you all about it. With demonstrations.”

This time you can’t help the laughter, trying to mask it with a cough only to fail. You push the back of your hand against your cheek in order to soothe the involuntary blush. Your perfume smells just like him, and you realize suddenly why he’d gifted it to you.

“That definitely makes me want to leave faster,” you quip.

“I certainly hope so.”

It’s different now, especially if you remember your feelings just last February. Change feels easy for the first time in your life. You check off your list of items, counting the boxes as they’re lifted onto the truck. It took a good amount of thinking, and a bunch of fights before you could decide. New York isn’t so bad. Not when you have reason to be there. You’d like to call it love.

A list of things you do appreciate: Jung Yoonoh. Jaehyun. Whatever.

#jaehyun scenarios #nct scenarios #neowritingsnet #cznnet #jaehyun smut #nct jaehyun #nct imagines #jaehyun imagines #nct 127 scenarios #nct fluff #nct smut #nct 127 imagines #jaehyun x reader #nct x reader #jaehyun fluff #nct 127 x reader #really nervous about posting this bc it's so out of my comfort zone #anyway shoutout to bestdressed on youtube aka the only fashion vlogger who wouldnt bully me #reader has 'feminine' qualities but they have no explicitly stated gender so make what you will #moonwrites #tw: anxiety

[four-bastard-bustle]

Dark Nate give us the forbidden Matt family lore

okay so bascially remember how i said that matt is directly related to the british royal family, in this hc au he's a direct descendant of prince matthew(the second) from saloonatics

the lore is that as king matthew(the first) was aging his vanity made him get insanely paranoid. he absolutely refused to accept his impending death, just hated the very concept. "luckily" for him, at some point the necronomicon was discovered and researchers figured out it can both take away AND put the zombie curse on people but it's cast on like entire areas, not individual people. sort of a cursed blast type situation.

king matthew, of course, didn't give a shit about the finer details, he just saw an opportunity to keep living and immediately took it. in fact, he declared his whole family was to be """"blessed"""" with eternal life. him, his wife and children went to a small town filled with random peasants and the newly hired royal necromancer put the zombie curse on them. this all happens a good while after saloonatics, hence why prince matthew || still looks young n pretty in saloonatics. but either way, the Harks get to live forever now.

(side note, the town full of peasants also became full of zombies when the curse was cast and that's just been left to fester because neither the royal family or the government really care, so there's just tons of zombies and zombie towns throughout great brittain, like bittenborough from zombeh attack 1. they just recommend you avoid those towns, and zombies are treated a bit like your average pests infesting homes. something something the ruling class doesn't value their subjects something something social commentary) this is the perfect outcome for the members of the royal family!

Except of course not. The longer the zombie curse goes on, the more is fucks you up, seems like a no brainer but of course king matthew | didnt consider that. he's horrified to realise that his beautiful appearance becomes ghoulish, his body is becoming weaker and harder to move by the day, the daily 3 hour anti-aging cream and make-up plastering routine is becoming so draining, he cant even fucking TALK anymore since his vocal chords shriveled up, and since he had the curse cast on him instead of spread through biting he doesnt get the luxury of reaching the final stage of being a skeleton (like matt will), he has to be the "patient zero" forever (side note about the zombie curse; if you get bitten and your brain gets eaten, thats when you become full on brain-dead but if you just got hit with the curse or regularly bitten your brain stays pretty much perfectly intact and you get to watch yourself decay). and he's fucking sick of it. it's only been 100 years but being immortal has become unbearable for him.

so he goes to his youngest descendant, prince matthew IV, matt's father, who's not affected by the zombie curse because the royal family went "okay wait we'll make you unable to have children AFTER youve had children" in order to actually properly preserve their legacy. he had a very simple request written down on a piece of paper: "take me to the necronomicon so i can die, and i will leave you the royal throne". of course matthew IV took the oppertunity without hesitating, thats a free ascention to the title of king!

so he took his decaying great-great-great-great-great-grandfather to the neceronomicon, it's been laying around in some cemetary because the royal necromancer hasnt been using it for ages. easy peasy, matthew | opens the book and SWEET JESUS WHAT IS THAT

for his crimes against humanity, colonialisation, plundering, international warfare and inability to accept death, His Royal Highness King Matthew | is damned to the deepest level of hell for all eternity.

Matthew IV is understandably absolutely terrified, severely traumatised, and does the first thing he can think of(and the dumbest): He grabs the corpse, runs up to his parents, and tells them what happened in excruciating detail, to which they tell the rest of the royal family, to which the horror quickly dawns on everyone. they will all be damned to hell. their patriarch has been sent to hell! DID YOU SAY THE DEEPEST LEVEL? LIKE?? THE WORST TORTURE YOU CAN RECIEVE??? everyone is horrified and panicking and it manifests in an absolute avalanche of fury against prince matthew IV.

and that's why matt is an asshole whos always trying to be the greatest around, not just to earn his place back in the royal family but also to finally make papa proud

him, his wife and baby son are immediately cast out of and disowned from the royal family. he BARELY managed to haggle himself out of being banished from the country. almost all of their wealth is taken as well, since it belongs to a royal family they've been exiled from. matt grows up in like middle class standards, perhaps upper middle, but his father would always be ranting and raving about how they don't even get to have a servant anymore. it plants some fucked up standards and expectations in matt's head

but either way, matt's parents and him have been cast out of the royal family, and that's why matt's dad has hammered it into his head 1. to never ever ever ever EVER EVER NEVER EVER use the necronomicon under ANY circumstances EVER (hence why he stayed a zombie while tord immediately got rid of the curse) and 2. somehow, matthew IV doesnt know how, but SOMEHOW, his son is GOING to get them back into the royal family. he has to.

#honestly i should be publically executed for not having revealed this crucial worldbuilding lore sooner #cause this is pretty much THE most imporatnt worldbuilding headcanon i have #eddsworld #ew matt #nae art #yeah im putting this in the main tag #fuck you you WILL look at my matt family headcanons #blog essentials

[written-in-knife]

MC with tics (All Characters)

I was ticking at work and thought of this! I don’t think I’ve seen anyone else do one of these, so I figured I’d do one. Remember, everyone with tics has different experiences and these are mostly based on mine, this isn’t meant to be offensive in any way to anyone. And this is my first headcanon post! Hope you like it!

WARNING: Tic mentions, mostly vague descriptions of tics, mentions of self harm during tic attacks

--

Lucifer

He tries his best, he really does

Tries very hard to treat you like anyone else no matter what you say or do

But sometimes he just cannot ignore a tic

He knows you can't help when and what you tic

But that doesn't stop him from at least lecturing you now and then when you say the wrong thing at the wrong time

"I understand you cannot control your tics, but you cannot say Lord Diavolo has large breasts when he is in the room!"

Knows he can't help very much during a tic attack, especially if he's busy, but will immediately get someone who can help if you need it

Will check up on you afterwards, whether you want to talk about it or want a distraction from the fact that it happened, he's there

Reminds you his office is open for you if you just need a quiet place to go at any point

Mammon

Made fun of you when you first showed up

He feels awful about it now but your tics still make him laugh sometimes

And does get annoyed by the clicking and whistling sometimes

He's alright to go to during a tic attack

He'll try his best to make sure you don't hurt yourself and provide distractions

And he will absolutely wait it out with you the whole way through

Appalled when you tell him he can just leave you alone during attacks

"What? Do ya not want help from the GREAT MAMMON?"

Actually terrified to leave you by yourself during attacks, but will very reluctantly leave if you insist during one

Will defend you to the death, literally if he has to, if someone is making fun of you

Leviathan

I headcanon him as having anxiety based tics that flare up when he's stressed or excited

The two of you "call and respond" with your tics so often the others will separate you if you're not in either of your rooms

You have absolutely developed anime based tics because of this boi

He's one of the best, if not the best, to call when you're having a tic attack

He makes sure you're comfortable and brings fidget items and distractions and will try his best to gently stop you if any of your tics inflict self harm

May have to leave though if your tics start triggering his own or vice versa

Will gift you fidget items that have helped him, most of them are anime themed, of course

Satan

He read up on tics when Lucifer told everyone you had them

Knew partially from Levi, but since he mostly keeps to himself, he didn't look into the finer details

He knows in theory what to do and what not to do

But this boy is absolutely not into it at first

You best not be near him when he's already pissed off or reading

Your clicks and whistles when he's trying to read irritates him to the point where he will relocate himself out of the HoL if he has to just to finish a chapter

He tries his best not to take it out on you, he knows you cant help it, but he has snapped at you a handful of times

Will absolutely pass you off to someone else if you start having a tic attack

But will check up on you when its over with a cup of tea and an apology

Asmodeus

Has a love-hate relationship with your tics

Most of the time he finds them great, some of them are hilarious and you gave him permission to laugh if they're funny and no one is getting hurt

Other times you say something about him that he doesn't like

Or you end up hurting yourself! And neither of those will do.

Tries his best to help during tic attacks but he doesn't really know what to do

Will try to follow your instructions but will probably end up calling for help from someone else or just waiting with you quietly nearby

You have developed lots of tics because of him including "I love you" and "Your hair is shit"

Like I said, love-hate relationship.

Beelzebub

I headcanon him as being the brother whos closest to Levi, so he's way more used to it than the others

He's the one most likely to copy your tics. Not to be mean, just because some of the noises you make are fun and he likes them

Will immediately stop and never do it again if you ask him not to though

Sweet sunshine boy tries his hardest to help during tic attacks but doesn't exactly know what to do

If any of your tics inflict self harm during an attack he will just try to hold you to make you stop

Will be the quickest to apologize if he triggers a tic

Will also be the quickest to come to your defense if someone is making fun of you at RAD

No matter how much he reacts or responds to them, he's probably the least bothered by your tics and is the easiest to hang out with

Belphegor

Another one who absolutely was not into it at first

He tries his best not to react to your tics but sometimes he's tired or irritated and your tics just annoy him

He will just silently remove himself from the room, even if you're the only two in that room

Is very glad to find out you don't tic in your sleep and it won't interrupt your shared nap time

He will also pass you off to literally anyone else during a tic attack

But he will leave his pillow with you during it

When you find him after the attack to return his pillow, he demands cuddles and a nap because you probably need one right? You deserve one, anyway.

Absolutely delighted when he discovers a tic that annoys Lucifer and will very subtly try to trigger ones he knows will set the eldest off

Diavolo

He find you absolutely fascinating

Asks so many questions about your condition, why tics happen, what they feel like, why you can't control them, how many humans have tics

You were very cautious about being around him when you first arrived at the Devildom, you didn't want to embarrass yourself or Lucifer

Until you had a wild new tic during a visit with him

Asmo had asked you what you thought of Lord Diavolo

And your tics responded for you with "he's got some tig ol biddies"

You thought Lucifer was going to pop a blood vessel

Luckily Diavolo did not know what "tig ol biddies" were

Unluckily he kept asking Lucifer to define the phrase for him

You got a hefty lecture that night

But Diavolo finds you delightful and that’s what counts, right?

Barbatos

Is the least concerned about your normal ticking

No matter what you say, what sounds you make, what gestures you make, what you do

As long as you're not hurting yourself, he will absolutely just treat you like everyone else

Doesn't even have to ask which phrases are tics and which aren't, he just knows

Was around for the "tig ol biddes" tic

You only saw it for a split second, maybe it was a trick of the light, but he cracked an amused smile at it

Another good one to go to if you're having a tic attack

He'll make you comfortable and bring you anything you need, but he won't stick around, he has work to do

He'll check in on you though, call for someone if you want, and be there for you once its over

Solomon

Other than Levi, understands the most about tics

He's lived in the human realm for a long time, you can't tell me he hasn't encountered other people with tics

Is the most likely to jokingly respond to your tics

"Your hair is shit!" "Then pay for my haircut."

Will offer magical assistance (experimental) to lessen your tics

Will immediately call Simeon if he even suspects a tic attack coming on

He'll wait it out with the two of you, but he doesn't want to try to help you by himself

Has some real snarky comments for anyone making fun of you at RAD

Simeon

Would be the least concerned about your tics if it weren't for the cussing

As an angel, he's almost required to clutch his pearls and give you a look when he hears some of the colorful phrases that come out of your mouth

He doesn't say anything since he knows you can't help it

Another good one to go to if you're having a tic attack

He will absolutely get you anything you need and make you as comfortable as possible

Very patiently waits it out with you and comforts you when you get frustrated

Had a moment of internal panic when you developed one of Levi's TSL tics

Luke

Has nearly as many questions as Diavolo; what are they, why do they happen, how long have you had them, why do you say that

Needs Simeon supervision to be around you, just in case

Gets his ears covered a lot, but still ends up asking what some of your more… explicit phrases mean

After a long time of being friends with the young angel, he finally convinced you to bake with him, despite your insistence that it was not a good idea

But you both had a lot of fun with it! Even with the mess the two of you had to deal with afterwards!

Your hands were clean, it didn't matter too much that you dipped your finger in the batter and dragged in across his forehead while saying "Simba"

Didn't get the reference anyway, which did prompt a good movie night

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me mc #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me solomon #obey me simeon #obey me luke #obey me hcs #knifes hcs #mine

[ciceroballtorture]

sofiaaaa my bright spark of truth and wisdom, as the resident yennefer expert i wanted to ask what your intellectual opinion is on her various portrayals (books, show and vg) and how well you think each adaptation has served her!

so fhdhdjd the big caveat is that I dont remember the books all *too* well in their finer details

that being said i do think the books are what trumps most other adaptations lmao. they just have The Range when it comes to interesting dynamics for her to cycle through; to name a few: bitter exes with geralt + being somebody's Great Love but also being desperately dysfunctional while being together and hopelessly Not Meant to Last + being ride or die for her adoptive ward + deeply antagonistic professional relationships with esteemed collegues while also being along for the ride in all-female club for political world domination.

And while the short stories have the focus on her relationship with geralt, so she is more love interest than coprotagonist as in the rest of the series, they do allow her complexities and dont recriminate her as most other fantasy would; like in the last wish she wants power and while she cant get it you dont see that dany argument of 'she was wrong to want it'; or when she entertains two relationships (one with geralt, the other with istredd) at the same time and then fucks off bc she got commitment issues lmao it doesnt become a big plot point later on of having to amend when geralt is pretty much a manwhore himself.

what i do have to say is that the more the actual series goes on, around book 3 out of 5, the scope moves from geralt and pals to the fate of the world is in the balance and she gets really de-prioritised in the face of other characters which is :////. tho admittedly i appreciate the series for having her be more a coprotagonist than a love interest in actual page time (she and geralt are together, as in not physically apart, for abt 2 books out of 5) and the rest of the time she has meaningful relationships with other ppl, mostly women too. (ie: ciri tissaia, philippa, fringilla, the rest of the lodge too to a lesser extent) while doing her own thing.

also i personally find the entire 'are they bound by fate and thats why they keep coming back or are they just, naturally, each other's IT regardless of the jinn' subtext the books have very appealing dhdbs

i think the games are second bc they just have problems when it comes to how they developed the trilogy. fhdhd mostly bc of triss tbh. like they dont mention yen AT ALL for two games, so when she does come around in the third, i feel like her standing as 'theeee Great Love of Geralts life' even if they are not together doesnt come across as well.

also, another problem coming from the framing of geralt as the protagonist is that yens role is tied to geralt and ciri and what they decide to do, thus limiting her interactions with other characters as well (not saying i was gunning for yen+philippa but yes). in terms of arc, im just not that much of a fan of the ending :/// i think it tried to be too much that conventional 'lets settle down with a house and occasionally the kids come to visit' that i dont think it suits her (or geralt) all too well. like i get that the world almost ending puts a spin on ones priorities but eh :( why be so conventional abt it

that being said they do get the spirit of the love of my life so they get a certain amount of points, and i do enjoy how they chose to tackle the entire the last wish redux quest bc either solution is actually a pretty interesting way to view the relationship

idk wtf the show is on abt tbh. like its so weird to see scenes i remember from the books but that either miss the punch of them all or seem to just Not Get It. like what is the point of introducing istredd, whose existence is tied to that one short story where he appears, if they do not plan to adapt the short story? especially since they planned on expanding yens role in the story with filler but they also decide to cut the few short stories where she appears? like make it make sense

also im extremely peeved bc the idea of showing her academy phase is good in theory, but in practice it doesnt seem to respect narrative economy. like, in theory, the academy phase could be 1) good setup for the rest of the lodge members (PHILIPPA, margarita, sabrina, sheila etc) and how they impact her as teachers/collegues but ??? the show is like why dont we get more istredd scenes (who is, I repeat, described by yen as a casual relationship, deeper for him than it ever was for her, and doesnt even appear in the main series). 2) good to juxtapose how she was taught and how yen then subverts those teachings when it comes to ciri as an apprentice.

and tbh I feel like s1 seems to focus on goals that, yes, she pursues to some extent but willfully missing how much it impacts her as a character. like yes, she does undergo the magical equivalent of surgery to remove her disability to fit a beauty standard fostered upon her, but tbh? it isnt the be all end all for yen in the books. it just isnt the part of her arc that is most relevant. same for the wanting kids part: she wants a cure for her infertility and it does impact her relationship with ciri but the 'baby fever' crazy is two short stories out of 7 books so :/

i am not one for crazy theories but tbh I feel like the downgrade of yens interactions with other ppl in the show is due to how many of those in the source material are tied to other women but the show cannot conceptualise to expand on them, if not even make them up for the sake of foreshadowing. hence. istredd being such a relatively prominent figure. i dont hate the guy i just think hes boring and he drags yen down with him, which I cant forgive

#.ask #nectargrapes #❤❤❤❤ #chdhdhdjd okay i wrote my little meow meow thesis

[venhedish]

Has anyone asked you about 9? The wincest AU beauty and the beast retelling yet? 👀

Ooooh, lmao. I’m literally going to just paste my super messy notes about this idea directly into this post. I had this idea like a fever dream one night and I was so compelled by it, but at the same time, this is going to tread the fine line between crack and serious fiction and I'm still trying to figure out some of the finer details, so if anyone has like, thoughts about this AU verse, I’m all ears!

OK SO! can i make supernatural retelling of beauty and the beast with *one* change to the plot that creates a wild butterfly effect? Here’s the answer: yes.

The difference is just that john knew about azazel and the demon blood/lucifer vessel prophecy from the beginning. Somehow. Will have to work that bit out. But so john can't bear to be around sam and what he represents, so he ships him off to bobby where he's basically under lock and key in bobby’s panic room all the time, and bobby tries to research a way to stop what sam will eventually become. Dean grows up knowing he has a brother but has only seen him like twice as a kid. John won't talk about sam at all, too painful. He's told dean just enough to make him afraid of his little brother and hate/resent him for what he did to their family and also the fact he's a monster.

Meanwhile, sam grows up happyish but sheltered under bobby’s care. He gets even smarter through bobby’s tutelage. Anyway, at some point azazel comes back, probs on sams 18th birthday, and heres where shit gets wild. Azazel um, does something to bobby? Doesn't kill him, but maybe imprisons him (or god maybe he turns him into a piece of sentient furniture. No. i cant do that. ... can i?) and puts a curse on sam. Need to work out the exact details but it has to do with his father thinking he's a monster and sam needs to see himself the way his father does, so azazel inflicts on him all the wounds his father has inflicted on monsters over his tenure as a hunter and sam is just suddenly totally disfigured with scars. Like still kinda hot but mostly gross.

And in here somewhere Azazel tells sam he has to accept what he is. This is all a ploy to get sam to willingly become the boyking and yadda yadda. But Sam refuses, so azazel, being a stupid fucking demon, makes a deal with sam. If he can find a way to convince the brother who hates him of his humanity, azazel will undo his whole shit. But if he fails, he will give himself over to azazels plans. (something like, “Daddy’s too easy. He loved you once. A father’s love can never truly die. Dean, though. Dean-o was raised to hate you.” or wtvr) oh and also he cant leave?? I dunno lol.

Anyway. Bobby doesn't update John at some point (probably months of total isolation at this point before john starts to get worried because he’s a shit) and john finally tells dean to stay put but then he doesnt come back so then Dean goes after him and ends up at bobby’s and gets taken prisoner by Sam, desperate to break the curse and get out of the deal. Dean assumes john is a prisoner or something and begs sam to let his dad go and in return he’ll stay.

John has been … whatevered by azazel the same way bobby has, and sam promises nothing will happen to john if he stays. So he do. Anyway u no the rest snowball fights and libraries and dancing cutlery, etc. 

anyway. yes, this is unfortunately how I spew all of my fic ideas out to myself. sorry I'm like this.

#asks #my asks #samanddeaninpanties #wip ask game

[highwaytohell-a]

Wait what is ARS? Also I knew Chernobyl wasn’t exactly historically accurate but I thought it was mostly the gist of what we know happened? Is the official story too different?

ARS is acute radiation syndrome. 

well.. the answer is complicated. technically the gist of it is correct.. like yes, it blew up bc of faulty design that was kept from the plant workers, yes there was also some fault that lies with Dyatlov and his crew that night, yes the plant workers and firefighters did get radiation poisoning and die, yes the government did try to keep it as a secret, or more accurately tried to keep people as much in dark about everything related to chernobyl as possible, yes legasov did commit suicide. 

but the finer details...

you must already know ulyanna was a fictional character based on all the scientists working with legasov. but the thing is no one went on days long mission, interrogating plant workers, trying to find out what is it that caused the explosion. the scientists figured it out in 36 hours or so, legasov himself was already aware of the faulty design.

legasov was not a whistleblower, giving a brave testimony at court about what caused the explosion. he wasn’t even a part of the chernobyl trials. yes he gave a testimony in austria but he kept the truth to himself (which he later regretted), he killed himself (after failing once before tho some sources say he tried twice) bc he lost all credibility, he lost his position at the uni he worked, no one had much of respect for him anymore after chernobyl and what is more, they were denying his accomplishments at chernobyl as well. the thing is legasov was never the sole figure leading things at chernobyl, he had a sort of rival  Evgeny Velikhov, so other scientists kind of took sides. and in the following years most of his accomplishments would be denied and creditied to velikhov and that especially drove him mad. he tried to publish an article suggesting safety regulations for other rbmk reactors but it was denied. so all these stuff just added up to his suicidal tendency. so yea technically he did commit suicide partly to bring attention to safety regulations etc. but mostly bc his life was totally ruined and he was v sick as well. 

the thing with ARS is that its portrayal is kinda iffy. no people didnt bleed when they come into contact with radioactive surfaces; they were not contagious, radiation is internalized so once a person is showered and their clothes are changed they are not dangerous to anyone. the make up look that they gave the patients was very overly done. that is not what ARS patients look like. yea their hair falls off their skin flakes and changes color they develop ulcers and gangrenes but they do not have that bloody, white fleshy look. also show makes it look like most of those ppl were goners. in fact 175 ppl out of 204 had their radiation poisoning reversed, so most of them actually survived. and these 204 only include the plant workers and fire brigade.. not like actual citizens of pripyat. civilians did not suffer from ARS. they especially say at the end of the show “no one who watched the fire from the bridge survived”. please. most of them survived. only a few of them died from cancer later. 

yes there is a spike in cancer rates among the ppl who are from the affected zones and liquidators but world health organization cant strictly prove that two are correlated (altho i would personally say that statistics are rly hard to dismiss) dyatlov was not the villain show made him out to be. neither fomin or burkhanov. was dyatlov strict? did ppl fear him? sure. but he was also respected as a professional and he was not a heartless monster.

lyudmilla’s baby did not absorb radiation from vasily.. that is scientifically not possible. the problem with inaccuracies is that they used Chernobyl Prayer as a main source (it is an amazing book i def recommend it) it is a book of first person witness accounts. which is like great. but they did not have scientific guidance. at least not in terms of radiation poisoning and such. yea lyudmilla herself says in the book that ‘doctors told me baby absorbed the radiation she was already born w radiation in her body.’ but that is about it. there is no proof. which was kinda irresponsible for them put in the show bc needless abortions were a huge thing after chernobyl. they estimate that hundreds of thousands pregnancies were terminated out of fear of radiation related birth defects.

and then there is the whole thing with the way USSR is portrayed.. it is just.. it has a flavor of hollywood-ness to it. i would explain further but this thing is already pretty long.

if u would wanna read further, these two sources should be a good start:

https://www.historyvshollywood.com/reelfaces/chernobyl/?fbclid=IwAR0FOGEpr2QDILwJnPyiC370_PhsbU55l-z_wLVBUocSJmZEt-gJJYqnZiE https://cancerletter.com/articles/chernobyl/?fbclid=IwAR1Yp8i3v1TwKeERjg4malQP5AT7T6j_DVg6xm-QjAlb_PAMjspzAMmH9u0

#Anonymous #you ask i answer

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

"Keith!" 

Slamming his bloody hands down against the castle wall, Keith didn't even head Shiro yelling his name. He was so angry and hurt that all he felt was pain, and the pain felt good. It felt real. It felt solid and it was what he needed. As far as he could remember, he and Lance had never fought like that, even before they were together. They'd never fought in a way that cut so deep. Even a knife to the heart would hurt less

"Keith, stop!"

Before his hands could hit the wall again, a strong arm wrapped around his waist and hefted him on his feet. Snarling and scratching at his captors arms, his heart was pounding so hard and loudly his head throbbed in response

"Krolia, help me with him"

"Let me go!"

"Keith"

"Let me the fuck go!"

As his bloody hands slipped from Shiro's arm, his mother grabbed his wrists. Howling in anger, he kicked out, hitting her in the stomach, but failing to dislodge her. If anything, her grip tightened

"Keith! Calm down!"

"Get off of me!"

"Krolia..."

"Don't let him go"

"I said get off!"

"What do we do? Do we get Lance?"

Lance. Yeah right. Like he would care. For some reason the thought of Lance caring was just about the funniest thing in the universe. Laughter bubbled up, and fell from his lips in a half twisted screech 

"You think Lance cares? Lance and I are over!"

"Keith, what do you mean? What happened?!"

"He wants to die! He never gave a shit about me or our kids! He just wants to fucking die!"

"That's not true..."

"Then why did fuck Lotor? Why did he fuck Shiro? You're the one who told me about it?! Why mum?! If he loved me..."

The crack that sounded as his mother slapped his face left him stunned. Spitting the blood from his mouth, he snarled at the woman

"He's the one who tried to break our bond. Guess what mum? Your son's a fucking failure! I couldn't even keep my own fated omega from wanting to fuck everyone else!"

"Keith, calm down. I'm sure there's an explanation"

"Yeah. That he never wanted me to begin with. He tried to tell me and I never fucking listened!"

"Shiro, get him out of here. I don't care where you take him. Keith, I am so beyond disappointed in you right now"

"Good! Walk away! Walk away and forget me like you did before! I never meant anything to you! I never meant anything to anyone"

Releasing her hold on his wrist, Krolia looked him up and down

"You need to cool your head before you say or do something you regret!"

"I regret ever being born!"

Shiro's arm tightened around his waist, the alpha beginning to walk down the hall. Even with one arm, he couldn't compete with the crushing hold around his waist. But at least it was pain, and pain was better than nothing at all.

 Carrying him into the training hall, Shiro threw him down on the mats. Pushing himself up, he launched himself at the alpha 

"When did you become her dog?"

Clumsy from blood loss and fatigue, the punch he threw at Shiro was easily dodge, and returned with a knee to his gut. Dropping to the floor, he coughed as his fingers tried to find purchase 

"Get up!"

"Fuck off!"

"Get up Keith!"

Looking up at Shiro, he spat towards him

"You've always liked looking down on us. Haven't you? Always acting like you're so much better than the rest of us"

Pushing himself up, he rolled his neck slowly as he shook his hands

"I'm so sick of you"

"At the moment, the feelings mutual"

Lashing out again, he roundhouse kicked Shiro as hard as he could. Catching his leg, Shiro flipped him, and Keith ended up face first on the mats again

"Get up Keith!"

"Why? You've already taken everything from me!"

"What? What have I taken from you? Lance? At the moment you aren't even fit to lick his shoes"

Scrambling up, he kept his stance low as he drove his shoulder into Shiro, sending them both toppling onto the floor

"How dare you say his name!? He's my mate!"

"Then why aren't you with him? Do you know how lonely he was without you? But you couldn't even call him! You didn't even help him with your own son's"

"He didn't want me!"

"Of course he did! You know Lance! He tries his hardest until he falls apart, but you know, he did so well when you were gone. He was eating, and dancing and smiling. Maybe you can't make him happy"

Grabbing Shiro by the collar, Keith straddled his lap. Lifting Shiro up, he slammed him down to the floor, over and over

"You stay the fuck away from him! You can't make him happy!"

"Of course I can't! You're the one he's in love with! You're the one he's been in love with since before he even admitted he was an omega! But all you did was kick him down. Then bam. He presented and suddenly he was your everything! Every time he chased after you, you had nothing nice to say, but he kept trying. That's what he does! And if he's picked a fight with you, then you know he's gotta have a quiznakking good reason for it!"

Releasing his hold on Shiro's collar, the alpha dropped to the floor with a groan 

"He wants to die"

"It's been a long time since Lance has wanted to die"

"He has a plan to save Pidge, but it means putting his own life at risk..."

Keith's anger dropped away, tears from and raced down his face. With a mournful howl he slid from Shiro's lap, so he kneeling beside him. Covering his face with his bloodied hands, he screamed into them. He didn't want Lance to die. He wanted his happy beautiful mate by his side. Climbing up from the floor, Shiro wrapped his arm around him, guiding him against his chest. It'd been so long that Keith had forgotten what it'd been like to be friends with Shiro. Rubbing his shoulder, Shiro buried his face in Keith's hair 

"It's just a plan. It's not reality. We're not going to do anything until we've all talked about it. Now, have you calmed down enough for me to look at your hands?"

"They're fine"

"They're bleeding"

"It's fine. I deserve this"

"I doubt Lance would be happy that you think that"

"You don't know what was said"

"No I don't. I know you still don't like me for what happened, but you can at least let me clean your hands up. You can't see Lance like this"

Sniffling, Keith nodded. He needed to see Lance and apologise. Even if his omega didn't want him anymore, he had to make sure he knew he was sorry.

 With both his hands cleaned up, Keith eyes his bruised and swollen knuckles. He was definitely going to be feeling it once the adrenaline coursing through him faded. It was a disgusting mess, and one he still felt he deserved. Shiro had wanted to bandage them, but he wouldn't let him. Some part of him still wanted Lance to know how much he'd hurt him, and his alpha was in complete agreement. Letting Shiro lead the way, they'd made their way to the kitchen. He didn't particularly want to see anyone, and being this close to Shiro was messing with his head. Keith honestly just wanted to find Lance, apologise and then take a long ride in Black, but that wasn't his things were going to play out.

 Entering the kitchen, Allura, Hunk and his mother was there. He couldn't deny he didn't feel both disappointed and relieved at Lance's absence 

"Have you cooled down?"

Nodding at his mother, he wrapped his arms around his waist in a very Lance way

"Good. Now come have something to eat. Allura and Hunk have been telling me about this plan Lance came up with"

"Where..."

Clearing his throat, Keith tried to rid the softness from his voice 

"Where's Lance?"

"He's in the games room with the pups. I'm making him something to eat when he wakes up"

Looking to the door, it was so tempting to flee 

"Keith, Lance told us about his plan. I know you don't like it, but if we figure out the finer details, we might be able to help Pidge"

"Did he tell you he's fine with dying?"

His tone was dripping with bitterness

"Keith, Lance doesn't want to die"

"You could have fooled me"

"He said so himself. He wants to live. He wants to be with you and the pups. Now sit down before you fall down"

Crossing to the empty stool, Keith sank down. Taking his hand, his mother laid it flat on the counter in front of them

"They're not as bad as I expected"

"I deserve it"

"Perhaps"

"I'll get you some ice for them"

"It's fine Allura. Let's just talk about what we're going to do"

"Hunk, Krolia and I have all been scanned for signs of infection, we're clean"

"That's something..."

"And as Lance was with you, you're both more than likely to be clean which means we just need to check Coran and Shiro"

"And then what?"

"We call Lotor. Even if he loans us a sample of pure quintessence, we should be able to lure the black goop from Pidge"

"How do we trap it?"

"We know Honerva trapped it before, using Altean technology..."

"She's not exactly going to help us"

"I know you don't want to hear it, but Lance did have a point. He has the  strongest Bayard of all us"

"I know he does. I also know he's likely to take a risk, even if there's a chance it won't pan out. I didn't mean to make it seem like Pidge isn't important, but we do need to think about everyone on this castle. Especially since we don't know what exactly caused the infection"

"See. That's all you had to say. You don't have to be so angry"

Shooting his mother a glare, he looked back down at his hand

"So we contact Lotor and get the sample. We also need to take the castle offworld so we don't risk the Olkari..."

"I can stay behind with the sample..."

"No you cant Allura. You're the only one who can fly the castle"

"Then I will"

"Mum..."

"No, I'm Galra. Even if I'm infected, I should be able to withstand long enough to notify you"

"How do we get Pidge out the pod and to the quintessence without putting anyone in danger"

Humming, Hunk suddenly slammed his hands down 

"Hunk?!"

"Pidge was rebuilding a sentry, or even better, if Lotor will lend us one, we don't need anyone physically on the castle. We get the sentry to handle the pure quintessence"

"We don't know what will happen to its systems. They might be overloaded by the power of the quintessence"

"If we use the container the quintessence is in, it won't even have to touch it. Or we can attach it to the sentry and have it move through the ship. If we can get it to the airlock, we can just flush it into space and destroy it out there with Voltron"

"Hunk, how confident are you with your reprogramming skills?"

"I'm not as good as Pidge, but with Matt's help..."

"So it comes down to Lotor..."

"He owes us a favour. If it wasn't for Lance, he'd still be stuck down in that rift with Shiro"

"Thanks"

"I didn't mean anything by it..."

"Lance said he felt like this would work. It was his "feeling" that lead us to Shiro and Lotor... I think we need to trust in this plan of his"

Keith swallowed as he nodded

"If someone has to stay behind, I'll do it. It's my job as the Black Paladin to protect our team"

"I could..."

"Shiro, you only have one arm. What happens if you need both of them?"

Snorting, Shiro shook his head 

"I still beat you with one arm, and you were verging on going feral"

"Keith, Buddy, you need to stop going feral when it comes to Lance"

"I can't help it. You know what was said"

"I do. And you both had valid points, and I know he was trying to push you away, but that doesn't make it ok"

"Do you think he's ok?"

"I think he's asleep, and I think if you wake him, it's not going to be pretty"

"He's going to yell at me again?"

"I'm going to yell at you"

"Allura, you and Shiro contact Lotor. Remind him about the rift if you have to. Mum, can I trust you to take a look at them work Pidge was doing without getting infected?"

"I don't plan on dying any time soon"

"I'll take that as a yes. Hunk..."

"Hunk will be here figuring out what to do with all these cookies"

"Thanks. I'm going to check in on Lance, and then Shiro, Coran and I will meet in the medical bay for our scans. Once they've come back clean, we'll send message to Matt, as well as to Ryner and inform her of what's happening here..."

"Don't forget dinner is mandatory"

"And it can wait until we've left Olkarion..."

"Keith... you can't mess with my food, man"

"I'm not messing with your food, I'm just delaying dinner a few vargas so we can get everything organised"

"Hunk, just call us when dinner is ready"

"Will do, Shiro"

 Parting from the others, Keith headed down to the games room alone. His mother had forced to him eat before letting him off, and the meal of cookies wasn't sitting well in his stomach. As the alpha walked, he tried to play out all the different conversations. Lance didn't want him to let him go, even if he had to yell at him, but yelling in front of the pups... he could not do that again. It was horrible and they didn't deserve to hear it.

 The door to the games room appeared far too soon for Keith's liking. The feeling in his stomach had only gotten worse and now it felt a thousand butterflies were trapped inside. One or two butterflies he could handle. When Lance laughed or smiled genuinely, they always seemed to pop up, but this... this wasn't a nice feeling at all. Placing his hand on the door pad, he nearly let out a laugh as the door opened, and the first thing he heard was a long snore. Lance was sleeping. He didn't have to worry about what he was going to say, because his mate was asleep and he was too much of a coward to wake him. Walking over to the bed, he sank down on the edge, examining Lance's sleeping face. He was pale, and exhausted, but there was a smile on his lips... one Keith chose to believe was for him. Letting his eyes roam his omegas form, he found Lance's jacket had hiked up to expose his hip and part of his snail trail. Reaching out, his fingers hovered over Lance's hip, before he finally shook his head, and pulled his mates jacket down for him. Even if he wanted to touch Lance, Lance probably didn't feel the same way anymore. With a heavy heart, he rose to his feet, gathering up as the closest blanket as he did. Laying it over Lance, he made sure his mates shoulders were covered, before finally crumbling slightly. Running his fingers over Lance's soft brown hair, he smiled at the running joke it'd become between them. They still hadn't cut each other's hair, and Lance's had hit they awkward not long, but too long to call short stage. Nuzzling his pillow in his sleep, Lance let out a sleepy huff

"Keith..."

It was like Keith had been shocked. Yanking his hand back, he stumbled away from the bed before fleeing. He wasn't ready to talk to Lance...

  *

Having carried out his duties, Keith left Allura and Hunk in the Kitchen. Lotor had agreed to help, but only because his soldiers were dropping like flies. The emperor had used much more graceful language, almost managing to make it sound like he actually cared about them. With everyone except Pidge having come back clear, Keith now found himself stuck waiting and it didn't sit well with him. He could go back to Lance, but that ran the risk of waking his mate. He didn't want to hear the words he was sure Lance would say, "It's over", two tiny words with so much weight behind them. Lance was supposed to be his for the rest of their lives, and a few doboshes of anger had ruined everything they'd built together. The morning had been so amazing, so how had they ended up like this... yes, once again, he was back to that. The fact that when Lance had woken up, it had been just them. Just Lance and Keith. Omega and Alpha. Not mum and dad, or Black and Red Paladin's. Just the two of them in their own little world. With a jumble of feelings and no real outlet, he headed to the training room. Even if he couldn't grip a blade or a gun, he could still work out... or just wander around aimlessly until he fell down from exhaustion.

 Keith was doing just that when the door to the training room opened, and a sobbing Allura rushed inside. In her arms were one of the pups... Why did Allura have him?! And why was she crying. Striding straight up to him, Allura was trembling badly as she tried to wipe the tears away with her left hand 

"Allura?"

"Keith, you should take him"

Half offering and half placing the pup in his arm, the screaming boy finally started to settle. It was really kind of hard to tell who was more upset 

"Allura, it's ok. Babies cry"

Shaking her head, she took a deep breath, but Keith caught a whiff of Lance's scent. His mate... his mate was devastated? No... it was more than that

"Allura, what happened?"

"I'm so sorry Keith..."

Grabbing her shoulder, his fingers dug into her suit

"Allura. Tell me what happened? What happened to Lance?"

"It's... it's not Lance. It's Kelance"

Snarling, he leant right in

"What happened to my son?"

"He's... he's infected"

Stumbling backwards, Keith sank down around Laneith as he tried to remember how to breathe. Kelance was infected? How? Why?

"Keith. Keith, he's alive. Lance seems to be ok, but they're putting Kelance in a pod"

"What do you mean Lance is ok?"

How could Lance be ok, when their son was dying?

"He doesn't seem to be infected"

"Where is he?"

Allura stared down at him

"Where is he?!"

Allura squeaked as he snapped at her

"In the pod room..."

"Get the castle off of Olkarion"

"Keith?"

"Get it off! I'm going to check on Lance"

"You can't... he might be carrying the black goop. He doesn't want Laneith near him"

He didn't want his own son? Was that just because of the infection or because he regretted giving birth to them? His anger and fear was robbing him of rational thought

"He's my mate!"

"Exactly! He's been with the pups. He could have been infected, and for all we know, Laneith might have too. The pups are always together, so we need to scan Laneith"

Cradling his son closer, Keith nuzzled into his chubby cheek. He felt physically sick knowing Laneith might... might die

"Right. Right... ok. Keith, is it safe to help you up, because I can feel the anger coming from you"

"I... just... let's get to the medical bay"

 Laneith really didn't like being scanned. His pup wriggled as he cried, as if trying to escape the small amount of warmth from the machine

"Keith, there's no sign of infection. I think Laneith is alright"

"Allura..."

"Look for yourself. He looks perfectly... human. I mean, if I'm reading these scans right, it's hard to tell because I only have experience really with full sized humans, and he's so tiny. I'm really sorry, I don't know why I am not able to be quiet"

"Allura, it's called relief. You're not able to be quiet because of your relief. Turn the machine off, I don't think he likes it too much"

Pulling Laneith's shirt over his chubby belly, Keith lifted him back into his hold. He was beyond relieved Laneith was alright, but Lance still needed to be scanned, and they still needed to save Kelance and Pidge... and maybe even Lance 

"I've got you. Shhh, it's alright now. Daddy's here"

"Do you think he's hungry? Is that why he's crying?"

"That would probably be part of it. He needs a nappy change too"

"The formula's in the cupboards. Shall I get it?"

"And the bottles. They need to be clean before we make the formula up. And nappies, I think there were some hidden away in here"

Would Laneith even take formula? They'd tried it before with no success, but maybe because he was older now?

"Lance insisted on keeping nappies in here, he made sure everything was stocked in case of an emergency"

Of course his mate did. Lance was an amazing mother, even on his bad days.

 From the medical room, they headed up to the Kitchen. Allura hovering as Keith went about changing Laneith. His son was somewhat calmer once his nappy had been changed, but even if his cries had quietened, he was definitely not happy

"You miss your brother and your mum, I know. I miss them too..."

"Keith, what can I do?"

"Can you sterilise the bottle and make the formula? The instructions are on the tin"

"I hope Hunk won't mind me using his kitchen"

"Allura, you're the queen. You own this castle. If anyone can use this kitchen without Hunk's supervision, it's you"

"Sometimes I forget"

How could you forget your the queen of an entire race!? Just because Allura was gentle and friendly to them all... and followed orders... ok, maybe he could see how it might on occasion slip her mind

"Allura... I don't know how to be a dad. Lance is so amazing at all of this. He's been amazing with the pups since he birthed them..."

Bustling through the kitchen, Keith could only stare down at Laneith 

"Keith, you're amazing too. You stayed with Lance as he birthed the pups, the first set of twins. You stayed with him, you held him as he cried and even though they were fathered by Shiro, you loved them like they were you own. You love your pups, and if you weren't a good dad, you wouldn't be worrying like this. You're a good person Keith. A good Paladin and a good partner to Lance. Try having some more faith in yourself"

"If only it was that easy. Lance never improved when he was with me. Yet a phoeb with Shiro and some how he's eating, sleeping and training. Maybe I shouldn't be his alpha..."

"If you keep this up, Shiro might just swoop in steal Lance away"

Keith growled at Allura's jab

"I'm joking. Lance was only trying so hard for you. Even if Shiro had feelings for Lance, it's Lance's choice and he chose you... I just put too much powder in the bottle?! Is that ok?"

"It should be fine... I don't see why not? We don't even know if he'll take it"

"Maybe we could put something sweet in it?"

"No, just the powder. Laneith, it's alright. Your Aunty Allura is making you a nice bottle right now"

Patting his son's back, Laneith's small fingers gripped his jacket. His heart skipped a beat. He couldn't imagine not having both boys, and Laneith... even if they were so tiny and ignorant to the world around them, Laneith was always with Kelance.

 Laneith really didn't like the bottle, his son firmly smooshing his lips together as Keith tried to feed him. Feeling like a failure, he tried to swallow down the lump of emotion in his throat. What was he going to do if Laneith wouldn't eat? 

"Please, you just have to try it. You'll like it, and I know you miss mummy, but you'll see him as soon as this is all over"

Still Laneith refused to take the bottle. Allura thought he could do this, but he couldn't

"Please Laneith... please, you need to eat?"

"Keith?"

Jerking his head up to look at Hunk, the alpha looked exhausted and concerned

"I... I can't get him to eat. What do I do?"

"Let me try"

Walking over to him, Hunk forced a smile as he lifted Laneith 

"Hello, I hear you're not eating"

"I thought perhaps we could sweeten the milk? Perhaps with that yellow bee syrup?"

"Allura, you can't give babies honey"

Taking the bottle from Keith, Hunk dripped a few drops of milk on his finger, before transferring it to another finger and placing that finger into Laneith's mouth as he went to cry out. Laneith's eyes widened in surprised before sucking on Hunk's finger

"How did you do that?"

"I borrowed Lance's baby book"

"Is... is Pidge?"

"No! No, no... no. I just wanted to know how to be a good uncle"

Hunk had probably read more of the book than he had. He'd read a few chapters, but for the most part, Lance would read out the paragraphs he found interesting, or point out diagrams with a bright red face. Squeezing a little more formula out, Hunk left it on the teat as he rubbed against Laneith's lips, until the pup finally began to drink. He didn't look impressed, but at least he was feeding. Sinking down, Keith let out a long breath

"Keith?"

"I was worried what to do if he didn't take the bottle"

"Well he is"

"Thank you Hunk. Just... thank you"

Hunk laughed, though it sounded slightly strained

"How's Lance?"

"Devastated. He doesn't know if he's infected, but Kelance definitely is. Is Laneith?"

"No. His scans were fine... I... I should go see Lance"

"You can't. He doesn't want anyone going near the pod room..."

"I can't leave him there, he's my mate"

"And he doesn't want anything happening to you or Laneith"

"What about clothes and food? And blankets?"

"Shiro's going to drop some at the pod room door for him"

"Shiro?"

"I ran into him in the hall on the way up. He's taken Coran with him"

It was Keith's job to look after Lance, not Coran

"I hope he doesn't take too long. Lance must be cold in his wet uniform"

"He stripped it off before I left. He's got his communicator though"

"That's good. He will be able to let us know if anything happens"

"Maybe I should go see him..."

"Keith, he doesn't want you to. Just focus on this plan and Laneith"

"Quiznak. Allura, did Lotor sign off?"

"Yes. He's suffered significant losses, and is loaning us a sample of the pure quintessence. He's agreed to meet with us two quintants out of Olkarion, in a section of space with nowhere the goop can go"

2 quintants? Seriously? Couldn't they just jump?

"It's the best he can do. With the rift collapsing in on its self, we can no longer open it. Quintessence has become a valuable commodity again"

"Great. You think they would have made the most of it while it was open"

"They couldn't get past the black goop..."

Keith resisted rolling his eyes at Allura. He knew full well that it was their fault the black entity was loose in the universe. Surely Pidge and Kelance being infected was karma for it.

  *

Unable to sleep, Keith rolled over. The space either side of him was too big, and too devoid of Lance. He hadn't even been able to apologise to his mate and he didn't like leaving things hanging like they were. Looking to Kelance's cot, he pushed himself up. Laneith had refused to settle when he'd placed him in his own cot, and it wasn't until he laid his son down in Kelance's that he'd finally slept. Careful not to be loud, Keith grabbed his communicator and Lance's favourite blanket, no longer caring if he was risking infection. He wanted to see Lance.

 The hallways of the castle were cold and empty as he made his way up to the pod room, though Keith had the feeling he was being watched, he didn't see a single soul. They'd all probably think him weak for not being able to sleep. It wasn't like Lance was on the other side of the universe, his mate was only floors above him. Pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders, he wished he'd at least bothered to put his boots on as his his feet were freezing.

 Arriving in front of the pod room, Keith took a deep breath before going to place his hand on the door pad panel, only instead of touching smooth glass, his hand met paper. Pulling his hand back, he half smiled at the note scrawled on the piece of paper in Lance's terrible handwriting

"Don't even think about it"

That was so Lance... thinking of everyone else and their welfare above his own. Readjusting his hold on the blanket again, Keith moved to sink down against the door, before knocking twice on it. It was only ticks before Lance called through to his communicator 

"Keith, was that you?"

"Maybe..."

"You're not supposed to be here"

"I know, but Lance... I didn't want to leave things like that"

"Keith, it was my fault. I shouldn't have yelled at you. I'm sorry"

"That's not playing fair. I came up here to apologise to you"

"You don't need to apologise"

"Yes i do. Baby, I love you so much. I don't want what was between us to end like this. I don't want to break up like that"

"Keith... you're my husband. We're bound to fight"

Keith had forgotten that the word "husband" existed, Lance was his mate. His omega... and his husband

"I might be your husband, but I never should have yelled it at you"

"Do you regret it? Falling in love with me?"

"My life might have been easier if I hadn't, but no. I don't regret you, or the pups"

Lance paused before replying 

"How's Laneith?"

"We got him to take a bottle. Well Hunk did, and his scans came back clean"

"What about your scans?"

"I'm ok. Lance, you might not be infected"

"And I might. I touch that black stuff. Kelance's mouth was full of it"

"I have no idea how it happened... he shouldn't have been infected. Laneith isn't infected"

"I was thinking you might have been right"

"I usually am"

"Ha ha. I mean. Pidge was placed into a pod, and the pups were in a pod. Maybe it got into the castle?"

"We've left Olkarion, and we'll be meeting Lotor in a couple of quintants..."

"So you're going with my plan?"

"It seems like it. Everyone except you, me, Kelance and Pidge are going to leave"

"Keith, you can't stay"

"I'm not leaving you here alone"

There was a thud against the pod room door, causing Keith to jump 

"Was that you? Did you just kick the door?"

"No. I hit it. Don't laugh at me, I'm sitting with my back against it and I'm mad at you"

"I'm not laughing. I'm sitting with my back against the door too. It's the closest I can be to you"

"Now who's not playing fair?"

"Don't look at me"

"It's your fault"

"No, it's your fault. You're the one who married me and bonded with me"

"You're the only one out here who would have me"

"We both know that's not true. You're beautiful and funny and I... I love you"

"I love you too. So what else has been happening?"

"Nothing. I couldn't sleep so I came to see you"

"I'm ok... I just... I just can't leave him"

"I know you can't..."

But apparently he could. He could leave Laneith sleeping so he could sneak off to see Lance. Letting out a long yawn, Lance mumbled an apology 

"I'm sorry. I'm just really tired"

"Then get some rest baby. We can't do anything until we see Lotor"

"Will you stay with me? I mean, will you stay on the line?"

"Yeah baby. I'm your husband, right?"

"Mmmm. My alpha. I love you, Keith"

"I love you too, Lance"

[smashdraws]

The things I’ve learned from art school: part 1/?

I’m a second year illustration student, and I’m here to share with you pearls of wisdom from what I’ve experienced and learned in college (so far), from the actual drawing process to attitudes about art/drawing. Most of these things I’ve learned the hard way, and some are from things I’ve seen others struggle with. 

The most work you should be doing in your drawing process is thumbnails/sketching stage.

“There’s no point in finishing a drawing if it’s flawed from the beginning”. That’s what my Composition & Transparent Media professor constantly told us. During our first piece of the semester, he had us stay on the sketching and redrawing stage for a little over a month in order to perfect them. He wanted to make sure the perspective was right, composition was pushed to its fullest, details were added to make every space interesting, the whole shebang. Obviously you’re probably not going to spend a whole month redrawing a piece over and over every time you draw, especially if it’s a time-sensitive project or just a personal piece you’re doing for funsies. However, the sketching stage is where most of the creativity happens. You have to decide on composition, scale, design elements, characters and how they’re positioned in the space, environment, and so much more. And I’d be willing to bet that you won’t get it right the first time.

Give yourself projects when you aren’t in school.

It helps with artist block. The summer between freshman and sophomore year of school I could probably count the number of drawings I did on one hand. To be fair, I was working two jobs 6 days a week so i didn’t exactly have a lot of time, but I found that once I got out of school I had zero drive or ideas. Without assignments from class to draw for, I had nothing to draw, and when I got back to school for sophomore year I had a lot of trouble getting inspired again. It made the beginning of the year really hard for me. Find something, ANYTHING, to draw while you’re out of school, even if you draw fanart for one thing all summer, at least you’re still drawing. 

If a character in your drawing is reminiscent of another character/too generic, think about altering it- especially if it’s a work that focuses on said character.

This really only applies for artists who’s focus/career is character design, but it’s still relevant to others. As painful as it is to hear, it means you might not be pushing your concepts enough. I took a class on Concept Art, and the first assignment was character design. A few of mine were deemed too generic looking, and one was too reminiscent of an existing character. It really hurt to hear, especially since I pride myself on character design and they were for a story I’ve had in development for over 6 years. It really made me feel like shit and made me not want to develop the characters further. But I needed to hear it, and I had to continue developing them for the class, so I ended up overhauling and redesigning the characters until they didn’t seem like the same ones anymore in order to make them more interesting. I hated it, but it’s what I had to do. 

That being said, things like this really make you think about distinguishing your characters and art from others out there. It’s essentially impossible to be 100% original, but that doesn’t mean you cant try your damnedest to make your ideas as close to original as they can get without getting overcomplicated.

When designing characters, mix up the body shape and facial features.

This one is kind of specific, but still important since character design is an important element of illustration. If you don’t vary things up you’re cruisin’ for a bruisin’ from your professors and peers. And frankly, its boring as hell when someone’s characters all look the same. This is something I see a lot, and I can never get attached to an individual character cause they all looked the same! I found that it happens a lot with male characters, they all have defined abs to some degree and perfectly toned arms and honestly, it gets boring when all of someone’s male characters have the same body type. As for face, there is literally no excuse. There are SO MANY KINDS OF FACES MAN. Round, rectangular, circular, heart-shaped, squared. People can have hooked noses, upturned noses, tiny cute noses. Even eyebrows- arched, flat, thick, waxed, faint, or bold. You’re allowed to have preferences for what kind of bodies you like to draw, but don’t be afraid to branch out!

Develop your own style.

As an artist, you need your own style. Imitating other artist’s styles isn’t going to get you far in school or the real world, and chances are, your peers will call you out if your style looks too much like another established artist’s. In order to make a living and gain clients you need a style that you make unique, taking inspirations and aspects from other styles and squishing them together to make one amazing art style baby. Your art style will probably be the deciding factor in whether or not your client hires you! 

Tracing references is OK when appropriate.

As long as it isn’t for a published or commissioned piece, there is absolutely no harm in tracing references. In your down time take some pictures of yourself or find some online and go ahead and trace ‘em. Really pay attention to how the body actually is, how the perspective on legs work, how that hand is foreshortened. Do this enough and you’ll find yourself thinking about all that when you’re drawing normally!

There will always be students better than you, you just gotta accept it.

It’s just a fact of life, unfortunately. When you’re a freshman, you’re in classes with only freshman for your foundation year. You and your peers are all on the relatively same level. What had affected me starting my second year (and I didn’t realize it until much later) was that now that I was in classes with upperclassmen, who had a year or two’s worth of experience on me, I felt as id my art was not up to par. It’s easy to forget your classmates are not just from your grade anymore, especially in electives. All of the electives I took had mostly Juniors and a few Sophomores, and my work always didn’t quite have that polish and finesse to it yet that the upperclassmen’s did have. It’s just a fact of life that you’ll always be up against artists who are more skilled than you , but thats because they have more or different experiences. You have to keep in mind that you can’t compare yourself to them, since it isn’t fair to you that you’re comparing yourself to someone who may have 3+ years on you. 

Learn realism to some extent- figures, animals, everything.

You don’t have to like it, but you can always tell when an artist never learned it because their figures are always off. There is a difference between stylizing and not knowing, and it’s almost always evident. You can see it in the way hands are drawn, noses are rendered, and how they shape and place breasts. Do pages of body studies focusing on hands, feet, leg muscles, back arches, faces, all kinds of stuff. You’ll thank yourself later. 

Your professors and peers will know when you don’t put in your best effort.

They’ll know when you aren’t pushing yourself because you’ll make fundamental mistakes. Slightly imperfect coloring, wiggly linework that wasn’t done quite carefully enough, not bothering to fix those damn feet in the finish. They always know, somehow...even if you’re careful with your laziness.

Buying expensive materials is usually worth it.

It may cost more but your work will benefit from it, and they last so, so much longer. I had to buy 3 brushes when my techniques class was doing watercolor, and in total they costed over $100. I found as I used them that since they were hair brushes and not synthetic, they held so much more pigment and water, and I could get a much finer tip. I was incredibly lucky that my professor provided the paint, which could go up to $20 a tube for some colors with the brand he had. Paper is also something worth splurging on, because let me tell you I have had disastrous effects when using shitty (coughCANSONcough) watercolor paper. The 9x12 paper block I bought for class was $30, and it was the best paper i’ve ever worked on. Absolutely worth the money and I will be buying that brand for projects from now on. And the best thing about all these is that they’ll last forever! 

You NEED to find ways to get excited about a project you hate, because you’re gonna have to do a lot of them.

If you don’t find ways to get excited about projects you’re not too thrilled to do, you’ll never succeed. I learned this in my freshman year very fast, because man oh man were there some projects I couldn’t have cared less about. If you can, gear the project towards one of your interests without compromising the purpose or assigned subject. 

I hope this advice can help some folks! Art school is a lot of tough love, and a lot of stepping 300 yards out of your comfort zone (sometimes by force). But they key is to not be afraid of trying new things! You’ll find things you absolutely hate doing, and will never want to do ever again if you can help it, and you’ll find things that you’ll love to do. It’s all about keeping an open mind!

Keep drawing, keep learning, keep creating.

#advice #life lessons #art #art advice #college #art school #not art #artist #learning #tough love #long post #critique

[relationshipadviser-blog]

This Is Why You Cant Keep Wondering What You Did Wrong After A Failed Relationship

New Post has been published on https://relationshipqia.com/must-see/this-is-why-you-cant-keep-wondering-what-you-did-wrong-after-a-failed-relationship/

This Is Why You Cant Keep Wondering What You Did Wrong After A Failed Relationship

Im not proud to admit it but after one breakup, I was completely stuck on the idea that my ex didnt like my hair color. This sounds ridiculous, but stay with me.

I built this up in my mind to be a big part of the reason we broke up. I was 100% willing to ignore the fact that we were totally incompatible and deep down, didnt really have chemistry.

Instead, I got totally stuck on hair color. As embarrassing as that is to admit, its a big mistake that people make after breakups.

If youve never been prone to dwelling on the past, or trying to get closure this might not resonate with you. From my experience with coaching people through their breakups, its common to get stuck on a few weird things that could have changed everything if you had just done them differently.

Often when people contact me to find out where their relationships went wrong, or how they drove someone away, they are really trying to figure out if whatever it is that they are stuck on was the real reason for the breakup.

Its as though they believe knowing the past real reason will change something about the present reality. At some point they decided that they messed up.

Most of the time, they are going through a bunch of what-ifs.

They ask themselves questions like:

Should I have said something different at a specific time?

If I had had the talk would that have made them commit?

Was my hair, body, outfit the real reason we broke up?

The desire to figure out what we did wrong is healthy and helps our growth in the long run. Letting your imagination run wild while coming up with reasons that your ex left or a promising date went badly, is not.

Unfortunately dwelling on any part of a breakup is an exercise in futility.

Even if you did figure out the correct, non-polluted, totally true reasons why the breakup occurred, it still doesnt change the reality. You cant go back. You cant use the realization to rewind back to the start of your relationship.

And you shouldnt want to.

Why?

Every relationship experience contains a lesson. Either the person was for you or wasnt, but getting to the point of breakup means that both people have something to learn. These lessons likely werent trivial or specific moments where one person said the wrong thing.

When a relationship starts to go badly, it erodes over time. Relationship conflict doesnt happen because of any specific, one-off thing. It really does take two to bring a relationship down.

This is why its likely that if youre stuck on what you said, or not being blonde or anything else, you miss the real, bigger picture reason that it didnt work out which could actually help your growth.

For conversations sake, maybe you DID drive them away. Maybe you were a total jerk. However, there is a difference between beating yourself up with hindsight and calmly recognizing your part, resolving to change and moving on (whether you try and patch it up with them or not).

The obsession with the what-ifs is not healthy or helpful. It also serves as a powerful temptation to keep you stuck in the past. If you are focused on the past, it makes it pretty darn hard to move forward in the present. Most of the time, the obsession serves as a placeholder for rational self-examination.

The lesson gets lost while youre beating yourself up. You might have big regrets, and these might make complete sense, given the circumstances.

I know Ive stepped away from a few relationships thinking, wow I messed that up pretty monumentally (and this is honest. I do mess up monumentally sometimes. We all do).

However, there is a big difference between recognizing that you screwed up, resolving to move on and getting stuck thinking that if you had just done or said that perfect thing, it would all be different.

The key to continuing to date in a healthy way (whether its with your ex or not), is to be able to shorten the cycle between relationship blowup, recognizing what needed to change or be different and then trying again.

The difference between a big realization, ie, I cheated and turned this into a giant mess, that was a huge mistake and obsession, is that obsession usually focuses on a few trivial details. For example, what you said during the breakup.

The finer details were not the problem.

I promise, getting stuck on your hair color, or whether you should have said or done some specific thing differently does not serve you in the long run. Its also a good way to derail yourself and get stuck in the past.

So if youre telling yourself a story about why you broke up, I challenge you to drop the story. Let it go. Resolve to do better next time and mend bridges, but dont stay stuck.

This post originally appeared at Attract The One.

Read more: http://thoughtcatalog.com/

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

give me back my work!!!

"Keith!" 

Slamming his bloody hands down against the castle wall, Keith didn't even head Shiro yelling his name. He was so angry and hurt that all he felt was pain, and the pain felt good. It felt real. It felt solid and it was what he needed. As far as he could remember, he and Lance had never fought like that, even before they were together. They'd never fought in a way that cut so deep. Even a knife to the heart would hurt less

"Keith, stop!"

Before his hands could hit the wall again, a strong arm wrapped around his waist and hefted him on his feet. Snarling and scratching at his captors arms, his heart was pounding so hard and loudly his head throbbed in response

"Krolia, help me with him"

"Let me go!"

"Keith"

"Let me the fuck go!"

As his bloody hands slipped from Shiro's arm, his mother grabbed his wrists. Howling in anger, he kicked out, hitting her in the stomach, but failing to dislodge her. If anything, her grip tightened

"Keith! Calm down!"

"Get off of me!"

"Krolia..."

"Don't let him go"

"I said get off!"

"What do we do? Do we get Lance?"

Lance. Yeah right. Like he would care. For some reason the thought of Lance caring was just about the funniest thing in the universe. Laughter bubbled up, and fell from his lips in a half twisted screech 

"You think Lance cares? Lance and I are over!"

"Keith, what do you mean? What happened?!"

"He wants to die! He never gave a shit about me or our kids! He just wants to fucking die!"

"That's not true..."

"Then why did fuck Lotor? Why did he fuck Shiro? You're the one who told me about it?! Why mum?! If he loved me..."

The crack that sounded as his mother slapped his face left him stunned. Spitting the blood from his mouth, he snarled at the woman

"He's the one who tried to break our bond. Guess what mum? Your son's a fucking failure! I couldn't even keep my own fated omega from wanting to fuck everyone else!"

"Keith, calm down. I'm sure there's an explanation"

"Yeah. That he never wanted me to begin with. He tried to tell me and I never fucking listened!"

"Shiro, get him out of here. I don't care where you take him. Keith, I am so beyond disappointed in you right now"

"Good! Walk away! Walk away and forget me like you did before! I never meant anything to you! I never meant anything to anyone"

Releasing her hold on his wrist, Krolia looked him up and down

"You need to cool your head before you say or do something you regret!"

"I regret ever being born!"

Shiro's arm tightened around his waist, the alpha beginning to walk down the hall. Even with one arm, he couldn't compete with the crushing hold around his waist. But at least it was pain, and pain was better than nothing at all.

 Carrying him into the training hall, Shiro threw him down on the mats. Pushing himself up, he launched himself at the alpha 

"When did you become her dog?"

Clumsy from blood loss and fatigue, the punch he threw at Shiro was easily dodge, and returned with a knee to his gut. Dropping to the floor, he coughed as his fingers tried to find purchase 

"Get up!"

"Fuck off!"

"Get up Keith!"

Looking up at Shiro, he spat towards him

"You've always liked looking down on us. Haven't you? Always acting like you're so much better than the rest of us"

Pushing himself up, he rolled his neck slowly as he shook his hands

"I'm so sick of you"

"At the moment, the feelings mutual"

Lashing out again, he roundhouse kicked Shiro as hard as he could. Catching his leg, Shiro flipped him, and Keith ended up face first on the mats again

"Get up Keith!"

"Why? You've already taken everything from me!"

"What? What have I taken from you? Lance? At the moment you aren't even fit to lick his shoes"

Scrambling up, he kept his stance low as he drove his shoulder into Shiro, sending them both toppling onto the floor

"How dare you say his name!? He's my mate!"

"Then why aren't you with him? Do you know how lonely he was without you? But you couldn't even call him! You didn't even help him with your own son's"

"He didn't want me!"

"Of course he did! You know Lance! He tries his hardest until he falls apart, but you know, he did so well when you were gone. He was eating, and dancing and smiling. Maybe you can't make him happy"

Grabbing Shiro by the collar, Keith straddled his lap. Lifting Shiro up, he slammed him down to the floor, over and over

"You stay the fuck away from him! You can't make him happy!"

"Of course I can't! You're the one he's in love with! You're the one he's been in love with since before he even admitted he was an omega! But all you did was kick him down. Then bam. He presented and suddenly he was your everything! Every time he chased after you, you had nothing nice to say, but he kept trying. That's what he does! And if he's picked a fight with you, then you know he's gotta have a quiznakking good reason for it!"

Releasing his hold on Shiro's collar, the alpha dropped to the floor with a groan 

"He wants to die"

"It's been a long time since Lance has wanted to die"

"He has a plan to save Pidge, but it means putting his own life at risk..."

Keith's anger dropped away, tears from and raced down his face. With a mournful howl he slid from Shiro's lap, so he kneeling beside him. Covering his face with his bloodied hands, he screamed into them. He didn't want Lance to die. He wanted his happy beautiful mate by his side. Climbing up from the floor, Shiro wrapped his arm around him, guiding him against his chest. It'd been so long that Keith had forgotten what it'd been like to be friends with Shiro. Rubbing his shoulder, Shiro buried his face in Keith's hair 

"It's just a plan. It's not reality. We're not going to do anything until we've all talked about it. Now, have you calmed down enough for me to look at your hands?"

"They're fine"

"They're bleeding"

"It's fine. I deserve this"

"I doubt Lance would be happy that you think that"

"You don't know what was said"

"No I don't. I know you still don't like me for what happened, but you can at least let me clean your hands up. You can't see Lance like this"

Sniffling, Keith nodded. He needed to see Lance and apologise. Even if his omega didn't want him anymore, he had to make sure he knew he was sorry.

 With both his hands cleaned up, Keith eyes his bruised and swollen knuckles. He was definitely going to be feeling it once the adrenaline coursing through him faded. It was a disgusting mess, and one he still felt he deserved. Shiro had wanted to bandage them, but he wouldn't let him. Some part of him still wanted Lance to know how much he'd hurt him, and his alpha was in complete agreement. Letting Shiro lead the way, they'd made their way to the kitchen. He didn't particularly want to see anyone, and being this close to Shiro was messing with his head. Keith honestly just wanted to find Lance, apologise and then take a long ride in Black, but that wasn't his things were going to play out.

 Entering the kitchen, Allura, Hunk and his mother was there. He couldn't deny he didn't feel both disappointed and relieved at Lance's absence 

"Have you cooled down?"

Nodding at his mother, he wrapped his arms around his waist in a very Lance way

"Good. Now come have something to eat. Allura and Hunk have been telling me about this plan Lance came up with"

"Where..."

Clearing his throat, Keith tried to rid the softness from his voice 

"Where's Lance?"

"He's in the games room with the pups. I'm making him something to eat when he wakes up"

Looking to the door, it was so tempting to flee 

"Keith, Lance told us about his plan. I know you don't like it, but if we figure out the finer details, we might be able to help Pidge"

"Did he tell you he's fine with dying?"

His tone was dripping with bitterness

"Keith, Lance doesn't want to die"

"You could have fooled me"

"He said so himself. He wants to live. He wants to be with you and the pups. Now sit down before you fall down"

Crossing to the empty stool, Keith sank down. Taking his hand, his mother laid it flat on the counter in front of them

"They're not as bad as I expected"

"I deserve it"

"Perhaps"

"I'll get you some ice for them"

"It's fine Allura. Let's just talk about what we're going to do"

"Hunk, Krolia and I have all been scanned for signs of infection, we're clean"

"That's something..."

"And as Lance was with you, you're both more than likely to be clean which means we just need to check Coran and Shiro"

"And then what?"

"We call Lotor. Even if he loans us a sample of pure quintessence, we should be able to lure the black goop from Pidge"

"How do we trap it?"

"We know Honerva trapped it before, using Altean technology..."

"She's not exactly going to help us"

"I know you don't want to hear it, but Lance did have a point. He has the  strongest Bayard of all us"

"I know he does. I also know he's likely to take a risk, even if there's a chance it won't pan out. I didn't mean to make it seem like Pidge isn't important, but we do need to think about everyone on this castle. Especially since we don't know what exactly caused the infection"

"See. That's all you had to say. You don't have to be so angry"

Shooting his mother a glare, he looked back down at his hand

"So we contact Lotor and get the sample. We also need to take the castle offworld so we don't risk the Olkari..."

"I can stay behind with the sample..."

"No you cant Allura. You're the only one who can fly the castle"

"Then I will"

"Mum..."

"No, I'm Galra. Even if I'm infected, I should be able to withstand long enough to notify you"

"How do we get Pidge out the pod and to the quintessence without putting anyone in danger"

Humming, Hunk suddenly slammed his hands down 

"Hunk?!"

"Pidge was rebuilding a sentry, or even better, if Lotor will lend us one, we don't need anyone physically on the castle. We get the sentry to handle the pure quintessence"

"We don't know what will happen to its systems. They might be overloaded by the power of the quintessence"

"If we use the container the quintessence is in, it won't even have to touch it. Or we can attach it to the sentry and have it move through the ship. If we can get it to the airlock, we can just flush it into space and destroy it out there with Voltron"

"Hunk, how confident are you with your reprogramming skills?"

"I'm not as good as Pidge, but with Matt's help..."

"So it comes down to Lotor..."

"He owes us a favour. If it wasn't for Lance, he'd still be stuck down in that rift with Shiro"

"Thanks"

"I didn't mean anything by it..."

"Lance said he felt like this would work. It was his "feeling" that lead us to Shiro and Lotor... I think we need to trust in this plan of his"

Keith swallowed as he nodded

"If someone has to stay behind, I'll do it. It's my job as the Black Paladin to protect our team"

"I could..."

"Shiro, you only have one arm. What happens if you need both of them?"

Snorting, Shiro shook his head 

"I still beat you with one arm, and you were verging on going feral"

"Keith, Buddy, you need to stop going feral when it comes to Lance"

"I can't help it. You know what was said"

"I do. And you both had valid points, and I know he was trying to push you away, but that doesn't make it ok"

"Do you think he's ok?"

"I think he's asleep, and I think if you wake him, it's not going to be pretty"

"He's going to yell at me again?"

"I'm going to yell at you"

"Allura, you and Shiro contact Lotor. Remind him about the rift if you have to. Mum, can I trust you to take a look at them work Pidge was doing without getting infected?"

"I don't plan on dying any time soon"

"I'll take that as a yes. Hunk..."

"Hunk will be here figuring out what to do with all these cookies"

"Thanks. I'm going to check in on Lance, and then Shiro, Coran and I will meet in the medical bay for our scans. Once they've come back clean, we'll send message to Matt, as well as to Ryner and inform her of what's happening here..."

"Don't forget dinner is mandatory"

"And it can wait until we've left Olkarion..."

"Keith... you can't mess with my food, man"

"I'm not messing with your food, I'm just delaying dinner a few vargas so we can get everything organised"

"Hunk, just call us when dinner is ready"

"Will do, Shiro"

 Parting from the others, Keith headed down to the games room alone. His mother had forced to him eat before letting him off, and the meal of cookies wasn't sitting well in his stomach. As the alpha walked, he tried to play out all the different conversations. Lance didn't want him to let him go, even if he had to yell at him, but yelling in front of the pups... he could not do that again. It was horrible and they didn't deserve to hear it.

 The door to the games room appeared far too soon for Keith's liking. The feeling in his stomach had only gotten worse and now it felt a thousand butterflies were trapped inside. One or two butterflies he could handle. When Lance laughed or smiled genuinely, they always seemed to pop up, but this... this wasn't a nice feeling at all. Placing his hand on the door pad, he nearly let out a laugh as the door opened, and the first thing he heard was a long snore. Lance was sleeping. He didn't have to worry about what he was going to say, because his mate was asleep and he was too much of a coward to wake him. Walking over to the bed, he sank down on the edge, examining Lance's sleeping face. He was pale, and exhausted, but there was a smile on his lips... one Keith chose to believe was for him. Letting his eyes roam his omegas form, he found Lance's jacket had hiked up to expose his hip and part of his snail trail. Reaching out, his fingers hovered over Lance's hip, before he finally shook his head, and pulled his mates jacket down for him. Even if he wanted to touch Lance, Lance probably didn't feel the same way anymore. With a heavy heart, he rose to his feet, gathering up as the closest blanket as he did. Laying it over Lance, he made sure his mates shoulders were covered, before finally crumbling slightly. Running his fingers over Lance's soft brown hair, he smiled at the running joke it'd become between them. They still hadn't cut each other's hair, and Lance's had hit they awkward not long, but too long to call short stage. Nuzzling his pillow in his sleep, Lance let out a sleepy huff

"Keith..."

It was like Keith had been shocked. Yanking his hand back, he stumbled away from the bed before fleeing. He wasn't ready to talk to Lance...

  *

Having carried out his duties, Keith left Allura and Hunk in the Kitchen. Lotor had agreed to help, but only because his soldiers were dropping like flies. The emperor had used much more graceful language, almost managing to make it sound like he actually cared about them. With everyone except Pidge having come back clear, Keith now found himself stuck waiting and it didn't sit well with him. He could go back to Lance, but that ran the risk of waking his mate. He didn't want to hear the words he was sure Lance would say, "It's over", two tiny words with so much weight behind them. Lance was supposed to be his for the rest of their lives, and a few doboshes of anger had ruined everything they'd built together. The morning had been so amazing, so how had they ended up like this... yes, once again, he was back to that. The fact that when Lance had woken up, it had been just them. Just Lance and Keith. Omega and Alpha. Not mum and dad, or Black and Red Paladin's. Just the two of them in their own little world. With a jumble of feelings and no real outlet, he headed to the training room. Even if he couldn't grip a blade or a gun, he could still work out... or just wander around aimlessly until he fell down from exhaustion.

 Keith was doing just that when the door to the training room opened, and a sobbing Allura rushed inside. In her arms were one of the pups... Why did Allura have him?! And why was she crying. Striding straight up to him, Allura was trembling badly as she tried to wipe the tears away with her left hand 

"Allura?"

"Keith, you should take him"

Half offering and half placing the pup in his arm, the screaming boy finally started to settle. It was really kind of hard to tell who was more upset 

"Allura, it's ok. Babies cry"

Shaking her head, she took a deep breath, but Keith caught a whiff of Lance's scent. His mate... his mate was devastated? No... it was more than that

"Allura, what happened?"

"I'm so sorry Keith..."

Grabbing her shoulder, his fingers dug into her suit

"Allura. Tell me what happened? What happened to Lance?"

"It's... it's not Lance. It's Kelance"

Snarling, he leant right in

"What happened to my son?"

"He's... he's infected"

Stumbling backwards, Keith sank down around Laneith as he tried to remember how to breathe. Kelance was infected? How? Why?

"Keith. Keith, he's alive. Lance seems to be ok, but they're putting Kelance in a pod"

"What do you mean Lance is ok?"

How could Lance be ok, when their son was dying?

"He doesn't seem to be infected"

"Where is he?"

Allura stared down at him

"Where is he?!"

Allura squeaked as he snapped at her

"In the pod room..."

"Get the castle off of Olkarion"

"Keith?"

"Get it off! I'm going to check on Lance"

"You can't... he might be carrying the black goop. He doesn't want Laneith near him"

He didn't want his own son? Was that just because of the infection or because he regretted giving birth to them? His anger and fear was robbing him of rational thought

"He's my mate!"

"Exactly! He's been with the pups. He could have been infected, and for all we know, Laneith might have too. The pups are always together, so we need to scan Laneith"

Cradling his son closer, Keith nuzzled into his chubby cheek. He felt physically sick knowing Laneith might... might die

"Right. Right... ok. Keith, is it safe to help you up, because I can feel the anger coming from you"

"I... just... let's get to the medical bay"

 Laneith really didn't like being scanned. His pup wriggled as he cried, as if trying to escape the small amount of warmth from the machine

"Keith, there's no sign of infection. I think Laneith is alright"

"Allura..."

"Look for yourself. He looks perfectly... human. I mean, if I'm reading these scans right, it's hard to tell because I only have experience really with full sized humans, and he's so tiny. I'm really sorry, I don't know why I am not able to be quiet"

"Allura, it's called relief. You're not able to be quiet because of your relief. Turn the machine off, I don't think he likes it too much"

Pulling Laneith's shirt over his chubby belly, Keith lifted him back into his hold. He was beyond relieved Laneith was alright, but Lance still needed to be scanned, and they still needed to save Kelance and Pidge... and maybe even Lance 

"I've got you. Shhh, it's alright now. Daddy's here"

"Do you think he's hungry? Is that why he's crying?"

"That would probably be part of it. He needs a nappy change too"

"The formula's in the cupboards. Shall I get it?"

"And the bottles. They need to be clean before we make the formula up. And nappies, I think there were some hidden away in here"

Would Laneith even take formula? They'd tried it before with no success, but maybe because he was older now?

"Lance insisted on keeping nappies in here, he made sure everything was stocked in case of an emergency"

Of course his mate did. Lance was an amazing mother, even on his bad days.

 From the medical room, they headed up to the Kitchen. Allura hovering as Keith went about changing Laneith. His son was somewhat calmer once his nappy had been changed, but even if his cries had quietened, he was definitely not happy

"You miss your brother and your mum, I know. I miss them too..."

"Keith, what can I do?"

"Can you sterilise the bottle and make the formula? The instructions are on the tin"

"I hope Hunk won't mind me using his kitchen"

"Allura, you're the queen. You own this castle. If anyone can use this kitchen without Hunk's supervision, it's you"

"Sometimes I forget"

How could you forget your the queen of an entire race!? Just because Allura was gentle and friendly to them all... and followed orders... ok, maybe he could see how it might on occasion slip her mind

"Allura... I don't know how to be a dad. Lance is so amazing at all of this. He's been amazing with the pups since he birthed them..."

Bustling through the kitchen, Keith could only stare down at Laneith 

"Keith, you're amazing too. You stayed with Lance as he birthed the pups, the first set of twins. You stayed with him, you held him as he cried and even though they were fathered by Shiro, you loved them like they were you own. You love your pups, and if you weren't a good dad, you wouldn't be worrying like this. You're a good person Keith. A good Paladin and a good partner to Lance. Try having some more faith in yourself"

"If only it was that easy. Lance never improved when he was with me. Yet a phoeb with Shiro and some how he's eating, sleeping and training. Maybe I shouldn't be his alpha..."

"If you keep this up, Shiro might just swoop in steal Lance away"

Keith growled at Allura's jab

"I'm joking. Lance was only trying so hard for you. Even if Shiro had feelings for Lance, it's Lance's choice and he chose you... I just put too much powder in the bottle?! Is that ok?"

"It should be fine... I don't see why not? We don't even know if he'll take it"

"Maybe we could put something sweet in it?"

"No, just the powder. Laneith, it's alright. Your Aunty Allura is making you a nice bottle right now"

Patting his son's back, Laneith's small fingers gripped his jacket. His heart skipped a beat. He couldn't imagine not having both boys, and Laneith... even if they were so tiny and ignorant to the world around them, Laneith was always with Kelance.