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#it's a subtle thing that probably kinda gets drowned out a bit by the whole comic relief of it
snapscube · 9 months
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hey big fan of your channel and art!! was wondering if for the midnight snap series what kind of sound design you were doing it rlly sounds nice!! (also smth that could be nice with it is maybe a little bit of like tape saturation or something might be able to make the audio sound "warmer" if youre like not already doing something like that already, but you probably know better than me!!) feel free to ignore that, but wanted to say in general its so well done and sounds so good!!! its really cozy and nice!!
hey thank you!!! yeah i'd.... genuinely LOVE to talk about my thinking and approach behind the sound design, i'm actually so happy you asked me this LOL this is the kind of shit i live for.
you might assume that it's just me recording the game audio and talking quietly with my normal stream settings, and that is kinda how it STARTS, but there's actually a bit more i've been doing behind the scenes :) nothing too crazy just yet but a little goes a long way when it comes to sound! i'm hoping to really nail down the soundscape and increase the quality over time and specifically up the soothing vibes by a lot. as well as get a little better about mic etiquette and my style of speech. BUT in terms of what i'm doing in post:
the first piece of the puzzle and definitely one of the most important sauces in the whole mix is the Hard Limiter. it does what you might imagine it does, basically just places a hard barrier and says "any sounds that exceed this volume.... no you don't", sort of like a much more intense compressor. currently i have a Hard Limiter on both my commentary AND the game audio, commentary i have set to peak at around -15 to -12 db, whereas game audio is more around the -23 to -20 range. in my more polished audio from later in the AC episode it's enough difference that one doesn't drown the other out in most cases, but not a wide enough gulf that people are struggling to pay attention to one in particular or have to frequently change volume (preferably they don't have to change it at all!). i took this screenshot of the episode's complete waveform when rendering out the audio-only version of AC part 1 and it was super satisfying cause like.... yeah. this is exactly the kind of waveform read i was going for. just super even and smooth across the board, save for a couple anomalies i'll buff out over time.
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the next thing i do to both my own commentary and the game audio is actually just cutting down on harsher, higher frequencies with an EQ and just upping the bassier, warmer tones. i started with something super small in the first couple of episodes, i'm probably gonna go a bit harder on it for future stuff though. i wanna find a balance that doesn't make the game sound unrecognizable or anything but is noticeably easier on the ears and sounds more like a nice rolling wave rather than beep boop pac-man time.
past this i have a couple more things added to the commentary track:
to intensify the previous effect mentioned and cut down on harsh frequencies in my speech, i actually have a dedicated de-esser on my voice as well as my usual warmer EQ. i have the de-esser going pretty hard too, you might hear the difference from my usual stream commentary if you were to listen closely. really just taking those harsh t's and s's in my speech and making them sound more like a nice "shhhh", this one is super important i think
last thing i have to speak on otherwise is actually a plugin i found and bought specifically for this show and ends up being subtle but i think SUUUPER helpful in the long run, and that's this plugin called "spiff". spiff is a plugin by oeksound and i guess it's referred to as like, a transient editor? i'm actually not sure how it works at all on the nitty gritty level BUT the important thing is that they have a very important preset in the software, and that is a preset specifically designed to lessen and/or remove like... mouth sounds. yknow like lip smacks and the like. just kinda the gross smacks and clicks you don't hear as much in normal speech but can come through really intensely on a recording and kinda make ya uncomfortable. it obviously doesn't remove a lot of the more intense stuff, it's not a magic wand in my experience. but listening to the output of what it's removing on its own makes it REALLY clear there's a lot of little things it picks up and just kinda makes speech more soothing to listen to. not something i'm racing to apply to my normal streams, BUT for a sleep aid series where good audio is key????? 100% worth it, i like it a lot.
anyway yeah that's about it for now! a lot of it is pretty simple in and of itself but it's stuff i've been working at and experimenting with since i first started doing tests for the show and it's gonna be real nice to keep honing this stuff in. also cool suggestion with the tape saturation idea, i might look into something like that! once i nail stuff like leveling and frequency tuning for this show, i wanna look into some fancier ways of making the soundscape unique to this show compared to my normal streams so ideas like that are super helpful!
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ohraicodoll · 1 year
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would you do a headcannon on ways joel and ellie try to ease red into civilization?
So the thing is, Joel and Ellie aren't perhaps the best at this kind of thing. Ellie grew up in a FEDRA school her whole life where she had to be defensive and is already abrasive towards others and Joel isn't exactly the most sociable person, used to the harsh QZ. But they try if only because they see her struggling and the risk that she won't be able to stay in Jackson. They're not good sometimes and even actively make it worse by being so protective of her, but they care and try because of it. Some small things about those early months:
Joel has to restrict the number of sharp objects Red has on her person when she leaves the house. He won't take away all her weapons cause he knows she'll only be more nervous, but he also doesn't want her getting in trouble and having to explain why she has 6 knives on her
They both know that the house is the safe zone. Doors are locked, no one has another key to enter unannounced, windows sealed. They let her hide weapons in odd spots just in case and don't complain about it.
They also both know that sometimes, she needs to leave Jackson. That out there is home to her too. They try not to make "taking Red on a walk" jokes, but the reality is that she's more herself outside the walls. Going from being in possible danger 24/7 to not at all is hard for her to cope with. Like an addict, she has to be weened off the danger.
Anytime they have town assemblies or where she may have to be in a large group, they all go together and stay near the exits. Ellie tries to stay on her right and Joel on her left, but somehow the teenager always gets put in the middle as if Red is still protecting her. They keep a hand on her at all times to remind her that they're there with her.
After the first month when they learned she wasn't adjusting very well on her own and was getting into it with other people, Joel goes with her when they need to trade or get supplies if only so the townspeople don't give her shit. Her hackles raise easily when they stare, making it harder for her to get words out, so he acts as an enforcer and support to make sure they don't say shit to her.
Ellie yells at people often when she catches them giving her looks. Even the kids. It probably doesn't help the situation, but it makes Red feel better (and also kinda worse).
Joel treats it very much as if she's a feral cat he's trying to introduce to everyone. Slowly and little by little. When they have family dinner for the first time, they do it at Joel's house so she feels safer and tells them not to make eye contact or stare too long. They don't say anything when she eats fast, puts her plate in the sink, and goes upstairs without saying anything. It takes 3 dinners before she tries to have a conversation with Tommy and they ignore the subtle thumbs up Ellie gives her.
They make progress when Tommy brings up Joel's music tastes and she even debates with him the stylings of Johnny Cash and Bruce Springsteen.
The quickest way to break through with her is music.
They make more progress when they notice she's most at ease in the stables, at the kennels, where there's more animals than people and her shoulders relax a bit. Sometimes they find her helping brush the horses, Jeffrey (the head stable keeper) never saying anything to her and letting her be.
Ellie uses this opportunity to ask for a dog. They both say no.
Joel notices how much being out of the house is exhausting for her. She slinks into bed, quiet and a bit withdrawn, and when she curls into herself he pulls her body against his and runs his hand over her skin until she relaxes into him. He doesn't mention when she clings to him, only holds her back.
They all know that pointing these small things out will spook her and she needs time. Years alone with only herself does something to a person. Under the teeth and hard stares, she's shy and uncertain and drowning in all the new.
Lists help. Keeping her focused helps. They test this out by giving her a written list of supplies to get for the house. It's easier for her when she can just shove the paper at people rather than having to speak and they simply give her the things. Easy. Not much interaction needed.
They keep her busy by giving her things to do each day. The first floor room needs to get cleaned out, Ellie wants all the former girl's stuff packed away, the separate garage out back is filled with rusted junk. Keeping her busy means she's not panicking.
Because she can't have her knife out constantly to flip between her fingers, Ellie gives her rubber bands to wear on her wrist to fidget with instead. Her fingers pull at the elastic when she's anxious, twisting it in circles around her wrist over and over again. It helps.
It takes 10 dinners before they have it at Tommy's place. She's stiff in her chair, avoids eye contact, but at least replies to questions and Joel keeps his hand on her thigh the whole time. Maria shows her their records and record player and that loosens her up.
They always tell her where they're going if they leave on their own.
She's more relaxed when they're around to act as a buffer. Except when the women obviously set their eyes on Joel or approach him to talk, acting like she isn't there. Or when some of the younger kids snicker and talk about Ellie.
Joel has to sit her down and tell her she can't fight the kids after she stares them down one day aggressively, teeth practically bared. He thought he'd have to deal with other parents when it came to Ellie, not her, but life is full of surprises.
For all the stresses, he still thinks its worth it when he catches them both asleep on the couch together, Ellie tucked into her and Red finally relaxed without a single frown on her face.
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wincore · 3 years
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atlas | kim dongyoung
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pairing: doyoung x reader
words: 15.4k
summary: kim doyoung has a lot of titles. student body president, music club president, favourite student of every professor who’s blessed enough to have him. in other words, he’s not your type and never will be. at least he’s a good kisser.
or, you feel the weight of the world on your shoulders and you do not know how to hold things as delicate as glass.
genre: college au, fwb au, hurt/comfort, angst, some fluff 
warnings: very suggestive content, making out, language, smoking, alcohol, mentions of sex under influence, me being pretentious,,
prompt: anonymous said: slippery + doyoung + "you can rely on me, you know." from the first dialogue link! LOVE YOU ❤️
song rec(s): playlist here !
a/n: yes it’s me experimenting out of my comfort zone again. yes you are required by law to listen to keshi while reading this hahahaha anyway writing this was painful. <3 (aka today i tried writing very complex human emotions and failed again. classic.)
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In the beginning, there was no beginning. Ergo, this isn’t really a thing.
You shouldn’t be thinking of summer in Introduction to Latin. You are a good (perhaps great, if your ego allows) student after all. Here you are, though, listening to the ticking of the clock and wondering if you sigh loud enough, you won’t have to construct another sentence with the word for ‘death’. You pause to tell yourself that you shouldn’t be thinking of summer out of class either. Unremarkable; that's what it was and you don’t like unremarkable things.
When two people end up alone together, there’s not much to make of. 
“You know,” he had said, locking eyes. “We should get out of here.”
“And then what?”
“Fuck.”
So here’s the thing: this isn’t and won’t be a thing.
Doyoung has never been subtle when drunk, you found out, and he’s not as gentle as he looks. You flip the page of your notebook absentmindedly. You don’t like where your thoughts are going; the clinking of ice against glass rings in your ears again. It’s been far too long (one whole month) and you’re craving a bit of fun. You may forget yourself but you’re reaching your fingertips a little too far to call him again. More excuses pop up. See, in your world of perfection, there’s a hierarchy of things; men rank rather low. 
(Fun doesn’t.)
Here’s another thing: you forget yourself quite often. You know very well that you’re the one who continued this not-thing and now you’re daydreaming of Kim Doyoung in class hours. 
And under grey bed sheets with a tired smile, Doyoung is hard to forget. 
It was a party, it always is. That time, however, was the first party of the year Doyoung and you happened to be attending at the same time. You can’t remember who hosted it—the frat probably—but it was at a bar called the ‘The Meeting Place’ which had too many people you didn’t care about. Doyoung was there, in his laid-back glory, and you were drawn in far too easily. Being single did not help your case—and the alcohol certainly didn’t. You’re not sure if it was the gentle touches against your wrist or quick words that left his mouth or the attractive all-black get-up. All you know is that it was your mouth against his by the end of the night in a small booth, hot and impatient. Once, twice, thrice and you didn’t even need parties anymore. 
It’s not like you weren’t aware of what you were doing; it’s just that you were quick to give in—like you didn’t want to resist in the first place. And now, summer smells like Doyoung’s perfume. 
The first night had given Mr. Student Body President a near-stroke. You weren’t the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men at parties either so the morning had been full of awkward explanations to each other till you’d kissed him to shut him up (much like in a disgusting romantic comedy, minus the feelings) and somehow, it worked. He didn’t refuse and if you recall, he’d eventually pulled you closer by the waist.
You huff, twirling your pen. He’d never admit it.
You didn’t kiss so sloppily after that, unless it was to make out against a wall or while fumbling with the keys to your apartment. The lack of alcohol can bring wonders. You were a little surprised that he’d agreed—he is the Doyoung you’ve known since freshman year after all; blunt, rude, cares more for his grades than he’d ever for you. How laughable. He’s almost the same as you.
Here’s one last thing: Kim Doyoung is not and cannot be your type. 
You had the same part-time job in your second semester at a local fast food joint, and to summarize, your interactions were less than friendly. You can’t possibly count the number of times he yelled at you for trivial mistakes, and the number of times you sent angry, clipped sentences his way. So, yes, neither of you have told anyone—just acting friendly got you enough eyebrow raises.  If there’s anything worse than contradicting yourself almost directly, it’s having to explain that to your friends. So, you kept it a secret and so did he, for his own reasons.
You massage your forehead. If you think any more of this during class hours, you’re going to have to classify this as a terrible, terrible problem; like you don’t have enough already. You tune in to the lecture again, hoping it drowns out the rest of your thoughts. 
You tap your pen against the desk till you’re asked to stop by the professor. There goes your last resort. It isn’t the first time, but you breathe a sigh of relief at the hands of the clock. Casual means casual—you know it better than anyone. Maybe it would be easier if you could be more open about it. But you can’t. Your own problems aside, Doyoung would kill you if his reputation went down, even a nick. Men like that are so difficult, you curse to yourself. 
You run into Ten in the hallways, brightening at his absurdly wide grin. In fact, you haven’t seen him remotely upset since freshman year, when he couldn’t join the dance club, not because he failed the audition but because he mixed up the dates and missed it entirely. (It’s okay; he got in the next year.)
“Guess what!” he yells before you’re even in conversation range.
“What?” you yell back.
“No, guess,” he says, when you’re close enough.
You roll your eyes. “You scored a date?”
Ten deadpans. “No. I don’t even want one.”
“Loser.”
“No, you.”
“How clever.”
Ten flicks your forehead with no provocation whatsoever, making you yelp in pain. After a minute of cursing on your part, he squishes your cheeks to bring you back to reality—like he wasn’t the cause. You bite your lip to keep yourself from scowling. His hair is still light brown from the bleach, and you fix his bangs out of habit; your dumb friends are all you have at the end of the day. You sigh. They all lean on you unwittingly.
“Anyway, the news? I’m not guessing anything else,” you warn, taking a sip of your coffee.
“Well,” he draws out the syllable. “I heard- know you’re into the smart type. You know, student council kinda guys? So…”
You choke, the coffee leaving your mouth just as quick as it entered.
“Who told you that?” The laugh that leaves your mouth is forced and certainly fake but it’s the best you can do.
Ten rolls her eyes, still smiling. “I was thinking if you would be interested in a certain Park Hyungmin.”
Oh. Student body vice-president. He’s most definitely your type, with a gifted body and equally strong academic prowess—not to mention perfectly maintained tan skin and the most radiant smile you’ve ever seen in your life. 
“Oh, yeah, he’s hot,” you nod in agreement. “What do you want me to do with him?”
“He likes you. Like, totally has the hots for you. And I owe him so please help me out here.”
You furrow your brows, heaving a deep sigh.
“You...want me to go on a date with him?” you ask. 
You can oblige. Park Hyungmin is the hottest dude on campus (probably). It’s a win-win situation—in fact, it’s even better. A certain bitter taste finds itself in your mouth. It must be the coffee. You swallow it. 
“Yeah.”
And the deal’s done.
It was casual commitment, like most things you do for fun. You don’t think much of it, and the thought takes its final bow when you run into Doyoung himself.
Well, sort of.
You turn heel when he appears in your line of sight, pretending to fix your hair against a damn wall. You aren’t quite ready to face him yet, considering the coffee hasn’t kicked in—it’s not healthy how much you depend on it. Dependence is different, however, from consciously drowning yourself in it. 
See, Doyoung is anything but tolerable without a few shots of vodka. Or after sex. Or when he’s mumbling in his sleep. And you can’t erase any of those scenes. This is you trying to save yourself (and Doyoung) from embarrassment and a whole lot of explanation.
His coat looks expensive and you’d rather he had it on instead of on his arm. The tucked-in sweater and pants combo accentuates the line of his waist and the colour—you wonder where he found a teal so fitting—looks serene in the crowd. He’s wearing his glasses though, looking a little less put together than usual. Still, no one seems to notice and he continues to explain something to his group of friends.
God forbid you find Doyoung attractive during daytime.
His lips are chapped but pink as ever, the hair messed up by either the wind or his friends—you should stop staring by now. You give in. You’ll text him to book a hotel room tonight.
Sometimes you wonder how he has that large a friend circle, and always, the question answers itself. Eloquence, wit and regrettably, good looks—what does he lack? Maybe if he lost the habit to nag people around fifty-six times a day, he’d be the perfect man.  
An arm slings over your shoulder, punting the soul right out of your body.
“Fuck, Johnny, don’t do that,” you hiss, placing your hand over your chest involuntarily. 
The head of the photography club apparently spends his time terrorizing everyone he remotely knows. You make a foul expression but iIt’s not like he ever minds your scowling. He says he’s had enough practice from teasing Doyoung (and you’ll admit, it’s the only time you feel sorry for him). You were certain Doyoung would have filed him for harassment sometime in sophomore year. 
“What are you even looking at?” Johnny asks, raising an eyebrow at the plain offwhite expanse of the wall in front of you.
You feel hot at the neck. “I was fixing my hair.”
“In front of a wall?”
You click your tongue. “Do you not have class?”
“Oh, don’t be so quick to send me off.” He places a hand over his chest in mock hurt, fingers stretched delicately. 
To your dismay, the rest of his friends gather around giving you happy greetings—greetings only carefree college boys are capable of delivering. To your further dismay, Kim Doyoung arches an eyebrow at you, the same way he does on nights you’re doing things less than appropriate to think of in broad daylight.
“Hey, Doyoung, don’t you have anything to say? Or were you too drunk to remember?”
You bite down on your lip a little too hard. Doyoung, on the other hand, looks like he’s just seen God, stammering out a “what?” nevertheless.
“Weren’t you supposed to buy (name) a drink for driving you home that night?”
“Right,” he says, clearing his throat.
Oh, he’s bought you a drink enough times. Summer has waned but whatever thread you tied around your wrists hasn’t. Right now, your guess is that Doyoung has been ensnared in the common ritual for college boys to walk around campus and declare their friend is single just to embarrass him (or by some miracle, score him a date).
Everything, apart from the way you look at Doyoung, feels like a charade. You shake your head with a quick laugh, smacking Johnny in the arm and pay your condolences to Doyoung—keep it light. You’re good at it, or pretending you’re good at it, at the very least.
Doyoung’s gaze on you lingers for a moment and then you breathe. You’re going to be late for class—you offer the classic excuse and you’re out of there. In a way, it’s exciting. You’ve always wanted to have a secret relationship, even if this isn’t a real one. 
Doyoung is like the summer breeze, and you’d like for him to stay that way.
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The next time you grace each other’s presence is when Doyoung’s tongue is in your mouth and his hands are running up under your shirt. 
He’s quite a pretty sight—messy hair, red lips and rosy cheeks. He moans into the kiss as he has quite a few times now and there’s the lovers’ high running through either of your minds. When he presses his lips to your neck, a soft restrained sound escapes you, not quite prepared for the sting of electricity through your skin. He moves to your collarbone and shoulders and then even lower, hands gripping your waist tight. The walls do not have ears here; these hotels are cheap but they’re built for privacy and maybe you’ll let yourself believe for once that you can belong to someone.
“Why did you text me in the middle of the goddamn night?” he mutters against the base of your neck.
“You want reasons now?” you whisper, hands running through his hair.
Doyoung has pretty fingers, pressing at the right places and prettier eyes that look at you with something akin to, dare you say it, love. He kisses you like he hasn’t had enough; and it makes you feel important.
He’s even better when he’s annoyed.
You wake up at around five in the morning. Propping yourself up on one arm, you take a moment to look at your partner. It’s easy to make out the line of his nose against the pillow, and if you focus, you can see his lashes against his cheek and his dark mop of hair clinging to his forehead. However gentle the moonlight is, it is kindest on a lover. 
Funny.
Too tired to sneak out, you go back to sleep.
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“All I’m saying is that you have too much coffee,” Doyoung complains, slipping on his loose black sweatshirt. “It can’t be good for your health.”
You shake your head, scrolling through your phone as you lay on your belly. You’ve seen this view enough times—his back to you and sitting at the opposite edge of the bed, his incessant complaints and opinions about something that happened recently, running his hand through his hair when he sighs. You press on the calendar app and type in a note labeled ‘x’. Keeping tabs isn’t a bad thing; especially if you like order. Spending too many nights with someone is going to land you in trouble. That said, if you could trap love in a bottle, you would.
“You taste like coffee,” Doyoung adds with reddening ears.
Sometimes, it’s easy to ignore what he says if you listen to the sound of his voice instead. You sit up, scooting closer as Doyoung shoots you an alarmed look. He’s so cute like this; something about all the painted fences he puts up around him makes you want to lean in closer.
“So,” you poke his side. “How many relationships have you been in? Proper ones.”
“Three,” he answers, to your surprise.
Your eyebrows shoot up. “That’s more than I’ve been in!”
Doyoung furrows his. “How many have you been in?”
“One.”
He seems equally surprised but doesn’t probe further. After all, the price sticker that spells ‘youth’ clings to his forehead just as it clings to yours. 
“How many people have you fucked?” you ask suddenly, enjoying the visible flush across his neck.
“You’re doing this on purpose,” he notes, flicking your forehead.
“Ow!” You place your palm against your forehead. “Okay, I get it, you have nothing to brag about.”
He shakes his head, an exasperated sigh leaving him. “I just don’t think you have to know. I like privacy.”
“Wait.” You gasp. “Don’t tell me- That night- don’t tell me you were a virgin—”
Doyoung squishes your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, a laugh erupting from your mouth. 
“Who’s a virgin?”
Nothing about this, you find yourself realizing, is complicated. It’s easy, gentle, natural, like a breath of fresh air—everything but complicated. Even under dim lights and within the depths of night, Doyoung is warm and uncomplicated. His chest, his hands, his lips—they are warm, as are his words. 
But Doyoung is a fucking fairytale.  
Even after these few months, all you know about him, in the definitive format, is that he plays the keys for more hours than he sleeps. What he does for fun, what his classes are, how he became student body president—you could play guessing games all night.
“Do your friends know where you spend your nights?” you ask, leaning back against the pillows.
“They know what I’m doing, not who I’m with,” he responds, running his fingers through his hair.
You purse your lips. It’s nothing hurtful but you don’t like the hush-hush in his tone.
“Why not?”
“Because this is a secret,” he responds as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Do you want them to know?”
He’s right.
“Ah, whatever,” you mutter, a stream of curses following when your elbow collides hard with the edge of the bedside table. 
“Your mouth is filthy.” He looks away to his phone. “I don’t swear as much.”
“Well, of course it is. I had your—”
Doyoung presses his palm against your lips with a tired sigh. “Please. Don’t speak. For the sake of my sanity.”
You smile under his hand and he returns it; and the November morning warms up.
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“Where were you last night?”
You were expecting the question. Areum is the worst possible candidate for a roommate if you want some privacy. You don’t think she ever sleeps; sometimes, you wonder if she even showers because all she does is stare at her laptop screen and adjust her designs. Her lips are always chapped and her hair is always in a simple low ponytail but somehow still messy. You’ve never met someone so exhausted yet so full of life at the same time.
“Who were you with last night?” Eunji yells from the bathroom, before the two of them laugh.
You knew you shouldn’t have stayed the morning. You have the nosiest roommates anyone could (not) ask for. But they’re still your friends, you tell yourself begrudgingly. You would tell them about Doyoung if it weren’t for Eunji’s big mouth and Areum’s lack of common sense. And if it weren’t for the inherent comfort of privacy.
(Some part of you wants to keep him to yourself. You don’t care about student council president Doyoung or his friend group’s everything-regulator Doyoung or always-has-his-shit-together Doyoung. The one in your bed is the most loving.)
Areum adjusts her glasses, narrowing her eyes at you. “So? Any answer?”
You break out of your daydream at her voice, feeling a flush creep up your neck.
“I don’t have to explain anything,” you retort, snatching the coffee she brewed from the tabletop. “It was a Friday night and the two of you like Netflix more than me.”
“That’s mine,” Areum mumbles out a weak complaint.
“But don’t go out alone,” Eunji whines. “It can’t be safe.”
You laugh. “You know me. I don’t do anything too dangerous. Besides, you guys have that tracker app.”
They shrug, offering you a thin smile. A part of you is happy that they trust you but another part wonders what it would be like to be worried over. Maybe getting nagged isn’t so bad. 
You take a sip of Areum’s coffee and almost spit it out right back. 
“Did you add salt?” you ask, wiping at your mouth and hoping the taste disappears.
“Uh.” A reply so intelligent, you wonder if she ever pays attention to anything she's doing. 
You take a moment (a few), sigh (several times) and make your way to the shelves. Grumbling, you make her a proper cup of coffee before you leave.
Classes don’t wait for you (even if you think they should) and the world doesn’t wait for you (again, you think it should wait for people) so you’ve made it a point to understand the whole deal about rules. If everyone followed the rules, it would be quite a pretty scene; messing up is only valid if it’s done prettily. You laugh at the thought. That’s near impossible. The bus ride to the campus consists of music and thoughts of bleak tomorrows—an average commute for college kids, you think. You sure hope you aren’t alone in this.
Doyoung smiles at you in the hallway today, and despite your best efforts, it makes your day smell a little fresher.
Your day: classes, coffee break, classes, complaining with Ten, assignments, ‘me’ time. For someone who pretends to be laid back, you use your planner as though for survival. There’s no sticky notes or colourful sketches (except on occasion); just good old fashioned to-do lists and a calendar marked with time you’ve spent on productivity. Every day is a list to be completed. If people call routine a man-made cage, instinct is the biological cage. You’d rather be in control of the cage you’re in. You’d rather be in control of yourself. It’s scary otherwise.
So you know how to get the job done—it’s ingrained into you the same way you would place your hands over your ears at loud sounds, or the way you would run to your bed in the dark after switching off the lights.
It never occurs to you that the reason your world is so perfect is a sad one.
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Sometime next month, it’s going to snow. Not yet though, and it’s still too cold.
The inside of the cafe helps the slightest, the heaters situated far back from where you sit. Christmas decorations are up already and the combination of red and green meshes delightfully into the form of an aching headache. The wood paneling on the walls are worn at the corners, the garlands hardly covering them, and the barista behind the counter seems as gloomy as the decorations are bright. You wouldn’t be noticing all of this if you weren’t stuck in one position.
You lean your cheek further into your palm and sigh, only this time Ten asks you to, quote, ‘shut the fuck up’.
He pulls up his sleeve and reaches for another pencil. His cryptic process continues, as it has been for the past half an hour and you feel yourself getting impatient, trying to not bounce your leg and get another bout of quibbling from your half-mad artist friend. You don’t usually run low on patience; but Ten has a special pass to test drive it.
“How much lon—”
“Shh!” He hushes you quickly. You can’t remember why you agreed to being his portrait study subject but you sure as hell regret it.
Around fifteen minutes later, you take a (permitted) breath. You have neither the energy nor the neck strength to glare at Ten but you make sure to show your displeasure by snatching the cookies from the table with a particularly sour look. He gets up and pushes you to the side of the small worn-out couch offered by the equally small booth.
“God, that chair was uncomfortable. My butt is frozen solid,” he lets you know, and you roll your eyes.
“You know, if we weren’t friends in high school, I would never be friends with you,” you state.
Ten tilts his head to the side, a mocking pout over his lips. “I would die without you, (name). Really.”
You smack his arm and he yelps, smacking your arm right back. The sound attracts some attention and giggles, and you make a gagging gesture to let them know you are in way or form in a relationship. The low-volume music changes to something with a more distinguishable beat, the sound of doors opening and closing almost every two minutes accompanying. Arriving on time is an accomplishment, especially arriving before rush hour on Fridays at the only decent cafe on campus, but both of your classes end early and there is no way you aren’t taking advantage of that. Leaving, however, is mostly done when you’re being glared at by the waiters and waitresses.
“Doyoung asked about you,” Ten says, all of a sudden. “Kim Doyoung.”
You try to not show concern, but raise an eyebrow. “What? So? He’s not my type or anything.”
You bite your tongue. That was too quick a response, too obvious. Your cheeks grow hot. Ten doesn't say anything, however, and for a moment, you think you’re in safe waters. 
“Are you guys… into each other or not?”
You cough, trying to show your surprise at something so outrageous. “Why would you think that? Does he look like someone who dates around?”
“Actually, he’s been on quite a few dates.”
“No way.”
You know that. He’s told you about it before, in vague references, but you know about them nonetheless.
“Isn’t one student council guy enough?” you mumble. “Why are we talking about Doyoung?”
He shrugs, a familiar feline smile on his face. “Just asking. He talks about you sometimes. Actually, we forced it out of him but whatever.”
You shake your head. “You’re all terrible.”
“You seem to like him though.”
“Who said that?”
Ten sighs, ignoring your question. “If you guys are dating—”
“We’re not.”
“—or fucking—”
“Ten.”
“—you should learn a thing or two about him. The guy’s not as annoying as he looks. Or stuck-up. He’s really nice but don’t tell him I said that.”
“I know that,” you snap, feeling warm at the neck all of a sudden. “I know him.”
“Oh, you do? Tell me what his hobbies are then. Or his major. Or the clubs he’s in, apart from the student council.”
“He- He likes to sing and he’s- he’s—god, what is this? An interrogation? I’m not going to meet his mom for dinner.”
Ten gives you an ‘I knew it’ look before leaning his elbow onto the table. “You’re sleeping with a guy you don’t know anything about. Serial killers would love you.”
You massage your forehead. “Look, I know he’s a good guy, okay? And he’s sweet- and- and—wait a minute. Oh my god, you tricked me.”
Ten lets out a snort. “Hey. Okay, look, the other guys might be dumb as shit but I have, you know, a working set of eyes. I can tell. It’s not that hard.”
You grumble but the cat’s out of the bag anyway. You should’ve known Ten would figure it out—he’s a nosy little shit, and he’s been that way since high school.
“Whatever. As long as Doyoung doesn’t start panicking about his tarnished reputation or whatever.”
“Oh, I think he’s desperate to let everyone know.”
“To you, Ten, everything seems obvious. It’s annoying.” You mess up his hair.
“No, I mean, I thought you were dating.”
“Well, we’re not.”
Ten shrugs. 
“And I don’t like him,” you add. “I like the- the thing that’s going on because there’s no feelings attached.”
He looks somewhat pained, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed, but doesn’t respond to your explanation. “Can I ask for a favour?”
“No.”
Ten sighs. “Come on. You didn’t even hear me out.”
“You’re going to say something stupid. Or insulting.”
“It’s neither, promise.”
You run your hand through your hair, breathing shallow. “Fine. I don’t have to agree though.”
Ten purses his lips. “It’d be better if you did.”
You hum in response, biting into the cookie and trying to ignore the glare from the nearby waitress. It’s about time you left anyway.
“Get to know him, dude. Don’t break his heart.”
“What?”
“Just kidding. There’s a party tonight. Hosted by yours truly. Finally moved out of that stinky dorm room. Bring over some friends but not more than three. And lend me some money for a juicebox.”
“That’s a lot,” you mutter. “You ask for a lot of favours.”
“Oh, speaking of which, Hyungmin—”
“He already asked me out on a date. Am I supposed to say no? You never mentioned he has such an attractive voice.”
“Oh, I’m not telling you to not go on that date. You have to, actually. I’m going to be in a lot of trouble otherwise.”
“That sounds good to me.”
“Shut up. I’m not done speaking.”
You roll your eyes.
“But if you didn’t, I could draw some conclusions.”
“What am I, your chemistry experiment now?”
“Well, you and Doyoung seem to be—”
“Don’t complete that sentence.”
“I was going to say something funny.” 
Ten flashes you a blinding smile and you sigh. By now, you’re about to get kicked out of here so you stand up discreetly while he packs up his stuff. You hug your jacket close to you as soon as you leave, shivering at the evening breeze. The sky is inky, but with a faint sort of ink—deep blue and light, all at once. From the crowd, you can tell classes just got over for quite a few people, eclectic chatter filling up the street.
“Fine. I’ll bring Eunji,” you tell Ten after some contemplation. “And whoever else responds to my text first. Areum never leaves the room. You know that.”
“Thanks, (name)!” he messes up your hair. “I would give you a kiss but someone will end up punching my pretty face.”
You furrow your brows. “Well, you’re not my type anyway.”
“I’m too good for you,” he responds in a sing-song manner, waving at you before running off and disappearing into the university crowd.
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There’s always a sort of buzz in the air you can’t quite describe at college parties.
Even if this is a relatively small one, you feel an oncoming headache the moment you enter Ten’s new apartment, which you’re sure had a ‘no parties’ rule in the rental contract. You spot Kun, Ten’s roommate from the dorms and he flashes you a quick smile in greeting before he’s swept up by a doting crowd. Apparently, a cute guy in animal sciences is rare and it makes him rather popular.
Eunji disappears from your side the moment she spots Johnny, and the number of eye rolls you’ve given her haven’t warned her off him yet. You suppose it takes heartbreak to change a person. Sighing, you make your way to the kitchen only to be greeted with the strange sight of Yuta trying to balance Jaehyun on his back so they can imitate some anime formation and back out immediately. Living room, it is, despite its populous space. (You don’t really want to think of bedrooms right now.)
The apartment is quite big for what Ten told you the rent was. The hallway to the two bedrooms is narrow but you suppose something has to be sacrificed for space. You furrow your eyebrows at the two bedroom doors. Ten never said he was getting a roommate. You shrug it off, sitting down on the rather stiff couch. The lack of furniture, apart from the couch and a coffee table, makes the place look even larger and people sparse. You like the beige walls; Ten’s always loved warmer colours but something makes you think he’s going to be ruining them in a few days with garish green paint before he comes crying about that to you.
“Hey.”
You look up to the familiar voice, heart rising to your throat.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Doyoung remarks before sitting down beside you and offering you a cup of god-knows-what.
“I don’t take drinks from strange men,” you say, biting down your smile and crossing your arms.
“If you didn’t take drinks from strange men, we wouldn’t be fu—”
“Doyoung!” you hiss before looking at him with careful suspicion. “Are you drunk?”
“No. A little bit. Not enough.”
You sigh. “How will you get home now?”
“I live here, idiot.”
“You’re- You’re Ten’s roommate?” you sputter.
“Yeah. New one,” he responds. “He used to live across our room in the dorms, I can’t believe I actually agreed to this.”
“I can’t believe it either. I’ve seen cats and dogs friendlier with each other than the two of you.”
Doyoung laughs. “He’s surprisingly one of the better people to room with. I’d rather eat my own blanket than room with Yuta again.”
You laugh at his irked expression, eyebrows furrowed so cutely. The line of his brow bone to nose to lips, it seems a little too perfect to belong to someone. He relaxes his shoulders a little, leaning back on the couch as he looks somewhat lost in thought. (“You think too much,” you’d told him once. “And you think too little.”) If only that were true, you smile to yourself.
“Are you sure you can hold parties here?” you as when the music suddenly rises in volume.
“Well, it said student-friendly,” Doyoung responds, looking visibly disturbed. “Not sure if I want to test the limits of that so early.”
There’s a pause, filled in with loud pop music. You don’t think Ten, your dear introvert, would have agreed to such a party but there’s a chance Johnny or Jaehyun had something to do with this. You don’t know who to suspect when it comes to their group of friends.
“I still can’t believe you’re rooming with Ten.” You look at Doyoung.
“Well, that makes, what, eleven of us, I guess?”
You laugh, feeling conscious all of sudden. Maybe you should listen to Ten’s advice.
“Doyoung,” you call, looking at the cup in your hands a little too passionately. “What’s your major?”
He looks at you with eyes widened ever so slightly, and a pause over his lips.
“Linguistics,” he answers.
“Oh. You said something about it once,” you mumble, recalling something vague about an assignment of his. “You know mine?”
“Yeah,” he answers, eyes cast on his watch.
“Well, that makes me feel a little guilty,” you mumble as softly as you can.
“You should be,” he says. “You never listen to anything I say.”
You scoff. “You just complain most of the time.”
“Really now?”
“Yes,” you snap, looking away.
You look back again when you hear the sound of Doyoung’s laugh, a distinct brightness in it. Sometimes, you wonder if you really are as awful as you’ve made yourself be.
“You’re cute,” he says. “No wonder everyone is so in love with you.”
For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you.
“Everyone?” you laugh. You don’t care about everyone. It’s burdensome.
“Everyone. They hate you too, by the way.” He smiles to himself. “Heard you’re going on a date with that dimwit. Hyungmin.”
You feel a sudden discomfort in your being. Taking a sip of the drink, you try to shake it off as best as you can. 
“Yeah, I- I don’t think I’ll go,” you say, waving it off. 
Why are you lying? You left it hanging on a maybe. Part of you wants to tell Doyoung; he is your friend after all and you tell friends stuff like this. The other part tells you this is cheating; lying and pretending everything is okay—it feels like cheating. 
“Oh.” He looks lost before he focuses on you. “Why not?”
“Why do you care?” you ask, trying desperately to calm the uprising in your chest.
He stays quiet for a few seconds and then shrugs, looking away from you. It makes you feel a little guilty to dismiss the situation so quickly, another item to add to your troubles. You sigh.
“Sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“No, it’s okay. You’re right.” You can see his Adam's apple bob up and down.
“I’m not,” you say. “I’m wrong. I really didn’t mean it.”
He looks at you all at once, his gaze so gentle that it makes you think he wants to kiss you, or do something equally affectionate. Instead he sighs, downing whatever’s left of his drink before a wash of sudden looseness does away with the tension in his body.
“You have any more questions for me?” he asks, smiling. “What's it like to be student body president—or, or what instruments can I play? My favourite animal? Colour?”
You smile back. “What is your favourite animal?”
“I don’t have one. Don’t like them. Unless it’s a soft toy.”
“No way. You’re lying.”
“Now, I answer your questions and you call me a liar? Makes me a little hesitant to answer the next.”
You roll your eyes. “Okay, next then. Why didn’t you join the frat? All your friends are in it.”
“Hurts my ego.”
You laugh. He’s still probably an honorary member. There is no way he’s apart from friends for too long with all those feelings of fraternity he has, no matter what he says. It’s the same as you. Affection leads nowhere though; just to short-lived moments of comfort.
You realize, through the course of the night, that you never asked. How he got into the student council, what his classes are, what he does for fun—you never asked. It’s almost like you didn’t want to know. 
How sad, you muse to yourself, to be this way. To be so wrapped up in your own problems that you fail to see people around you. Pity, however, isn’t something to feel at a party. You talk with Doyoung for the rest of the night till the sound of his voice makes you feel certain ghosts of butterflies, and till you have to take Eunji home before she does something she regrets. This is what it really means to have the price tag of ‘youth’ strung across you perhaps—when you feel old and immature all at once, and in between, when you feel nothing at all.
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Doyoung is too old to mistake love. Or too young. 
Labels don’t define anything, especially when it comes to relationships—so even if he calls it love, whispers it to himself at midnight when he’s sitting alone on his bed while his friends are passed out drunk on the floor, it is empty. And then there’s you. The heat of your skin, the curse of your smile and that cheeky laugh you do to get on his nerves. He wants all of it and he’s not ashamed—but he’d be a liar to say he can shout it to the whole world. He’s not that kind of man, and what is his can remain his without the rest of the world prying its damn fingers in. The first night, no, the second—third? He can’t remember which night it was but something pent up in him exploded and he didn’t try to control it for once.
“Ow,” he mutters.
His throat burns from the whiskey. He hates drinking alone but you’re either asleep or with friends and he can’t think of anyone else but you. He tugs at the turtleneck collar, getting uncomfortable by the minute, and then proceeds to take off his coat.
For a moment, he considers getting back to the living room. There were more than enough people with lingering touches against his shoulder and longing gazes—they’re not you. He leans back onto his bed. Another hour and everyone will be gone; why did he even let them hold a party in the first place? Parties just remind him of you—he takes a whiff and smells summer and lemon vodka all of a sudden. A deep sigh leaves his lips.
You might not seem to find yourself especially sad, but Doyoung finds something oddly touching about you. Maybe it’s the way you say his name, he muses, like you’re desperately trying to fill the gaps. But it can’t be him in particular, of course—it’s a lover, any lover.
He hates long nights, just as he hates winter but lately, they haven’t been feeling too cold. Isn’t it ridiculous the way he’s running after you? Doyoung was never meant for this. It’s fucking pathetic and it makes him want to tear all his hair out but there he is, still and quiet in the same place. A certain agony makes its way through him. His hands are freezing and yet his insides are burning—nothing makes sense and right now, he doesn’t want it to. He presses his cold hands to the warmth of his cheeks and a laugh erupts from his mouth.
He must be going crazy to laugh like this in an empty room. The car lights from the window travel slowly from wall to ceiling, the only thing moving in the stagnant of his room.
Inevitably, he thinks of the end. It should come quick; in fact, he’s never been one to do this. He’s always been someone to get attached to people. He doesn’t know how the end will come because this shouldn’t have begun in the first place.
Doyoung’s out of breath.
“Crazy bastard,” he mumbles to himself, followed by a groan when he lifts his head up. As if on cue, the door opens and shuts with a bang. Ten walks in looking drowsy, running his hand through his hair with a disgruntled face.
“I hate to say this,” he slurs. “But you’re right. We can’t have extra furniture and parties. Gotta choose one.”
Ten lays down flat on the bed. “I vote out that ugly ass clock you bought. Why do we need it? We have phones and laptops.”
“It was a gift,” Doyoung mutters.
“Oh. Uh. Actually, someone already, uh—”
“Leave it. We’ll talk about that in the morning.” 
Doyoung massages his forehead, groaning at the pain when Ten suddenly decides he’s all up for cuddling. 
“Ew,” he says, scooting away from Ten. “Get away from me.”
“You don’t mean that,” Ten whines, trying very hard to pull Doyoung into a hug. Of course, his attempts are blocked by Doyoung’s palm against his forehead.
After a few more seconds of trying, Ten huffs and turns away, crossing his arms. “I don’t like you anyway.”
“I know,” Doyoung mutters.
Ten erupts into laughter, sounding more like a psychopath than a close friend of his.
“You do that every time you like someone?” he asks in between fits.
Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “I just said—okay, yeah. Whatever.”
There’s a much needed silence and Doyoung wonders if he can just fall asleep without kicking Ten out.
“You should tell (name),” Ten says all of a sudden, Doyoung’s heart stopping at your name.
“What?” he whispers.
Ten looks at him as though he’s talking to a particularly stupid child. It makes Doyoung scowl but there’s too much alcohol in his system to know if he really means it.
“You don’t- you’re- everyone in this goddamn building knows,” Ten explains, exasperated. “Jaehyun knows, and he’s the densest kid I’ve ever met. God, if you like (name), go for it.”
Doyoung blushes so deep, he considers pressing his palms to his cheeks again. He thinks for the next few moments. Ah well, if they had to find out, he’s glad he didn’t have to declare it himself.
“Whatever, just ask (name) out. It can’t be that complicated.”
Except it is. You don’t have to spell it out for him—he knows the way you feel. The two of you only ever wanted one thing out of this. But if there’s something Doyoung isn’t good at, it’s keeping his mouth shut. He wonders how many times he let it slip, wonders if you even care enough to notice. God, it’s starting to sound pitiful for him.
“Ten. How much did you drink?” Doyoung asks, raising his head.
“Nothing. None. I’m not drunk.” Ten shrugs. “Just sleepy.”
A ‘wow’ is all Doyoung can respond with. He still isn’t quite finished figuring out what sort of horrific planet Ten stumbled from. A notification ding distracts him from kicking Ten off his bed and he has half a mind to toss it onto the bedside table but it’s still half. He softens almost immediately.
It’s a text from you: a ‘u’ followed by a smiley face and then a meme he can’t quite read through hazy eyes. He finds himself smiling anyway and sends a barrage of emojis, whatever he finds because he likes the way you get annoyed at them. Sighing, he decides that’s enough. He’s not in the right state of mind for conversation.
Doyoung shuts his phone off, attempts to push Ten off the bed one last time before closing his eyes and dozing off.
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Not every day is meant to be fun—you know that in your twenties—but it’s still somewhat disappointing to have bad days. Like youth is meant to give you some sort of happiness daily. That’s what they make it sound like.
You groan, rubbing at your back. Sitting at your study desk for so long does not have good long term effects. At least, your temporary, meaningless assignments are done. You scowl at the text on your laptop screen; the more you look at it, the more you hate it and so, you shut it off. It’s not like your pissy professor is going to be impressed by anything you do. However, you like the orderly certainty of schoolwork.
Break time consists of guilt and sugary snacks. You’re done with most everything and you suppose leaving the final review of things to a later date can’t hurt. In fact, it sounds rather appeasing. A few more moments pass in making a decision.
You get dressed. The apartment feels eerie all alone, and you’re sure as hell not going to spend the rest of your evening here. You shiver, quickly striding out the front door and locking it before taking out your phone.
People misunderstand winter. Winter is only the end of things; and sometimes, the beginning. It isn’t cruel or crushing, it’s just taking its course. However, you have a tendency to blame seasons for all that happen in it. For instance, you shouldn’t be missing summer when you really miss the first night with Doyoung. 
He picks up after calling thrice. You wonder what he’s even up to, if Saturday evenings are also booked full for such a guy.
“Why do you take so long to pick up?” you complain. “Do you not get days off?”
“I’m busy,” he hisses. 
Something’s wrong.
You pause, unsure what to do. It’s not his voice but the one in the background that catches your attention. 
Inviting him somewhere. 
Rather sensually.
Your ears feel hot and you drop the call. Of course. Of fucking course. You’re the idiot thinking it was a thing. This whole thing is casual—feeling sorry wasn’t in the contract. Fucking around was.
It’s not like you’ll be heartbroken by something like this. Of course not. Of course. Doyoung and you never had a beginning so there isn’t an end, really. It’s fine. It’s fine. You take a deep breath and browse through your phone. With the onset of Christmas holidays, you have around three options left. Ten (yikes), Jaehyun (no way) or the latest addition, Hyungmin.
Well, you’re dressed. You have to go somewhere. And your statement about Hyungmin being the hottest guy on campus still stands.
You send two texts to the boy before deciding that’s apparently enough time waiting. He picks up after a few rings, voice groggy from what you assume to be a late afternoon nap.
“You up for a drink?” You cut to the point.
“Uh? Oh, uh, now? I am, of course- I just need—”
“Twenty minutes. I’ll text you the address.”
Nothing cheers you up like your favourite bar. Or friends. Or people who respond to calls.
Hongdae is as busy as ever. You knew the bar would be packed but not this packed. Still, you managed to grab a seat at the bar table. With the oncoming night, the smell is just going to get worse—so there’s nothing wrong with treating yourself to some lemon vodka (and its refreshing scent).
Hyungmin arrives exactly four minutes early, and the mussed up hair makes you think he must have been in a hurry. For what, you can’t be sure. 
You can still see the inklings of Hongdae nightlights on his hair right before he enters, and in the fallacy of that moment, you think it’s going to be Doyoung. You sigh. This isn’t the time for that.
“Sorry,” you say, gesturing to the bar table. “All the tables were booked.”
“No, no,” he responds quickly. “I actually prefer it here.”
He’s tall, not that it’s the first time you’re noticing, but even when he’s sitting, he’s at least two heads taller than you are. His shoulders are accentuated by the mocha coat, no doubt part of the latest trend this winter. As a fashion student, he hits the mark and more. 
For a moment, you feel bad for knowing his major. Ten let it slip about him and yet still, you feel guilty for remembering it. You’re not supposed to go into unnecessary detail about people that don’t matter. Does he matter? 
“Surprised you could make it,” you joke half-heartedly. “Aren’t you lot always busy with something?”
He laughs. “The student council? Oh, we’re busy alright.”
Busy. Right.
“What about you? Aren’t you part of like three different clubs?”
“So what kind of busy?” you ask, ignoring his question. You’re part of two, now that you left the music club last semester. It’s not like small talk matters though.
“Uh,” he hesitates. “You know- attend meetings and events, coordinate committee work, supervise stuff, etcetera etcetera. So busy, yeah.”
“Busy on Saturdays too?” you ask, before thanking the bartender for the drinks.
“Yeah, I guess. Doyoung has it worse than me honestly. Even now, he has to take care of stuff because of me. Hah…”
You gulp down your drink making Hyungmin raise an eyebrow in concern. “Stuff? Because of you?”
“Yeah.” Hyungmin scratches the back of his head. “He’s with the girls.”
“Girls?” you ask, playing with the glass. You’re starting to feel annoyed, red lining your vision.
“Yeah.” He makes no notion of clarifying his statement.  
“Must be quite the president,” you say, resting your cheek against your palm.
“Oh, he’s a nightmare.” Hyungmin laughs. “He has to control everything.”
You try to mask your scoff. You know what he can be like when you’re working beside him. 
“Oh, and the guy has no sense of humour,” Hyungmin laughs, the sound easy on the ears.
You blink.
“I think he’s funny,” you say quickly. You swear you have no idea why you sound so defensive.
He hums in response and you consider biting your tongue, telling him you’re only here for one thing and forgetting the uncomfortable churning of feelings inside your chest.
“Forget I- I’m a little confused today.” 
Is that an acceptable explanation? You can’t think straight enough to decide. The silence on Hyungmin’s part, however, worries you. The crowd around you fills in for the next few moments as your companion seems to debate something with himself.
“Look, I know you and Doyoung are… I don’t know, something.”
You huff in irked amusement. “God, does everyone seem to know?”
“Not until late actually.” Hyungmin takes a gulp. “He’s been acting weird. Doyoung.” 
You look away, breathing shallow. You don’t like it, the way things seem to be getting out of hand. All this time, the world seemed to be in the palm of your hand and now, it’s spilling everywhere; the sand in the hourglass is already up to your knees and you don’t know what happens when it fills.
“Do you actually like him?” he asks, leaning back just a little. You know where this is going. “Are you guys dating?”
“No,” you respond, checking your watch.
“Oh.”
There’s a moment’s hesitation in him but you’ve seen that look before. You know that look.
“Then we can- uh- we can—”
“Fuck?” you ask.
He gulps. “I mean, you can say no any time—”
You pull him by the collar and kiss him, hard enough to melt away your hovering thoughts. He kisses like you expect him to, not how you want him to. You know this sort, and somehow, that makes you feel comfortable. Knowing what you’re getting into is easing but it doesn’t lessen the weight of it.
It’s sickening. The way you’re pretending it’s Doyoung.
Hyungmin pulls apart, panting heavily. “Oh, okay.”
“Tell me you drove here.” 
He holds up his car keys in response.
You’re not the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men, but it’s better than falling in love with them.
So you follow a lover to a hotel room and try to feel something. Some time, when he’s kissing you against the hotel room walls, he pulls apart and asks, “You’re thinking of someone else, aren’t you?”
You know the answer; it just won’t leave your lips.
“It’s okay,” he says with a weak smile, “Let’s just have fun.”
And every time his mouth was on yours, every time you saw stars, you felt the ghost of Doyoung and his haunting touches. It was strange and unfair and unlike you—or at least, unlike the you that you built over the past few years. You feel as though you’ve misplaced something—like something was supposed to be there when you reached out but instead, it was empty space.
The night ends as it should and you leave right before dawn with an apology text you couldn’t put half your heart into.
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Most winter nights, you wake up with pain so profound, it’s seeping into your bones.
It never made sense. You never tried to make sense of it. So you let the aches push you down by the shoulders, lodge itself into your neck and back; and you tell yourself, it must be what you deserve. It’s cold and you’re walking barefoot on frozen ground.
You gasp. The weight of who you are and who you have to be—it has its knee on the back of your neck, shoving you into the damp earth. There’s no particular reason to it; it makes it seem as though it’s insignificant. Unimportant. Irrelevant. But that’s the problem—the weight of the world on your shoulders makes no sense. Whose world are you even carrying? Whose approval are you trying to win? You scramble to get up, messing up your bedsheets in the process, and pull your blanket around you. Your own warmth surrounds you and it makes no difference. You frown.
You remember your phone call with your mom, and your lips tremble. You shouldn’t have told her about how crappy your finals went but it slipped. You tried to explain that you did work for them, that you gave it your best but sometimes things don’t work out. She didn’t have to say it out loud for you to hear her thoughts. 
You’re disappointing. 
You wipe at your eyes, feeling annoyed at the emotion. If you could let the ground swallow you whole, you would. In a heartbeat. You don’t even know what you’re doing most of the days despite that pretty planner of yours.
You get out of bed, pull on your cardigan beside the bed and grab your lighter and pack. The tiny balcony makes for a great smoking spot and while you would scold any of your friends for committing to this, you do it yourself. Hypocrite.
For all you try to shove into yourself—hobbies, student clubs, actual clubbing, friends—the more you feel less than enough, as if everything just vanishes into thin air inside you. As if you aren’t enough and never will be. You play by the rules and you lose, you break the rules and you lose. 
Maybe it’s because you let yourself be filled by the intricacies of other people that they like you. And thus, you cannot stop for fear of loneliness.
Just as you’re feeling crushed again, you picture Doyoung against your back, placing his nose in the crook of your neck—something he has never done—and you wonder why it helps. 
Sucking in air too fast, you cough. You shouldn’t have let it go on for so long.
It was fun—harmless fun. You shouldn’t even be thinking of taking a step in some other direction. You’re friends, barely, but you like where you are. If Doyoung was that important, you wouldn’t be going about this all backwards. You sigh, though it comes out jagged. The room is quiet and that’s the way it should be at four a.m, of course, but you crave music all of a sudden. Doyoung and you are just a temporary fix; and you let that thought relax you.
When you think of his chin on your shoulder, however, it feels feather light.
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“Why are we doing this?” you ask. 
The atmosphere is warm and toasty, just like you expect it to be in a bakery with light pink doors and a collection of plastic potted plants on display. The decorations aren’t an eyesore here and somehow, it makes you feel better. It’s a little far but you decide it’s worth it.
Doyoung shrugs, sipping his hot chocolate. “It’s Christmas, and we’re both here.”
Your eyes follow the hanging lights over the counter, wrapped in pine tree stickers and eventually to the neat display of a ‘Season’s Greetings’ menu, the contents of which are currently at your table. A Christmas song by some singer who’s been popular lately plays, tunes light and dancing. You hate the end of the year solely because of the extra pressure January brings. Nothing you can’t handle, of course. Nothing you can’t handle.
You sigh. It’s been a little difficult lately.
“Doyoung, really, why are we doing this?” you ask, genuinely curious.
“Are you- uh- are you not enjoying this? I could—”
“No! No, it’s not that. I feel better, actually.” You bite your tongue almost immediately after. It’s not like he’s supposed to know the sort of hell week you’re having. A poorly received term paper, finals that weren’t up to your expectations, crippling loneliness without friends and, oh, the self-doubt—you are at the lowest you can be in college. The only sweetener right now is in the hot chocolate and the way Doyoung’s looking at you. 
You feel something close to guilt.
“Good.” He smiles. “You seemed… You seemed a little down.”
The sliver of warmth between your ribs makes you think this is unreal. It feels uneasy to be so affected by someone but you let it slide, turning back to your hot chocolate.
“Why didn’t you go home this time?” you ask, sipping your drink.
“Oh, I didn't really want to face my parents,” he says before leaning. “Didn’t do too well this semester. And my brother’s going to be there with all his achievements.”
You chuckle in disbelief. “You don’t like your brother?”
“I love him to bits. Just can’t stand my mom’s nagging when he’s around.”
“That’s rich coming from you.” You cross your arms, smiling triumphantly. You feel like children squabbling but it’s so lighthearted, you want to laugh.
Doyoung raises a pointed finger, about to retort but nothing comes out. He puts his hand down.
“I guess you’re right.”
You shake your head. “I’m sure she’s proud of you too.”
“I know that,” he says, laughing. “Of course she is. I don’t keep myself busy for nothing.”
You gulp, a sudden sourness rising at the base of your tongue. 
“Busy, huh? Didn’t know spending saturday evenings with girls also counted as busy,” you mutter against the cup, half-hoping he doesn’t hear you.
“What?” There’s a perplexed look across his face.
You wave your hand in dismissal. “Oh don’t mind me.”
“Are you talking about me giving a tour to the fresher girls?” Doyoung leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Hyungmin does that usually but Mr Man was sore from soccer practice and Friday fucking.” 
You blink. “Fresher… girls?”
“What, did you think I was at a brothel?” Doyoung laughs in amusement.
You feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “No! No, of course not.”
You wave your hands about for a few more seconds, trying to come up with an explanation. This makes things rather embarrassing.
“Sorry,” you say finally. “I jumped to conclusions.”
Doyoung laughs, rather deep and heartily, and you wonder if your apology really did sound as stupid to him as it did to you. 
“You do that a lot,” he notes.
“Thanks,” you quip, cutting the pastry with your fork a little too forcefully. His laugh follows. (You hate it so much. It sounds like pure adoration.)
The next few moments consist of scrolling through your phones (because Doyoung says his ‘mouth hurts from talking to you’) and you would’ve been in a better state of mind if everyone wasn’t posting pre-Christmas photos with their families. 
“You know they’re opening that park. What’s it called- Winter Wonderland or something. You said you wanted to visit.”
You look up at Doyoung amused.
“Let’s be honest. You want to be in bed, Doyoung,” you say. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I care,” he answers, looking at you with his doe eyes. “About you. You sulk when you’re upset.”
“I don’t sulk,” you reply but your smile is obvious when you exit the cafe. 
It’s like a date. The more you think of it that way, the more it makes you smile.
The evening is perfect—orange and pink and loving and happy. Doyoung trails behind you as you tread over the sidewalk with cheeky remarks about his speed.
“I’m in the track club, you know?” he huffs, finally tired of your jabs.
“As what, the start point?”
A fake, sarcastic laugh leaves him. “I wouldn’t get to see you if I walked ahead.”
You feel warmth creep up your face. You mumble, “that’s cheesy.” It’s too weak though, and it goes unheard. 
For the first time, you notice his eyes are a little like yours in what they reflect. You love them. 
So this is where the crowd went. The amusement park, or whatever you call it, is buzzing with a faint sort of excitement, mostly in the children that didn’t get to go on a vacation elsewhere. It’s quite the wonderland though so you can’t see them complaining.
“Do you think they’ll kick us out if we make out on the Ferris wheel?” you ask, smiling at Doyoung.
“I’m not making out with you on the Ferris wheel,” he replies, making a face.
You do end up making out on the Ferris wheel, and you get butterflies from it. It’s like a teenage dream but Doyoung looks even better. You pass on the cotton candy because frankly, you’ve had enough of sweet things. You sit at the frozen wooden seat, hoping it warms up while Doyoung brings the two of you some fries.
Your phone buzzes with a notification. Your eyes light up at the mail from your professor. You had turned in the term paper three days ago, weeks ahead of schedule and were particularly proud of the way it turned out. 
You look at the email and zero in on the word ‘redo’.
Your shoulders sag immediately. You spent four weeks on that—and it’s not good enough? You search frantically for how it could have gone wrong and come up with none. That’s not supposed to happen. Something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong. The week’s exhaustion swallows you up again.
When Doyoung returns, he looks at you concerned before quickly setting the fries on the table.
“(name). Is something wrong?”
“Huh?” Your voice sounds so weak and squeaky, you feel embarrassed. It’s embarrassing that after all these years, you still don’t know how to handle failure. 
Because it’s not supposed to happen. You tell yourself that over and over and it makes things worse.
You feel dirty, underneath all that dust and crumbled rock dangling in your hair. Whatever rests on your shoulders is cracking and collapsing, and you’re pushing in the wrong direction to make sure it all stays up. 
He reaches out his hand but you avoid it.
“No,” you mutter, weakly shaking your head.
You rub at your nose and eyes, hoping you can hide behind your forearms. Doyoung shouldn’t be seeing you like this, he doesn’t deserve to see you like this. You turn away from him, your palm gently pushing against the soft material of his shirt. 
Doyoung doesn’t move. Instead, he gently tugs on your wrist so you have no choice but to face him with your red-rimmed eyes. You’re not sure if it’s embarrassment or pity, but the concern in his eyes makes you cry harder. 
“You don’t have to do that,” he whispers. “You don’t have to find a place to cry.”
For the first time in adulthood, you learn what it’s like to lean your forehead against someone’s chest this way. Doyoung wraps his arms around you and the sound of his breathing soothes your near-erratic heart. 
“I worked really hard on it, you know?” you mumble against his chest. “My term paper.”
“I know,” he whispers.
Doyoung strokes your head delicately, fingers running through your hair with airy touches. Eventually, you let go of a final sigh and look up to his lips.
He seems surprised at the kiss but it’s all you can think of now. It’s gentler than usual and Doyoung moves cautiously though he seems to like it all the same. His arms feel comfortable around you. When he pulls apart, he looks at you yet still with careful concern.
“We can- we should stop if you want,” he says, and he means it. 
You shake your head. Night is creeping in overhead, deep and quiet and slow.
“I like you, Doyoung,” you say finally. “I really, really like you.”
Doyoung’s eyes widen, as though a rabbit wary of the traps it might set foot on but he eases into your touch almost immediately.
“I like… I like you too.” His lips waver but he looks away and takes a deep breath. “I like you so much.”
You smile and think that maybe everything is set right now, with his chin against your shoulder and your arms around him. 
Doyoung discards the jacket once you’re in your apartment, kissing you fuller now. Every other thought leaves you; you beg him to make you forget the rest of the world. The walls are comforting now that he’s here, and it’s warmer, hotter.
“Can we- Can we go a little slower?” you mumble, his arms still gentle when they wrap around your waist. He parts his lips from your neck to look at you momentarily before nodding.
You suddenly understand why he always makes you feel so good. There’s a certain fondness to his touch and warmth to his kisses. There’s no one quite like him, really.
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“I love digging graves, especially if it’s my own,” you mutter against the pillow.
Doyoung laughs. “What did you do this time?”
“This time? Excuse me? Do you think I’m some sort of trouble child?”
“Hm. Let’s see. Yes.”
You pause. Why do you hesitate to tell him you slept with Hyungmin? It’s not like you were cheating—you weren’t dating Doyoung. Besides, that night with Hyungmin didn’t mean anything. A horrid feeling snakes around your throat, heavy and piercing. You resort to changing the topic.
“I’m… I took another course beyond my understanding.”
“That’s it?” he asks.
You nod.
No, no, no; it’s all backwards now and you don’t know how to reverse it.
Doyoung takes your hand in his, delicately and yet firm. His chest is against your back, bare and warm. When he presses his lips against your knuckles, the warmth that flushes through you makes you want to believe in something else entirely. You feel weak. 
A part of you argues that you feel honest—in a moment of clarity you don’t think you deserve. Neither vodka nor whiskey can make you this clear in the head; you struggle to breathe straight. How awful it is to feel warmth and not believe in it at the same time.  
“You can rely on me, you know?” he whispers.
The knot in your chest makes you want to cry.
You feel lonely and the opposite of it all at once. Doyoung is too much for you—too kind, too pretty and too true. He makes you realize too many things at once.
There are a few things in the world that can stifle loneliness. Like the notes Doyoung plays on the piano, like the songs he hums in the morning till you place open-mouthed kisses against his neck.
You realize, all of a sudden, that Doyoung really is your dearest friend.
And yet, you don’t think you deserve it. You’ve never loved, you believe, but you have. You don’t remember it well enough. The lovers’ touches you kept searching for led to this. Hypocrite. You wanted a lover’s touch and you rejected the love that came with it. What a complicated bundle of emotions. You weren’t always this way.
You loved your first cat when you were six, all the way till it died a warm death in your bed. You loved your mother even when she yelled at you for skipping your chores. You loved your middle school friends when you talked about comics and movies you saw for the first time. 
It’s hard to love the same way now.
You suppose sympathy needs a little backstory. Nothing is unconditional. 
It had all started when your heart had broken into two clean pieces. You put a bandaid on it and called it a day. No one taught you to ask for help.
Your friends know someone broke your heart; you tell them everything. Friends, friends—you wanted them so bad and yet, you keep them as far from you as you can. You pretend to be paper-thin and so shallow, sometimes you wonder if that’s all there is to you. But for all they know, they know next to nothing. It wasn’t just the aftermath of reckless puppy love. 
The first time your heart broke, it was watching your mother cry in the living room for a reason you didn’t understand. You wondered who committed the crime, who should be charged—and you found no one. A loveless marriage is cruel, yes, but you cannot point fingers. It isn’t just cruel; it’s infuriating.
The second time, the two pieces of your heart broke into a few more. It was a boy with an inviting smile and flags whose colour you couldn’t quite discern. They must have been red, but everything else was too—hearts, cheeks, lips, and the threads around your wrists. And eventually, he guided you to the conclusion that you are undeserving, unworthy, unloved. 
You were strong, however. It was easy to collapse on the bed and feel the weight of the world settling in, but you stood up again on shaking knees and you told yourself to have fun; you can have fun without feelings. You know better than to attach meaning to fun—you might hate insignificant things but it’s only fun if it’s pointless. You’re not letting go of this place you’ve worked so hard to arrive at, with all the shattered pieces in your hands.
It’s better to offer nothing at all than offer broken pieces.
“Can we stay like this?” Doyoung’s arms tighten around your waist, his breath shallow against your shoulder. “Just for a little bit.”
His voice is beautiful as always, but for a moment, it strikes you as sad.
Everything’s twisting up into knots and you are frantically running your fingers over them to straighten it all out. You know what it’s like to let things rot; and you are tired of it. Why can’t everything disappear for one moment? Why can’t you just let it be the two of you?
You sigh in response, nodding. 
“I might not know what’s happening in there,” he starts, drawing circles on your chest with his finger, touch comfortably light. “But…”
I’m here and I get it.
Is that what he wants to say? You don’t think you’ll get to know. You’re not exactly voicing yourself either. 
Stay the night. You want to say it but your lips are frozen.
Instead, you rub your thumb over the back of his hand, fitting into each other as perfect as a lie. You would tell him, you try to convince yourself, if you could say it with enough conviction. There’s no point to saying things that are half-meant, that are true but only just enough. You’re a coward.
And now, this has gotten complicated.
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An end.
Tapping his pen against the desk, Doyoung grows increasingly annoyed. The council's next  meeting agenda isn’t going to finish writing itself but he can’t bring himself to either. Besides, Ten’s pacing outside his room is starting to get on his nerves.
“Ten!” he yells. “Can you quit it? You’re making too much noise.”
His disapproval is met with silence. For a moment, he spaces out and reflexively thinks of you, only to feel a confusing sort of emotion. It’s normal, he tells himself, and that it’ll sort itself out.
Doyoung feels like a glass box more often than not. If he breaks, who picks up the pieces? Who gets cuts all over their fingers?
‘Whoever breaks him’ should be the answer. But that’s wishful thinking. It’s not that simple. 
He’s so see-through that it’s painful. He used to tell Taeyong he’s wrong but he’s never been able to prove it. He is easy. It’s embarrassing.
But then again, part of him likes it when it comes to you. He likes it when you kiss him after a particularly heated disagreement, he likes when you get on his nerves just so he’d fuck you and most of all, he loves the push and pull. Fun is just that. He doesn’t know what he’d do if that heart of his he placed so gingerly into your palms falls and shatters.
The line between hate and love is thin; and he’s enjoying walking it too much.
He has nothing to offer but himself. He laughs at the thought and shakes his head. It’s somewhat dirty, and not just in the sexual sense.
“Ten!” he yells again. “Stop pacing!”
Getting up from his seat, he strides over to his door, swings it open and finds Ten scratching his head and glancing at his phone in repeated action. 
“Ten?”
He’s so in a trance that he hasn’t noticed Doyoung. He is the lovable sort of idiot if he ever chooses to be so. Most of the time though, he’s just a smartass.
“Oh, oh no, I’m a bad friend,” Ten mutters to himself, his pacing growing more restless. He scratches the back of his head, eyebrows furrowed and too inside his head to notice Doyoung. He wants to ask but something tells him he shouldn’t. 
Turns out, his apprehension isn’t strong enough these days. 
“Whose date did you crash?” Doyoung asks, more than annoyed already.
When Ten looks at him, Doyoung feels rather shriveled and freezes on the spot. Call it instinct but Doyoung respects fear and pain. Ten has a mixture of the two, amplified when he looks at Doyoung.
“Doyoung. Hey,” he says, trying to tone down the distress in his voice.
Doyoung still hasn’t recovered from the initial surprise of Ten looking that way.
“Did you fuck up? Did someone fuck up? Why do you look like that?”
Ten sits down on the small couch. “Long story… I guess. Too many details, you- you know? Just—”
“What the fuck happened?”
Ten still can’t look him in the eye. “The group chat’s a little…”
“Ten,” Doyoung snaps. “Cut the crap.”
“No, that’s- that’s what I’m- You’re going to be upset.”
Doyoung straightens, furrowing his brows. “I think I can fucking handle it.”
“You know that date I set up for (name) and Hyungmin?”
“You set that up?”
“(name) slept with Hyungmin.” 
Doyoung quietens. The silence seems to make Ten uncomfortable as he shifts in his seat, getting up when Doyoung speaks.
“So?”
Ten blinks. “You’re not upset?”
“Just what kind of loser do you think I am?” Doyoung mutters.
Glass shatters just that easily. Maybe he wanted you to shatter him. Maybe he was already cracking at the edges.
“Doyoung, you don’t have to—”
“Stop,” he exclaims a little louder than he intended. “Stop looking at me like that. I’m a grown man, I can handle shit like this.”
It still hurts though. You lied to him and he let you in. You lied to him. Doyoung sighs, returning to his room with a realization he should have had long ago. His night ends with more deleted drafts than he’s supposed to have and eventually, with increased discomfort, he delegates the job to Park Hyungmin himself with the excuse of sickness.
Doyoung does feel sick. He felt this way once, in highschool, but it had turned to red, hot anger ready to lash at anyone and everyone, spilling from his lips as easy as it was to breathe. And Doyoung can never feel that way towards you. He was different back then too, of course, but you—you’re unlike anyone he’s ever met. He loves the comfort of you, and something like that is hard to come by. 
He feels like laughing again but instead he finds tears on his cheeks. Silly boy, he can hear his mother tell him. You don’t give your heart to heartbreakers. 
So Doyoung falls asleep to the sound of upbeat music in his earphones, music he hates even just to pass the night. Morning will come and he will have to become stronger. Comfort is fleeting, after all.
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With everything said and done, you know very well that if you were to tell someone you love them—genuinely, truly, from the heart—it would be Doyoung. It’s not a sudden realization, like the sky falling apart or a tidal wave crashing against the shore and sweeping away the city. It is like the gentle lapping of water, though, or the way the clouds change shape—natural and anything but alarming. You want to stare at it forever, and you want to believe that’s how it will be forever. 
“You told everyone we had sex?” Your voice is boiled to a shout. 
Hyungmin looks torn, lips moving but no explanation making its way out. “I- I told my friends, not everyone.”
“And you forgot that your friends talk? Everybody talks, Hyungmin, what were you thinking?”
He sighs before taking a step towards you. “Why are you so angry about it? As far as I remember, you had no trouble talking about whose pants you got into.”
You scoff. “With friends, not the whole campus.”
“That’s exactly what I did!” 
You cross your arms, feeling so upset you might cry and unsure as to why. You’re usually good at dealing with stuff like this, keeping things in the right place.
“It’s because of Doyoung, isn’t it?” 
You snap your head to Hyungmin. There’s a serene sort of look to him despite his unkempt appearance, and a look of understanding.
“I’m sorry. Really. But if you were so into him, you shouldn’t have called me that evening. It might not matter to me but…”
You broke his heart. All that devotion he had towards you led to this. 
“You’re right.” You choke on your words, leaning against the wall. “Fuck… Fucking…”
You turn around, making your way out of the hallway and hope the tears on your cheeks dry faster if you run.
You can’t remember the last time you ran. Your world didn’t need running from, it was right in the palm of your hands. Now that you look back, the world was always on your shoulders and heavy as it can be. Maybe you liked it—the weight. You could’ve shrugged it off any time; you didn’t need all those caging schedules or careful, elegant steps.
No. Atlas couldn’t shrug because his punishment was his existence. To have weight is to have meaning; and that is how you intended to live out your life.
Doyoung makes you see it differently. To love so fully even if it seems cautious—you, who has never loved at all, couldn’t comprehend it. And because he makes you see it differently, the box is now open and all hell is loose. 
For once, you don’t want to live in the world you crafted. You want more love, more hurt and you want to open the doors. You don’t mind hell if it’s for him.
You ring the bell to Doyoung and Ten’s apartment and pray the news hasn’t reached him yet. He said he was busy this weekend; maybe he was detached enough from his phone for once. You just want to be the person to tell him. It’s not a perfect apology otherwise.
Doyoung opens the door with pursed lips and cold eyes. There’s a sense of ease over his shoulders and arms but he won’t look at you and panic rises to your throat.
“We’re not fucking tonight, (name),” he says.
“That’s not- That’s not why I’m here.” Your voice is so meek, you wonder what happened.
Doyoung steps back, crossing his arms. He’s still looking at his feet and you feel the urge to reach for his face.
“I wanted to tell you- I… I just—”
“That you’re fucking other people?”
“God, Doyoung, stop with the fucking. I don’t care about that right now.”
“Really?” His voice is so sharp, it digs into your skin. “You were just in it for that. That’s the fun part in your stupid life, isn’t it?”
You feel a sharp pain in your nose and forehead. “You’re- Now that’s- Doyoung. I’m sorry. That’s what I wanted to say.”
“After—” His voice chokes up. “After everything is done? Stop with the excuses and face it for fuck’s sake. You aren’t made to fall in love. That’s why you dance around it all the time.”
Although he says that, he doesn’t sound angry. He sounds defeated.
“It’s not like you aren’t cautious,” you retort, throat feeling heavy. “You said it yourself- you don’t want to care too much.”
“I was wrong,” he says, voice hoarse. “I care about everything more than I’d like to admit. I care about you more than I’d like to admit.”
“The Hyungmin thing didn’t mean anything, okay? You were busy and—”
“So why did you lie?” He strains to not raise his voice. “Of course I knew our little thing didn’t mean shit to you. Why did you pretend it did? Last week, you said- you said—”
“Doyoung, last week- last week I- I wasn’t pretending, I swear.”
“You could’ve just saved yourself the trouble and the dignity.” A short, humorless laugh leaves him.
You feel your lips tremble, the explanation not quite made its way out yet. He looks so innocent like this, rabbit-like eyes watery and full of pain, pure the way they have always been. This is your mistake, isn’t it?
“Doyoung, please,” you manage to say. “That was wrong. I couldn’t clear up my head. Please don’t—”
“No. I was an idiot. Or you see me as one.” He frowns deeper, lips trembling. “I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t have. We shouldn’t have been at the same fucking party and I shouldn’t have drank so much. You’re- I’m not that kind of person.”
You bite down your lip. “What kind?”
Doyoung laughs, the sound raspy and empty. “The kind to not fall in love with you.”
It damn near breaks your heart to look at him. You have to say something, it shouldn’t end like this. You’re desperate and all you think is that you don’t want it to end at all.
“Please, I thought of you as a friend, that’s why—”
“And this is what you call being a friend?” he cuts you off.
You feel the sting in your eyes and nose, making you turn sharply to the side. You wish he’d just make you cry. It makes you feel the rancid guilt all the more.
“Make Hyungmin your friend for all I care. Let’s stop this.”
You stare at your feet, unable to respond. 
“You can have every boy in the world, (name). Don’t come to me.”
“Can you just stop talking about everyone else?” you yell, desperate. “Do I talk about your exes? Seungjae or- or what’s-her-name—” 
“That’s different!” He looks distraught, breathing heavily and with a painful red flush over his nose and cheeks. He runs his hand through his hair, tousling it further. “You lied to me, (name). You lied.”
Your cheeks are wet and the look that flashes over Doyoung makes you think he wants to step right out to you. He stays frozen in place, however, looking away to the side.
“Did you notice?” he asks softly. “Even once? How much I cared?”
You can’t answer, letting the tears drip down your face. It’s getting colder and colder. 
Doyoung bites down his lip before parting them. “All we did was have sex anyway. So please just- just leave.”
You take a long few moments but nod, hugging your coat closer and stepping out of his apartment. You think you hear Ten’s footsteps but it’s followed by the bang of a door—this is how it ends then.
The line between hate and love is thin; and you are deserving of neither.
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You perfect your next semester’s academics, and the next. It still feels empty. You go out to drink with friends and return to a messy bed you sleep in alone. You smile as always and you laugh as always. No one asks you how you are as always. You never needed anyone to ask you how you are.
Ten tries but you push him away. You don’t need to drag in other people into a mess you made. He feels sorry for the whole thing but you tell him it was you that spilled the paint, Ten just handed a dash of it to you.
You were right. You don’t deserve Doyoung. At least, you made it so that you don’t deserve him. 
‘It’s better to have loved and lost than to not have loved at all’—it still hurts.
Every day is part of a list again. You doodled in some of the pages, when you thought you were starting to fall in love. There’s only a skeleton of it left now. Soon, you’ll let it crumble to dust too. 
You tear apart the planner sometime after graduation and cry and curse at yourself for doing that. No one’s good at parting with things they care about. You’re no exception.
It’s December again. 
This place is a little strange to visit right after graduating, especially with the memories flashing you by. Johnny said he booked one of the private booths (“A senior’s treat!”) but you feel your steps growing hesitant when you reach the neon signs by the stairs. It spells ‘The Meeting Place’ and smells of cigarettes just like it did the first time.
You stop midway up the stairs. For a moment, you think of Doyoung sitting there and wonder if you’ll ever be able to talk to him again. If you had the chance now, would you take it?
Of course, you wouldn’t. There’s too much to be set right and you can’t do it.
There’s supposed to be the six of you. Johnny mentioned Ten and you know Eunji’s invited too. You saw Jaehyun on the way here, still a student. You sigh. It must be him, the one they failed to mention to you. Kim Doyoung. There’s no one quite like him.
You spot him first. Looking a little forlorn as he gazes absentmindedly to the side, he faces away from you and you get the inevitable urge to run away. It’s a funny feeling. 
Your stomach is churning. You don’t want him to see you. Ten babbles on about something to Johnny, smiling like he found candy while clearing his drawers. Eunji looks tired, leaning against Johnny’s shoulder and you wonder if she already drank more than enough shots.
“(name).”
You jump at Jaehyun’s voice from behind you. 
“Hey,” you respond, giving him a wide smile.
He hesitates. “Are you okay? Not that you don’t look okay- you look really good actually. I mean, are you and… you know okay?”
“I don’t think so, Jaehyun,” you say and make your way to the booth.
It’s a little cramped for the six of you and Doyoung gets up before you can even greet him. It’s not like you deserve it anyway but it tugs at the wound.
“I’m going to go take a drag,” he mutters.
“You don’t smoke,” you say, looking up.
He stares at you momentarily and you look away. You think Ten and Johnny glance at you with pity but you don’t really care. 
 “Can I come with you?” you ask, barely a whisper.
“Sure,” he says, to your surprise.
The smoking area is so small, you’re surprised it’s even there. A glass structure overlooking the neighbourhood, there’s barely any light within. The only thing nice is how warm it’s in there. 
Doyoung lights his cigarette and then offers to light yours. It’s quiet, the music from inside numbed to the cold doors. You really can’t take it. You stub the barely consumed cigarette and throw it into the bin.
You’d rather just stay quietly in his presence.
“You’re not smoking,” he notes.
“It’s a bad habit.” You look out through the glass.
Doyoung chuckles. “You were a collection of bad habits.”
“And good ones too,” you quip. “I was a perfect student. I was perfect in most everything actually.”
Doyoung’s smile widens. “You were. You certainly were.”
A few more moments pass in silence, your eyes traveling over the outside scenery which seems to be growing duller by the second. City lights have never felt fainter.
“It was an accident, right?” You say suddenly. “The whole thing? Us?”
Doyoung hums. “Yeah. I fell in love by accident.”
You smile weakly. “Right. I never got to apologize.”
“I loved you on purpose.”
You look up at him. There’s not a lot of people who say what they mean. He looks the same as he used to under your grey blankets, with a warm blush over his cheeks and kind, wide eyes. 
“You’re so damn pretty,” he murmurs, “even now.”
You scan his face for signs of lying.
“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” you ask finally. 
Doyoung blinks before easing into laughter. “You- You’re- You’re the same as ever.”
You let yourself crack a smile.
“Doyoung I- I really am sorry,” you say quietly. “And I did- do care for you.”
Doyoung stubs out his cigarette and discards it before looking you in the eye. You notice he’s wearing his favourite black turtleneck in the proximity, the grey plaid coat covering most of it. You really liked that look on him.
“I’m sorry,” you say once again. “I want you to know that. I didn’t want to hurt you and I promise I won’t ever do it again.”
You mean it. You’re never going to hold glass again. He doesn’t deserve it.
“That’s a problem,” he responds, breath mingling with yours. “I want you… I want you to hurt me. If you really do love me, I’ll take it.”
“Doyoung,” you whisper, turning away despite your whole body screaming at you to give in. “I meant it. I can’t hurt you.”
Doyoung cups your cheek with one hand, glancing at your lips for a moment.
“You’re warm,” he says.
He’s warmer.
“I want to kiss you,” he says.
You want to kiss him too.
“We went about this all wrong, didn’t we?” he asks.
“We did,” you answer, voice barely above a whisper. “I did.”
Doyoung pulls back. “Then let’s start again. I’m Kim Doyoung, I majored in linguistics. I was student council president and I made a mistake.”
You smile. “We don’t have to do that.”
Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “After all the trouble I went through to make a good introduction?”
The two of you laugh, and it gets warmer. 
“I’m (name),” you say. “I was a top student and I made a bigger mistake, Kim Doyoung.”
“Oh? I wonder what it was.”
“Kind of a long story.”
“I’ve got all the time for you.”
You smile and start. He responds with gentle kisses. You’re piecing your world back together again; but this time it’s feather-light and fits right in the palm of your hand. 
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2dmenenthusiast · 3 years
Note
I can't remember if I sent this to you already but could I request headcanons for aizawa, hizashi and Toshinori finding their s/o that has a chipmunk quirk that makes her fall into hibernation when it's too cold (kinda like tsu) but when the guys find her with her heart rate low and her breathing shallow maybe they freak a little bc she didn't tell them about that part of her quirk yet
omggggg this idea is literally so cute I got so excited when I first read it. Also thank you love for comin through with the requests, I really appreciate it! <3 I also hella struggled cuz like, what can someone with a chipmunk quirk do? Stuff their cheeks? Climb up trees? Also I legit forgot what a chipmunk even looked like I had to look it up lmaoooo im so dumb it hurts
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Aizawa is an intimidating fella, okay
So when you first told him about your quirk, you were lowkey embarrassed?
Like, here’s this grown-ass man with a badass quirk who is more than capable of taking down villains and defending himself, and here you are just-
🐿️
But you know what’s great about this man? He couldn’t give less of a shit about your quirk or anything like that. He strikes me as the type to care more about personality than anything else
concealing your quirk is fairly easy. People probably wouldn’t even know you had one if it wasn’t for the small fluffy ears popping out of the top of your head, and even then you could just cover them with a hat
But that doesn’t mean you don’t experience the effects of your own quirk just because it’s subtle
You have a mutant type quirk, so you experience certain things that actual chipmunks do
Sometimes you won’t even notice that you’re stuffing your cheeks to full capacity with whatever you’re eating before Aizawa has to cut you off and just be like
“y/n. Chew.”
Or when you’re rushing, you’re usually going so fast that Aizawa can barely even see you zooming from room to room
you can also get kinda skittish at times, your ears twitching whenever you hear a noise that sounds weird or out of place, and you’ll just look at Aizawa with wide eyes until he checks out what made a noise that he could barely hear
“y/n, it was just some kids outside.”
“Oh... sorry, Sho.”
he wants to be frustrated, but he knows it’s not your fault. And honestly? He finds you so cute that he can’t really stay mad at you
So he’ll just let out a huff before patting your head lovingly, grazing his fingers over your ears (Which he KNOWS are sensitive, that asshole)
Experiencing long periods of deep sleep is also a thing. You wouldn’t call it hibernation cuz you still have to do normal, everyday things, but there are times during the winter where you’ll sleep for a few days in a row and only get up to go to the bathroom or eat
And since you can’t actually burrow into the floor of your home, you usually make a blanket fort in the corner of your bedroom and stuff all of the pillows and blankets you can in there until it’s nice and warm, ready for you to bury yourself in
and you might’ve left that little part of your quirk out when you moved in together. whoops
So when Shouta comes home and sees the living room couch void of all of its pillows, he’s not expecting to walk into your shared bedroom and see you curled up in a blanket fort
he’s a bit curious at first, just kinda looking at you like “All right, I guess this is normal?”
and he’ll crouch down and kinda examine you for a bit before he eventually wonders if you’re even breathing? You’re burried under blankets, so he can’t really see your chest moving
eventually he’ll check and see that your breathing is abnormally slow and he kinda just... pauses and checks again to make sure he’s not going crazy.
and he wont deny that he kinda freaks out at first, his immediate thought being that he needs to get you out of there, but the second he grabs the blankets to pull them off of you he’s like wait... hold up.
then it all clicks
you’re a mutant with a chipmunk quirk...
c h i p m u n k
safe to say he’s relieved, so he just lets you be and goes about his day. 
When you wake up a few hours later to go to the bathroom, you come out of the bedroom with your clothes practically on backwards, rubbing at your eyes and stumbling past Aizawa like he’s not even there. And when you’re done, it’s right back to sleep you go
“Back to bed?” Aizawa would ask as he watches you with an amused smirk on his face
“Mhm.”
“Okay. Goodnight, y/n”
“Mm’night.
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Listen, when he first heard of your quirk, he thought it was the cutest shit ever
“Your quirk is Chipmunk?! That’s SOOOOOOOO CUUUUUUUTE!”
No he’s legit your number one hype man. If you think your quirk is lame, he’s literally shouting at you how cool he thinks you are.
“You can stuff so much food in your mouth, y/n! And that’s pretty dope if you ask me! I’m totally jealous!”
speaking of food, he’ll just randomly ask you to shove as much as you can of one thing in your cheeks until they’re at full capacity.
“Hey y/n, think you can shove this whole pack of jumbo marshmallows in your cheeks?”
“But... I just bought those :(”
“I’ll buy you more, LET’S DO THIS!!!”
also asks you the dumbest questions omg. You don’t know if he’s genuinely curious or if he’s just doing it to piss you off
“So do you just eat nuts all day?”
“You’ve seen me eat, Hizashi. No.”
“Do you prefer to sleep in trees?”
“That would be extremely uncomfortable.”
“Ooh you’d probably be great frieds with Kamui Woods then.”
“Did you not hear what I just said?”
He also REALLY likes your ears. Like an unhealthy amount? Whenever you’re around he literally wont stop touching them and even tugs on them playfully until you’re swatting at his hands and telling him to go away
He can’t help that they’re so cute :(
so on a particuallry cold day in winter when he has to go to work at the school, he leaves your home while you’re sleeping, only to come home hours later to find you... still sleeping?
You haven’t moved an inch the entire time he’s been gone, so needless to say, he’s a litle concerned.
and when he checks to see if you’re still alive only to discover your heart rate is super slow, he’s A LOT concerned
His brain just goes to the most dramatic thing he can think of, which is that you’re in some weird coma and need to wake up
so rather than, i dont know, gently shaking you awake like a normal person, he grabs you buy your shoulders and starts shaking you violently while shouting your name loud as fuck
“Y/NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN”
“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!”
you literally wake up so violently, you sit right up and shove him off of you before asking what’s wrong with him, pretty sure you’ve officially gone deaf
He then explains that he thought you were in a coma or something cuz your heartbeat was so slow, and at that point you just roll your eyes because of course he would come up with this ridiculous conclusion
“Hizashi, my quirk is chipmunk and it’s a mutation quirk.”
He doesn’t even get what you’re getting at, just tilting his head in confusion as he squints at you.
“What do chipmunks do in the winter, babe?”
Cue more confused squinting
“Oh my god, they hibernate, you headass.”
it finally clicks and the look on his face makes it seem like he just learned the secret of the universe, and afterwards he’s going on about how cool that is while you just roll your eyes and lay back down to try and go back to sleep, bringing the blanket over your head to try and drown him out
He eventually gets the hint and leaves, but after a while, you kinda feel bad for blowing up on him. He was just concerned and didn’t fully understand your quirk
so letting out a huff, you pull the blanket down and call out his name, to which he immediately runs to you at the sound of, asking you what you need
you just wordlessly lift up the blanket to expose the empty side of the bed, and oh boy, the size of the grin he gets on his face is unmatched
immediately throws off his hero costume so that you can both be comfortable and jumps into bed with you, holding you impossibly close
you fall asleep in a matter of minutes while he just looks at you fondly, hand soothingly rubbing your back.
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Just like the other two, he finds you incredibly cute. Like mans is in love, okay?
everytime he sees your little ears twitch, he just gets the strongest urge to touch them, but he never does without your consent becuase he knows how sensitive they are.
“Uh... y/n, do you mind if I... touched your ears?” 
Baby probably feels so awkward asking ugh PLEASE REASSURE HIM
“Oh? Yeah, of course, Toshi. Knock yourself out.”
oooh he’s excited. He’ll be super gentle about it, just lightly grazing them with his fingers before gently rubbing them between his thumb and forefinger
and at that point you’re littlerally melting, practically falling into him because him caressing your ears like this feels absolutely amazing
When he sees how it’s affecting you, he immediately becomes a blushing mess and apologizes, but you just hug him and tell him it’s okay and that you liked it
yeah he definitely rubs your ears whenever you’re feeling stressed or anxious because it’s become a quick way to relax you
only when he does it though. If anyone else randomly touches your ears, you get kinda uncomfortable
Just because they don’t look human doesn’t mean they still weren’t a part of you, dammit
Anyways, one day when you’re waiting for Toshi to come back home, you’ve got yourself wrapped up like a burrito in your blanket, sitting on the couch as you watched tv
it had been snowing all day, but luckily Toshinori had turned up the thermostat before he left, remembering how you mentioned that you’re not a huge fan of the cold
unfortunately for you, the harsh weather had no trouble taking out the power, leaving you in the dark and the cold
it didn’t take long for the cold to start seeping in through the cracks in the windows, and you quickly began to grow tired before you inevitibly passed out on the couch, still wrapped tightly in your blanket
When Toshi gets home and sees you on the couch, his first reaction is “aw, how cute.”
but then when he comes up to you and starts calling out your name to try and wake you up and you just won’t, and then he notices how much your breathing has slowed down, he quickly growns concerened.
He’s not in full panic mode yet, but he’s getting there, and he’s quick to crouch down to your level and grab your shoulders to start shaking you to wake you up
which you do, blinking groggily at him like you weren’t just in full hibernation mode
“Oh... Hey, Toshi,” you mumble, and you reach up to wrap your arms around his neck to pull him down so that you can nuzzle yourself into his warm chest
He’s not able to ask you about what happened to you before you’ve already fallen back asleep, and when the power comes back on a few minutes later, he does a quick google search on chipmunks and mutant quirks before putting two and two together
Now he’s thinking of all the ways he could make you something to burrow into during those especially cold winters
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chocolate-parfait · 3 years
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I adore your writing so I was wondering if I could get headcanons for some Ikesen boys (Mitsuhide, Kenshin, and Nobunaga)?
When MC first comes through the wormhole she doesn’t have her son with her and her entire stay is her stressing about it since he is only 5 years old so as soon as the wormhole opens she’s gone before they even blink. They don’t expect her to come back but she does! and with her son this time!
Thank you so much bub! I missed writing for ikesen and honestly, I’m a sucker for anything involving parenting :) Thanks for requesting!
Also I,,, I really went all out for Nobunaga huh
Mc coming back with her son - ikesen headcanons (Mitsuhide, Kenshin & Nobunaga)
words: 2.9k / tw: mentions of injuries and violent behavior / female mc
Mitsuhide
How could possibly someone as clumsy as his little mouse be a mother? Jokingly, he asks you whether it was you taking care of your son or the other way round. He teases you a bit, only enough to gain some strands of information here and there; he may find the excuse that, as the man in charge of security and secrets, that was only part of his job, when in truth he’s actually worried about you. He gathers that your child isn’t with you, and this only serves to fuel his curiosity and worry even more. Nonetheless, he doesn’t pry. You must have your own reasons and secrets, and for once, he's willing to leave you to them.
Once he notices your feelings for him, he becomes sure of the fact that, whether you had a husband or not, he definitely owned your heart no longer. He’s acting more confidently and boldly than before, adding more intensity to his innuendos and subtle flirting. Then, you tell him you’re from the future and you get closer, spending the days basking in each other’s company and usual teasing banters.
...but, oh boy, before he even knows it you’re disappearing in the thickness of the fog and coldness of the rain. If the wormhole had opened when Sasuke had predicted, then you probably would have told him about your plans. You needed more time to mentally prepare yourself, but when Mother Nature decides to open her time-traveling black holes, it's not your choice to make. Mitsuhide will be okay, probably... or at least, you hope so. ok but boy teased you too much, this is his payback
After you're gone Mitsuhide needs a couple of seconds to register what had just happened. In truth, he expected it, kinda (or at least, that’s what he wants to believe), and although it hurts, he’s not one to complain. First off, it could have never worked between you two. He’s... he’s quite the despicable guy, with tons of enemies and secrets. No one in their right mind would want to stay with him for more than 2 minutes, but he had never really cared. Until you came along. And how could he even wish to hold the first place in a mother’s heart? It went without saying that your son was your top priority, and it was fine, it was bound to be that way.
He puts on his habitual facade and moves on with his day, but don’t be fooled; he has no intention of ever forgetting you nor he's completely at peace on the inside. He feels a stinging pain buried deep underneath the arid soil of his heart. The heart wishes what the heart desires, and even when one has resigned to keep a distance from everything it longs for, the pain persists, and it's probably ten times even harsher in the melancholy of it all.
(Hideyoshi obviously catches up on his act, and almost headbutts him out of exasperation when he sees he’s not letting out even the tiniest of sighs)
The days pass by, and Mitsuhide is sure you won’t be coming back. But you do. Once more you catch him by surprise, you destroy his expectations and act outside of the box. And when you finally face him for the first time in what felt like lifetimes, your son by the hand and a wide smile on your face, he stares at you bewildered, wide eyes and an unusual expression of genuine surprise on his features.
“You... you’re really something, little mouse” It’s all he says before striding over to you and hugging you to his chest. His words may conceal them, but you can feel his true feelings in the tightness of his embrace, the thunderous pace of his heartbeat, and the barely noticeable shaking of his sigh.
Maybe he can let himself feel some happiness, after all? Surely, he will have to work extremely hard to protect it, to destroy anyone who might try to bring harm over you, but Mitsuhide is a man of many ways, and he knows how to reach his goal.
Weirdly enough, your child quickly grows fond of Mitsuhide, and it's not long before he starts calling him “Papa”. He's always staring in awe at whatever he does, even the tiniest of tricks will make him giggle excitedly with surprise. On the other hand, your lover is unsurprisingly good with kids. Probably because they're so easy to please and to fool with lies (like a certain someone). He could tell the little boy that you're the Moon princess and the courageous Mitsuhide saved you by a sea of horned monsters, and he would totally believe him without even questioning it first. Maybe it's a family trait?
He does not expect to find himself with a family out of the blue, but by the fond look of his golden orbs, you can tell he's grateful for it. Whenever he kisses you goodbye before going to work in the morning or ruffles your son's hair with playful tenderness, you know it's a silent vow, renewed each time. He's going to do everything in his power to assure your happiness. You've given him a warm place to return to, a spot in the light, love, and gratefulness; protecting it all is the least he could do to return such blessing.
Kenshin
You tell him about the wormhole, about the rain and the lightning, about why you have to go back. Kenshin may have been on his way to healing, but when he hears of your son he recesses 10 steps back. The dark part of himself he was trying so hard to chase away pushes towards him feelings of jealousy and anger (you had, after all, loved another man and bore his child; moreover this man was not by your and your son’s side for whichever reason, leaving you both alone), but the other half of his heart, which loved you so dearly, could not tolerate depriving you of your son.
He’s afraid of you leaving him forever, no matter how much you tell him you’ll definitely come back. He wants to trust you just as much as you trust him, but once more his darkness haunts him and clashes with his sober side. He could lock you up forever or he could let you go, you’d be safer and happier without him. Maybe you will actually come back, or maybe you will forget about him as soon as you step back to your time.
This whole issue causes him to isolate himself from everything and everyone. He needs time to think and come to terms with his feelings, but he’s oh so aware of the quick passing of time. Soon, he’ll have to make a decision that will impact his whole life forever, and yet he can’t really seem to find a proper solution. Not alone, at least.
Stay by his side, patiently put up with his negative thoughts, and comfort his fears away. Promise him over and over again that you will come back, that you wouldn’t forget him for anything in the world. Eventually, he’ll be able to convince himself and fully abandon himself to his trust for you.
When the fateful day comes, he does not expect you to slip away from his arms in the blink of an eye. Your warmth disappears and the cold air hits him with the full realization of what had happened. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his pounding heart down. All he can do is wait. It might take you days, months, or even years, but he’s willing to wait.
During your absence he drowns his loneliness in sake, he fills the vacant spot in his arms with the white bunnies you used to found so adorable and occupies his time with sparring matches. Then, one day, coming back to his room from a council, he slides the door open and he’s met with two identical pairs of eyes staring at him.
One can only imagine the plethora of emotions hitting him all at once. Before you know it he’s throwing himself to you with the speed of an expert warrior. He hugs you so tightly you can barely breathe, reluctantly letting you go only to get a look at the face he had so longed to see, pressing a deep kiss on your forehead. What stops him from ravaging your lips with even stronger passion is the child’s presence. Maybe it’s better to keep some things for later, you tell him, and he accepts with the cutest of pouts gracing his delicate features.
For some time he’ll be the clingiest he has ever been, though he doesn’t forget your son, whom he now considers as his own. You two look very much alike, and knowing how much you cherish him, he quickly becomes fond of him, too. They spend a lot of time together, forming a bond pretty quickly. Kenshin teaches him all there is to know about the samurai world and the way of the sword (not that he has any intention of throwing him in a battlefield, yet. He’ll let your son accompany him to war only when, as an adult, he’ll be wholly aware of the dangers he’s going to face). Oftentimes you can see them sparring together in the practice room, a rare and soft gaze blessing your lover’s eyes.
Now that both of you are with him, he knows better than to let his fears win him once more, for thus he knows you won’t leave him again. He confesses to you his deepest feelings and thoughts on this matter during quiet, tender moments of intimacy. Maybe one night you're sharing a drink with him while gazing at the night sky from his room; there, he’ll turn his mismatched irises on yours, cup your cheek with his strong hand and tell you, with the most love-dripping tone you had ever heard come out from his mouth: “Thank you for coming back to me, my love. I swear I won’t let you face any danger as long as you two are by my side.”
Nobunaga
So his favorite fireball has a baby fireball? What a surprise, indeed. It's only a single piece of information, and yet it brings to his mind so many possibilities that he can't help but fall deep in thought. Do you have a husband, then? Did he perhaps leave you? If so, how did you manage to take care of your son? He knew life wasn’t easy for a repudiated woman, and one could see it with their own two eyes just by taking a stroll in the poorer neighborhoods of the city. (well, that was something he was trying to change)
Then, he asks himself whether the night of the fire you had been so reluctant to go with him because of your motherly duties. You could have just said so earlier, he would have taken your son to the castle, too. Quickly, you add more interesting details to your story, telling him of the wormhole, your time-travel adventure, and the future.
He half-forces you to make THE bet, the one you cannot ignore, with the added risk that if you lose, you won't be able to see your son ever again. Pretty cruel, right? In your eyes, it might seem so, but truthfully, he's going to let you go at the end of the month, independently from whether you win or lose; he just thinks it'd be spicier to not let you know this very important detail. 
What our grand lord does not expect, is to be hit by Cupid's arrow and cursed with the love of a lifetime. His feelings are so strong he has to stop himself multiple times from directly confessing to you. He blames all the flirting, the sensual touches, the longing kisses, and his affectionate gaze on the bet. You are nothing more than a physical distraction, he can’t let himself love you, and you don’t love him. This way, you'll be able to go back without regrets and doubts. He won't let you, his soulmate, suffer over such a heart-wrenching decision.
Such a prideful and haughty man lowering himself to such tricks only to keep the smile on a woman's face. Pretty ironic, isn't it? Unfortunately for him, anyone can guess the contents of the Demon King's heart, and you are no exception. If you had solemnly promised your return, he would have believed you, that is the type of man he is, but Fate acts before you can take action, and anticipates your departure to the most unexpected of times.
So in the end, you truly did leave him. His beloved fireball, vanished in the same way she had appeared, like a bolt from the blue. He's going to miss you so dearly, and his loneliness will surely take away his sleep at night, but there are still so many things for him to do. You will probably have your fair share, too, though he's sure you'll manage. If it wasn't for his obstination and pride then maybe he would have the humility to deny the same for himself. Maybe one day your path will cross his once again, but who knows, maybe by that time he will have already conquered the whole land, maybe a lethal blow will have taken his life, maybe he'll see you on his last, dying breath. Anyhow, he's going to wait. Patiently and calmly, and he promises himself that were you to return by his side, he won't be denying his love any longer.
It's almost been a year from your departure, and now the snow is slowly falling once more to cover the roofs under its soft embrace. Nobunaga is sitting on the balcony of his tenshu, looking at the city yet bustling with life even in the frigid cold. Just like Azuchi, he hasn't changed much. A couple more scars have appeared somewhere on his body, and the skin just under his eyes has gotten a little darker, but his heart is forever the same. With his thicker haori shielding his lower body from most of the cold air, he brings the red cup of warm sake to his lips, mind wandering to the same, old thoughts of you. Suddenly, his vision turns dark. A pair of warm hands are covering his vision, but before he can reach for his sword, your voice tickles his ear in a low whisper. “Guess who?”
Turning to face you, as a hand rapidly flies to cover his ear from the sudden attack, he quietly basks in the view of your smiling face before slowly erupting in a loud laugh. What an unpredictable one he has fallen for! He must be equally as foolish if he let someone sneak over to him as he was thinking about you.
He takes you in hir arms and keeps you there, where you naturally belong while pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. Your smell, your softness, your body that fit with his like a sword and its sheath. “Welcome back, fireball” With you by his side, everything will be completely different than before. No more sleepless nights or lonely sighs; now he'd have a companion by his side at all times. Sometimes even two.
Nobunaga does not exactly care about the fact that your son is, genetically, not his. Blood is only important to the fools that only view you as an heir-making machine, but he values bonds and the singular individual way more. If he had prioritized family over what was important to him, he would've been killed by his brothers years ago, but it did not happen. What I'm trying to say is that he becomes the fatherly figure your son needs, and he treats him no differently than he would with his biological son. Although yes, he would like to, one day, have another little demon (or a baby angel, depending on whose genes are stronger) running around the castle, to him, yours is already the perfect family.
Nobunaga passes down his views (he doesn't force them, it's more like when a parent explains something to his baby and the baby absorbs everything) onto your child, and makes sure he receives an education fitting for a noble of those times (an open-minded one, possibly). Since he views him as his biological son, once he grows up it will be up to him whether to help his father unifying the country and then, eventually inheriting and ruling everything one day. Growing up in those times though will probably make him accustomed to the idea of fighting even at a young age, so unless you're strictly against it, there will be high chances of him becoming a samurai and following in your lover’s footsteps.
Leaving the gruesome matters aside, Nobu and his son are one hell of a pair of troublemakers! Buy some throat syrup because Hideyoshi will be screaming his lungs out. The man lectures your husband and your own son twice the times you do, either because of their sugar consumptions, their life-threatening activities such as running in the halls, or just general shenanigans. They're quite the headaches, frankly. One of their favorite and safe (because Nobu is there) activities to do together, is going horseriding. The demon commander will sit the boy between his arms and let his horse run at full speed. By the time they come back, the wind will have made a mess of their clothes and hair, but both will have the biggest and purest of smiles on their faces.
(Additionally, for all of them: if they ever catch anyone talking shit about either you or your son, they won't hesitate to slice them up with their swords on the spot.)
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yikesharringrove · 2 years
Text
Show Pony
Chapter 6
Winds Change
Read on Ao3
-
Five days.
They had five days left together.
Billy tried not to think about it, but it was kinda hard to ignore.
Stalls were already being taken down, fair games being packed up into large shipping trucks to take across the country.
One of Max’s beloved funnel cake stalls had already met the way of the shipping container. She was pissed.
And yet, Billy and Steve did their best to pretend like the rodeo wasn’t coming down around them.
A perfect symbolism for their fling, or whatever, crashing down everywhere they look.
Billy spent days in Steve’s sweaty little airstream, brushing his fingers over that muscular body, calling him a hick and a horse girl and every other fake insult he could think of.
And Steve spent all that time lacing his fingers with Billy’s, winking at him from his place on top of one of his three gorgeous mares as he did victory lap after victory lap, roping calves in under ten seconds, slamming Billy against the walls of the airstream, adrenaline from the stunt still pumping through him.
The field saw them exercising Steve’s horses, taking a ratty blanket out there in the middle of the night to watch the stars.
And it was stupid, Billy pretending that this was more than just. A convenience.
Steve was on his knees, and Billy threaded his hands into that thick hair, tugging it this way and that, the way he’s learned Steve likes after some weeks of mewling whines.
Billy was backed up against the gate of the makeshift paddock, shielded by the prying eyes of the other rodeo workers by the long-set sun and the sounds of the day’s crowds filtering out of the grounds.
Steve pushed down, taking Billy’s cock all the way in his throat, breathing heavily through his nose, the nose currently pressed flat against Billy’s pelvis.
Steve was a champion at a few things: calf roping, horse riding, and dick sucking.
He pulled off Billy’s dick with a slurp, rolling his tongue along the head, humming slightly as he did. His eyes were dark, staring up at Billy, something like a smirk sparking in them as Billy fell apart.
He took a breath, ready to move back in and finish Billy off when there were footsteps.
“Steve! I gotta check Loretta’s hock.”
They both froze, Steve’s eyes going wide with shock, his lips still stretched around the cock in his mouth.
Billy had yet to meet Jim Hopper, the horse specialist that watched out for Steve’s three mares.
He guesses he was about to meet the man right about now.
Steve yanked his face off Billy’s cock with an unmistakable slurping sound that made Billy’s face go bright fuckin’ red. Billy fumbled with the fly on his shorts, and Steve took charge, roughly pulling the button closed and the zip up. It was a miracle he didn’t catch any skin with the quick action.
Steve was on his feet as Jim rounded the edge of the fencing, eyeing the two of them standing far too close, Billy’s face red and full of guilt. Jim raised a hand, his eyes closing as he breathed heavily out his nose.
“I don’t wanna know. Just let me take a look at your girl.”
Steve shrugged, acting like this whole ordeal was just another day at the rodeo.
Maybe it is, Billy’s brain supplied.
They were so fucking. Obvious. Billy could just drop dead right there on the grass.
Jim was a big dude. Beefy and broad, his face was clearly weather-beaten. Well, what of his face wasn’t covered with a graying beard and mustache. His left cheek pudged out slightly with what Billy realized was chewing tobacco when he spit casually at his feet.
“This is Billy. I told you about him,” Steve said with a smirk.
And Billy just about had a heart attack when Steve made a big show of wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, smirkin’ like the devil.
“Yeah, kid, I’m just here for Letty.”
The horses had been allocated to the horsebox for the night, as it was much warmer in there for them. Not that it was cold in San Diego at night, but still. Steve worried. Billy thought it was cute.
Steve led Jim off towards the box, clapping him once on the shoulder as he passed, making Jim groan and spit a dollop of yellow-brown saliva after Steve.
Billy felt like he was about to turn into some thick hot liquid shame when Jim gave him a bit of a once-over, raising one thick eyebrow at him. Jim’s mustache twitched, and he spit to the side before turning on his heel, following Steve to the horses.
Billy has never been more mortified in his life.
Steve’s mentioned Jim a lot. He always calls him Hop. Said Steve himself gave him that nickname. Billy has kinda sussed out that Jim is something like a pseudo-dad to Steve. The one to teach him how to really care for the horses. The one to teach him to properly tie a calf.
All the shit that Steve was made of, Jim taught him.
Billy had put together that Jim’s daughter was the one Max was scampering about the grounds with. Steve said he had adopted Elle when she was about seven.
His face gave something away when he said that. Making a look that said there was a story there, but Billy didn’t wanna ask.
It’s not his story to know.
Billy followed after them, keeping a wide enough berth from the pair that it was weird. He knew it was weird. But it was either this type of weird, or the weird of inserting himself into their conversation when Jim obviously knew what they had been doing seconds before he found them. Steve was about as subtle as a gun with those grass stains on his knees, wiping at his face like he needed to prove a point.
Billy lingered outside the horsebox.
Loretta had been lagging lately, and she startled whenever Steve laid a hand on her left leg.
Steve had just about sobbed when he told Billy he thinks she’s hurt herself.
Billy wished he had a cigarette right about now.
“Yeah, I think the poor girl’s just havin’ some inflammation. Probably tweaked her leg just right on the arena dirt.”
“Is she gonna be okay? What does she need?” Steve sounded more serious than Billy’s ever heard him. There was a weight to his voice that only reared up when Steve mentioned his father, a slight quiver in his words that made his anxiety palpable.
“She’s a tough one, Letty. Let her rest for about two weeks, only mild walking, and some ice at the end of the day wouldn’t hurt, either. We’ll talk after that and see if she needs anything more.”
There was something of a pause in the horsebox, and Billy held his breath, ignoring the fact that he was clearly eavesdropping now.
“You being careful with that boy?”
“‘Course I am.”
“Because I meant what I said last time. I’m not posing as your dad to get you an appointment at the clinic again-”
“ Jesus, Hop. I thought we agreed never to talk about that again, huh? And besides, I’m grown. I can make appointments for my own STD tests now. Plus, it was all fine.”
Billy nearly choked.
It’s not that he’s never had a scare before, and he and Steve were safe, but still.
“Good to hear, then. But you being careful ?” There was another silence from the box. One of the horses whinnied.
When Jim continued, it was with a much softer voice than before.
“I ain’t never seen you so attached before.”
The horse whinnied again, and Billy pictured Steve wrapping his arms around June’s neck and hugging her close.
“He’s under my skin now.” A scuff that sounded like Steve’s boot brushing against the hay-covered floor of the box. “First time I wasn’t ready for a fling to be over.”
Those words crashed into Billy’s gut, knocking all the wind out of him.
He suffocated on them, drowned in Steve’s melancholy voice as he said them.
First time I wasn’t ready for a fling to be over.
It stung at the same time it made Billy’s heart soar.
It hurt and it healed and it made Billy wanna throw up and lock Steve in his basement so he could never leave him.
Or maybe something less totally wacked-out and creepy.
“You know I love you like my own, but you gotta manage yourself. I ain’t judgin’, I just don’t wanna see you all hurt again.”
“Jeez, that was some real sappy shit there.” The mood shifted with Steve’s deflection, and Billy could hear footsteps leaving the horsebox.
He scrambled over to Steve’s little airstream, pretending he hadn’t been listening and freaking out over what he was hearing.
There was just. There was a whole lot to take in there.
Jim said he didn’t want to see Steve all hurt again, but also said he’s never seen Steve so attached before.
When had he been all hurt before if this was, in Steve’s words, the first time he wasn’t ready for a fling to be over?
And Billy didn’t want to hurt Steve, but it kinda, in a real shitty way, made him feel a little bit better that he wasn’t the only one ignoring the oncoming end out of sadness and a need to prolong whatever they had left.
That, and the added little bonus that Jim had once pretended to be Steve’s father to get him an STD test from a clinic.
Billy feels like he’s been punched in the face over and over again by that short conversation he heard. And he would know. He’s been decked in the kisser too many times to think about.
He leaned against the cold metal wall of the airstream as Steve came into view, Jim heading in the opposite direction towards the fairgrounds and the rodeo being shut down for the night.
Steve smiled at Billy, this soft, calm little thing that made the warm summer air even sweeter in Billy’s lungs and the words keep ringing through his head.
First time I wasn’t ready for a fling to be over.
He could see something in Steve, now that he knew what to look for.
How carefree and easy he seemed anytime he was around Billy, but those devastating moments when he seemed to bite his tongue against saying something more meaningful, or shied away from a briefly intimate touch.
Billy could finally see his own anxiety in Steve at their dwindling time together, and it broke his fucking heart.
Robin had warned Billy not to get attached. She told him Steve slept around and played the field and left before anyone could get in too deep.
But he wonders if Robin had warned Steve against the same thing. If she had told him that Billy was going to fuck and run. That leaving someone behind can sometimes hurt just as much as being left behind.
He hopes that if she hasn’t, she’ll be there for Steve. That she’ll pick him up and won’t let him break his own precious heart anymore.
“So, how’s Loretta?”
“She’ll be okay. Poor lady just needs some rest and some ice, and she’ll be feeling her best in a few weeks.”
Steve matched Billy’s stance, leaning against the trailer and tilting his face to the starry sky.
It was quiet out in the sea of trailers. Now that the spectators had all gone home for the night, the cheering crowds and amplified commentators weren’t reverberating through the open grass.
Instead, they could hear the rodeo animals that had been put in their nighttime areas. The many whineys and brays from different horses spread through the place.
The rodeo seemed so fucking magic to Billy.
Something like Heaven.
“I’m going soon.”
Billy doesn’t know why Steve said it.
They both knew that fact.
He thought they were both aggressively ignoring that fact.
“Yeah. You are.”
Billy didn’t know what to do with his hands.
He really didn’t want to have this conversation. Ever.
Because talking about it makes it real.
And God fucking forbid Steve breaks it off now and not in the allotted five days they still have to laugh and fuck and be free .
He pulled out his slightly crumpled pack of cigarettes, lighting one deftly.
Steve didn’t smoke. Said his grandpa died really horribly of lung cancer.
Billy knew this was going to be a serious talk when Steve didn’t make one of his usual snide remarks about Billy smoking.
“I just wanted. To be sure,” Steve trailed off, still looking at the spangled night sky. “We need to be on the same page.”
That we’re probably, most definitely, in love with one another but too stupid and too poorly timed and too tragic to say anything about it.
“I think we are.”
“Okay. Okay. Good. Because, I mean, I really don’t want to hurt you, and, like, our arrangement’s been the same since the beginning.”
Arrangement.
That word.
Arrangement.
It was a fucking ugly word for whatever beautiful thing they had between them.
Arrangement.
It made Billy feel cheap, and used, and so fucking stupid.
And feeling like that only meant one thing for Billy.
He got fucking mad.
“So, that’s it then. You’re done with me. Onto the next poor sucker in the next shitty town that’ll fuck you through the mattress and hold your hand until you decide you’re sick of ‘em. Great. It was so nice being your fucking whore. Thanks for the. Opportunity.”
He wished he chewed tobacco like Jim. He would spit a glob at Steve’s foot. Probably make it land right on those stupid fucking red cowboy boots.
Steve finally looked at Billy, his face scrunched up and those beautiful eyes of his looking somewhere between lost and hurt and angry and confused.
“Billy, that’s not what I-”
“No. No, Harrington, I fucking get it. You go town to town, and feed these fuckers a sob story about how hard it is for you to connect with people, and that you’re lonely and your dad sucks, and all this other bullshit. When really, you’re just an insecure asshole with intimacy problems who’s too fucking stupid to get a fucking GED.”
Fuck.
The second the words were out of his mouth, Billy knew he had gone way too fucking far.
Steve’s eyes flashed, and his face seemed to morph right in front of Billy’s eyes. He was closing himself off right where they stood. Getting ready to chuck Billy away and never see him again.
And Billy fucking deserved it.
“You’re calling me an insecure asshole with intimacy problems? The only friends you’ve got are coworkers that only pity you because they can see how fucking pathetic you are. You beg for scraps like a fucking dog and the second things get tough you ignore it, or get angry at it, like a stupid goddamn child . You think you’re so tough. That you’re the only one with problems . You’ve got your head so far up your own ass that you don’t realize that shit sucks all over, and that everyone is just as miserable as you are, we’re just able to fucking make something out of ourselves instead of wallowing in self-pity.”
Steve’s little speech left Billy feeling dumbfounded.
He was seething with a rage he had never felt in his life before. Anger at himself, and anger at Steve for being so fucking right. For letting all of Billy’s flaws and insecurities tumble out of his mouth like they were nothing.
He took a long drag from his cigarette, leaning forward to put it out against the door of the airstream, leaving a tiny circular ash print on the painted cow. It looked like a bullet wound on the poor thing.
It’s how Billy felt.
“I hope your horse fucking dies.”
It was childish.
It was so dumb, and childish, and Billy really doesn’t hope any horse anywhere dies, especially Steve’s three wonderful mares, but he’s feeling something he thinks he could call jilted, and he’s hurt and upset and genuinely at a loss.
He didn’t let Steve get another word in. Just turned on his heel, and left the little cowboy behind.
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Note
Can you please do a sequel to the Thomas piece you posted?? I would love to see more of their “rekindled” (idk if that’s the right word) relationship evolve. Thanks so much!!
So, uh...I know what the doctor ordered and all, but I kinda made it real angsty cause I have no idea how to write anything other than angst so...yeah...🤡
Sorry if this was all over the place🤦🏻‍♀️
~~~~~~~~~~
Looking back on the past several months, you wondered if there was anything you could've done differently.
Maybe, if you just kept to yourself, none of this would be happening.
You and Thomas tried your best to get everyone out of the Maze, you really did. You knew there would be casualties, but you never thought it would be Chuck...or Newt.
After your memories returned, you and Thomas did everything in your power to try and convince the Gladers that you weren't the bad guys. Of course, Gally didn't take too kindly to that news; and when Teresa came up in the Box, all hell broke loose.
You had no idea how you managed to get out of that situation, but thankfully you had more than just Thomas and Teresa on your side. You escaped the Maze. You escaped W.C.K.D. You saved Minho and countless other kids that were taken. Now...you were safe, as crazy as it sounds.
A part of you wished you never got your memories back. You wished you could've just stayed in the Glade with Chuck, Newt, Alby, Ben, or even Teresa. It was hard to not blame yourself, because you were to blame. Maybe none of this would've happened if you just stayed away from Thomas.
Sure, you harbored a bit of resentment. Not just at him though, the whole situation was fucked up, and you knew that, it wasn't fair to blame it all on one person.
Seeing so many of your friends die, in part, because of you, put a strain on your relationship with Thomas. It sucked, because you all were on the run for so long that you didn't even get a chance to spend quality time with him. All you had was your memories to keep you company, which is more than anyone else could say. Which, you guessed, made you lucky.
All these memories coming back to you in an instant, remembering how Thomas was then compared to who he is now, it took some getting used to. Before the Maze, you had a very specific idea of who Thomas was, who he was to you. He was your best friend. He was your partner. He was your soulmate. So why did you start to see things so differently?
It was subtle, at first, just little things you disagreed on from time to time. Like, how you both handled conflict. Then, when Gally became a problem, you had very different ideas on how to handle him. Ultimately, that problem came to a head quickly and you had no choice but to go along with Thomas' plan.
But after escaping the Maze, you two practically disagreed with everything. Granted, looking back, you wished you had agreed on certain things. You were ashamed of yourself for how you treated the Winston situation. When he got infected, you already came to the conclusion that he was just dead weight. Obviously, Thomas had an issue with that. You were never that close to the kid, neither was Thomas, but he was still dead set on dragging him across the desert. It was only when Winston tried to kill himself is when Thomas finally broke.
You apologized to Thomas that night, but he surprised you when he said he understood where you were coming from. He knew Winston would've make it, but he was too stubborn and scared to admit it to himself. That moment was the first time you kissed him since you had gotten your memories back, and Thomas kissed you back.
You always made a strong effort to see things Thomas' way, even if he didn't notice it. But your opinions were so strong sometimes, that you'd completely ignore the pit in your gut that told you that he'd never agree, even if you made a compelling argument. It was frustrating. You knew that some of your ideas were a bit lackluster, you came from a more inconspicuous, strategic approach when it came to plans, whereas Thomas was more guns blazing. But when it came to Minho's rescue mission, both of your views came in handy.
Even now, you wondered if you had went along with Thomas' plan of attack, would Teresa still be alive? Would Newt? Obviously, you had no way of knowing. But just the thought that maybe you might've been at fault made you shut down sometimes.
You had yet another argument with Thomas, and you just couldn't handle being around him anymore. It wasn't the smartest of plans, but you snuck out of camp and wandered into the forest away from the beach. Even in the heat of your rage, you were almost positive you could find your way back again, so you didn't worry. All you tried to focus on was steadying your heartbeat, but all you could do was take an unpleasant trip down memory lane.
It probably should've worried you that it was getting dark really quick. If you were still at camp, you could probably still see the sun going down. But the forest pretty much blocked out all light, even the moon just barely peaking through the trees. But you stayed, suspended a couple feet in the air, sitting on a sturdy tree branch.
Your wrist started to itch, the annoying stinging sensation forcing you out of your state of tranquility and back into the real world. You had to physically stop yourself from huffing, rolling your eyes when you realized that he was close by.
Ever since that day in the Maze, you could always sense Thomas' presence, the ink in your skin giving off a slight burning feeling whenever he was close by. It would start off dull, barely noticeable. The feeling would intensify the closer Thomas would be in proximity until it completely stopped.
"Y/n?"
"Go away." You quickly replied harshly, not even turning around to look at him.
"You need to come back to camp, it isn't safe out here."
"Oh, like it's any safer across the ocean." You sighed.
This was the hundredth disagreement, Thomas wanted to go back to the mainland. His hero complex finding it difficult to just stay in the Safe Haven while there may be other people in need of help. Teresa seemed to finally break him from beyond the grave. He wants to find a way to replicate the cure that she gave to him before she sacrificed herself.
You thought it was stupid. You kept thinking about everyone that has been hurt, everyone that was murdered, all their friends that were experimented on by W.C.K.D. in their hopes of finding a cure. Thomas held the cure in his hand, but it's always never enough. It's like he has to put himself in danger to find a purpose in life. You were almost sure that they was no purpose, just survive.
In the Glade, you had more hope, surprisingly. Without your memories, you woke up with a tiny bit of hope, hope that the world outside the Maze would be better. But then it wasn't. You remembered how shitty the world really was, it even made you miss the Glade. It was a cage, that's for certain, but it almost seemed like you were safer there.
Sure, you were safe now. But your experiences in the Maze combined with all your memories that you had to deal with, you changed, you and Thomas both. Sometimes, it didn't really feel like you were the same people before you lost your memories. Maybe that's why you two were at odds constantly, maybe you two weren't actually soulmates. Who knows what put those tattoos on your skin, it could've been W.C.K.D. for all you knew. It was a very disheartening thought.
"Come on, Y/n. This again, seriously?" Thomas scoffed. "I thought you of all people would understand why I need to do this. If we can replicate the cure, who knows what that could mean for us? For the whole world?"
You sighed, jumping down from the tree branch and standing to face him. "Thomas, I never said we shouldn't try to make more cures. I just think it's idiotic to try and go back to that hellscape."
"It's not that I want to, we don't have the proper tools here that can make it easier to remake the serum."
"Last time we were there, all those buildings were being blown up. Most likely, it's all rubble and ash by now. There wouldn't be anything left to salvage."
"But not impossible."
"Thomas..."
"It's not impossible. Those specific buildings might be gone now, but you know how many more W.C.K.D. facility's there are. We have those coordinates."
"Those buildings are probably overrun by Cranks."
"But there still might be equipment left, and that's enough for me. We owe it to Teresa to try."
You rolled your eyes. "We don't owe her anything, Thomas. She betrayed us all, remember?"
"She saved my life. Our life. Surely, you remember that." You didn't reply. "She was like a sister to you, Y/n. Those feelings aren't just something that goes away overnight."
"It's easier when you remember she always had an agenda to begin with." You snapped, but quickly felt guilty when you saw the tears in Thomas' eyes. Your gaze softened. "Replicating the cure isn't gonna bring her back...we have to move on."
"I know...I know it won't bring her back..." Thomas whispered, slowly sitting down on this forest floor.
You sighed, kneeling down beside him. "I admire that you...want to save the world. But you shouldn't go on a suicide mission because of one person who's not even alive anymore." You said as softly as possible, the chirps of insects around you almost drowning you out.
"You think this is just about Teresa?" Thomas quickly asked, furrowing his brows.
You shrugged. "I know how hard you took her death. And yeah, it's been hard for me too. I was just so angry at her that I didn't allow myself to mourn. But I honestly think that Teresa wouldn't want you to kill yourself over this cure just for her."
Thomas let out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. "It was never just about her. I...I couldn't save Newt. He wasn't immune, and I am. And I could've saved him if I had just listened to Teresa. So many people on this island aren't immune. Including you...if there's even the slightest chance I could make more cures in order for you to be safe...it's more than enough for me. I can't lose you too."
"Thomas..."
"I can't lose you."
You shook your head, quickly grabbing onto Thomas' hands. "Hey," You said softly, "you're not going to lose me."
"How do you know?"
"Thomas, no one here has the virus. And we're so far away from the mainland...don't you think it would be affecting people already if it could reach us here?"
Thomas stayed silent, casting his gaze to the forest floor dejectedly.
You sat closer to him, resting your head on his shoulder, but still keeping your hands on his. "Thomas, I think the worst is over now. We don't have W.C.K.D. hanging over our heads, and we're not running for our lives anymore...we shouldn't have to worry about this kind of stuff anymore."
"Sometimes it's hard to believe that we don't have to run for our lives anymore..." Thomas whispered softly.
You frowned, leaning more into Thomas. "I know...I've been feeling the same way."
Thomas brought up your wrist, kissing his tattooed name gently. "I'm sorry. I hate arguing with you."
You smiled weakly. "It's okay. I'm sorry too."
"I remember you telling me that my stubbornness will get me killed someday." He chuckled, then sighed. "You weren't wrong. I know I'm stubborn."
"Hey, it's not just you. I know I'm stubborn too."
"We make such a good pair, don't we?" He joked.
The thought about the origins of your tattoos came back into your mind, causing you to frown slightly. "Do you ever think about our tattoos?" You asked hesitantly. "Like, about how they got there in the first place?"
Thomas inhaled deeply. "Yeah. I have."
"Do you think W.C.K.D. is the one who put these here?" You asked, rubbing your thumb over Thomas' tattoo.
"I don't know...maybe. But even if they did, it doesn't matter to me. I love you, and that'll never change."
You looked up at Thomas, seeing that he was already looking at you with a small smile. You felt your face heat up when he moved a strand of your hair out of your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek. "Thomas...?"
"Hmm?"
You leaned in and placing your lips against his gently. "I love you too."
~~~~~~~~~~
yes, i'm aware this was a bit of a mess lmao. hope you enjoyed regardless
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realcube · 3 years
Text
comfort hcs 💗 feat. overworked! reader
characters: yaku, oikawa, yams & akaashi
trigger warning: swearing
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thank you to anon for this sweet request!
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morisuke yaku
♡ he has concerned mom energy to i feel like he’d notice that you’re overworking yourself before starts negatively effecting you 
♡ once he figures out that you’re actually stressed and he’s not just being paranoid, he will probably hold an intervention where is like ‘sit down, let’s have a cha--’
♡ but you just push him out the way to grab your coat, ‘sorry, sweetheart. i don’t wanna miss my bus!’
♡ DFRTYJUHG he just stood there like a statue looking at you like (●__●) this bitch-
♡ anyway, once you come back from uni/college/school/ work etc yaku insists that you need to sit down and discuss your problems with him 
♡ then you’re kinda just like ‘what problems?????’
♡ also, after what happened that morning, yaku was not taking ‘no’ as an answer
♡ no matter what you say 
♡ homework? you can do that later
♡ chores? he’ll do them for you if you just listen to him
♡ hungry? you can eat while you listen to him
♡ showering? you smell fine!
♡ so yeah, he will pick you up and carry you to the living room if he has to
♡ he’s probably really serious about the issue bc your feelings aren’t a joke to him but he lined up your favourite plushies on the couch so he could talk to them as a third party when you disagreed with him
♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥
“i study in moderation! and i have not been neglecting our relationship; i just need to focus on my studies!” you tutted, averting your gaze from yaku’s as you thought about his accusation; did he really feel as though you had been taking him for granted? because of course, that wasn’t your intention at all and the more you thought about it, the more you realise that perhaps he was right.
yaku rolled his eyes at your response, quite enraged by your dismissive tendencies but he didn’t want to take his anger out on you so he simply turned to the kiiroitori plush that sat beside him, “duck, do you think (l/n) has been overworking themselves and ignoring both of us?”
kiirotori was forced by yaku’s hand to nod in response.
you snorted slightly before trying to furrow your eyebrows in anger once again, “their name is kiiroitori!” 
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tōru oikawa
♡ dsfghjkl ngl he clearly overworks himself too so he wouldn’t even notice 
♡ he’s like ‘oh, you’re spending hours upon hours of a day - losing sleep and energy - to dedicate yourself solely to one thing so you can be perfect at it??? that’s completely normal!’
♡ spoiler alert, it’s not
♡ it’d probably take a third-party to point that what you are both doing isn’t healthy (either iwaizumi or a therapist)
♡ then you’d both look at each other like ⚆_⚆ wut 
♡ anyway recovery time ig ✨
♡ he’d definitely just try distract you whenever he sees you studying/training/practising
♡ forget overwork, he doesn’t even let you work 
♡ oh and y’all have started having ‘lazy days’ once a month where you make it a point to nothing but each other :))
♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥
you both stared at the television, pretending to be absolutely engrossed by jumanji. however, once you let out your fifth sigh that minute, oikawa could tell that you were just as disinterested as he was so he peered over his shoulder to look at you, “this is so boring.” 
you nodded, shuffling closer to him so he could drape his arm around your shoulder and bury his nose into your hair. “it’s so hard to just sit here and do nothing when i know that i have a lot to do, y’know?”
oikawa hummed in agreement, “but it’s nice to finally spend some quality time with you, angel.” he placed a kiss on your temple, scooting awkwardly in his seat before pulling you down to lay down next to him on couch. 
“yeah,” you purred, happily falling onto the soft cushions while in oikawa’s embrace, “i’ve suddenly had a change of heart - i love these lazy days.”
“that was fast.”
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tadashi yamaguchi
♡ it would take him a wile to built up the courage to actually express his concern about you overworking yourself
♡ but until then, he’ll show them in more subtle ways
♡ like if he sees you working at your desk - whether your posture is straight or not - he’ll rush up to you and massage your shoulders/back while talking
♡ he always sends you goodnight texts and gets v snappy when you text him in the middle of the night 
♡  ‘tadashi, what did you get for number five on the maths hw?’
♡ if he opens the message and notices that you sent that crazy late at night or the ass crack of dawn, he’ll lose his shit
♡  ‘(Y/N) WHY WERE U UP AT 3AM DOING MATHS HW LITERALLY GO TO SLEEP’
♡ he forces himself to ask you out on dates irl so that if you use work/training/practise etc as an excuse..he can give the puppy eyes 🥺
♡ don’t get me wrong, he’s not manipulative at all but you just overwork yourself so much he think that the teeniest tiniest little bit of fun wouldn’t do you any harm 
♡ he literally cares for you so much and he just wants you to be healthy and happy like is that too much to ask ಥ_ಥ
♡ it would take him 3 months of mental preparation to confront you but he’d do it eventually lol
♡ he’d still be super duper nervous though 👉👈
  ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥
“(y/n).” yamaguchi’s soft voice rang quietly through the hallway before he stuck his head inside your room in search for you. he let out a sigh upon noticing that - like always - you were sitting at your desk, drowning in papers of schoolwork. 
he hurriedly approached you, suddenly throwing his arms around your shoulders as he hid his face in the crook of your neck before wailing, “(y/n)! i know it’s none of my business but i just think you work yourself way too hard and i see how sleepy you are all the time and you didn’t even eat the cupcakes i made you because you were too busy studying - i thought you loved my cupcakes!”
your eyes widened at the sudden contact and the string of words yamaguchi was babbling in your ear; but you semi-understood what he was getting at. so you steadily turned around to wrap your arms around his neck and rub his spine reassuringly, “i am so sorry, tadashi. i had no idea i was worrying you.”
he shook his head against the skin of your neck, “it’s fine, i worry about everything.” he joked before changing to a more serious tone, “it’s just that-- i think you should care more about yourself. take some time to relax once and a while, y’know?”
his sweet words resulted in your lips curling to a smile while his arms wrapped securely around your body brought you a much-needed feeling of peace, “alright, i’ll try.”
“good.” yamaguchi chirped, pecking your forehead then positioning his face where it was prior, going back to enjoying the feeling of your soft skin agaist his. “-so, are you gonna eat the cupcakes or”
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keiji akaashi 
♡ he overworks himself too
♡ if anything, i think he’d praise you for being ‘hard-working’ at first ‘:)
♡ but once he notices how much you work and how negatively it’s effecting your mental/physical health, he’ll intervene
♡ like yamaguchi, i think he’d start small by subtly doing things to reverse the effects of your stress 
♡ and simultaneously, it kinda helps him too
♡ for example, if you get stress ance, he’ll do a bunch of research on the best skin treatments for it, buy the products then do facemasks with you + create a whole new nightly skincare routine for both of you 
♡ or if your not taking care of yourself properly, he’ll book you both in for a spa appointment 
♡ or if you’re tense, he’ll get you both massages from those professional ppl that make you strip naked
♡ when they make you get your tiddies out, you know they are a professional  masseuse
♡ and he’ll take out on ten times more just to help you relax
♡ also, they’re always slow-paced dates bc like ofc akaashi takes you out to the park/beach for picnics....does he seem the sort of guy to take you bowling?? no.
♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥
you sighed as akaashi brought a spoon up to your lips, looking at you expectantly but you simply whined, “keiji, i should be at home studying right now. you know my exam in 5 months, right?” though akaashi wanted to believe you were joking, the seriousness in your voice made it clear that you genuinely thought 5 months was a short period of time - even considering all the work you’ve already done in preparation for it. 
so akaashi simply shrugged in response, continuing to prod your lip with the spoon until you parted you lips, allowing the pudding he made to enter your mouth. then, he pulled it out lower it to observe your pouty expression for a moment; you were so cute that he couldn’t help but smile softly. 
“i’m sure you’ll do fine, sweetheart. i believe in you.” he said, gripping your waist before placing a tender kiss on your cheek. “for now, let’s enjoy this perfect weather. it only comes around once a year, so why not make the most of it, hm?” 
before you were able to reply, akasshi utilized the hand  the had on your waist to pull you back onto the picnic blanket with him, so you were both looking up at the pale blue sky, decorated with delicate clouds. “what do you see?” he inquired, gesturing up to the shapes the clouds formed.
you snickered, slowly intertwining your finger with his as you examined the sky for any familiar shapes or silhouettes in the sky. “oh!” you exclaimed, lifting your index finger to point to a particular cloud adorning the sky, “that kinda looks like my maths professor in a gallon hat.” 
akaashi snorted, “i have no idea what your maths professor looks like but alright.”
you laughed, lowing your finger but not everting your gaze from the special cloud you spotted, “what about you, babe? what do you see?”
with a moment of hesitation, akaashi immediately replied, “an angel.”
your eyes scanned across the sky for a cloud in the shape on an angel but you simply couldn’t find the one he was referring to, so you whipped your head to the side to see where he was pointing, only notice that his eyes were fixated on you. 
“y-you’re such a simp, keiji.”
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missskzbiased · 3 years
Text
I Hate That I’m Afraid to Love You (11)
Genre: Romance, Friendship, Angst, Hurt /Confort , Suggestive, Fluff, College Au, Enemies to Friends to Lovers Au, REALLY Slow burn, Love Square (?)
Pairing: Hyunjin X Fem!Reader  X Han X OC
WC: ~ 6,6K
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Masterlist
Notes: This chapter had been planned since I don’t know... Chap 2 or something LOL. I’m happy it finally came. I’m also happy to say that the next one will be hella suggestive. I hope you guys like it! I’m writing the chap 14 for now, so we’ve been kinda okay with the schedule. Let’s hope I don’t get blocked!
Warnings (general*): Language, Mentions of (Physical abuse, Death/ Loss of Loved One, Child Abandonment/Neglect, Divorce, Toxic Parents, Cancer, Mental disorder, Anxiety Attack, Alcohol, Food), Suggestiveness (?)
Updates: Tuesdays
Tagging: @aliceu @thatrandomoneinthecorner  @channiewoo  @bythesunnotbythemoon
                                                           ////
     You wiped all your things in your bag as soon as the bell rang, glancing at Hyunjin and Paris before getting up from your chair.
    “Are you coming with us, Hyunjin?” You asked mindlessly, checking if you had everything inside your bag and hoisting it over your shoulder as you concluded that everything was there. You looked at him, waiting for his answer, and watching as he placed his things inside his bag, taking out your book from there.
   “I won’t eat in the dining hall” He scrunched his nose, making you roll your eyes. Paris looked at you amused before looking at him and gasp, snapping her head back at you with a surprised look. You arched your brow, confused by her sudden behavior, and she darted her eyes back to him before settling them on you.
   “He was the friend you met on Wednesday?!” She asked excitedly, and you frowned. What the hell was she talking about? You looked at him confused, and he sent you a knowing look, a smirk plastered on his face.
   “Talking about me to your friends already, hm?” He teased, and you stared at him blankly before shaking your head slightly, rolling your eyes. Paris took the book in her hands, waving it for you to see it. You frowned, no clue about what she expected you to do.
   “You said you were going to meet your friend to give it to him!” She recalled, and you widened your eyes, remembering your lies. Great, now Paris would be fixed on the idea you were meeting Hyunjin behind her back “So… Are you guys friends now or something?” She grinned, and Hyunjin raised his brow at you, questioningly.
   “Yeah, yeah” You agreed, giving him a warning look that he took silently, keeping his mouth shut, “Something like that” You added, forcing a smile. Paris narrowed her eyes, suspicious, and you began to walk, so they would follow you and drop the subject.
   Paris clearly couldn’t be an actress, because she didn’t follow the script in your head.
   “Something, hm?” She teased, and you looked at Hyunjin for help. He shrugged, not knowing what to do since he didn’t even know what was going on, and you let your shoulders drop in defeat “Should I leave the love birds by themselves?” She grinned, and Hyunjin ─who clearly didn’t understand how to maintain a friendship with you─ grinned along.
   “Should she?” He asked playfully, looking directly at you. You pushed your tongue against your cheek, annoyed. Paris’s grin morphed into a full wide smile, eyes sparkling in excitement as she clasped her hands and looked at you. She was beaming. You could risk saying that you never saw her that happy in your whole life, almost relieved.
   That was how much she wanted you dating someone… Jesus.
   “Hyunjin, fuck off” You asked, voice drained and a pleading expression that made him chuckle. She giggled, happy with your not so gentle interaction, and you let out an exasperated sigh “We’re not dating, Paris” You pointed out, stressing your words. She hummed ─ clearly not buying them ─ and you let out a heavy sigh, wondering what have you done wrong in your life for your friend to believe in whatever she wanted, completely ignoring you.
    “Didn’t you mean fuck me?” Hyunjin goaded, smiling devilishly at you. Paris shot you a keyed up look, holding her breath as you walked, interested in your answer. You almost laughed at her eyes twinkling, like she was a child watching their favorite toy on display.
    “That’s exactly what I meant, thank you” You smiled obnoxiously, letting it hang in the air for a second too long, enough to confuse him “Fuck you” You added, grimacing, and he let out a wholeheartedly laugh, surprised by your retort. You chuckled, fighting back your smile as your eyes roamed around the quad as soon as you got to the stairs.
    “You almost tricked me” He confessed, humming in appreciation “You’re getting better at this”
    “Almost? You totally fell for it” You accused lightly, shooting him a funny look. Paris seemed pleased at your interaction, smiling at herself as she looked around the quad, mimicking your previous action. Unlike you, though, she let out a gasp. You raised your eyes to follow hers, spotting Han and his father walking side by side.
   “I thought Han would be lunching with us today” She mused, observing the other man walking along with them. They were walking fast, talking about something enthusiastically as Han nodded once in a while, a tight smile that conveyed his uncomfortableness from miles away. You frowned, concerned about him. Since Friday’s match, he had been feeling kinda down in general.
   Sometimes he seemed just alright as if he didn’t have anything to worry about.
   Sometimes he looked like he was drowning in regret.
   Just like now.
   The way his shoulders were dropped made it seem like he had to carry the weight of the entire world on them. The way his lips quirked down ─ almost imperceptibly but casting a shadow in the corner of his lips ─ made it seem like his whole face was taken by whatever dark thoughts wandered around his mind. The way his jaw clenched ─ stretching his neck just a little bit ─ made it seem like he had an invisible rope ready to strangle him. The way his eyebrows quivered almost imperceptibly made you realize how much he was trying to hide a clear ocean of emotions behind his worried eyes.
   You knew something was wrong and you couldn’t believe one lost match was the reason why he seemed so down lately.
   So what exactly was his problem?
   You pursed your lips, patting Paris’s shoulder before looking at Hyunjin, waving him goodbye before turning to her, forcing a small smile. You made your way to the dining hall, dismissing Paris’s idea of going their way to greet them but sending some looks over your shoulder. Maybe later you should try to figure it out.
   For now, though, it was lunchtime.
                                        //////
    Later arrived sooner than you expected.
    You bit your hot dog, crossing your legs as you fixed yourself on the stool and leaning against the stand as you watched the P.E building, waiting for Han to come out of his practice. You heard the coach wasn’t pleased about the results, and it seemed like he was taking out his frustrations on the team, tiring them out.
    You distracted yourself for a split of a second, admiring the dark sky that fell upon you. Although work in a library was fun to some extent, it was always strange to get in there with the sun burning your scalp and people wandering around, chatting up, to get out when everything was dark and quiet. The lights shooting from the roof made you trail their path, getting too invested in them to notice someone coming in your way.
   “Waiting for your boyfriend?” Minho’s voice sounded as soon as someone shadowed your view. You focused your gaze on him. Despite his usual teasing, it was clear he was drained, an unusual frown giving him away. You gestured to the stool beside you for him to sit, ignoring his teasing like you often did when you didn’t find it in you the urge to whine at him. He gestured to the employee, asking whatever he called the usual before he sat down.
   The silence was slightly awkward but neither of you tried to say anything at first. You glanced at him, munching your food as you pretended not to be interested in why he looked so edgy today. He tapped his fingers on the stand, eyes fixed on the building behind him; though he probably didn’t intend to show his anxiety, the subtle rocking his body made back and forth was enough for you to sigh in defeat, lowering your food.
   “What is it?” You decided to ask, taking him by surprise. He looked at you astonished; impressed you even noticed something was wrong with him, blinking a few times as he deadpanned. You rolled your eyes, shoulders dropping as you scoffed “Really? You look like shit, Minho! Also, you can’t stop bouncing your leg and drumming your fingers. I mean, either you’re anxious or you really want to be a drummer” He snorted, nodding in defeat.
   “It’s been tiring” He shrugged “Coach is mad at us for losing like that… I fucked everything up” He admitted “I couldn’t even think about missing a serve in a time like this… He’s been on my tail since then” He sighed, clearly overwhelmed “Also, I think Han isn’t feeling much better… “ He eyed you cautiously “Isn’t he distant lately?” You blinked, thinking deeply.
   Well, to tell the truth, he kinda was.
   “I think so? He has been acting weird… I don’t think it’s about the match though” You confessed, resting your hot dog on the stand before continuing “Sometimes it just seems like he’s lost inside his head, I don’t know how to explain” He nodded in agreement, looking at your food as if he craved for it, making you chuckle “You can have it, I’m okay” You pushed it his way, fighting back a chortle as he blushed, embarrassed.
    “No! Sorry! I’m just…” He closed his eyes when his stomach growled, and this time you couldn’t hold back your laughter, pushing your food closer to him “Sorry, I’m starving” He admitted, picking up your hot dog and humming as soon as he had a bite “The damn coach didn’t give us any time to fucking eat!” He muttered, mouth full of food, as he tried to cup it so he wouldn’t spat at you.
    “Han missed the practice? Where is he?” You asked out of nowhere, realizing that if the coach was on their tail, he should be with Minho right now. Minho gulped down his food, sighing.
    “He’s at the gym… He said he needed some alone time” He took another bite, cupping his mouth again “Said he wasn’t hungry… As if” He scoffed. You frowned, looking at the building once more, attention dragged back as Minho’s food was settled in front of him “Do you want some?” He offered, pointing to his brand new hot dog.
    “Actually… Can I have this? I’ll pay for yours” You reassured him, picking up your bag to search for your wallet “I’m going to push it down his throat” You grunted, putting the money right in front of Minho. He laughed, shaking his head and waving his hand dismissively.
   “What a caring girlfriend” He teased, gesturing so he could order another one, pushing your money back to you before you gave him a neck-slap “I owe him one” He shrugged it off, and you wiped your money back into your bag, picking up the hot dog and quickly making your way to the gym, afraid he would just go home unexpectedly.
    You struggled a little bit to find it but as soon as you spotted Han laid down on the floor, arms crossed upon his eyes and fingers buried into his hair ─ the definition of defeat himself ─ you felt all your unsettledness dissolve into pure worry. You cleared your throat, and the sudden echo in the empty gym startled him. He shot his body up, sitting on the floor and moving his hands away so he could see who was sneaking there; shoulders dropping in relief when he spotted you.
   The next second, he tensed up, realizing it was you.
   “What are you doing here?” He asked surprised, way more stiffly than you were used to seeing him. You approached him, handing the hot dog without a word, and he arched his brow in wonder, looking at you as if you were crazy “What is it? You suddenly had the urge to come here with a hot dog?” He scoffed, and this time you rolled your eyes.
   “Just eat the damn thing” You pushed it in the air, and he took it gratefully “I heard you said you weren’t hungry… I immediately realized you needed a friend. I mean, did I ever see you satisfied in your life?” You joked, and he laughed at it for a few seconds before his laughter died slowly, giving way to an awkward silence.
   “I don’t think you did” He muttered under his breath, taking a bite. You gasped, taken aback by the sudden change in the mood. Han wasn’t the one to complain about his life. If you were being honest, you couldn’t recall a time he complained about anything for real ─ well, except for Hyunjin being in your life ─, so you took the hint to sit down next to him, placing your hand on his knee.
    “You know you can talk to me, right?” You offered unsure, eyeing him cautiously “I may not be able to help you but I can hear you out” You gave him a small smile which he returned, sighing right after. He took a bite of his food but didn’t seem to care about the taste, as he didn’t even hum like he used to do when he ate it.
   “I don’t know where to begin with” He stated, eyes unfocused but fixed somewhere over your shoulder “I mean… I don’t know… You know?” He trailed off, which wasn’t really helpful. You furrowed your brows, tilting your head.
  “Could you be more specific?” You asked amused, and he chuckled, gulping down his food.
   “I lost this game… And for what, Y/N? For what?” He sighed heavily “Dad brought a friend to meet me today… He said those things happen, said he knows I’m better than that…” You perked up at that, happy he would have another chance sooner than expected “He watched my other games and said I’m promising” He concluded with another sigh.
  Though his words were all good signs, he said them as if they were a death sentence.
  “I don’t follow you” You admitted, confused “Isn’t it a good thing? I mean… Did he give you a chance? Will you play on a team?” You added, and he looked at your eyes deeply demotivated.
  “I don’t deserve that spot” His tone was hurt, kinda breathy, and you were taken aback by how destroyed he looked. Has he ever been this tired? You couldn’t remember it “I wasn’t supposed to have that spot” He added, laughing humorlessly “What about my team? What about them, Y/N? They missed their chances because I’m a son of a bitch” His hands fisted his hair and he gazed at the floor, embarrassed to raise his eyes and look at you.
   “You deserve it, Han! I watched every game for the last two years… You were incredible in each one of them. One bad day can’t just erase all of your hard work” You took your hand from his knee to rest it on his shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly “They’ll get another chance! All of you made some mistakes throughout the game… A lost match isn’t the responsibility of a single player, Han. You’re a team”
   “I missed the ball” He blurted out, and you raised your brows surprised.
   “Yeah, I know but it doesn’t mean you’re the one to—“ He interrupted you, voice firm and guilty.
   “No, I missed the ball” He shut his eyes, and you frowned, confused.
   “Yes, I know… What I mean is –“ You tried again, and this time he interrupted you with a peal of incredulous laughter but not a hint of humor in it.
   “No! You don’t understand it!” He whined, voice faltering as if he was about to cry “I missed it, Y/N… I choose not to save it! I missed the damn ball!” He raised his voice, half-yelling on the silent gym; voice echoing over and over again, sinking in your brain slowly.
   “You did what?” You couldn’t believe it. Why would he do something like that? You stood there, staring at him blankly, blinking a few times as you tried to make sense of what he just said. He looked at you with so much hurt in his eyes, that it was impossible not to feel the regret engulfing him right now.
  “I let my team lose… I took away their chances because I’m an egoistic son of a bitch” His voice was thick, heavy even, and yet it broke into a million pieces. You felt your heart sink, not knowing what to say. He covered his eyes, bringing his knees next to his chest to rest his face there, grip tightening on his hair.
  “Why?” You asked slowly, at a loss of words. He raised his head just a little bit, enough for you to get a glimpse of his teary eyes and quivering chin.
  “I don’t want to be a player” He confessed bluntly.
   At first, you gasped, dumbfounded.
   Then everything made sense all at once.
   “You want to be a musician” You blurted out, breathlessly “I can’t believe I didn’t see it before… Han, why are you here? Why aren’t you going after your dreams?” You couldn’t understand him. He was so talented! He did so much in his projects with Paris… What was he afraid of? It didn’t make any sense.
   “It doesn’t matter what I want… What does matter is that I ruined what everyone else wanted” He sighed, cupping his cheek as he tilted his head to the side, looking at you with a face that had failure written all over it “And for what? Just to get into a team… It was useless” You frowned, starting to get upset at him.
  “Do you think you’re some kind of god or something?” You snarled, scoffing and looking away from him before returning your gaze “Were you alone in that damn court, Han? Were you playing all by yourself?” You ranted. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, surprised by your outburst.
  “No, but I could have –“ You sneered, nodding in discontent.
  “And so could them!” You shouted, and he pursed his lips, afraid of speaking up. You sighed, shoulders dropping “Look… The only thing you should be feeling guilty about is to be a dumbass” You snorted, and he seemed to relax a little bit “How can you think that your dream doesn’t matter, Han? It’s all that matters… It’s your life. You just have this one to live” You looked deep into his eyes, and he averted them, flustered.
   “Actually… If you believe in reincarnation and –“ You groaned, interrupting him.
   “Don’t try to change the subject!” You threatened him with your eyes but he seemed to find it amusing, letting out a chuckle “Why aren’t you pursuing your dreams? Why are you here if you could make yourself a hell out of a musician?” You asked curiously, and his amusement faded away.
   “You’re going to laugh at me…” He trailed off. You squeezed his shoulder once more, encouraging him to speak “Dad was a volleyball player” He began awkwardly, and you nodded reassuringly “He got injured real bad and had to retire… He got kinda depressed, you know? It was his dream. He loved to play. It happened when I was a kid… I decided to join my school team, so he could watch my matches and… Well, I wanted to make him feel happy” He shrugged.
   You sighed, knowing damn well how it would end.
   “When I won my first match he was so excited… It was the first time he laughed like that in a long time, so I just… Well, I wanted to allow him to live his dream through me” He sighed “And I loved to play, I really did. Somewhere along the way, it stopped being my dream and it started to be my burden, though” He looked at you, waiting for your reaction, and you looked at him sympathetically.
   “So drop it” You advised, and he scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief.
   “You don’t understand it! I don’t want to disappoint him… He did nothing but support me my whole life, Y/N… I’m his Champ” He sounded bitter, lips twisting down “How can I take it away from him? How can I carry the burden of letting him down?” He sighed, and you chuckled. He raised his eyes, confused, and your chuckled grew to a giggle until you couldn’t stop laughing. He looked offended, so you rushed to wave your hands eagerly.
   “I’m not laughing at you!” You assured, shaking your head in amusement “It’s just… Han, I don’t think you could ever let him down, really. The man just adores you! He’d accept you as you are, Han. Whoever you are. He loves you, and he does it from the bottom of his heart” You reassured him, pushing his shoulder lightly “He even approved of your imaginary relationship with Paris and Minho” You pointed out, laughing.
   “Don’t even remind me of this!” He cringed “It was embarrassing” He sighed, glancing over at you.
   “No, it wasn’t” You chuckled “I think it’s awesome you have someone who loves you so much… I can’t even imagine how it works” You smiled sadly, shrugging “I mean… I think he would have your back. He asked us to say to you that he was really proud of you, even if you lost it… He was concerned you’d be embarrassed to look at him after your match, that was why he just left earlier” He gasped, and you snorted “You should have known it but you got so drunk…”
   “Do you think he will take it well?” He asked unsurely, and you got up, extending your hand for him to help him out. He took it, standing right in front of you “I mean… Don’t you think it’d be better if I kept playing for him? I even have a team” You opened your arms for a hug, and he stood there staring at you.
    “Han, put it inside your head” You rolled your eyes “Your father loves you so much… Do you think his dream is to see you playing? His dream is to see you happy, Han. He’d be happy if you were happy. That’s all you need to do” You stepped closer to him, hugging him. He leaned his head against your shoulder, inhaling deeply “Just chase your dreams and he’ll support you with all his heart, okay? You’ll be a great musician and He’ll go to every one of your shows with Paris’s foam glove” You chuckled.
    You squeezed him, trying to convey some peace into him, feeling how he melted, hugging you back full of love. It was a warm hug and for a split of a second, you remembered Hyunjin saying Han liked you. You tried to pull away, haunted by the mere thought of taking him away from Paris but he held you tight.
   You inhaled sharply.
   “I never had someone to talk like this…” He muttered against your shoulder, and you hummed, patting his back “No one ever supported me like this… I’m…” He trailed off, and you got it as a hint to break away from him, smiling uncomfortably, rubbing your nape.
   “I mean, you have a lot of supporters! You have me and Par—“ Before you could complete your sentence, he interrupted you, grabbing your shoulders firmly and looking deep in your eyes.
   Oh boy.
   “I like you” He confessed, simply like this, and you shut your eyes tightly, exhaling slowly. You couldn’t get away from this “I have liked you for a while now… I always had a crush on you, and I thought I could just let it go but I can’t” He continued, rubbing circles on your skin with his thumbs. You opened your eyes again, looking at him like you were in pain “If you can just give me a chanc—“ You placed your finger upon his lips, sighing.
   “I can’t, Han… I’d do anything for you, I really like you but… Like a brother or something like this. I never thought about you as more than a friend” You admitted, pursing your lips as he gave you a hurt expression.
   “Maybe we can try to go on a date? Just to see if we may click! Perhaps you can come to like m—“ You sighed again, shaking your head slowly.
  “I really can’t… It wouldn’t be fair to you and it wouldn’t be fair to… Well, it’s just not fair” You shrugged, trying to keep Paris out of your speech. He pursed his lips, twisting them down and lowering his gaze, ashamed to look at you “Don’t be like this, we can still be friends and—“ This time was his time to interrupt you.
  “I can’t do it right now” He admitted “How can I look at you every day knowing you don’t like me back? Knowing you’re going to be my friend out of pity?” He looked deep in your eyes, and you could see how conflicted he was right now. The tears prickled in your eyes, and you could see how his eyes were glossy as well.
   “I don’t pity you… I really want to be your friend!” You assured him eagerly, voice faltering. He snorted, nodding in understanding.
   “But I don’t want to be friends with you… I want to be something more” He sighed, voice faltering as well. It was a vulnerable moment, and he took a deep breath before letting go of your shoulders “It’s not that I don’t want to be friends with you anymore, okay? It’s just that I can’t do it right now… I need some time” He confessed, averting his eyes.
   “You promise you won’t bail on me?” You asked, holding your pinky out in the air, expecting him to lock his with yours.
  “Yeah, of course” He smiled weakly at you, locking your fingers together.
                                                                    ////
   It was needless to say you looked like shit as soon as you got home.
   The walk to the dorms was quiet and uncomfortable as Han made sure to drop you off, claiming that some rejection didn’t mean he couldn’t make sure you would get home safe. Although it was gentle and thoughtful, the silence sank in a way that made you cringe the whole way in the most awkward walk you ever had in your life.
  You opened the door and something about it ─maybe it was the popcorn smell, maybe it was the soft sound of unknown voices coming from the TV ─ made you realize that you were finally home. It hit you like a truck, and all the tiredness washed over you mercilessly. The weight of your busy day impregnated every fiber of your body, and suddenly you felt too worn out to say anything. You let out a heavy sigh, closing the door behind you before dropping your keys and bag to the counter, walking to the fridge to have some water.
      From morning to night, all your day was filled with worries.
      Paris raised her eyes from the TV ─ pausing whatever she was watching to look at you, which gave you a moment of comfortable silence that made you hum in approval─, studying you silently for a few seconds. She seemed to be puzzled by your nonchalantly self and somehow it pushed her to talk to you, even if it was pretty obvious you didn’t want to say anything right now.
   “You’re late” She stated, glancing over the clock before turning her gaze back at you “Were you with Hyunjin?” She smiled mischievously, tone knowing and teasing, and you looked at her far too done to play along “You look exhausted, the night must have been really nic—“ You shot her a look, deciding you weren’t up to this kind of bullshit right now.
  “I was with Han” You interrupted, and her face fell. She averted her eyes before biting her lip, turning her gaze back at you, unsure if she should say something. You kept looking at her, waiting for some kind of reaction but she was settled in look eager to know though too afraid to ask.
  As if it wasn’t enough, your head started to pound.
  “He confessed to me” You decided to come clean, studying her reaction. She raised her eyebrows slightly, not as surprised as you thought she would be. If you must describe it, she looked resigned, as if she knew it would happen all along. You frowned, narrowing your eyes to her “You knew?” You sounded accusatory, and she didn’t miss the tone.
   “I think you’re the only one who couldn’t see it” She admitted, “How did it go?” She couldn’t even look at your eyes, fixing her gaze on the floor. You took another gulp, roaming your eyes up and down at her. She fisted her hands, head dropped and body all stiff as if she was really afraid of your answer; her voice sounded weak enough for you to know she was fighting the urge to cry, and it made you sigh once more.
   “How could I do this to you?” You gave her a small smile, which she saw because her head snapped back at you, eyes widen as she took your smile in “You love him, don’t you?”
  “You knew?!” She was taken aback. It seemed like the mere thought of you knowing about her feelings didn’t even cross her head. She stood up from the couch, and for a moment you thought she would beam and hug you, maybe even thank you for letting him go. Not that you needed it. You widened your smile but she didn’t offer you one back.
   Paris looked offended.
   Not like her usual mock offended self, or her joking and kind self. She looked as if you just slapped her in her face. She was angry, to say the least, face red and brows furrowed, jaw clenched and you could see her swallowing dry. Her eyes held a storm inside them that you never saw before, and for a moment you wondered if you misunderstood her feelings.
  “Why didn’t you tell me?” She spat, and you blinked twice, surprised, head tilting back slightly as if her words had impacted you like a punch “Did you… I can’t… What the fuck were you thinking?!” She yelled, stumbling over her words. You couldn’t understand her train of thoughts, so you just stood there speechless.
  What the fuck was going on?
  “Answer me!” She demanded, tears prickling her eyes “God… You’re… Why are you like this?! Why can’t you… Argh!” She groaned, fisting her hair and pulling it slightly, throwing her head back. She let go of her hair, shooting you a glare “Why?! Just tell me why!” She uttered, and you decided to rest your glass on the counter, confused.
  “I don’t follow you… Are you mad because I said no to him?” You asked just to be sure, and she laughed like a maniac. Out of nowhere. You glanced at your sides, startled, wondering if maybe it was all a joke and tons of cameras would take pictures of your flabbergasted self. She stopped laughing to clasp her hands, the sharp sound making you yelp.
  “How did you know I liked him?” She asked, trying to organize her questions, inhaling deeply so she could control herself.
  “You told me and Hyunjin when you got drunk at the party before our deadline” You answered simply, choosing to be the most straightforward as possible. She nodded, looking displeased with herself, scrunching her nose before turning her gaze back to you.
  “Why did you say no to him?” She asked, voice lower, and you scoffed amusedly.
  “What is it? Am I obliged to return his feelings now?” You chuckled but she didn’t seem to find it funny. She glared at you, and your laugh died inside your throat, making you gulp down. She approached you, getting right at the other side of the counter, looking dead serious to something as harmless as this.
   “He loves you!” She uttered, pissed off, and you clapped your hands, starting to get annoyed at her constant yelling. Your head throbbed and your thought flickered around the fact that you were too tired for it, too eager to go to your bed and lay down. Suddenly, all of your turbulent feelings seemed to find their way out of you, turning into anger and displeasure.
   “What do you want me to do?!” You fumed “I just fucking got out of your way! Why the hell you’re so fucking mad?!” You inquired, smacking the counter, startling her for a second. She recovered fast though, mimicking you the next second.
  “Out of my way?!” She grunted “Do you ever think about anyone at all?! How did you think I’d feel when you refused him out of pity?!” She raised her voice, looking at you full of disgust “So I should thank your holy ass because you got out of my way?” She laughed humorlessly “Maybe I didn’t want you to get out! Maybe I wanted you in!”
  What the fuck now?
  “Take your head out of your butt once in your life! How do you think I felt seeing him liking you all this time?! Hm?! Did you think it was fun to watch me liking him when he liked you?!” You watched as the first tear rolled down her face “Did you think I’d be glad because you’re pitying me?!” She spat, looking away, trying to hide her tears streaming down her face.
  It was enough for you to calm down a little bit.
  “I don’t pity you” You said softly, and she scoffed, shaking her head in contempt.
  “Yeah? But you should!” She said bitterly “Did you know I liked him for two years?! Did you know how much I wanted to confess to him?! Do you know why I didn’t?!” It was hard to understand what she was saying; her voice sounding thick as she tried to hold back her tears, choking and sobbing as she tried to yell at you, all at the same time.
  “Paris, calm down” You asked, concerned, and she groaned once more, pressing her palms against her eyes before punching the counter.
  “Calm down?! I stepped away because I love you, Y/N! Because I love him!” her face was twisted in pain and regret, and you wanted to reach out for her but you didn’t, afraid of her reaction “You’re my best friend! I’d do anything for you! Anything!” She cried, hiccupping as she tried to recompose herself “You know how much it took for me to let him go so you could be with him? You shouldn’t reject him because of me! I can’t have gone through all this for nothing!” She yelled, devasted.
  “Why would you do that, Paris?” You were so confused right now, so lost in everything she was saying… She laughed, choking on her saliva before continuing, and you pondered about giving her your glass of water but the thought of a pissed Paris having a glass to throw at you demotivated you immediately.
   “Because you’re lonely!” She howled, whimpering, and trying to recompose herself once more.
   The silence was deafening.  
  “I… You… What?” You floundered, and she shut her eyes, sighing.
  “Because you’re lonely, Y/N… Because I know you need love in your life… Because I know Han can make you happy…” She dragged each sentence out of her chest, in a serious tone, crying toning down a bit, sounding utterly worn out “If what I have to do to make sure you end up happy is to step away and give up on him… Then I’d do it gladly” She concluded, and suddenly you could relate to her pained expression, scoffing in disbelief before breaking into a fit of laughter.
   You were fully aware you sounded crazy as you cackled up, smacking the counter over and over again as if she had just told you a hilarious joke. The laughter didn’t last for long, though, dying into your throat as your smacking turned harder each time until you were punching the counter, tears pouring out of your eyes uncontrollably. You shut your eyes closed, keeping hitting it nonstop until the pain you felt in your hand could cloud any other thought.
   “You call this friendship?” You gestured between both of you, voice trembling and breaking “You said I don’t think about anyone but what about you, Paris?” You asked bitterly, and when she averted her eyes, rage engulfed you “What about you, Paris?!” You yelled, smacking the counter once again “So you’re saying you did it all for me?! Out of pity?! Because I need love?!” You laughed humorlessly, shooting your head back to breathe deeply “I need a therapist, Paris! That’s what I need”
   You picked up your bag, glaring at her.
   “And you know what?! That’s what you need too!” You dropped your bag again, fuming “Giving up on someone you love because you think I need it more than you?! Don’t blame me for being a coward!” You scoffed, rolling your eyes “Do you want to be canonized or something? Do you think it makes you more worthy of love than me?” She gasped, trying to shake her head to deny it but you snorted and raised your hand for her to stop “Are you so desperate you’d do anything to be worthy of love? Am I so unworthy that you thought nobody but he could love me?” Your voice calmed down, the anger left behind to give way to an unwavering cold tone.
   “No, Y/N, that’s not what I mea—“ You picked up your bag, walking to the door “Where are you going?” She asked worried, trying to get closer to you.
   “Did you think that I might not love him back? Do you think I’m so desperate for love that I wouldn’t even think about my feelings? That I’d accept anything? Did you really think about my feelings at all?” You sighed, opening the door, ignoring her question “I don’t love him, Paris… I’m sorry you had to hold back your feelings all this time. I’m sorry it was so hard on you. I’m sorry for not coming up to your expectations…”
   You looked at her, deep in her eyes, and both of you held your urge to cry, looking at each other as if only hurt could dwell in your soul right now. Neither of you said anything, holding each other’s stare for a while, taking in the entire situation.
   “But all that…?” You gestured at her, hand fumbling in the air “It’s all on you” You stated seriously “Don’t blame me for things you decided by yourself… I have enough of this with my father, thank you very much” You snickered “If you were really glad to give up on him, you wouldn’t beam thinking I had something with Hyunjin, would you?” She bit her lips, averting her eyes embarrassed “Maybe you should think about why you’re so riled up about this… I didn’t reject him because I pity you, Paris…”
   You held up your breath before exhaling heavily, positioning yourself to get out. You hesitated for a second on the doorframe, facing the hall, back turned at her before voicing your thoughts once more,“But if you really wanna know, I think now I do” And with this being said, you closed the door, making sure to not look behind.
73 notes · View notes
hieludoboi · 3 years
Note
Okay okay hear me out,,, Todoroki x a nb!reader,,, He finally actually confessed to them and the reader is just like cannot accept that Todoroki Shouto actually likes them. They're in total disbelief
A/n- Reader’s just standing there like “Me? Oh. That’s right, who else here is named Y/n” and Shouto’s kinda just standing there like ‘....’
A/n- Also! Just the thought of Pro Hero Todo getting like a scone or something sweet every morning before a patrol (I headcanon Shouto liking sweets, just idk, something about it just works for me) and slowly falling for the baker at his favorite bakery
A/n- I did a little research for how to write non-binary readers and such, and I feel like it’s kinda difficult to write for them unless specifics are given! Some non-binary individuals are masculine, other’s are feminine, some go by they/them, some by she/her or sometimes by zie/zim. I didn’t feel like it was right for me to write for these individuals specifically until I do a bit more research and learn to properly write for them!
A/n- Non-binary is a blanket term encompassing a whole list of genders/identities that don’t exactly follow societal gender norms! Sometimes non-binary individuals have gendered pronouns, sometimes they don’t! Since you didn’t specify I’m going to label this as a more gender neutral thing! 
A/n- Update, I researched like two hours and I still don’t understand. My brain very fried no work from online classes brainrot but not by bokuto by staring at screen all dy. Someone pls give my pigeon brain examples on how to properly write for nb! readers rn or I’ll pull out the glock >:(
Pairing- Pro Hero! Shouto / Gn! Reader
Summary- So he was serious? 
Warnings- not really?
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It was a mundane Tuesday morning. The sun had yet to rise, slowly peaking over the city’s skyline, yet somehow getting lost among all the trees and towers. As with every morning, Y/n started off their day by preparing for their day. A quick shower, followed by washing their face and brushing their teeth. Before they knew it, they were trudging out of the house and making their way to the bakery to prepare for the morning rush.
Y/n was quirkless in a society plagued by quirks, an average day to day citizen if you will. They didn’t mind, in fact, life even seemed a bit easier when they didn’t have to worry about controlling some strange and odd power. The rest of the world, however, couldn’t begin to fathom how they even managed to lead a life without a quirk. 
Stifling a yawn, they made their way to the front door, unlocking it before closing it and locking it behind them. If the day went as planned, which normally it didn’t, they’d have scones, muffins, and croissants all out and freshly baked by six. Bear claws, donuts, and danish pastries would be out by eight, all the rolls and loafs would be done by ten and by eleven they could hopefully get started on the sugary sweets that their younger costumers seemed to enjoy so much. 
Their morning dragged on as usual. One by one the rest of the employees pooled into the back kitchen, kneading dough and making batters to pour in to tins or mold into shape. Grunting, Y/n picked up a tray chocked full of scones and made their way towards the display cases, setting the tray atop the display and carefully arranging the scones inside. Looking up at the pretty light blue clock, Y/n hummed. Their day rarely went as planned, but they could always count on Shouto coming in once the clock hit six-thirty. 
“Waiting on Mr. Pro-Hero?” Y/n turned around, feeling the heat begin to seize the apples of their cheeks. Sputtering, Y/n turned around, ignoring their coworker and instead focusing on arranging the last of the scones.
“Come onnnnnn! How are you so oblivious!” Y/n huffed, quickly standing up before thrusting the empty tray into Hina, their coworker’s, hands. “Y/n. He likes you!!” Hina groaned, following a wordless Y/n back into the kitchen. 
“Hina. No he doesn’t!!” Y/n mocked Hina as they slid a tray of muffins into the oven. Hina grunted, pulling out a giant bowl of risen dough before letting it fall onto a flowered counter top. “Besides, he’s rumored to be dating Creati,” Y/n pointed out, dusting their hands off on their apron.
“They’re just ru-” Hina rubbed her temples, watching as Y/n made their way towards the front at the sound of the little bell ringing. When would they stop being so oblivious?
--------------------------------
Nothing seemed to go right that morning. While on his usual morning patrols, Shouto had run into Momo. While it was a welcome surprise, the situation was not. They had run into each other while battling a lowlife villain with a disastrous quirk. Damages were not kept to a minimum, and all Shouto wanted to do after being chewed out by local authorities was to go bite into a delicious scone at his favorite bakery. 
“This could have gone better,” Momo sighed, rubbing her temples as they both surveyed the damage they had done to the small plaza. Shouto nodded, he couldn’t agree more. “We should probably go out west, right? If there were robberies here, there’s bound to be some in the shopping centre,” Shouto nodded, Momo had some nice ideas. 
“We can stop by a bakery there too, I know a place that makes some nice scones,” Shouto explained as they walked, a subtle smile on his face at the thought of the baker that awaited him every morning. “What time is it?” SHouto asked, turning to look at Momo. 
“Oh, it’s around seven-thirty, why?” This morning could not have gone any worse for Shouto. First, he has to stop villains at the crack of dawn, and now he’s going to miss out on scones? Admittedly, they didn’t sell fast, but the bakery didn’t make a lot of them either. 
“No reason,” Shouto shrugged. He hoped he wouldn’t miss Y/n.
-------------------------------------
Y/n sighed, watching as the seconds ticked by on the clock overhead. It was eight already. Shouto was never late, ever. The man had a thing for punctuality, and even when everything was going wrong, Y/n could always count on seeing their favorite customer before the sun fully rose.
“Pretty boy ain’t here yet?” Y/n stood up, turning to look at the smug grin on their co-worker’s face. Curling their lip and rolling their eyes, Y/n went back to slouching over the counter, resting their chin on their palm as they zoned in on the glass door ahead of them. “C’mon boss! Cheer up, we’ll never make any sales with a grumpy face up front!” Y/n frowned seemed to become deeper, rooting itself in their brows and lips. 
“And I suppose having a super buff woman who looks like she can pop your head off with a squeeze of her biceps at the counter will allure customers like nothing ever could?” Y/n teased, grinning as Hina flexed her biceps. 
“Children adore me. They see me and are amazed by the ‘big muscle woman’,” Hina gloated, wiggling her eyebrows while continuing to pose behind the counter.
“Yeah yeah, go help Kohaku before he breaks an arm trying to knead the dough,” Y/n grumbled, pushing Hina into the kitchen so they could focus on the sales upfront. Kohaku liked decorating cakes, but every once in a while he’d have to knead dough while Hina helped Y/n arrange things up front.
Picking at their nails for a minute or so with boredom, Y/n’s head instantly popped up as soon as the bell on the glass door chirped. Their eyes instantly attatched themselves to the blue suit before them, almost completely ignoring the red latex that stood beside it. 
“Shou! I was starting to think you’d... never get here,” Y/n’s voice was filled with excitement at first, immediately dying off at the sight of Creati, who stood right next to him. Offering the pro hero a pleasant smile, Y/n grabbed their gloves and tray, their tongs hanging off a little hook on the display case.
“What can I get for you two?” Y/n asked, the bright smile that usually reached their eyes seeming to drown before it could fully rise. Shouto frowned a bit to himself, wondering where the usually happy and bright baker he had grown so used to had gone. Was he maybe reading too into it? 
“Oh! I’ll a pumpkin walnut muffin! They look so good!” Momo praised, delicately pointing to her preferred muffin through the glass case. 
“Thank you, made the recipe myse-”
“And we baked them!” Y/n winced at Hina’s booming voice, opening their eyes as soon as it died out. 
“Sorry about that, you’ll come to find that this bakery comes alive after a certain hour,” Y/n explained with a giggle, placing the muffin on the tray they held. “And you, Shouto?” Y/n asked, tilting their head a bit as they awaited his answer. 
“The usual,” Shouto made sure to offer them a grin, shoving his hands into the pockets of his suit as he watched Y/n set the tray on the counter. 
“Lucky you, I made sure to save one just for you!” Y/n hummed happily, reaching for the last scone before placing it on the tray. Shouto could feel the shy smile subtly spreading on his face, did they really save on just for him? 
“I’ll pay, it’s the least I can do after you helped me out earlier today,” Momo said, turning to give Shouto a smile. 
“Right, thank you, Momo,” Shouto gratefully accepted his scone, waving goodbye to Momo as she left the shop. Shouto preferred to eat his scones at the shop anyway.
“Are you not joining me today?” Shouto looked up, a confused look on his face as he watched Y/n fidget behind the counter. They would always snack on a danish pastry and sit with Shouto before he had to leave again. It was routine at this point. 
“Oh! Right, sorry,” Y/n muttered sheepishly, snagging a pastry from the display case before heading over to Shouto’s usual spot by the window. For the umpteenth time that day, Shouto could feel himself frowning. He wondered what was wrong. 
“S-so you and Creati?” Y/n asked, taking a small bite from the sweet bread that sat in their hands. Shouto looked up, eyes widened in surprise, midway through a bite of his scone. Was that what this was about?
“She helped me stop some villains this morning, that was all,” Shouto explained. Y/n hummed, nodding their head as they started to pick at the jam filled sweet in front of them. “Oh, uhm...” Shouto mumbled, his brow furrowed as he began to search his pockets. Where had he left it?
“You okay, Shou?” Y/n giggled, amused by the way his face had contorted when he began to search for his little mystery item. 
“Yeah, fine... Oh! Found it,” Shouto muttered, pulling out the small box that had resided in his pocket since the day prior. “Here, for you,” Shouto mumbled bashfully, sliding the velvet box across the table to Y/n.
“For me? Shou... That’s sweet, but you didn’t have to,” Y/n explained, gently sliding the box back to Shouto. Accepting gifts felt odd, especially if they were from Shouto. They could already imagine what ridiculously expensive gift sat inside.
“Please, open it?” Shouto asked, sliding the box back across and making sure to set it in Y/n’s hands this time. Y/n gasped, eyes wide as they felt the heat rush to their face. Open and closing their mouth in a flustered fit, Y/n finally decided to delicately pry open the box, eyes tripling in size at the sight of the gold chain anklet studded in pearls that sat in the box. 
“Shouto... No, I can’t accept this,” Y/n insisted, shaking their head profusely, shutting the box and trying to put it back in Shouto’s hands.
“You can, and you will. Can we go out sometime?” Y/n could feel their jaw drop to the floor. First the anklet and now he’s just asking for a date like it’s a regular Tuesday?
“M-me?” Y/n asked, looking around the shop, the confusion settling in their eyes, locking their mind in some sort of fuzzy haze. 
“Yes, so, will you?” Shouto asked once more, amused by their cute little reaction.
“Uh, sure... Sure...”
“Cool. I’ll pick you up at seven,”
“But we don’t close untill-”
“THEY’LL BE READY BY 4!”
“Hina-”
“I SAID YOU’LL BE READY BY FOUR DAMNIT!”
“I’ll be ready by four!”
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dragonsholygrail · 4 years
Text
Dancing With Danger
Klaus Mikaelson x Reader
𝗮/𝗻: I’ve been wanting to write for the TVD franchise for a bit now and this is my first attempt, haha. Yes, it was kinda hard writing different speech and different mannerisms but I hope it turned out well and pretty accurate for you all. Hope you guys enjoy it!!!
𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 3.8K
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1860
“So who dare you take home tonight, Miss?” My dear friend Madeleine asked me. I look at her with narrowed eyes, causing her to giggle shamelessly. 
“I am a godly woman, Madi. I would not let a man bed me so easily,” I tease. Though it may be improper, I see no man around to witness, allowing Madi and I to freely laugh as loudly as we want. 
“What kind of gentleman will it take this time, then?” She asked lightly. We both turn our attention to the double-doors, and the party that was being held beyond them. 
“No, no, Madi. Not a gentleman… something else.” I smirk.
 Madeleine and I walk into the ballroom, arms latched together as our eyes search for a possibly free man to dance with. Though I was eager to dance, I couldn’t help but admire the room my father put together in our estate. The room was embedded with gold designs and shimmering silver over the white walls. The design followed up to the ceiling where paintings of men and women dancing decorated the space. Two chandeliers hung on each side of the room. Diamonds and lighting making the whole room sparkle. 
On top of the light tan floors, laid tables of food and wine. Silks were draped over the wood of the tables and sconces hung on the wall above each table. A single candle to light the area. 
Madeleine and I walk around the room, waving and saying hello to the respectable people of London. 
“Drink?” Madeleine asks as I eye a man around my age. He was blonde, shimmering brown eyes. He was cute. He danced with a lady of the court. By the way their eyes stayed enclosed on one another, they were completely smitten. I smile and duck my head. Love was absolutely adorable. “Miss? Would you like to get drinks?” Madeleine asks again. I jump a little and look over to her. 
“Pardon me, Madeleine. My mind was elsewhere. But not to worry, it’s back,” I joke. I lead us to the closest table to look over the wine list. Madeleine picked up her usual and turned back to the crowd. I rather liked to take my time and pick something new. 
I am just about to pick up a nice red when Madeleine lets out a squeak. I turn to look at her wide-eyed when she grips my forearm tightly. 
“Madeleine, mind your manors,” I scold. She looks down at our arms and instantly lets go. 
“I apologize m’lady, but look and you will see my reason for such haste behavior,” she explains. I turn back to the crowd and my eyes immediately fall onto the count's son, Jameson, who I find already staring at me. I jerk back around to face the table with a gasp. Madeleine giggled quietly and faced me. “He is quite cute. Explain to me again why you won’t give him a chance? Your father approves,” she wonders. I finally pick up my drink and turn to her. 
“It’s exactly that my father approves that makes me not want him.” I grin, bringing the glass to my lips. Madeleine sighs and looks back to the Count’s son. 
“Miss, your father is the Prime Minister. You need to marry someone of the same caliber,” Madeleine reminds me. I down the rest of the glass and stare at her. 
“I will marry for nothing less, then for love. I refuse otherwise,” I inform her. She gives me a hard look. 
“You know that is not how things work…” she trails off. I blow air out of my nose, placing my hands on the fabric above my corset. God, these things are tight. Why are they always so tight? I go to answer her when she lets out another squeak. “Miss, he’s heading this way,” she announces. My head snaps to where I saw him last and yes, indeed, he was heading this way. 
“Let us move,” I order. I grab her hand and weave us through the men and women among the crowd. Madeleine stays silent as I drag her along with me; which is probably for the best considering her opinions on my relationships with men. 
“Miss! Miss! Please, stop!” Jameson says as loudly as socially acceptable. What fun is a man who follows the rules...? I roll my eyes and move faster. We reach a crowded corner and I stop us. 
I immediately start laughing, making sure to hide it behind my gloved hand. When I look up, I see Madeleine with a stern expression and her hands on her hips. My laughter seizes. 
“Do you have something to say?” I ask, an edge to my tone. Her hands fall to her sides. 
“No miss,” she responds. A grin makes its way onto my face. 
“No, no. Speak your mind, handmaiden. Please, I do love to hear the thoughts of servants. Even when they seem to be...unwarranted.” I stand up tall, though Madeleine remains taller. Madeleine shakes her head and casts her eyes to the floor. 
“No, Miss. I have nothing to say,” she says timidly. I step forward, guiding her chin to look up at me with only a single finger. I look at her intently. 
“I thought so,” I say softly. I let my hand fall and step a few paces back. 
“My darling girl,” a new voice calls out. Surprised, I turn around with a wide smile. I walk forward and embrace my father heartedly. 
“Father! I didn’t believe I would get to see you this evening,” I express. His chuckles shakes us both before he steps back. 
“Yes, well, we’ve had some surprise visitors arrive and I wanted to introduce them to you,” he explains. He takes my arm and intertwines his own with mine. He turns us to a family of three. Two men and a woman.
The first man was rather tall. He had brown shaggy hair that fell across his forehead. He was quite broad. Stiff and proper. His hands were folded in front of him and I knew he had no interest in taking my hand and I had interest in giving it to him. So instead, he nodded and I returned the gesture. I felt my father stiffen but I merely squeezed his arm; a subtle gesture to calm down. 
“This is Mr. Elijah Mikaelson,” my father introduced. 
I looked to the woman next to him. She was also fairly tall. She had long blond hair and her features looked quite regal. Blue eyes, a straight nose, a sharp jaw. She was gorgeous. She did a little curtsy and I sent one back. 
“This is Miss. Rebekah Mikaelson,” my father continued. 
My breath caught in my throat as my eyes fell onto the last man. He was breathtaking. His height matched close to his siblings but his frame was leaner than Elijah’s. His hair was a dirty blonde and his eyes were like the deepest parts of the forest; a dark green that shook my core. They had mischief dancing in them and his stance reflected it. His lips were plump and I wondered what it would feel like to press my own against them. 
“...and this is Niklaus Mikaelson. The patriarch of the Mikaelson family,” my father finished. My lips part to speak but all words quickly die off my tongue as Mr. Mikaelson brushes his fingers along the bare skin of my forearm before he gently guides my hand up to his mouth. 
“It’s a pleasure,” he rumbles, his eyes looking up at me as he stays bowed. I could feel the heat of his breath through my gloves and I was positively breathless. He doesn’t say anything else but stares into my eyes as his lips lower onto my hand. I inhale sharply; the feeling of those lips on my hand did nothing to help the images I was having of something further. He steps back with a smirk on those beautiful lips. 
“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Mikaelson,” I say lowly. Niklaus’ smirk broadens. My father begins talking to Elijah but my gaze stays focused on Niklaus. We stare at each other and all sound drowns out of the room. 
Then in a snap, Niklaus looks away from me and angles himself to my father. I place my hands along my bodice and I look away into the crowd. Who is this man..? 
“Sir, I wondered if it be alright to ask your daughter for a dance?” Niklaus asks. I quickly look over between the two men. My father also looked between the two of us. Niklaus’ siblings seemed to be glaring at their brother. 
“Yes… I think that would be a lovely idea.” He nods. Niklaus’ eyes fall back onto me and he holds out a hand. 
“What do you say, Miss?” He asks, keeping his hand out and letting me decide this time if I wish to take his hand. I keep my gaze towards him. Just when I am about to take his hand, my eyes flicker to the side. Jameson was once again heading this way. I wince, turning around to Madeleine who continued to look to the floor. I step up to her. 
“Madeleine. Distract Jameson for me,” I tell her. She looks up at me, brows furrowed. 
“How exactly should I do that?” She asks. My eyes widen. 
“I don’t know! Dance with him, bed him, let him ravish you in a dark corner for all I care. I just need you to distract him,” I whisper harshly. Madeleine's eyes set ablaze in rage. Before she gets a chance to say anything I push her towards him. 
With them both out of the way, I face Niklaus and take his hand. 
“I would love to dance,” I answer. I set my hand in his and we make our way onto the center of the ballroom once the song ends and the next one is about to begin. 
We separate from one another and then take a step towards each other as we begin the Viennese waltz. 
I place my right hand in his, feeling the pressure of his hand gripping mine. He slides his other hand to my back and I inhale sharply, instinctively arching my body at him. Continuing on, I lightly let my hand sit on his right bicep. 
He watches me intently as we dance in a circle before spinning me under his arm and pulling me close. Closer than socially acceptable. I smirk and subtly take a step back. He matches me, taking a step forward while wearing that same look as mine. He repeats the movement before we twist our bodies and cross and uncross our feet as we step down the room along with all the other couples. 
We get to the end and instead of twirling me, he picks me up and turns us both. I squeal, clutching tightly onto his arms. I look around seeing as no one else had done it. He sets me down and everyone steps back down the room. 
I look up at him and smile even wider then expected when I see a smile on his face as well. This time he twirls me normally and we move to stand side-by-side. My arm arches in an awkward angle to grasp his shoulder and his arm moves completely around my back, pushing my flush against him. I gasp. A scoundrel this man was. 
I quickly look to my father, wishing not to see a red face and an angered expression when surprise rather fills my features. Elijah Mikaelson was keeping my father quite busy in conversation. 
“At least my dear brother is good for something,” Nicklaus mentions after seeing where my gaze was. 
We move back down the room, twisting to face each other and touch hands before pulling out again. We repeat this all the way down the room. 
“Is he not useful for other things?” I ask, trying to make conversation. When in reality I couldn’t be more interested. Why would I be interested in getting to know that man when this man was right here and dancing with me. 
We reach the end and we step back from each other. I send Nicklaus a curtsy and in return he bows down to me. What a delicious sight…
He stands up and holds out his hands in front of him. I take them and we twist and cross back down the room. 
“Perhaps he’s useful for some things,” Niklaus responds vaguely, a knowing smirk on his face. I narrow my eyes as we go back to our original dance position. 
He took the lead, turning us around and around while standing in place. After about four spins, I stepped around him, and then he stepped around me, all the way to the other side of the room. 
We separated, taking a step away from each other before swaying our hands in front and behind our person as we followed along with the beat. Niklaus always seemed to remain close though. An occurrence that made me excited while at the same time, uneasy. 
“So, how are you liking our little town?” I ask. He gathers me back in his arms before we danced in a circle and he spun me around once again.  
We danced in a few more circles, and each time, Niklaus would twirl me and tug me closer to him. It was completely inappropriate and that must have been why I loved the feeling so much. Or perhaps it had more to do with the drool worthy man standing in front of me than the scandal itself. 
“It’s… lively,” Niklaus responded, looking around at the people surrounding us. Both those who also danced and those who watched. 
He tugged me close after a twirl once again and once again did it completely take my breath away. We start moving, dancing in one giant oval around the room with all the others instead of each separate couple dancing in smaller circles. 
“Well that’s vague,” I respond bluntly. Catching my error quickly, my eyes bulge out on their own accord. Niklaus’ grip tightens on me. “I apologize, sir. I’m afraid my tongue was a bit quicker than my mind.” 
Niklaus chuckles lowly as he spins me before snapping me back into his hold. We step out away from each other and twist back in as we walk back down the room. 
“No need to apologize, m’lady…” Niklaus trials off as we stop mid-way down the room before he dances me in a circle down the rest of the room. We then turned around and began doing the four-step dance up the room. He twirled next under his arm and this time, stepped up to me instead of simply dragging me towards him. “I like a bit of fire,” he said darkly. 
My mouth seemed to be stuck in a half-gasp and a half-smirk. But inside I was utterly and completely awestruck. 
We dance back down the room, somehow stopping right in the middle of everyone. We danced, twirling in a circle as we stayed in our place. Niklaus twirled me once more under his arm and we each take a step back, our hands still connected as we bow to each other one last time. 
His eyes stayed on mine, unmoving as we bowed. I felt my throat go dry and my hands begin to clam up from under my gloves. He too seemed to have a fire that lit his soul and kept his eyes ablaze. With one firey look, his eyes sent a heat through my entire body. I had never felt more alive. 
We hadn’t even noticed that the room had erupted into claps and calm cheering, or that the other couples had walked off of the floor. Niklaus and I both stood up, our hands still grasped. 
From over Niklaus’ shoulder, I spot Jameson staring at us with a very clear sign of anger on his face. The poor boy was jealous. He was jealous even after I had clearly stopped all his previous advances towards a courting. 
My eyes flicker over a bit to Madeleine. She looked back at me, shame and guilt covering her features. I shake my head at her, causing her to stare down at the ground. The girl couldn’t even keep a mindless man busy, how was she ever going to find a husband? 
Movement around her, drew my attention. Anything could’ve been more interesting… and it seemed it was. Jameson was headed to us. I quickly look back up at Niklaus, only to see he was already staring at me. I blink quickly a few times, jumping back from him in slight surprise. But I’m quick to wipe that expression off of my face and instead, plastering on a charming smile. 
“Would you like to head someplace a little more… private?” I ask, taking a chance. A devilish smile appeared on his face. He motioned his arm to the double-doors and nodded. 
“Lead the way.” I smile back and intertwine our arms, leading him to the doors. I look over my shoulder as Jameson halts. I smirk, sending him a wink before walking through the doors held open for me by none other than Niklaus himself. What. A. Gentleman… well, hopefully not. 
It seemed I was rather lucky to find Mr. Mikaelson this evening. Not only did he get me out of a dance and an encounter with Jameson, but he also looked to be a perfect snack. All this dancing and socializing did make me feel rather peckish. Besides, I haven’t fed in what felt like ages. 
With my hunger for the blood of my dance partner on my mind, I guide him to one of the many extra rooms that barely anyone uses. Like always, a fireplace was lit up and couches and chairs sat in front of it. This room I had taken us too, seemed to be one of the many small libraries my father used to keep his old books in. 
I turn around and lock the door, even pulling on the handle to make sure it’s secure. Wouldn’t want him running away now would we? I suddenly feel his presence behind me. I smirk, letting my fangs appear along with the veins under my eyes at the prospect of blood. 
I turn around, ready to strike when I suddenly jump back, realizing his face looked exactly like mine. I retract my fangs. Niklaus had jumped back too, obviously startled by this surprise, maybe even a little more than I was. Oh, how men loved to underestimate a woman. He had actually fallen onto one of the chairs and was currently leaning back on one as he stared up at me with a pleasant surprise. 
“You’re a vampire?!” I shout at him. He chuckles, using his arms and pushing himself out of the chair. 
“That much is obviously, love. What had not been obvious, was the fact that you too are a vampire,” he states, walking closer to me. “The question is, who turned you?” He asked, getting so close to me I could feel his breath on my face. 
Katherine’s face flashed through my mind. And with her face,  memories of her asking to stay at my estate for a while as she had been running from a very powerful family… my eyes narrow. I jut out my chin and look him in the eye. I wasn’t going to be intimidated by him. Even if Katherine, the most intimidating person I had ever met, feared him. 
“I think you know,” I whisper. 
Niklaus gripped my shoulders harshly and slammed me up against the door. Sure he was strong as hell and my back actually did hurt a bit, I couldn’t help but think his intimidation and strength were… attractive. 
“Where is she?!” He growls out, veins popping back up under his eyes. He removes his hands from my shoulders and places them on the door, effectively caging me. I laugh lightly, bringing my hands up and brushing the skin under his eyes with the pads of my thumbs. 
“Afraid I don’t know,” I say softly, a pout forming on my lips for a brief moment. “She stayed here for about two weeks a couple of months ago. In those two weeks, she turned me, returning the favor of letting her stay for a bit. Then she left and told me nothing of where she was going,” I explain everything to him. He raised a brow, looking over my face for any sign of lying. He cleared his throat, looking me dead in the eye. 
“Are you telling me the truth?” He asked. Compulsion? HA! Katherine had told me to start drinking small sips of vervain to help stand the burning so that no other vampires could use compulsion on me. She hadn’t told me that these Mikaelsons, probably the powerful family she was running from, were able to use the power on other vampires. I play along. For the fun of it. 
What business of it was Niklaus’ where Katherine was? He obviously didn’t like her that much and I owed quite a bit to Katherine. So if it took a pretty little lie in order to keep her safe, I’ll do it. 
“Yes,” I answer. Niklaus rose a brow as his eyes narrowed at me. 
“I think this mishap could turn into quite a fulfilling opportunity,” Niklaus stated with a growing smirk. 
“And how is that?” I ask, looking him up and down. He still hadn’t moved from his previous position. Klaus followed my actions and looked me up and down. 
“There can be many benefits to this arrangement,” Niklaus spoke darkly. He let his arms fall off the door before bringing his right wrist close to my face. “Curious?” He asked. I look up at him from under my lashes, a smirk on my face as I take his wrist and hold out my own. 
“Partners,” I agree. Niklaus smiles widely in the most wicked way and looks down at my wrist, veins appearing under his eyes and fangs poking out from his mouth. 
“And what a pleasurable partnership it will be,” Niklaus said before biting into my wrist. I cry out, my breath leaving me in an instant. 
“Indeed it will be,” I said breathlessly as veins appeared under my own eyes and fangs poked out from my mouth. I quickly latched onto his wrist. 
I wasn’t going to betray Katherine… but having a little bit of fun before he realized that wouldn’t hurt anybody. 
Now this was definitely not what I expected to come out of tonight… but I wouldn’t have wanted anything else besides this to happen, anyway. 
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loneswaggingranger · 3 years
Text
Does it matter?
By @loneswagger for @pixiethefirecat7
This is for the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange!
Rating: General Audiences
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark
Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, James “Rhodey” Rhodes, Bruce Banner, May Parker
Summary: 
When Peter reached forward and called his name, Tony honest-to-god flinched away from him. 
His fingers twitched. “Captain Rogers did this, didn’t he?”
Hard brown eyes snapped shut. “Does it matter?”
“Yes,” Peter said, kneeling softly beside the hero’s battered form. “It does.” -
The one where Tony Stark lives with a metal arm, Steve Rogers never became old, and Peter Parker baffles at how incredibly fine they make everything seem. Or, the one where Peter Parker becomes Tony's designated spokesperson. Seriously, what would they do without him? (Nothing, apparently.)
Story under the cut! Hope you like it~
Does it hurt?
*
He once found Tony shirtless and utterly wasted in the lab, drowning in a sea of one too many shattered decanters, knuckles gone white from wringing that outdated burner phone for who knows how long. Crimson dribbled from calloused palms across scarred flesh, to ripped jeans over to  shimmering glass shards littered upon sullied floors. 
When Peter reached forward and called his name, Tony honest-to-god flinched. 
His fingers twitched. “Captain Rogers did this, didn’t he?”
Hard brown eyes snapped shut. “Does it matter?”
“Yes,” Peter said, kneeling softly beside the hero’s battered form. “It does.”
*
When Peter came home, he expected many things. He expected his dingy little apartment with the wafting smells of May’s burnt bread, imagined snuggling on the couch with her, and watching cheesy soap operas all through the night. He expected those weekly sessions with just him and Mr. Stark in the lab, planning, tinkering and innovating without a care in the world, positively shining whenever Mr. Stark whistled and said, “You got brains, kid.”
He should have known, expectations rarely matched up with reality.
Said notion found him in front of his lunch one day, mumbling, “Nothing makes sense anymore.”
 “Oh?” A tilted look of concern.
“I just- I never expected this, y’know?” Peter twirled a fork aimlessly between his fingers, eyes trained so hard on his meal he thought it might start sizzling soon. Or evaporate into dust. Whichever seemed possible at this rate. “It’s not bad, I mean, you have a great family and an actual kid now- which is totally cool, by the way! And May - May has Happy now, so the apartment's not that empty anymore, a-and she smiles a whole lot more these days. Which is good, I guess. The Accords isn’t even a legit thing anymore, the Avengers come together to sing Kumbaya every other weekend,” His fingers tightened round the fork. “Everything’s all good, yeah?”
There probably would have been a reply, if it wasn't for the tell-tale thump of approaching footsteps Peter never dreamed of growing familiar with.
“Afternoon, Captain Doritos,” Mr. Stark’s drawl felt appeasing at best, challenging at worst.
Captain Rogers threw a half-glance his way, nodding curtly. He went for the fridge in two large strides, swiping out a carton of milk and downing its contents in one vigorous go.
“Ugh, you’re gross, Cap, I’m getting the hell out of here,” Mr. Stark rose from his seat, lightly tousling Peter’s hair as he went. “Finish your grub and hang in the lab with me later, yeah?” His eyes seemed to soften. “It‘ll be just like old times.”
 Old times. Right.
“Also-” Mr. Stark slapped the good Captain’s shoulder, smirking wildly at the vexed ‘Oi!’ that elicited. “If we’re watching anything remotely Disney tonight, I’m going back to Pep’s for the weekend.” 
“For that alone, we’re watching Moana, Frozen and Mulan!” Captain Rogers hollered after the retreating metal middle finger shot high in the air, shaking his head once it fully disappeared down the hallway. A bemused look. “What’s wrong with Disney?”
Peter scoffed, grin plastered expertly on his face.
Another thing that didn’t make sense, this song and dance. This parade of concealed emotions, this system of tactical meet-and-retreat, this exhibition of faux jaunt put up for one another. The shake in Captain’s tone, the tremor in Mr. Stark’s arm - almost indiscernible and yet there it was. Always there, each time Peter looked.
Captain’s carton of milk slid into the bin by his feet. “So how was your week, son?”
Peter chewed on his noodles thoughtfully. “Tiring, I guess. Lots of homework. Also-” He made a face. “Son? Seriously? How nineteen-thirties can you get, Cap?”
Captain rolled his eyes, mock indignance in his stance. “Great. I have to deal with two Tony Starks in the team now, don’t I?”
“Exactly,” Peter smirked, drawing out the last syllable slightly.
*
He remembered piecing uncharacteristically silent calls with his own incessant chatter, so that the harsh breaths pulsating on the other end would finally, finally smoothen out. He remembered resting a hand over Tony’s arrhythmically flouncing heart, coaxing him for a meal, a drink or to just breathe. He remembered whispering to him in a voice so soft yet so firm, “Mr. Stark? Mr. St-Tony? Tony, it’s me. It’s Peter. No one else is here, okay? You’re safe now. You’re safe.”
He remembered the world of hurt his hero went through.
*
It wasn’t like Peter never asked. 
He tried asking during the quiet moments, when he and Mr. Stark were the only ones up at ass ‘o clock, when Mr. Stark strolled into the kitchen for customary morning tea (Pepper said weekends were coffee-free days). He tried asking during the loud ones too, when Mr. Stark was drunk on whatever alcohol he was having, when all the Avengers were in the room, because surely Mr. Stark wouldn’t turn down an opportunity to brag about a good story in front of everyone, right? Wrong. That particular fiasco ended with more than a couple uncomfortable looks, a pale-faced Mr. Stark storming out of said room and a flustered Peter trailing after him with his dozen apologies.
It got to the point where Mr. Stark had to sit Peter down, look him in the eye and say, “That’s it.” His finger, the metal one, dug deep into Peter’s collared shirt. “Stop it, kid. Me and Rogers, whatever happened between the two of us, it’s got nothing to do with you. And we’re fine now. We’re fixed. We watch Star Wars and Harry Potter every other Sunday, for god’s sake. There’s no better that we can get.” The other hand pressed on his arm shakily, a sort of pleading in the motion. “You don’t have to do anything for us anymore. Alright?”
Peter stopped asking after that.
Instead, he made observations. His eyes tracked each subtle gesture of wistful longing between the two, sometimes bordering on spontaneous animosity. Day and night, he made summaries, graphs, charts and fifty-one five-page essays for ten days in a row, writing and writing like he was running out of time.
He conducted interviews too.
Colonel Rhodes shook his head so adamantly when Peter pulled him aside for one of his trademark inquiry sessions, refusing to divulge anything more than a clipped but not unkind, "There’s definitely problems this team hasn't come to terms with yet, but it doesn’t fall on your shoulders to solve them, Peter." Dr. Banner had been much more forthcoming, nodding along to Peter’s mini monologue of observations. He even pitched in some of his own discoveries as to how the two skirted around each other when there was or wasn’t an audience, albeit with a mild warning that some things aren’t meant to be pushed too hard.
Even Bucky once appeared in front of Peter’s room, bouquet of purple hydrangeas and mug of hot chocolate in tow after one particularly brutal sparring session which had ended with one man’s ruptured blood vessel and another’s broken nose. He spent an hour trying to convey that, that was just their way of resolving conflict, their way of getting things out of their system. There wasn’t much that could be done about it. There wasn’t much they could do about it.
Or so they said.
But how many sleepless dawns after patrol had Peter spent - huddled under blankets in front of a glaring screen, scouring his way through Friday’s systems, keying in every code, every digit he thought would lead him to the right answer. Something, anything that he could work with.
Two months, twenty days and twelve hours later, he found it. The answer. Or at least, a part of it.
 It wasn’t pretty.
He knew. He knew, he knew, he knew that The Winter Soldier wasn’t Bucky, that the man in the video was just Hydra’s brainwashed lackey, that the Bucky he was familiar with would never consent to do anything remotely similar to what he had seen him do. He knew this, and yet some nights still found him jolting awake in a sea of his own sweat; May’s gasps echoing Maria Stark’s dying wheeze, Howard and Tony Stark’s pleas morphing into one, cold unflinching gaze haunting all the moments he fell quiescent. 
In the moments that he was restless, however, Peter resumed his search. He ploughed through the frights and horrors and sleepless dawns even more frenetically than he first did, because if he didn’t get to the bottom of this, no one else would. Because he knew there was more than just ‘The Winter Soldier murdered Mr. Stark’s parents’; there was always more.
Because what use was a team, if all its splintered souls did nothing to embrace their blemishes?
*
“Hey, Pete.”
 “Hm?”
“Wanna’ skip out on the theater gig tonight?” Alloyed fingers drummed idly on the lab table. “We could stay in here for a bit, work on those web-shooter combinations. Could order some tacos. Or pizza. Your choice.”
Peter raised an eyebrow. “Thought it was supposed to be tradition.”
“Yeah, I’m getting kinda’ sick of Rogers' princess movie obsession,” His eyes drifted upwards, thumbs twiddling. “You could go, though. If you want.”
Peter pulled back without missing a beat, eyes widening in comical fashion. “No, are you crazy? Lab night with pizza? When do I ever turn that down, Mr. Stark?”
An honest grin slid across Mr. Stark’s features. “Never.”
“That’s right.” Peter closed his eyes, leaning into the touch rifling through his unkempt locks. “Never.”
*
It didn’t make sense.
Did you know?
I didn’t know it was him.
Don’t bullshit me, Rogers!
Yes.
Peter watched, and still, nothing made sense.
He’s my friend.
So was I.
It. didn’t. make. sense.
*
Blinding white tore across the starless city sky in sharp erratic bursts, heated claws threatening to eliminate all in its path with each stroke of rampant rage. Ice-cold rivulets knocked mercilessly against bare skin, freezing the seconds ticking by as raddled sneakers thrummed upon asphalt, each reverberating cadence in perfect harmony with the furious anthem of unvoiced justice pumping through his veins.
Said anthem soared ever the more when the Captain’s door flung open, pounding hard at the seemingly bewildered face meeting his view.
"Peter? What's wrong?" The golden boy scanned him up and down, concern thick in his tone. "Why aren't you in your suit? Did something happ-"
Peter threw the answer up in his face, letting the phone explain everything as he panted over bent knees. The stark silence that ensued spoke for itself.
"Stevie, what's- oh." Him. No, Bucky. "Peter. You're- why don't we all come inside, yeah? Rain's pouring out here." The voice, so tender, not like. Not like him. Not. Him."I'll put the kettle on."
Which was how Peter ended up in one of Bucky's oversized shirts, settled opposite two war veterans, hands cupped round a mug of hot chocolate and eyes cast in a blatant show of quiet outrage.
"Explain," The anthem burned strong in him.
"Son-"
"Don't call me son."
"-this was all on me, alright?" Dejected tone, blonde head bowed over clasped hands.
Good.
“I- we disagreed on the Accords because-”
“I don’t care about that, Captain,” Peter set the mug down, flexing his fingers mechanically. “The Accords was rigged to begin with. Whatever that came after, shouldn’t be put on anyone but Ross, that I get.” He pressed a finger to the cracked screen of his phone. “No Captain, I’m talking about this.”
Captain Rogers stared at him with eyes so blue, but like the sick man in the video pointed out, there was a hint of green in that blue. A flaw.
“I’m sorry, Peter,” The captain leaned back into his seat, where Bucky’s prosthetic arm (that Tony Stark built for him) was stretched rigidly upon. “I thought that by not telling him, I was sparing him from the sorrow. But really, I was just sparing myself. I- I never meant for him to get hurt. And I’m sure, neither did he.”
Oddly, that last sentence was what pushed Peter over the edge.
 “Neither did he?” His jaw clenched. “Neither did- are you seriously saying that right now? Of course he didn’t mean to hurt you! If he had any control over the situation, any control of the information that you withheld from him, he would not have done that.”
 “I know, Peter.”
 “Do you?” He hissed. “Do you really? Do you know the pain of losing your parents, of not knowing what the hell happened to them except that ‘They died in an accident’? Do you know the want, the pure want, to kill the piece of shit that took their lives, that walked free as you mourned their deaths? That ripped them from you, before you even got to know them?” His fists shook in tandem with the throbbing crescendo of his anthem. “Do you know, how Mr. Stark fought for you behind the scenes? How he wrote and rewrote proposals to alter The Accords, only to be rejected by Ross time and time again? How he hired lawyers and sometimes personally went to vouch for the others in the Raft? How he lost sleep at night, how he drank himself into oblivion, whimpering your name, begging me each time not to tell Mrs. Pepper or Rhodes, because apparently, it didn’t matter?”
 Captain Rogers stiffened in his seat.
“Do you know?”
 “No, son.”
 “I’m not your son.”
 Bucky remained a stock still statue by the Captain’s side.
 Peter sighed, shoulders sagging. Deep breath, calm down. “Sorry.” The lingering pulse of anguish pushed to the back of his mind. “That was uncalled for. Sorry. ”
 “Don’t be.” Bucky replied with haste.
 Peter made another haphazard gesture towards their object of discussion. “Did you guys ever try talking to him about this?”
 “I wrote him a letter.”
 “Yeah, and sent him a burner phone, I know.” Peter snapped, tone sharp. “Scintillating ultimatum you gave him, by the way. He broke it in his fists after two whole months of drinking and staring.”
 “Sorry.”
“Don’t say that to me, Cap,” His fingers tapped the mug handle almost frantically. “Say that to Tony. He needs to hear it.”
 “It’s only two years for you, Peter, but it’s been seven for us. He might’ve- he might not want to hear about this anymore. We’re fine like this.”
 “Bullshit. Don’t think I haven’t notice the way you both act with each other. You guys really need to solve this shit,” Peter mulled over his words, before adding, “By solve, I mean talk about it. Not punch the living daylights out of each other.”
 Captain Rogers shrugged hopelessly. “We don’t talk about things like this. It’ll just escalate, and then we’d be throwing fists all over again. Might as well get that done without scarring our hearts more than it already has been.”
 “Are you serious?” Muted wrath threatened to positively devour the mug in his hands. “Dude, we could have lost Tony in that war. He could have snapped his fingers, and that would have been the last we saw of him. Would you have lived with this then? Not talking about this, because neither of you can stop feeding your very physical ego for one goddamn second? Because neither of you were brave enough to listen?”
 Again, the stark silence spoke for itself.
 “You need to talk about this.”
 “Look, son-”
 “Damn it, Cap!” Peter roared, fists banging against the table. “Call me son one more time!” The mad beast reared its horrendous head, yanking his vocal chords to unrivalled heights, fuelled by the heated flames that grew larger and fiercer with each thunderous beat. It fed off the tension, the visceral need to rip, maw and absolutely pulverise anything and everything that it could find.
 Reddened eyes, full of tears unshed, reflected one another transparently.
 He couldn’t take this anymore.
 “Honestly,” He stood, mug left untouched, voice barely over a whisper. “With all due respect, Captain Rogers. You’re a fucking dick.”
 Peter left, door slam behind him, along with Captain’s echoed ‘Wait!’ and Bucky’s muted ‘Kid’s got a point, Steve.’
*
Peter thought that if he found the answer, everything would make sense. Or, at the very least, he would feel better about things not making sense.
 Clearly, he had been wrong.
 The first night he stopped searching, his phone rang like the house was on fire.
 Mr. Stark had been the first to call. Followed by Colonel Rhodes, then Bucky, then Captain Rogers, then Dr. Banner, and then subsequently the rest of what his team was supposed to consist of.
 He refused to answer. He didn’t care if his phone burst from being called 24/7. He didn’t care.
 Instead, he spent the rest of his time doing what he did best - he looked out for the little guy. He threw himself in front of cars inches away from crashing into one another, saved kittens from trees, taught children how to look both ways before crossing the street, spent time with that tired old man sitting alone on the park bench every week.
And when he wasn’t doing this, he was with May. May and Happy, sometimes, but mostly May.
 He did his homework, with May. He had breakfast, lunch and essentially all his meals, with May. He watched those cheesy soap operas he missed, with May. He did all the things he longed to do, mourning the years that he lost, with May.
 “Are you okay, baby?”
 Maybe it was her firm arms cradling his head, maybe it was her tentative whisper, but there was something about hearing May calling him baby that made a lump form in his throat.
 “I don’t know.”
 May hummed. “Do you want to talk to Tony about it?”
 “No,” Peter sniffed. “Not for now.”
 “Okay, baby,” May rubbed the back of his neck in a way that only she knew how. “That’s okay.”
 He stopped going for movies and lab nights on the weekends.
 *
bucko (4:03 a.m.) : Hey punk, stevie and tony talked it out for a while. wasn’t pretty but, it was necessary, I think. you’re a legend, kid
 coolestdoctorr(4:23 a.m.): I heard what you did. We all needed that to happen eventually. Thank you for being the bravest of us, for acknowledging our flaws and for bringing our team together as best as you can. Take as much rest as you need, and if you need someone to talk to, I’m happy to listen. Stay safe, and we love you.
 warmachineROX (4:29 a.m.): you did great, Peter. I’m sorry i said you couldn’t do this; those boys really needed a nudge. Thanks for doing what you did. Take care, kid.
 so-you-got-detention (4:28 p.m.): Peter, I don’t think there’s anything I can say except I’m sorry. You’re right, I should have talked with him about this 7 years ago. I spent a couple long hours with Tony earlier this weekend. That hardly made up for anything, but we’ll work it out. Things aren’t perfect, we’ll get it better. We have you to thank for that. I know you’re angry with me, which you have every right to be, but know that if you ever need help, just call me. I’ll be there.
 he’s stark, tony stark (5:01 p.m.): b at ur place in 5 mins[sunglasses emoji]
 *
“Hey, Mr. Stark.”
“Hey, kid.”
“Steve mad at me?”
“Definitely not.”
“...You mad at me?”
A pause. “Not really, no,” Mr. Stark rubbed the side of his chin, tilting his head towards Peter. “Does it matter?”
“Yes,” Peter felt his lips shiver against his teeth, sheen of moist clouding his vision, head bowed low and voice crackling, “It does.”
Arms, one alloyed and the other so very real, quietly rolled themselves round his trembling frame, guiding his head towards the steady rise and fall of his hero’s chest, flesh thumb rubbing slow circles over his back, whispers of soft nothings soothing his hair and eventually, a light peck on the forehead.
They stayed like that for a while, beside Peter’s unmade bed, melancholic warmth emanating like cool salve on an open wound. It was comforting, that lack of sound, that silence that spoke the thousand words they couldn’t.
And then, the patented smirk. “You did good, kid,” His tone, so fond. “Friday probably thinks otherwise, though. She’s a little pissed, I think. Kudos for that, by the way. Real sneaky.”
Purely on a whim, Peter snorted, “Love you too, Tony.”
For a moment, it looked as though Tony might just melt into an emotional puddle of goo. Thankfully, he didn’t; Peter wouldn’t know what to do if he did. Instead, he sucked in a deep breath, squeezed Peter closer to his heart, and in a voice smaller than Peter had ever heard, muttered,“Lab night this Sunday?”
Peter, in all his glorious mess of tears and snot, broke into a wobbly laugh.
*
Always.
46 notes · View notes
radramblog · 3 years
Text
Radiohead Retrospective Part 4: We’ve got heads on sticks
Your name is Thom Yorke. You’ve just released what is considered one of the best albums of the 90s, if not of all time, and you’ve achieved a level of fame that at least one band member considers akin to the Beatles. Through the release of OK Computer, you’ve proven that even if people are pretty much over Oasis at this point, British rock bands still rule the airwaves. You’re also stressed the fuck out over just about all of this, and having a very hard time accustoming to the life of a celebrity- let alone the usual mental health issues.
What will you do?
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Apparently, the answer was to write the fourth album to be as far away from the previous few as possible, seeking influence from IDM groups like Aphex Twin, jazz stuff, and just some bizarro instruments and experimentation and leaving a lot of the “rock” stuff behind. The primary genre listed for Kid A is usually Electronica or Ambient, with various off-kilter rock subgenres lagging behind, crying “you’re still gonna do guitars and stuff, right?”
Well…not as much anymore. But this era of Radiohead, this career-suicidal swerve, still proved monumentally successful, and showed that the band still had it, and that sometimes artistic risks do pay dividends.
A side note: I usually link music videos for the tracks I discuss as part of each post, as you’ll have seen in previous parts of this series. Kid A, however, doesn’t have any singles, and it sure doesn’t have any music videos. So…maybe just listen yourself. I’m probably in over my head here anyway.
I think the first 5 notes of Everything In Its Right Place are some of the most iconic in all of music.
Some personal background- Kid A was the first Radiohead I ever listened to. A particular cool and good mate of mine was a fan in high school, but I’d never listened to them at all, and I trusted his opinion musically, so I went to buy one of their CDs the next time I was at the shop. And for whatever reason, the cheapest one was Kid A at 10 bucks, and I didn’t want to gamble more than that, so that’s the one I got.
So the opening notes of Everything In Its Right Place were the first Radiohead I ever heard. And considering how much I obsessed over this band, in high school and beyond, it’s no surprise that this song is one of my favourites.
Not only did this song introduce me to Radiohead, it was effectively a gateway track for electronic music in general. This was the early 10s, and the majority of what I knew as electronic stuff was the EDM that was drowning the airwaves at the time. I hated that stuff out of principle, because being a hipster like that was definitely a personality. I don’t think I would ever have gotten into Vaporwave, into IDM, or into any electronic music the way I eventually would were it not for Everything In Its Right Place.
Now that I’ve spent 250 words talking about myself and not the actual song, we should probably stop that. Everything In Its Right Place is defined by this steady build of layering vocals and effects onto the relatively calm synth line, distorted vocals and word salad lyrics and manipulated noises growing and getting more chaotic before it just stops- the vocals fade out, the effects drop, and you’re left with the synth line- except it’s been slowly changing itself the whole time, and you don’t realise because you’ve been distracted by everything else at the same time.
It’s worth noting (and I don’t know if this was the case with OK Computer, because I don’t have an original copy of that one) that this was an album without liner notes, without the lyrics in the cover booklet. But at least in this case, the lyrics don’t matter as much as the v i b e. At least, that’s what I think.
On the topic of unintelligible lyrics, Kid A has a title track! I believe literally two Radiohead albums do this, the other being The Bends (though Hail to the Thief and In Rainbows do appear as lyrics). The song itself is an ambient, quiet piece that feels something like a twisted nursery tune- incredibly affected vocals, a syncopated (?) percussion, and a synth (I think???) that…I don’t know how to describe it, but it feels nursery-rhyme-y. If you’ve heard this song a few times, or you know what to listen for, you can piece together the lyrics somewhat- and they are, frankly, kind of unsettling. What is standing in the shadows at the end of your bed, can it please leave? And imagery of the Pied Piper is always either extremely silly or extremely unnerving, with this clearly leaning towards the latter. There’s a lot going on here- especially for a track most probably wouldn’t listen to outside the context of the full album. I know I generally don’t- not the kind of thing I generally am in the mood for.
 We’re at 850+ words, and we’re only up to The National Anthem? Fuuuuck. Well, anyone who wasn’t on board the IDM train can at least appreciate this one more, it’s got an actual bassline. A killer one, at that, that drives the whole track. Well, you know, that and the B R A S S. Seriously, it sounds like they invited a marching band to this bad boy. The combination ends up sounding mostly like controlled chaos, a jazz band traffic jam wound together by that B A S S. But the bass can’t hold it forever, and eventually that shit breaks free and just, it just honks all over the place.
I’m frustratingly running out of things to say about this song I really like, as opposed to the other songs I really liked. Unfortunately, ya boi forgot to take his neurotypicalification pills today, and so I’m getting very distracted. Hopefully, that slightly unhinged nature suits the album somewhat.
The next song, How To Disappear Completely, is a Big Mood with a fun story attached. The main lyrics- I’m not here, this isn’t happening- were allegedly something none other than Michael Stipe from R.E.M. told Thom to help him deal with that massive stage fright that came with Getting Big. Fun trivia aside, this song is gorgeous, luscious with massive strings, an acoustic bend, aethereal vocals, and a background drone running through the thing that makes sure your hair is always a little on end through the thing. It’s a song whose lyrics are an attempt to escape anxiety, whose instrumentation serves more to reinforce it- a calm, melodic piece that builds into nervous swells and threatening strings. A song about fighting your fear, and losing.
Fuck me it’s a bit depressing isn’t it. It’s potentially the most emotionally revealing song the album has- a lot of the lyricism on other tracks is more metaphorical, or subtle, but the meaning in How To Disappear Completely is evident even just from the title. You get lost in the strings and they go from calming, to imposing, to downright menacing (and then back again) in the song’s final minute.
Treefingers, on the other hand, has a lot less to say, and by that I mean it’s an instrumental. A very atmospheric, ambient one, and thereby one I don’t have a lot to say about. I’m not sure I’m particularly good at commenting on regular music, but this kinda thing is a whole different animal. I have no idea how to interact with discussing this. I like it? I will say, that one note right at the end, that echoes for a bit, the one piece of clarity in this muddled, reverbed sphere, feels especially poignant, for reasons I cannot describe.
We go from ambient instrumental to arguable the most rock-song-like track on this album, Optimistic, certified banger that it is. Some might argue that it doesn’t fit here, but like, did they even hear the lyrics? The bridge? It more that deserves its place on one of the best albums around. The little way the guitar scales up during the chorus is excellent, the proggy drums and riffs are glorious, it’s just a very good rock song.
Also this is the first song with the lyric “dinosaurs roaming the earth”, which, aside from being a bit of a non-sequitur, would return two albums later. And I’m really looking forward to that one.
In Limbo is a song I kind of always forget exists until I hear it again. It’s antimemetic, the way the song goes slipping from my mind until I hear those opening notes again. I’m going to be honest, it’s probably because it’s also the most mid song on the album. Far from bad, but it isn’t doing anything that How to Disappear Completely or Optimistic aren’t doing better. If I had to remove any track from this album, it might be this one?
Watch me get fucking lynched from the fandom for that one, if I ever post this to r/Radiohead or whatever. Which I might, though as much as I’d like more people to read my things I’m also extremely anxious about the potential response. Like the album I’m discussing today, I’m terrified of fame.
Incidentally, In Limbo is also the shortest track on the album (Treefingers beats it by 11 seconds), though this isn’t initially obvious online at least, because people keep messing with Motion Picture Soundtrack. But we’re not there yet, hang on.
We go from the forgettable (to me) In Limbo to the utterly mesmerizing Idioteque. Anxious but danceable, confusing but emotive, messy but tightly controlled. I love this fucking song to death. The reason I got the particular Radiohead poster that I did was because it has lyrics from this on it.
I’ve heard that lyrics for this album were largely pulled from a hat, and nowhere is that more clear than here (or maybe Everything In Its Right Place). Despite this, there’s a pretty clear theme in them, a continuation of some of the themes of this and the last albums. A condemnation of wealth and cowardice in the face of ecological disaster. In the form of an apocalypse disco.
What a lot of people don’t know about this track is that it actually samples an extremely old electronic music piece- one written in 1973, on a particularly old computer. The track, mild und leise, is a very interesting track considering its age- I’m reminded of Selected Ambient Works by Aphex Twin- not so much musically, but about how that reason was as influential as it was because it was the first time songs had sounded like that, because it was the first time songs could sound like that- I suppose it’s somewhat similar in that way, if older. These pieces and their composers inexorably linked by the allure of technology, and how that could be used to define new eras in music history- in Radiohead’s case, it certainly defined the next few albums in their lifespan.
Jesus mild und leise is long, it’s still going as I write this. I need to get back to Kid A, man!
Idioteque leads directly into Morning Bell, admittedly another less memorable song. Largely percussion lead, plenty of falsetto, and with a very unsubtle theme if you listen to the lyrics. I recall seeing someone saying that “cut the kids in half” was a really surprising and spooky line, and, yeah, sure, it sort of is, but it’s only particularly bad if you don’t pay attention for the rest of it. It’s about divorce, dude, it’s not subtle.
Or apparently not, according to one interview, but Thom said the interpretation isn’t invalid, so haha still winning baybeeeee.
I think the only part of this I really can’t do without is the outro, because the last minute and a half of this song is really cool. The mumbled lyrics go really well with the rising percussion and eerie effects that end the track.
Our final song is Motion Picture Soundtrack, or, Exit Music (for Walt Disney’s Depression Nap). This and Street Spirit I think are what really cement Radiohead’s reputation for brutal closers, both of them being tragic but hauntingly beautiful in different ways. In this case, it’s the instrumentation- glittering harps attempting the echo 50s Disney. There’s actually a version of this song from the OK Computer era with extremely different instrumentation, piano rather than organ, and no harps (and a third verse that is utterly brutal). Regardless, this is the song they chose to close the apocalypse that Kid A is on- the final lyric being “I will see you in the next life”, as the glittering echoes into the night. Poignant and tragic, but a little hopeful- the next life hopefully won’t have the struggles and pain of this one.
And then, of course, there’s the hidden track. Nicknamed Genchildren by some (that’s just the username of the dude who uploaded it to Napster back in the day), officially known as Untitled, and the true closer to the album. With Spotify slapping it right at the end of Motion Picture Soundtrack, it’s not clear the true nature of this song- it’s actually hidden on the original album, after several minutes of silence, just long enough that you’ve forgotten you left the player running (or you’re still crying from Motion Picture Soundtrack). I don’t think there’s a real word for what this sounds like other than heavenly, and incredibly brief piece I’ve heard compared to the pearly gates. After all, if we end on “I will see you in the next life”, then what can this be but that?
 Thus closes Kid A, a gorgeous and powerful album, yet an insane swerve for any rock band to pull, not just Radiohead. A bold strategy, and yet it paid off for them- Kid A would not only be massively influential, it was also massively successful both critically and commercially- but not to the standard of OK Computer before it. But they obviously weren’t trying to do OK Computer part 2, just as that album was deliberately not The Bends part 2.
Kid A would pretty much get a Part 2, though, less than a year later. And it’s that album we’ll be discussing next week, obviously. Until then.
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ghostiewriter · 3 years
Note
44/66/69 jiara with angst if you please 😜
God this kinda escalated 💀but I hope this is what you wanted, nonnie!
Word Count: 2.3K
Prompts: “I can’t believe you didn’t remember.” // “K.” // “Can you just leave me alone?”
For as long as she could remember, Kiara Carrera was in love with JJ Maybank.
She had tried not to give into the social constructs that people place on a girl whose friends with three boys, the last thing she wanted was to prove them right. But she really couldn’t help herself when it came to that finnicky little blond troublemaker. Kiara couldn’t control it. One day, JJ was just her usual best friend who was gross and funny and overall quite cool. And the next day, she was starting to notice how he was beginning to build some more muscle and how she liked the way his hair was messy but still looked good and how his laughs started to give her butterflies. She honestly didn’t know what happened but she couldn’t deny it. She was in love with JJ Maybank.
It was around 8th Grade when JJ started to notice that Kiara was no longer Kiara. She was Kiara. It was stupid of him, truly. He knew the rules, and he would never want to do anything to ruin his friendship with Kiara. She was his best friend. But it was getting harder and harder to just see her as ‘one of the pogues’ and not as ‘Kiara Carrera: the super-hot hippie chick that was slumming it with them’. JJ had always noticed girls, he’d been noticing them for a while. But Kie was different. Kie had always been different.
The summer after 8th Grade was one of pure torture. The pogues spent every day together and yet, both JJ and Kiara were finding it harder and harder to deny their feelings. They were young, they were hormonal, and they were confused. They were a couple of months from entering high school and figuring out the feelings they had for their best friend was the last thing on their mind. As usual, Pope and John B remained oblivious to what was happening between their two friends. And that is exactly how JJ and Kiara ended up alone on the back porch of the Chateau as Pope and John B headed inside, claiming they were beat and couldn’t stay awake any longer.
Kie glanced down at the half-full beer can in her hand—they had stolen a few from Big John—before offering it to the blond who had finished his a while back. JJ grinned and took the can happily, taking a large swing of it. The silence between them was deafening.
“Everything is going to change, isn’t it?’ Kie eventually spoke up, causing JJ to turn to her with his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, it’s bound to, right? We’re starting high school.” She huffed out, watching him take another sip before he passed the can back to her. “It’s a whole different ball game over there.”
He frowned. “It’s still school, Kie.”
“Yeah but,” She paused, his gaze falling to his wrecked converse. “What if…what if we don’t survive through high school? What if high school is what it takes to break up the pogues?”
JJ watched her closely, seeing that this wasn’t just some joke. This was something that had really been bothering her. JJ sighed, quickly shuffling closer and knocking his shoulder against hers. “Nothing can break the pogues, Kie. We are invincible.”
She turned to look at him, her lips pressed together like she was contemplating something. “Are we though?”
“Kie,” He whispered, a small crease forming between his eyebrows. “We’ll always be friend, no matter what.” He paused for a moment. “I’ll always be here for you.”
Her eyes trailed down his face before pausing on his lips. It would be so easy. Their faces were inches away from each other. All she would have to do is lean forward.
“Jay…” She breathed out.
“Kie, we can’t,” He gulped, his eyes glancing between her eyes and her lips. “The rules…the others…”
“They don’t have to know.” She whispered, watching him closely, letting him make the move. And JJ contemplated it, for a solid few seconds before he wasted no time in leaning forwards and kissing Kiara as he so desperately had been wanting to.
That was how JJ and Kiara’s secret rendezvousing began. They never told Pope and John B, scared what their friends would say about the clear ‘no pogue on pogue macking’ rule. So they snuck around, had their secret little moments. It was exhilarating, it was their dirty little secret.
But just as Kiara had worried, things changed when summer ended.
A week before the return of school, her parents had dropped the bomb on her that she wouldn’t be attending Kildare County High School like the boys, but instead the prestigious academy that most of the kook children attended. She was furious and angry and she felt utterly betrayed that they had kept this from her for so long. So, Kiara found herself running into the arms of the person she needed most in that moment.
“I can’t believe they didn’t tell me!” She cried, arms wrapped around JJ’s waist as he rubbed comforting circles on her back.
“It’s not that big of a deal, Kie.” He muttered, sighing a little when her head snapped up.
“I’m going to be in a totally different school, Jay! It’s a pretty big deal to me!”
But he simply shook his head, gently bringing his hands to cup her face. “No, it’s not. Because you being at some stupid kook academy won’t change the fact you’re one of us, you’re a pogue.”
She sighed. “But—”
“No, Kie.” He said firmly. “I’ll always be here for you, remember? And we can get through this.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
And for a while, everything was okay. Against her parents’ wishes, Kiara found way to hang out with the pogues despite her demanding timetable. She always found space for them in the weekends. As for JJ, Kie would find herself missing Wednesday gym classes to go meet up with the blond. They would cherish these moments together, enjoy the crappy little picnics they would have in more private areas of the beach and take the HMS Pogue out whenever they needed to get away. It was perfect, she was living the best of both worlds.
Then Sarah Cameron happened.
It was subtle at first. Kiara would just rain-check a few of their general pogue hangouts. It was no big deal though, she had to somehow fit in the kook academy. Then, eventually she stopped showing up altogether. But her parents had made her take a bunch of extracurriculars. The boys didn’t think anything of it. But then they saw Kie all buddy-buddy with Sarah Cameron and her wee posse on an insta story one night and the truth hit them. They were losing their best friend.
JJ was in denial though. Kie was still showing up to most of their dates, and when she did she seemed like her usual self. He continued to live in ignorant bliss, especially as their six-month anniversary came up. To anyone else, it probably seemed stupid. But for JJ, it meant everything. Six months with his best friend, with the girl he loved, with someone he trusted blindly. And it just so happened to fall on a Wednesday. It was perfect.
He had everything set up. He borrowed the boat, he splurged a little with some of the money he saved from the tips he got the last few months and actually bought—not steal—a gift for her. A small necklace with the letter ‘J’ engraved into a small heart that was hanging from the chain. He even managed to convince Heyward to give him a bottle of champagne (with help from Yvonne who was a bit of a sap for the young love prospect). The point was that JJ had everything ready.
All that was left was for Kie to show up. So, he waited. And he waited. And he waited and waited and waited.
It must’ve been three hours later when JJ finally realised that after the lack of response from her calls and texts, she wasn’t coming. His heart was pounding, thinking of the possibility that something could’ve happened to her.
What if she got into a car accident? What if her parents had found out about her skiving class? What if she had been kidnapped or—
And then he saw it. That damn insta story on Rafe Cameron’s account, showing a perfectly fine Kie partying with some other kook girls. She forgot. She stood him up.
In a fit of anger, JJ clenched the chain in his hand, letting out a scream of frustration. The next thing he knew he was pulling his arm back, hand loose around the chain before he saw it fly through the sky and land in the sea with an unsatisfying plop. And for a second, JJ felt like he was drowning with that damn necklace.
It wasn’t until the next day when Kie realised she had missed her date night with JJ. She let out a small curse, head pounding as she reached for her phone and clicked on his contact name.
Kie: hey, sorry about last night, I wasn’t feeling well. make it up to you tonight?
JJ: can’t. working.
Kie: you don’t work on Thursdays tho?
JJ: I do now.
Kie: are you okay?
JJ: why wouldn’t I be?
Kie: idk you just seem weird
JJ: K.
Kie: K?
She frowned a little when the little ‘read’ notification came up but he never replied. After taking some painkillers for her head, she found herself in the car, driving to the Chateau where she noticed was empty except JJ’s motorbike outside. Without a second thought, she headed inside, finding JJ drinking away on the couch.
“So, this is working?” Kie asked, her nose scrunched slightly at the strong smell of alcohol in the room.
“Fuck off.” He slurred out, not even bothering to look at her.
“Who shoved a stick up your ass?” She scoffed, swooping down to grab the beer from his hand before he could take another sip. “Oh my god, JJ, how many have you had?” She muttered when she noticed the empty bottles around him.
“Like you care!” He laughed out bitterly, leaning back as he finally glanced up at her for the first time. “Shouldn’t you be with your little kook friends?” He snipped.
She froze, lips pressing together. “JJ, I can explain—”
“Oh, can you now?!” He exclaimed, pushing himself to stand up. He stumbled a little but he caught himself on the edge of the couch. “Please, Kiara, please tell me what bullshit excuse you have for missing our anniversary for some fucking stuck up assholes—”
“What?” She whispered.
He looked at her, eyebrows slightly furrowed before he let out a scoff. “Of course, what else was I expecting? I can’t believe you didn’t remember. Or better yet, I can’t believe I thought you’d remember!”
Her words got caught up in her throat. This was far worse than she thought. “JJ, I am so—”
“What? Sorry? What’s the fucking point, Kie? You’ve already broken my heart!” His words were slurred and messy, but they were honest.
“You’re being a little dramatic, Jay. You’re drunk—” She tried once again but that only seemed to anger him further.
“NO, KIE!” He snapped. “You…You don’t get to act like you aren’t the one that fucked up here, aright? I fucking loved you! I poured my heart out to you! I opened up to you! I even fucking used my tips on you!” He yelled, tears welling up in his eyes as he spoke. “But you have been nothing but a bitch.”
Kie had felt like she had been slapped. Loved. Past tense. “A bitch?”
“Just like your little fucking kook friends! The lot of you are a bunch of bastards that just laugh and mock people like me, don’t you? C’mon, Kie, tell me. Did you make fun of me to your new friends? Tell them about the poor fucker you’ve been stringing along like some lovesick puppy, huh?”
“You know I would never do that!” She argued back.
“No, I don’t! I don’t, Kiara, because I don’t even fucking know who you are anymore!” He countered, chest heaving. “And truthfully, I don’t want to know you anymore. Whoever you are, you aren’t Kie. Not my Kie.”
She felt the tears burning in her eyes, felt her heart pounding in her chest. But most of all, she felt her blood boiling. He didn’t know. He didn’t know how hard it was to finally fit in with the kooks, after months of dealing with their bullying and teasing. She was finally finding a place there. He didn’t get it. He would never get it.
“I never was your Kie.” She stated simply, her voice void of any emotion.
“Great. Perfect.” He replied. They both stared at each other for a while, no one saying anything. “You’ve changed. You’re not a pogue, not now.”
“Change can be good sometimes.” Kie countered as though his words didn’t shatter her heart.
“Just…go. Go be with Rafe Cameron and act like one of his little lackeys.” He scoffed. “Not like any of us want you here anyways.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
“I’m going.”
“Go then.”
But Kie couldn’t find it within herself to actually move.
“Can you just leave me alone?” He eventually yelled out, fists clenched at his side. “Just fucking go! Be with them!”
That seemed to snap her out of whatever frozen state she was in and Kiara quickly turned, tears pouring down her face as she reached for the door handle.
“I hope they were worth it, Kiara. I hope they were worth losing us.”
She pressed her lips, taking a few seconds to compose herself as she wiped away a few tears. Then she spoke up, let her words be her goodbye, because deep down Kie knew that this was it. She had lost her pogues. She had lost her JJ. And she would never get them back.
“They are.”
Then, she left, never once looking back, not even when she heard the sound of a scream and glass smashing, not even when every atom in her body wanted to run back into his arms.
She never looked back.
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lunar-lair · 4 years
Text
I've been building up these hcs for a while, and I finally decided to unleash them onto the world.
So! Here ya go. My unadulterated thoughts over a long period of time. Have fun w them.
Remus bonks his forehead with another's to show affection. It started simply as something his brain told him to do, I think-some twisted idea of knocking both people out by banging their foreheads together. But then it turned into something he did for affection, due to how close it got your face to someone else's and the contact you share. Plus, it's so original, and that's Creativity's whole thing, right??
(It took him awhile to figure out how to do it lightly enough that he wouldn't hurt the person he was bonking (yes it's called that) but he eventually figured it out!!)
Him and Roman do it like,,,super hard as a way of greeting. Or like, just for shits and giggles, or even to knock someone out of something. It's one of those Brotherly Things™ they do together, y'know?
More Brotherly Things™ they do include slamming into each other to hug for the same reasons up above, shaking each other by the shoulders Forcefully mostly whenever they're explaining something Wild or they're Angy and the other pretending to be annoyed by it, and initiating sudden sparring sessions where one will just suddenly whip out their weapon, and the surprise is part of the spar, basically. It's not cheating; you just have to adapt to when the other suddenly starts one.
They had to explain to Patton Very Thoroughly that they weren't hurting each other and that it was all fun and games before he agreed w it
Janus was the first to adapt, then Logan, and then Virgil kinda had to take some time to stop being startled every time it happened
Thomas got it Immediately. 
He has brothers.
He gets it.
Janus! Likes!! Dancing!!!!! VERY important hc
Remus and Janus used to make skirts (and possibly other clothing?) together
All three darks know how to sew
It started with Remus wanting to make something and learning with Creativity Powers and eventually teaching Virgil and Janus
Janus actually already knew how to sew simple stitches due to having to fix a lot of Remus' clothes but Remus taught him a lot more abt it
He ended up knowing more than Remus even did, though, due to ending up Really into it
More than once, he has asked Remus for cloth and made his own skirt, shirt, etc. possibly with Remus' help
In a world where Jan and Virge are close,,,,,,,he totally helped with the jacket 
Jan and Lo absolutely have debates like. 24/7 while also playing chess
Remus is eternally wearing thigh high high heeled boots, no questions asked
Roman used to wear Normal boots most of the time before he got Good Bro Stats with Remus again. After that he was Jealous that Remus was a bit taller than him and started wearing his own heeled boots, though his were usually normal height 
Sometimes they'll switch boots to mix things up
Roman also started wearing heels bc he thought it'd be fun 
Roman and Janus have specific nicknames for each other; one nice and one teasing
Janus' are Prince and Beast 
Roman's are Beauty (to parallel Janus' for him) and Snake (another parallel; both are simple ideas of what/who they are)
Janus probably came up with his first and Roman flipped the script on him in return
Janus is pretty chill with coffee or tea, but he prefers tea and knows a lot more about it. Coffee? Eh, not too bitter please. Tea? Basically whatever, but the subtle calm stuff is really his jam. Mostly just a tad of honey, rarely any milk, if he ever adds anything at all. He usually takes his tea straight up; the kind to sit around and Think at the table while it cools y'know.
Patton's actually kind of a coffee dude, but he doesn't drink it that much, and if he does, it probably wouldn't be very bitter and pretty doctored. Tea is too mild for him; just tastes like hot water.
Logan? Coffee for energy, but he likes the Calm tea brings. Flower flavors all the way babey, with a bit of honey and just enough milk to make it a bit richer. Since the coffee is purely for Energy, he doesn't give a shit what it tastes like, as long as it doesn't burn his fucking esophagus he's just downing it. 
Roman claims he likes tea bc it's Fancy, but he actually prefers Coffee for the chocolate/bitterness in it and the Energy, so there's that. He actually likes his pretty bitter, funnily enough. Really likes chocolate creamers and vanilla, caramel, or chocolate flavored coffee. 
And of course, Remus claims he prefers coffee and just downs it all the time (mostly for shits and giggles probably) but he actually likes tea more for all the different flavors and stuff. Plus it's always even MORE scalding than coffee so it's more fun to down! He actually doesn't like how bitter coffee is and if he did actually drink it it would be drowned in creamer I swear to you. He really likes honey in his tea and a bit of milk, maybe some sugar depending on the type? Not usually though. More fruit flavors the better man. 
Virgil drinks coffee in the morning for Energy, and he's pretty chill with it, but he kinda prefers tea for the calming shit it can give you. Drinks the coffee for the Energy, but refuses to just let it taste like shit, so he adds a bit of creamer and sugar, yeah. Mostly up for fruit and flowery flavors, honey all the way babey. Thinks sugar tastes like shit in tea.
Janus has a Large Campaign around trying tea straight more often, or just generally adding less sugar, mostly. Virgil is on his team, Remus is kinda on it depending on what tea you're talking about, and Logan is also pretty much on that train except for when it comes to things like english breakfast teas, stuff like that. 
Virge wears a pair of headphones around his neck a lot; they're bluetooth, and hooked up to his phone 24/7, basically. He just throws them on and nyOOMS out of the situation best he can when shit gets hectic. They're kinda like a security blanket kind of thing; nice to know that you have immediate access to blocking out the world around you.
His jacket goes about the same, sorta. In the sense that it's a security object, I mean. He just feels...safer with it. There are very few situations besides being Totally Alone where he'd feel safe without a jacket (but specifically the one he's Chosen for the time, though the Chosen One can change if he finds something new or better), but if he does hang out around you without one, know that he trusts you with all his goddamn heart and he is taking a Leap of Faith rn and you better not screw it up ok.
Jan's gloves and hat are in a similar situation. They're just. Always There. They just make him feel safer y'know
Also I'd die for it to be canon that Janus has a little snake under his hat
Roman and Remus totally make copies of their sashes to hang up at Christmas
Yo but like,,,,,,,,,what if the sides' heights correlated to how long they'd been like...around?
Like how long it'd been since they manifested yknow
Pat is like. Emotions so he probably showed up Immediately. Same for Jan, considering he's self preservation. They're almost exactly the same height. Logan is just a small bit shorter, since he's partially curiosity and he showed up just a bit later. The original King would've been the same height as the other two, but...what about Roman and Remus?
So...the Split probably had to have happened after Virgil showed up, which took...a While. He's super short. Now the question is, would the twins be the height of the King, since they're technically part of him, or Tiney-like smaller than Virge-due to when they split?
...just for Tiney Virgil Rights, we'll make em tall. They're exactly the same height, of course, but Remus likes wearing heels.
All the Og Boys are the same height as Thomas-maybe a bit taller?-but Virge is like. A head and a half shorter than most of them. It's hilarious.
All the sides garden, for their own reasons
Virgil does it for the calm, the monotony, and the bright colors and smells. Plus, it just...feels really nice knowing he helped something stay alive. Makes him feel a lil better about himself.
Janus does it because he's been doing it for...a long time. Not to mention the calm of it all, digging your hands into soil and planting something new...plus, the flowers are always beautiful. Always have been, always will be. Tending to them is like...caring for an old friend. And he has so many memories with these flowers...old and new.
Plus he can plant his own tea leaves which is fun.
Logan does it partially for the monotony, partially for the care, partially for helping something to live. Partially for feeling a little something for the little guys; just...a feeling of saying hello again, having...a conversation with the flowers.
Less science, more emotions. For just a moment.
Patton does it because it's fun!! Because the flowers are pretty, the smells are nice, he can plant vegetables, too, the garden just feels nice, it feels like having more friends…
So many good, good reasons.
He'll have conversations with his flowers, and he's named them all.
Most of them haven't named theirs, but they do talk to them every now and then.
Roman does it for the calm and the prettiness and the scents. And just the concept of a pretty garden...excellent. And it is rather nice, just absorbing yourself in the work of it all...it's like all your cares fly away.
(They all agree with that, if only a little.)
He also has a venus flytrap or two...just gifts from Remus. 
Remus does it because 1, fun, and 2, weird exotic creepy plants are so cool!!!!!! He's got all kinds of stinky but fascinating plants, yeah, but he also has some really pretty vivid ones. He also has a soft spot for roses…
(...the King was known for handing them out, back in the day, for fun. The twins...never let it go, even though they're unaware.)
He actually has some nice smelling ones here and there, but he mostly bases whether it's goin in his garden off of it's exoticness, coolness, or cool colors
They also all know flower language!!!
Janus knew first but when Jan taught Virgil about it, he went NUTS over it
Jan taught Remus, but Virgil taught the light sides
After he learned they had gardens too, he went '!!!!!' and info dumped about flower language for a whole half hour before he realized what he was doing and stopped
The others urged him to keep going, and to visit their gardens someday and tell them some details on meaning
Now, most of them may be swayed by meaning when it comes to choosing whether or not they're keeping the flower, and they've even named some of them off the others
Remus, especially, could flip on a dime on a no or yes depending on a meaning and if it fits a friend well
Generally, though, they all chill out in each others' gardens a lot and talk abt their flowers!!
It's part of their daily routine
They all eat breakfast and then they leave to tend to their flowers
They have their own outside gardens, like. Connected to their rooms (with help from the twins, most likely) but they also keep some inside their rooms
Patton keeps cacti and little tiny flowers in little pots here and there. ("They're my little friends!!!!") They all have names, just the same as the others.
!!!!!! Also he totally goes into his tiney frog form sometimes after he waters his garden and chills in the moist soil, or even in the little plants around his room
Perfect place babey
Virgil has a few with calming scents scattered about. Maybe a few bright ones, just so they stand out
Logan...concept: bonsai. Why? Bonsai...cool. Also he can observe it's growth. It's fun ok
He also probably has a few he's doing experiments on and even maybe a few he just liked a lot yknow
Jan...probably just a few who's meanings he liked. A few pretty ones, a few calming ones. And…
One who's meaning reminded him of Remus, and one for Virgil.
After Virgil left, he set it on the dining room table.
It returned to its former spot on the counter when Janus was finally part of his family again.
Patton has a little plot he's set aside for the plants that remind him of the others.
Janus has a similar one. It used to be just Remus' and Virgil's; two lonely souls…
….but now it's filled with 3 more, neatly arranged.
Their family has grown so much.
Also Janus totally does the same thing Pat does but in his snake form. Like he just settles into the dirt and sunbathes.
Sometimes, one of them will come over to the other's place and they'll just chill in one of their gardens together. (Half the time, Patton is sitting on Janus' head, nestled under Janus' little snake hat as best he can, probably with his little frog nose sticking out.)
More than one of the sides have stumbled upon it. Every time, they just take a picture, gaze at them for a little while, maybe say hi, maybe not, and be on their way.
Roman probably plucks a rose every now and then and sets it in a vase. Not that often; just a while after the last one decays, and only one at a time.
He's nice to his rose bushes, ok? He swears to you.
He also totally has a few tiny, colorful ones here and there and some really nice smelling ones.
Just realized, he ABSOLUTELY has a honeysuckle plant. Same for Pat. That's like,,,,,,the Staple of excellent smells and pretty flowers AND childhood man
And...after he bonded again with his brother-or maybe even before-he planted one that reminded him of him…
But it's tucked away in his bedroom. Who knows if it even exists.
Remus just goes NUTS with whatever he wants inside his room, man. Cacti? Totally. Venus fly traps? Yeah, one or two. Colorful flowers that he just likes the looks of?? Hell yeah babey!!!
And...he himself has a flower of his own, tucked away upstairs…
...but he's had it for far, far longer.
(He may or may not have had to change what it was after bonding with Roman again, but hey, people change yknow?)
Also!! They all like poetry-writing AND reading
Janus likes it due to like...just. The pure elegance in the craft, I suppose. The way feelings, beliefs, and philosophies can be expressed.
It's all so interesting, how something so deep can be put into simple words.
His are usually elegant, with old-themed writing and deep metaphors, deep thoughts on philosophy and emotions that can only be expressed through odd metaphors and quiet words whispered by his pen.
Roman likes it for similar reasons; it's such an elegant way to express yourself, there are so many metaphors you can wind in there, and it feels so mystical, in a way...it's such a short little thing, but pure emotions can be injected straight into it.
He has so many. He...there's so much to feel, so much to write, so many ideas, all the time. But no matter what, they're full of metaphors, flowery language, the occasional serious one where he simply...pours every drop of sadness from his heart onto the paper. 
He happily injects the emotions he doesn't want into those packed words, filled with so much.
He has his fair share of mystical ones, though, describing old beasts and monsters and songs and soulmates and love.
Virgil likes it due to the emotional outlet it can be, and the pure craftsmanship of it all. Just...the way some poets weave stories together...amazing. 
His are often straight vents. Simple words, straight metaphors, lots of short lines and stanzas. Just...conveying things with the words straight from his head.
Remus likes it for the themes poems can carry. So dark, and maybe sad, and yet so simple; not gruesome, simply...heavy.
It's almost what he aspires for, in at least some aspects.
He also loves it for the dramatics of it all and the history, just as Roman does. Drop the love of the romance, though. However, he does adore how emotions can be conveyed.
His are just as mystical as Roman's can be sometimes, though his are often more about horrors lurking in the night, of course. He's prone to throwing extra emotions into his poems, as well, ones he doesn't know what to do with except throw overboard.
Logan likes it for the emotional outlet. For the explanation of emotions through metaphors, like puzzles for him to solve, to try and figure emotions out. And how much that can make him feel, so much packed into such a tiny package.
He has his own of those; small little poems that have...so much emotion poured into them, for when his cup runs over and the emotions he can't handle try to splash out on the ground and stain his carpet, stain the hearts of his friends and even his own.
He also enjoys the philosophy and even psychology in it all.
As mentioned, some of his are...simply filled to the brim with emotions he can't handle, straight vents. But as for style, he often writes with simple concepts, a lack of metaphors, big words that convey the same idea but are hard to understand with the common eye.
Patton likes it for similar reasons; there are so many emotions packed into poems, so many complex ideas he loves picking apart, so many metaphors that rely on emotion that he understands immediately.
He has his own fair share of vent poems. He has so many emotions that sometimes…he just. Needs somewhere to put them. He doesn't use big words, and uses a lot of winding explaining instead, but his metaphors and analogies are always flawless. He always knows what he means. 
Sometimes they just sit around and talk about poems, poets they like, recommendations, how they managed to get into it, stuff like that. Double whammy, sometimes they chill in their gardens together and talk poetry or even integrate certain flowers or flower language into their poems.
Roman, Remus, and Patton go out when it rains and just...have fun. Sometimes Ro takes an umbrella and just twirls around a little bit, enjoys the atmosphere (as the feeling of it all is what he loves the most), but sometimes Remus manages to convince him to come play with them. 
Remus just likes the rain cause it's fun to play in, yknow? Also, mud! And worms!! Worms!!! Worms are so cool, those wiggly little guys.
All Sides Confirmed, worms are cool, they have worms in their gardens and also worms are just generally cool dudes.
Pat likes it cause Frog, duh. Also it's fun to play in the rain, ALSO duh!! 
Lo considers rain just. Smth that happens.
Virge likes the atmosphere of rain and likes the smell that's in the air afterwards, but doesn't like getting wet. Thunderstorms terrify him too. 
Jan likes the Vibe of rain, same as Virge, and also likes the smell afterwards, but he likes to stay inside. Yknow, cuddle up with a nice cup of tea (or even hot chocolate, if he's feeling extra cozy) and a book and just listen to the pitter patter.
He doesn't exactly enjoy thunderstorms, but he's good at tuning them out. (And he's also excellent at calming Virgil down during one.)
So when a storm hits the mindscape (or however the hell it works) Pat and the twins will go outside and the others will stay holed up in the living room, drinking tea or hot chocolate and just Chillin.
Sometimes they even invite Thomas, just for fun. (And cause they mentioned it to him and he was affronted at them that he wasn't able to see Pat and the Twins just have fun in the rain.)
Sometimes, rarely, Pat and Ree will eventually convince Thomas to join them in their fun. (Ro or Ree can just magic him clean anyways.)
Catch the twins conjuring up feather pens whenever the hell they want to 
Janus absolutely has a pet snake or two. They just sit and hiss at each other sometimes 
Pat? Yeah, a couple frogs. He mostly keeps them in his garden, though; they're only really his pets in the sense that he feeds them and talks to them sometimes. 
The twins probably share their theatrical strengths 
Like,,,,,,Remus? If he's a villain or even slightly shitty as a person, he's got it. Plus a lot more complex characters
Roman? Can do dashing princes and kind characters excellently
Like...they just. Can't do some characters, because that's what the other can do. Y'know?
I don't know, maybe they aren't actually so...split down the middle? But I like the idea of that I guess
Sorry this got so long! I've been collecting these thoughts in a doc for a *while,* so it grew a lot. I can't add a read more either, since I'm on mobile...sorry.
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Hello I’m the anon who requested the possessive/obsessive with Jeff, Toby, and BEN and I’m perfectly fine with the clingy or protective one instead. Either is fine or both whichever your more comfortable with :)!
Okay sweet, here ya go, hope you like these ^^
Jeff the killer:
If you tell him that you really want him to be protective and clingy with you, that it makes you happy and safer, he is more than happy to do so with you. He always wants to act that way really but holds off most of the time. or at least he would with a different partner, but hey, if you want him to be like that he will. he really really will.
He almost always insists on leaving the house with you. Really really hates when you leave the house by yourself and if you go he’s all worked up over it and visibly agitated while your gone. Hell, if you let him he will even follow you to the human world during the day just to make sure nothing happens to you, and normally he would never ever get caught dead up there during the day.
Even with most of his scary features covered up, he is fucking Scary. Being in the underworld and disconnected from normal people for so long gives him a terrible aura and a literally uncanny valley level threatening killer feeling about him . People intentionally very obviously avoid  going near you two. Which is good. Likes keeping people farrrr away from you.
And when you two are just at home he still sticks close. likes to keep his hands on you . its a nice sort of gentle hold. on your arm or shoulder. around the waist, whatever. 
If he has to leave the house without you, like yknow. for work. he’ll get a hold of you and kiss your cheek and neck and tell you to be safe while he’s gone. makes you promise you won’t get yourself into trouble or anything. It takes a lot of reassuring that you’ll be fine but he will let go...yknow eventually. A lot of cute teasing back n forth and kissing before he finally does pull away, very hesitantly . A good 15 , 20 minutes after he actually said he’s leaving probably heh
Sometimes after coming home from the stabby business he won’t wipe off the blood before giving you some hugs and kisses. and he likes if you don’t wipe the blood off right away. kind of a. mark. if you will i guess. you do have to wash it off eventually of course but when you just go about your day covered in blood he’s spilled he’s like uhhhhhh kinda hot lol. a little marking showing off youre his baby like that
Ticci Toby:
He worries so much for your well being it makes him sick sometimes how much he cares . Hence why he always seems extra worried and concerned over every little thing with you. He doesn’t like being too far away and tries to remain at least within earshot of you 90% of the time if not constantly right next to you. He’s your full time attack on command body guard and he likes it that way. 
You were probably getting made fun of as a joke by some of the others one time and getting a little upset and. god it really set him off and. it was a big fight between him and whoever it was and a whole big deal like that. and later that he was crying and holding you in his amrs saying how sorry he is, and how he absolutely can’t stand to see you hurt like that
if anyone ever hurts your feelings he gets soooo fucking angry and defensive as hell. Has probably gotten his ass kicked a couple times for being over protective of you and getting into fights with others. and not winning. he cant help it. he just feels like he needs to protect and defend you all the time
Just wants to be near you so much it hurts. you two cuddle to sleep every night, and no matter how sound asleep he is and how careful you are the second you try to climb out of bed he’s desperately holding onto you and clinging to your arm begging you to stay there with him, just for a little longer please. He sounds so sad when he asks you to you of course crawl back into bed and let yourself get held and kissed all over again. He’ll let you go in a second, he promises...Just hates the thought of waking up and you not being there so much.
is always giving you his things. his clothes and his gloves and his earrings and well whatever you can think of. He absolutely loves seeing you wearing and walking around with things he owns. it really just. makes you look like his. and he really loves that.you look so sweet when you wear and use his things. ur his baby
When he has to go out on a job, he’s so on edge the whole time even more than normal until he gets home and can see you again. The second he steps back into the house and gets the reassurance you’re fine its like he can breath again. Stays by your side the whole rest of the night
Ben drowned:
Ben is usually very chill, but god he is sooooo clingy with you. You can NOT get him off you. He very literally can not sleep without you at all, and he uses his height to his advantage as in he’s always literally clinging to you while floating and letting you drag him around like that. he’s always all over you all the time so I hope you enjoy that
While he is chill, his protectiveness comes out in more subtle ways. And he’s a little more jealous type than toby, especially when it comes to the guys. 
If someones sitting a little too close he subtle ly pulls you away a tiny little bit and starts kissing you or distracting you with something else while occasionally looking over at whoever it was to see if they look annoyed or jealous. which, they never do, thankfully. but cant ever be too sure.
I think if anyones actively flirting with you, even as a joke, he gets pretty visibly agitated. he’ll death stare for a while and wait to see what happens, and if it gets too much he’ll like throw an empty soda or beer can at them and tell them to cut that shit out. everyone gets the hint at That point but if they ever persisted or, god forbid made you uncomfortable he’d really lose his cool. get between you two and shove them and tell them to fuck off. His voice gets really glitchy and distorted when he’s mad and he’s actually kind of intimidating like that. just put your arms around him and hug him from behind and tell him it’s ok and to calm down and he’ll be fine. probably drags you away somewhere else to spend time with you and is all passive aggresive with whoever it was for a whileee after
He lets a lot of things slide, but he does not like anyone getting too touchy or even jokingly flirty with you at all. playful teasing and a little play fighting thats fair game, but if they start getting Weird with you he interjects himself into the situation and tells them to fucking watch it and leads you away. closer to where he is . and he can put his arm around you and make sure everyone around there knows not to try it. sometimes you gotta assure him that its okayyy and he should know theyre just messing around. 
he didnt even really know he had a more protective side to him like that until you two got together. but now its like. just the thought of anyone else touching you or talking to you sweet or cutesy makes him queasy . and as long as you seem to like and react well to his protective clingy-ness, doesn’t see a reason to stop
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