#may write a fic if i can get my brain to explain it better than the mess i wrote here

[fellthemarvelous]

Imagine, if you will...

Seriously, this isn't a canon prediction or anything (honestly I might attempt to write a fanfic with this idea in mind). It's just random thoughts that go through my head and this is my attempt to make sense of them and write them out coherently.

We have Saraqael, an angel who seems to be more intelligent than most, with tartan cuffs and collar on their heavenly attire.

We have Muriel, a 37th class scrivener with a love for reading and a curiosity that none of the other angels seem to have, wearing tartan that matches Saraqael's.

So, I would assume that Muriel works under Saraqael, especially since Muriel went to Saraqael with the matchbox before either of them approached Michael and Uriel.

We see Jimbriel wearing Aziraphale's tartan blanket like a toga once he takes refuge in the bookshop.

And, of course, we have Aziraphale, former cherub and guardian of the eastern gate of Eden, always incorporating tartan into all aspects of his life on Earth.

What if the tartan that we see Muriel and Saraqael wearing is a symbol, perhaps a way to identify others who might want to dissent from Heaven's plans? What if it's a growing symbol of resistance?

Maybe Saraqael picked Muriel to observe the things happening on Earth because Muriel is good at appearing unassuming and aloof.

Maybe Muriel being asked to stay on Earth was what Saraqael was hoping for.

Saraqael told Aziraphale they would be sending an angel to log and verify the miracle. He knew Heaven would be keeping tabs after that.

What was Muriel reporting back to Saraqael? We saw what they shared with Michael and Uriel, but is that information that Saraqael told them to share? Did Muriel give Saraqael a more detailed report first?

Saraqael showed Crowley the truth of the trial despite declaring him the "enemy".

Could Saraqael have had anything to do with getting Aziraphale back into Heaven? Is it possible Saraqael thinks Heaven needs Aziraphale then?

Crowley now has information about Heaven that can be shared with Hell. Crowley knows Heaven would rather erase the memories of angels who want to walk away from Heaven instead of casting them down into Hell.

And Saraqael immediately followed Crowley back down to Earth without question.

What if Saraqael is the murder hornet? What if Saraqael is choosing to trust Crowley and maybe help Aziraphale in Heaven because Heaven sucks?

Saraqael has the device that erases memories, and more importantly, allowed Crowley to learn that information when showing him the footage of Gabriel's trial.

And now Saraqael will be in Heaven with Aziraphale while Muriel remains on Earth and most likely in contact with Crowley.

Mix this with the idea of Crowley taking up a position as a Duke of Hell and having that link to Heaven through Muriel, who remains in contact with Saraqael, who is working with Aziraphale, who wants to change Heaven because it's a mess.

#good omens #good omens theories #good omens meta #aziraphale #crowley #saraqael #muriel #may write a fic if i can get my brain to explain it better than the mess i wrote here #i really need to buy more weed #but it's so expensive #i just really like saraqael okay

[boyfhee]

FAIR AND SQUARE › lhs

SYNOPSIS › one thing about life— it's unpredictable. for example, you made a note to yourself about not associating too much with heeseung for your own peace of mind, letting him stay as the academic rival slash classmate that he is, instead of allowing him to be something more, except one thing leads to another and you find yourself face to face with the said man with your feelings all over the place. a lowkey confession leading to a mere competition, let the game begin.

WORD COUNT › 20.2k

GENRE › academic rivals / friends to lovers, mutual pinning because they're just competitive and oblivious ft in denial, fem reader, quite the 'he fell first but she fell harder' thing eye guess . . .

WARNINGS › mentions drinking, sheds light on family issues ( mostly on the reader's side ) bruise and injury, slightest of angst, arguments, suggestive ( fourth section, towards the end ) profanities, let me know if you spot more

PLAYLIST › tune in for a better experience

NOTE › i love this fic with all my heart and lungs, even more. anyway, i'm sorry to academic rivals fans, this doesn't have academic blood and gore, as quoted by my dear mai. SPEAKING OF MAI EVERYONE THANK @maiverie FOR BETAREADING THIS FIC!!!!!! im not lying when i say i wouldn't have finished writing this yesterday if it wasn't for her, like thank u for ur super helpful review that got my brain juices flowing :< luv u fr. ALSO both heeseung and reader are taking post grad course so of course, they're aged up ( no ages specified ) have fun reading.

I. BANE OF EXISTENCE

one thing about life— it’s unpredictable. 

for example, you’re in the library writing and reading papers on the topic you love, the one that you’re supposed to enjoy and the one that will become the reason behind your earnings in the near future, but here you are, sitting with a headache and a cup of coffee on the side. who knew the subject you've liked since grade one will betray you and become the potential bane of your existence? not you, surely enough. wednesday noons are for basketball matches, which explains why the library and hallways are quieter and emptier than usual. even the teachers make time for the tournaments off their busy schedules, it’s understandable— your university is known for having one of the best sports teams in the league, and the basketball team being the defending champions does nothing but fuel the pride of students and staffs as if they’re the ones on the court, trying to get the ball in the basket.

you wouldn’t say you don’t like being a part of the crowd because you’ve been to the badminton tournaments and know that watching matches is as interesting as playing, if not more. you just don’t have the time to attend any. with assignments piling up and exams ‘round the corner, you’d rather spend your last two months of the semester studying instead of yelling at the bleachers. you can always get the recordings if you ever feel like watching one, as for the results, the word goes around faster in your department than anywhere else, all because of one of the students being on the team. 

you try focusing, you really do, but your cup is just as empty as your brain and your phone is going up with notifications. you don’t see the point of miyeon spamming the gc with updates on the match when everyone in the group, except you, is with her, watching and cheering alongside. muting is a choice which you choose not to do, and the reason is between you and god, to be honest. long story short, it’s the lack of motivation clogging your thought process and the realisation that your friends are out there enjoying themselves unlike you is blocking any means of logical thinking. a day or two spent not studying wouldn’t make you fail the classes, and even if the guilt is pooling inside, you pack your stuff and walk out of the library, making your way to the indoor basketball court. 

the screams grow louder as you approach, each step reminding you that you still can go back as you choose to ignore it. exams can wait, you tell yourself, a day to myself can’t. your mother would tell you to take breaks and go out instead of studying all day, but being on top is an addiction. it’s no good, you wish other students would believe you, it’s a struggle, on the top, at the bottom, everywhere. you expect to turn a few heads as soon as you walk inside, which doesn’t happen, but you expected it. you don’t watch matches, this could easily be your third or fourth one, and the first basketball match, to be more specific. once you realise that everyone is busy watching the plays instead of noticing who comes and goes from the court, you make your way up to the one friend you manage to spot amidst the crowd— sung hanbin. indoor bleachers feel more compact than the outdoor ones. you've been to the football match last semester, courtesy of miyeon, and everything being outdoors really helps with the crowd and noise. 

“didn’t expect to see you here,” hanbin stands next to you, offering you a sip or two from his drink, which you politely refuse, eyes fixed on the court as if it was the home they’ve been searching for. “i thought you hate heeseung,” it isn’t until he takes his name that your gaze averts to heeseung. you don’t even know why hanbin would outright assume you’re here for heeseung. in fact, that man’s name didn’t even cross your mind until he was mentioned.

“hate is a big word, ‘bin,” your words are more of a whisper laced with hesitation, as if you aren’t sure of what you’re saying. hate, actually, is a very big and heavy word. despite its constant usage with your friends, you realise the weight it holds and the impact it has. hate and dislike— they’re different and yet similar enough to be used synonymously at times. not by you, of course, you have a clear distinction between the two, and as of now, you don’t know if what you feel for heeseung is a mere dislike or pure hatred. “i just don’t like him,” 

when he successfully shoots a three-pointer, you come to the decision that you definitely don’t hate him. heeseung is, more or less, the typical all-rounder straight-A student, the jack of all trades and fortunately enough, the master of all as well. he's the student teachers use as an example, the son parents wish for, the boyfriend people wished they had. lee heeseung is many things, and one of those is being the reason why you have the second highest score in your department instead of the first position, unlike how it used to be two semesters ago. 

heeseung transferred departments about thirty weeks ago, from chemistry to bioinformatics. it had been surprising on your side because not many opted for bioinformatics until they were certain of their goal. the course in itself is vast, like an ocean of several different fields and each and every one of them opens a door to a different outcome. bioinformatics isn’t something students picked overnight just because it had the vacancy and they didn’t like their initially chosen courses. as fun as the subject sounds, it demands consistency and time, something that heeseung lacks. you had seen him attend classes the first few weeks regularly, and then the ghost of him started sitting on the empty seat that belongs to him. skipping classes, arriving late, delayed submission of a couple of projects— you knew he wasn’t here to stay. it was to pass time, or whatever, you couldn’t care, didn’t care, not until he started acing the tests, practically dethroning you from your infamous ‘perfect all kill’ title that you had for getting nothing less than a perfect score, most of the time, give and take a few here and there. 

you still get good scores, amazing even, full score in theory and the same in practicals. it’s going well in lab manuals and project works but heeseung seems to get a perfect score in those too, something you started missing ever since he came into the picture. perhaps, it was something in the way he phrased his essays— you hoped it was. rumour has it that heeseung used to be a literature student, which could explain his outstanding english skills and his eloquent way of speaking. you even looked up his debate videos on youtube only to find more evidence on how skilled he is in public speaking. 

but above all, heeseung is, actually, just a really damn annoying student, quite literally the bane of your existence. he’s always set on stealing people’s spotlight during lessons, with you being the people, obviously, always answering questions with information that’s unrelated and probably even unnecessary. and for the shortest time, you even considered taking him off your ‘things i hate’ list because you were no different in highschool. when you’re the top student, it becomes a habit to talk about things as if you know them in your bones and impress teachers. hell, you even had rivals in highschool, although none of them got on your nerves the way heeseung does. basically, he has no reason to call you by weird names everytime you both pass each other in the hallways, or remind you that he’s the top student. ‘this is the vice-captain of the basketball team and the best student of the biotechnology department, lee heeseung, informing you on the up—’ seriously, no one wants to hear him introduce himself like that when you’re around. you’re pretty sure it’s engraved inside your brain with the amount of times he repeats it everyday. minjeong even says that heeseung is becoming more and more like sunghoon, and you would not know how or why because you didn’t attend highschool with sunghoon, unlike her. 

the court flares up with cheers when heeseung goes for a dunk which ultimately leads to their team winning the match, and you reach the conclusion that maybe you don’t hate heeseung but actually want to bang his head against the walls. your eyes follow him around the court, analysing his conduct during the match, the way he communicates so effortlessly with teammates using hand signs or quick phrases, the way he holds the team together when the ball is with him, despite not being the captain. heeseung might be the most unbearable person you’ve met so far, he’s actually just fine when his target is not you. you’re sure any other player is doing just as good but nothing comes close to how you see heeseung. it’s different, the light he is in, it’s unique, incredible, and inexplicably addictive. heeseung juggles between classes and basketball, you remember sunghoon talking about his part-time job when you passed by their lockers the other day. he doesn’t have it easy, you don’t either, but you had those all perfect kills by spending hours in your study while heeseung does better than you while winning matches, making money. 

it doesn’t take you long to realise that what you have for him could be dislike with a hint of jealousy, and you wonder if all the people would react the same way once they know who heeseung really is— a devil behind an angelic face, one who deliberately likes ruining things for you, as if his life depends on it. you still remember the day he personally texted you the wrong syllabus for a test, claiming that it had been updated and the professor had asked him to notify everyone. ‘and as you know, i have not been added in the group chat yet so i’m texting everyone personally,’ he had lied ever so smoothly as if his words consist of nothing but truth, as if lies are something he hasn’t even heard of. kudos to you for studying the original and correct syllabi beforehand, you still aced the test, if heeseung scoring the first rank is overlooked. 

you’re dragged back from your thoughts to the reality when a boy bumps into you while hurrying down to the players, hoping to get noticed. half of the students act like the team is actually a boy-band, you can see them on the front page of every single edition of university magazine. usually, you prefer waiting for the crowd to disperse before taking your leave from wherever you are, but a sudden reminder about the tests over text from your professor gives you a reason to leave early, all to make sure you could catch up to heeseung. you rush your way out of the bleachers once the teams start leaving the court, eyes fixed on heeseung to take a note of the direction he leaves. hanbin gives you a confused look before the words find their way out of his mouth. “where are you going?” 

“basketball shower room,” and your words could give him, and the other people who might’ve heard you, a wrong idea but you couldn’t care less. the goal was to see heeseung before he leaves the campus, which was highly likely because no one has it in them to attend four hours of classes after an exhausting match, not even heeseung, no matter how amazing he is. 

you make your way through the ocean of people, bumping into a few in the process as you make your way to the club room. a silent profanity leaves your mouth once you realise that the club room entrance might be filled with fangirls and boys, left and right, and the thought of shuffling your way out of the crowd to meet heeseung makes you reconsider your actions. heeseung might be a star student but isn’t amazing enough for you to step out of your comfort zone and do things to see him. 

“well, this is surprising,” your voice manages to turn his head towards the door. “thought you’d be busy with your fangirls, lee,” and it is surprising indeed because the hallways are unexpectedly empty with only a few people around. you would say they learnt to give the players their space after a game but that would be a lie considering the embarrassing history of students when it comes to people on the sports team. 

“they’re probably busy with jake,” heeseung responds with a smile, and even though he turns to his locker just as quickly, you could see the smile dancing on the corner of his lips. 

jake is rather a new player, a junior to be specific, and jay personally spent days waiting outside the physics department to get the guy on the basketball team. explains why he’s popular amidst students, he’s talented, good at studies— seriously, you wouldn’t understand how these people manage academics with sports. you couldn’t, and even if you managed to, you would end up passing out every few days. “does it suck to lose your fan-following to a newbie?” 

“not really. i still have you here,” heeseung wouldn’t call it ‘losing’ his fan-following because he’s using jake as bait to escape the crowd of students as quickly as possible. a junior has to make sacrifices, in this case it’s to save heeseung by sacrificing himself to the public. although, saying that he still has you looking for him even though a hundred others aren’t makes him feel better about himself. “no but seriously, what did you come here for?” 

“oh, it’s for the test on friday,” you pull out your phone, opening the group chat with the professor and the students who took the same course. it’s laughable how the universe put you in the exact same situation twice, although with the tables turned this time, and it takes everything in you to not tell him a made-up, wrong syllabi, and do what is rational. “the syllabi was extended up to chapter fourteen, till page three-ninety-seven. they sent it in the group chat this morning but i’m sure you hardly have time even to think about something else except basketball,” 

you’ve known heeseung for two semesters but that’s for the people to say. the truth is, you don’t know him outside what he shows to everyone else. you see him come and go, spot him around the bar with his friends on weekends you pass by it. you know he skips classes and asks students for notes. it’s not necessarily from you, though you’d prefer if he would ask you since you’re the best student in the whole department, after him, as much as you hate to admit it. on some days, you see him in the library, earphones plugged in. if you manage to sneak a glance or two, you’d catch him watching the match recordings and taking notes, you wouldn’t know what notes someone could take from matches. in short, you don’t know heeseung more than how everyone knows him. coming to the shower rooms and notifying him about the test might just be a discreet attempt at striking up more conversations with him, but also, you’re just fine with him being the academic rival slash classmate that he is. 

“yeah, semi-finals,” heeseung shuts his locker close, a sigh falling off his lips just like the water drops falling on his shoulder from the tips of his hair, after a shower. “doesn’t help that they’re at the same time as the quarterly assessments. thank you for telling me even though it means you’ll end up losing the first position to me once again,” and of course, the heeseung you know wouldn’t waste an opportunity to strike up a competition. it would be a lie if you claim to hate it because despite the sour look on your face, a part of you loves these little academic races with him. heeseung makes you strive to do better, he’s like the driving force you lacked which made college a whole lot better. after all, where’s the fun in getting a perfect score with the bare minimum effort, without some challenges knocking at your door? 

“what can i do, i’m all about fair play,” there’s a subtle shade behind your words, reckoning to the multiple incidents of him ruining things for you. this could take a really nasty turn if you were to resort to his ways, except you won’t because you’re better than him. “good luck, and we’ll see who loses the first position to whom,” 

heeseung wipes his hair before switching to texting on his phone, the smile still adorning his face like a jewel. you assume it’s the delight from winning a match, it’s obvious. his eyes couldn’t help but sparkle at every little achievement, always looking forward to something more, something challenging, that’s lee heeseung for you— someone who knows he has an easier way around things but would deliberately walk down another path and test his limits. shocking how it took you one basketball match to see the passion he has for things he’s interested in, that he’s more than a sport jock or a straight nerd, he’s more than someone who takes courses to pass time, more than someone who is just a show-off.

“heeseung,” the dislike, the hatred, the envy, it might all be a lie. “well played today,” because in the end, there’s a minimal possibility that you’re leaving the room with nothing but the slightest of admiration for the guy who is nothing but an obstacle between you and that first position in upcoming finals in two months. 

and it would be a lie too to claim that your words didn’t catch heeseung by surprise.

II. RIVALRY, FEELINGS, ETCETERA. 

it has been a little over one day since heeseung’s conversation with you outside the shower rooms, twenty-seven hours to be exact. twenty-seven hours of him hearing the same last words over and over again, twenty-seven hours of him failing all and any attempts at straight thinking and twenty-seven hours of him not thinking about anything except you. all of it ends up in three hours of practice and not one good shot from heeseung. the sighs and snickers from teammates fill the court every few seconds— truthfully, they never leave. heeseung is simply too lost to pay attention to them. 

“heeseung, you good?” a pat on shoulder from jake and the words following soon after manage to pull him out of his spiral of thought, even if it’s for a brief second. 

“he’s not, won’t be anytime soon,” sunghoon replies as if the answer was on the tip of his tongue, waiting to be revealed. “yn came to watch the last match, after all,” there’s a smirk on sunghoon’s face, heeseung can tell it in the intonation of his words. 

jay pauses just seconds before going for a layup, joining the conversation. “wait, she did?” 

“yep, saw her standing next to that hanbin guy or something,” 

“mate, you cannot be acting like this over a girl and that too, four days before finals,” this conversation, as a whole, is beyond jake’s comprehension. a part of the reason could be because he joined the team late, thus missing out on a huge chunk of internal jokes and gossip and goes amidst the players. and no amount of reasons can convince him into thinking that it’s fine to act out-of-character before important matches just because your crush showed up at one of your matches. 

“she’s not just some random girl. she never attends matches, but she came to watch my match,” heeseung clarifies as if the reasons behind his antics are valid and acceptable. “you wouldn’t know how i feel right now,” 

“you’re on cloud nine, we know, your crush gave you the attention you’ve been lacking but trust me, she would ignore you just as efficiently if she sees you perform like this,” 

“she’s not a crush,” and despite it being a well known fact amongst the basketball team that heeseung has a thing or two for you, he always refuses to accept it. one can say it’s the pride thing. you barely even talk to him unless it’s about studies, and your conversations are mostly along the lines of who outdoes whom in tests and assessments. moreover, everyone knows heeseung is the reason why you’re the second best student in the department— as much as you hate to admit it, again— because he transferred and flipped your world, probably even dribbled around with it like a basketball. a word goes around every few days about you glaring at him in class, which is not true, you’re instead focusing your eyes on something in an attempt to think. he just happens to sit right in front of you and be the object of focus. heeseung might as well believe that you hate him, even though yesterday’s conversation was far from how people talk when they hate each other, and his assumptions could account for the constant words of denial that fall off his lips. 

jay snickers before landing a hook successfully. “yeah, and i’m a pigeon,” 

“oh, shut it, jay,” heeseung turns to look at the other boy. “she’s just someone i admire. have you read her essays? her papers? god, we’re a year away from graduation but she’s already writing mind-blowing papers, one of them was even published in the monthly issue of some magazine. she’s already on her best performance and still tries to do better, always down to guide juniors with lab work and also is on the research team for the paediatrics department at asan medical centre. all this, and she studies all day. if i were her, i’d pass out. i can’t go a day without entering the court,” 

“and he says he doesn’t have a crush oh her,” sunghoon rolls his eyes, it’s like if he heard another line of excuses from heeseung, he could see the back of his skull and have a look at hs big, fat brain. 

“because i don’t? you guys never had someone you admired so much that they practically became your role model despite being in the same year?” unlike other things that heeseung does, calling you his role model has a reason. first, it can give him a reason to talk to you. heeseung is almost convinced that you hate him, and if this persists, it would get harder and harder for him to approach you, but with the lie— half lie— of you being his role model and so wonderful that he couldn’t help but admire you from afar while trying to overcome his social anxiety gives him a reason to talk to you. plus, it sounds plausible, he doesn’t understand why his brother says it’s bound to fail. 

the second reason and more to do with his friend group. no one in his friend circle is capable of keeping a secret— jay ends up spilling tea unconsciously, jake tells one person who he trust and that person turns out to be the most untrustworthy person ever, beomgyu, well he’s on the team but telling him would be like standing on a stage and announcing to the whole campus, and sunghoon, he’s the mother, he cannot digest food without disclosing secrets. even if it’s common knowledge that heeseung has a tiny crush on you, denying it in front of the whole campus everytime one of them brings it up helps him with his reputation and fortunately, ends up keeping it a secret. besides, he’d rather have people tease him for calling you his role model than having a crush on you. 

“i surely don’t have someone i admire to the point i read all their papers and know each and everything they’ve volunteered for,” jay argues back, set on proving his point. “tell me what am i gonna do knowing that she’s on the paediatrics research team?” 

“i think this is the most i’ve known about yn ever since classes started and that too, because of heeseung,” beomgyu chuckles, earning a side eye from heeseung in the process. 

“enough, let’s get back to practice,” heeseung intervenes in an attempt to change the topic. he does not want his closest friends making fun of him for liking someone— it’s supposed to be human nature to have a crush. 

“you get back to practice because you’re the only one fucking up because of your silly little crush. i’m done, jay, call me when we’re having a practice match because i need to attend theology or my professor would write me up,” taehyun passes the ball to sunghoon, the latter yelping in surprise at the sudden yet successful catch. 

“i don’t have a crush—”

“of course, let’s get you back to practice,” jake cuts heeseung off mid sentence, moving back to take his position as sunghoon passes the ball to heeseung, who, as expected, misses the catch due to lack of concentration.

it’s going to be a long day for the team. 

. 

. 

.

“a little birdie told me you went to see heeseung in the shower rooms?” are the words you hear as soon as your classes are dismissed, miyeon walking up to you and hanbin discussing the set of questions your professor distributed just a few minutes ago. 

“i didn’t go into the shower rooms, i was outside, near the lockers,” and there’s a difference. to be in the shower room implies you were there in the shower, which definitely gives rise to several wrong ideas of different levels. specifically, you didn’t even enter the locker room. you were outside, leaning against the door, watching heeseung as he walked freshly out of the shower, a towel around his neck, you both strike up a small talk. yeah, that was the scene, not with you in the shower and whatever miyeon’s imagination leads to after that. 

“so you did go!” she claps her hands together as if it’s a celebratory occasion, turning her head to look at the boy next to you. “what were you saying about yn not having a crush, habin?”

“it’s not a crush, miyeon,” and it’s true— heeseung is not a crush. he’s a classmate, a rival, an over-qualified and impossibly competitive student, someone you would want to take your time to study. “what, i can’t even go to tell a classmate about the updated syllabus for a test now? i would’ve done that for anyone, not just heeseung,” 

hanbin sighs, packing his bag. “sure, but he’s in the groupchat. he could’ve checked it himself,” 

“um, i doubt that,” you’re preparing a powerpoint in your head, multiple slides on why you needed to do what you did. “he’s busy with basketball and i know how he gets when the matches are around the corner. don’t you remember how he skipped two weeks of classes straight because of matches last semester? and it’s the finals this time, i don’t think he even opens texts about anything that’s not basketball. i mean, he responded to my messages six days later because he was busy with practice,” 

you say it like you’ve known heeseung for a decade and have been through the ups and downs with him. you wouldn’t care about who does what in the classes, if it’s a paper plane flying right over you, landing just second to the first row of seats or if it’s someone being brave enough and playing music during lectures. biology, in your opinion, is a subject for those who are serious about doing something unique while staying in the academic field. you don’t encounter troublemakers often, once a blue moon if the heavens make a mistake. on other days, it’s quieter than a library, emptier than cemeteries at night. 

to think your life as a biotechnology major got interesting after heeseung switched majors is astonishing and equally debatable. 

“i don’t see why i should remember all that about ‘just a classmate’ but thanks for telling,” and before you know it, hanbin and miyeon are out of the class, on their way to wherever their next stop is. seriously, they’re having it easier than you. they go to games, movies, drink on weekends— something you haven’t had a taste on ever since the year started. somewhere, you could be blamed for your hectic schedules. studies, lab work, and thesis, they suffice for all the stress a student in post graduation studies can handle. volunteering and writing papers is on you, things wouldn’t have been arduous if you had decided to move slowly, one step at a time. sometimes, the hunger for more leaves you starving— quite literally. 

you spend an hour or so in the classroom along with a few other students, going through the same old routine of yours— watch videos, take notes, transfer them to your document in your own words and make it sound as innovative and convincing as possible. heeseung would be better at this than you. you’re exhausted to the point that accepting your defeat to him doesn’t even faze you anymore. he used to be a literature student, had english as a side course as an undergrad, he’s bound to be better than making essays sound they came right out of shakespeare's drafts, phrases and metaphors that would put fitzgerald to shame. 

you didn’t care about what went down in your classes until heeseung came along. call it craziness or the weird impression you have of students in your field, heeseung is far from the typical biotechnology student aiming for a postgraduate degree. he skips classes, plays basketball as if studies are a side business, and yet still manages to ace every test like an all-rounder. he shouldn’t even be in classroom, he should be in the labs, being the most important subject of studies. there are days you think of him as a social experiment— how quickly can a robot piss off a straight-A student with its impeccable skills— of course, the subjects wouldn’t know it’s a robot but you do, you’re almost convinced he is one. there’s no way he’s the top student with the amount of effort he puts in. one would claim that he studies after classes, at home slash dorms, but you can bet your life he doesn’t. there have been numerous instances when you’ve spotted him in the background of someone’s picture at a bar. he’s always with people, he has a humongous friend group, god knows how someone can live like that. at first, you were convinced he isn’t real, as worrisome as it sounds, and if he is real then he needs to be studied. 

which leads to what you’re doing right now— making your way to the basketball court. you don’t know how or why you’re doing it. you started with your studies, ended up thinking about heeseung, and now you’re on your way to the basketball court. although, it’s not half a bad idea, now that you think about it once again. 

your mind goes all the way back to when you watched him play for the first time, which was just a day ago actually. you don’t know anything about basketball, you don’t know much about heeseung either, but there’s one thing you’re sure of— heeseung is class and heeseung on the court, they’re different. you’ve noticed the way he clicks his pen relentlessly out of nervousness when he can’t solve a question, the way his back tenses up for a fraction of a second as soon as he’s asked to explain something. you’ve seen the hints of fear in his eyes when he asked you for notes last semester just three days before exams, scared that he would fail. heeseung isn’t sure of a lot of things and basketball isn’t one of those. 

“you’re not practising?” you ask him when you swim out of your thoughts, watching him climb up the bleachers and sit next to you. the court seems much better when it’s empty, free from the loud cheers of spectators, but that could be just you. 

“i was, as you see, but i saw you up here and thought it was time for a break,” you could see his teammates shake heads at him in disappointment, proceeding to continue with their practice. “what’s up?” 

you don’t respond to him and instead, take your time watching the others practise their shots. you watch the way one of them, who you think is taehyun, goes for a dunk, credits to hanbin for telling you names for a few shots. next to you, heeseung shouts out a tip or two for the boy for him to have an easier and effective approach at the said move. heeseung is good at dunks, you’ve heard it from students, you’ve seen it in the last match as well. just one shot was enough to tell you how good he is at it, it’s like basketball flows in his veins, like he can close his eyes and still manage to get a basket. 

your eyes ghost up the court and shift to him— there’s a content smile on his face, a relaxed posture as if there’s nothing for him to worry about. he takes a sip from his energy drink, you wonder if he, or anyone from the team, even gets time to have their meals. the expression on his face, it’s something you’ve never seen on him during lessons. it takes you back to the match, how he looked on court a day before, certain of every move he made, every step, every breath, without doubts, no second thoughts. you’ve done enough lab projects with heeseung to know how his hands shake when he’s preparing a slide or extracting a sample from a centrifuge, afraid that one wrong move and he would mess up the efforts of everyone in the group. that hesitation is nowhere to be seen on the court, gone like it has never existed. as if lee heeseung, the star student and player, has never had an encounter with nervousness and hesitation in his life. there’s a thin line between studies and sport for him, you finally realise it after much consideration. maybe, you’re going beyond your boundaries and making assumptions about a guy you barely know, even if you would never voice all these thoughts to him, you think you know the reason why there’s a different him on the stage when the ball is in hands.  

“how did you realise that you like basketball? you know, like it enough to devote so much of your time and have it alongside studies?” because even if biotech is something he’s studying and wants to make a career in, you guess that it’s just a source of satisfaction. in your eyes, through your perception, basketball is what makes him truly happy. 

you don’t know why someone wouldn’t pick satisfaction over happiness, especially when it’s coming with its hands full of opportunities to grab that bag.

“eh, i don’t have a sob story about it, if that is what you’re hoping for,” he chugs down the contents of the can before crushing it to the slightest, eyes squinting at the opposite wall before they move back to meet yours. “i never had to sit and think about basketball and studies, you know, as in how am i going to manage both of them. it just happened. i started playing basketball in middle school and it has been with me ever since,” 

heeseung’s side of the story is simple— a mediocre guy who was introduced to sports by his older brother and now, it’s one of the most important things in his life. middle school heeseung preferred staying in and playing video games instead of going out. in fact, middle school heeseung resembles you in all the ways that make him different from you right now. he has been good at learning and remembering things, he takes liking to things quicker than others do. basketball was like for him— easy, quick, fun, like a way to release all the stress after a long day at school. in heeseung’s story, there isn’t a main character who helped him choose the path he’s walking right now. instead, all he had was his family who introduced him to the various aspects and opportunities, and he simply ended up joining hands with the ones he liked, deciding to not let it go before the dead end. 

“i want to have that passion for things,” a soft laughter falls off your lips, it’s an attempt to make your sob story look less pitiful. “i used to paint and play piano— but painting, mostly, was really good at it. i learnt how to draw before i learnt how to tie my shoelaces. i couldn’t go a day without painting, but then highschool happened, i had pressure to do well, expectations from friends and family, had a dream outside painting, and now, i haven’t painted in years,” 

unlike heeseung, art started as more than just a side business to you. it’s not something you were introduced to in the middle of your life but rather is something you grew up with. you can blame or credit your mother for making paintings and having them in almost every corner of your house. it’s one of the reasons why at five years old you were beyond fascinated at all the patterns and colours. no one would’ve guessed that science would manage to sweep you off your feet right from the first grade, given the way your hands danced a duet to their own melody along with a paintbrush, as if each stroke has a conscious life of its own. no one would’ve guessed that your mother would tell you to stop painting and focus on studies, neither would they have known that she would become the reason why you no longer feel the same way about art. as stated before, life is unpredictable— because no one would’ve guessed that sitting here on the bleachers with heeseung and sharing a piece of your life would water the seeds of doubts in your heart, the ones that bloom at the sight of him.

he thinks your story is sad— with all due respect, without sarcasm, of course. it’s the best he can say. “i think it’s more of a ‘connection’ thing. you think you’ve lost the connection but you simply need to pickup a canvas and some colours to relink, if you get me,” because heeseung has had somewhat of a same experience, with music, and sitting front of a piano to play one of sibelius’ symphonies after senior year highschool finals was all it took him to find his lost interest in music. even though it’s nothing more than just a hobby, even if it's just something he considers as a way to pass time, heeseung knows how it feels to let go of something that is an integral part of one’s life. 

“it has always been about timing, heeseung,” you shake your head, trying to prove him wrong using your own arguments. “you think i haven’t tried painting again? i still have art supplies stacked up in my cupboard. it’s all about timing. when you like something, you only get a few chances to make sure it stays with you for a lifetime. how many people do you know who have given up on their hobbies because they claim to have lost interest? the thing is, the interest is still there, it’s the inability and fear of not being able to do it again. if you timing is off, no matter how much you try, things won’t work, and what you love will end up becoming a closed chapter of your life,” 

a pause. he sits still, eyes admiring your face while his mind is busy replaying your words in the back of his head. heeseung wonders how valid they are when it comes to people. he likes you, despite the constant denial which is only for show, by the way. it doesn’t take a scientist to read him. reading him isn’t even close to rocket science, he doesn’t understand how you haven’t caught up even after being incredibly smart. he has seen you hang out with hanbin— heeseung hates that guy, by the way. there’s no solid logic, it’s just that hanbin seems to be around you all the time and heeseung thinks of him as a leech sucking blood off its host. heeseung would never admit but it’s just his jealousy playing tricks on him, and even though it doesn’t look like you have any romantic feelings towards that guy, it would be fucking embarrassing for heeseung lose you to a guy who isn’t even half as qualified as him. ( yes, he is judging characters based on academic qualifications, no heeseung wouldn’t explain why )

“i like you,” and so, he lets his feelings win for once, deciding to let his heart take control instead, closing doors to any room for rational thinking like it never existed. “you said it was about timing, about trying hard enough and having only a few chances, perhaps, just one bullet, and i’m shooting my shot right now. i don’t want to remember you as a closed chapter of my life,” 

it would be such a waste of chemistry if you end up becoming just a closed chapter of his life. heeseung has done his research, more like reading tons of books and watching hundreds of movies to understand the potential that two academic rivals have. no one knows this, not even his closest friends, but heeseung’s favourite genre might simply be enemies to lovers and living that trope doesn’t sound as bad when it’s with you. he has spent hours thinking about the number of productive library dates you could have, working on projects together and brainstorming about the next biggest revolution in the RDT world, changing the public’s outlook at genetics forever. it sounds stupid and makes him sound even stupider, even as a lost cause, but heeseung doesn’t care. in his mind, it’s the best date someone could have. to live and become successful together, it sounds like a perfect plan to him.   

truthfully, you have always been a part of heeseung’s future, near or distant. he always always pictures you in his life, standing next to him during graduation, bidding goodbyes at farewell, exchanging shy greetings at reunions ten years later while reminiscing about everything he did to irritate you, that would sound embarrassing a decade later. your presence will always be significant to him, he just hopes to remember you as something more than just a rival, just a classmate he never really got to know, just a person he spent his two years hating upon, just a crush he didn’t get to confess to. 

the catch— heeseung has already started picturing his future and you are not even sure of your present— and while he is looking at you for an answer, you’re lost inside your head, looking for words to articulate. 

heeseung is someone you planned to stay away from for the rest of your university life. him stepping into your life already costs you a lot, namely: dropping in ranks and losing your infamous title. his actions cost you the time you could use to study, which is actually upon you because you can simply ignore him instead of spending hours on thinking about his hows, whens and whats. heeseung was supposed to be the academic rival slash classmate that he is, instead of allowing him to be something more, but beyond rivalry, feelings, etcetera. you knew the way you felt about him, even though you couldn’t be as certain as him, or even to claim you see him the same way he feels about you.

turns out, heeseung has always been sure of certain things in his life. 

“heeseung, i’m—”

“not sure? busy? stressed? i know you have a lot of things going on right now. take your time, study for the finals, finish your papers, sort out your own issues and then come back to me. i’ll be waiting,” it’s like he’s not only good at studying but also at reading minds, because heeseung seems to have guessed a part of exactly what you’ve been thinking. call it timing, jay calls him to get back to practice just a few seconds later— a perfect excuse to leave. “looks like my break is over,” 

you sit speechless, watching him walk away like an opportunity that just walked out of your hand. it feels like a slight defeat, like a test you failed when you could've scored better, if not a full score. it's funny because this wasn't a competition, you weren't rejected, more like you rejected him, but it still feels like he has the upper hand. it's funny and equally annoying because heeseung is supposed to be nothing more than just a nobody, somebody you aren't even supposed to spare two thoughts on, but here you are sitting with the guy with your feelings all over the place. 

“heeseung,” you stand up, your voice making him turn to look at you, both of you ignoring the sight of his teammates standing motionless in their positions, too stunned at your voice reverberating in the almost empty court. “let’s do this: if you manage to stand first in the finals, i’ll date you,”

a lowkey confession leading to a mere competition. his lips morph into a smirk, the ones he'd pass you before tests, an open challenge offered directly to you. “and if i don’t?”

and you mirror the same smirk back at him, you weren't going to back off simply because it's about the person you possibly have a crush on. “i become just a closed chapter of your life,” 

let the game begin. 

III. LIAR AND THE LOVER

despite heeseung’s sudden confession, you’re doing quite well, taking it better than expected. you had your moment of confusion back when the words of proposal fell off his lips— anyone would. after all, it’s lee heeseung we’re talking about. you can only imagine the saddened faces of his fangirls once they hear about him confessing to you.  

“jay told me you made a bet with heeseung?” hanbin’s question catches your attention as soon as he steps into the cafe, managing to turn a few heads towards you in the process. 

“you know jay?” 

he sits next to you, pulling out his laptop in a hurry. you can guess it’s because of his essay that’s due before six in the evening, one he could’ve written last night instead of getting wasted at his friend’s birthday gathering. “we share history, also, that’s not the answer to my question,” 

“it’s not a bet, ‘bin,” your words aren’t half wrong. “just a silly game, y’know? i didn’t even expect him to agree,” frankly, even you don’t know why or how you came up with such a bizarre idea in broad daylight. usually, people get bouts of excitement or embarrassment while confessing or being confessed to, but in your case, you jumped over the fence and made a proposal that you have only seen in fiction. 

“nah, no way you’re setting up your whole love life for failure and calling it a silly game,” the disappointment is evident in hanbin’s voice as his fingers danced over his keyboard, typing with a speed that could leave the trains behind. well, people tend to get like that when you have an assignment due and the deadline is just a few hours to go. you guess that he’s too busy to even listen to your reasoning, which is appreciated considering you have no reasoning as for why you did what you did. 

“you made a bet with heeseung,” you turn your head around, making the boy next to you do the same in the process. it’s miyeon— you should’ve seen it coming, honestly. your actions have consequences, as always, and one of them is dealing with her non-stop interrogation as if you’re the prime suspect for some gruesome crime and every question answered wrong opens gates to capital punishment. sometimes, you wonder why she didn’t go with studying law instead. 

“how do you know?”

“everyone knows, yn. it’s all they’ve been talking about,” she sighs, sitting opposite to you while taking a look at hanbin’s laptop. “even the football fanatics are talking about attending the game, god, hanbin we better hurry that day or we’re not getting a seat,” you should’ve seen it coming, honestly. miyeon might not be the most social person, but she definitely is the most updated. nothing escapes her, every tiny incident reaches her ears one way or another, and if not, then she just finds out about it using her sources, given you don’t know about her sources. it’s one of the reasons why you’re almost convinced that she runs a shady side business alongside her career in bioengineering. 

you take a sharp breath, going through the bunch of papers arranged in your file. “it’s not that serious. he confessed to me and i said i’d date him if he manages to secure the first position in the finals as well,” 

“you did that knowing he hasn’t been studying because of games while you’re studying like your life depends on it? there’s no way he’s going to be first, and everything aside, it was a wrong fucking move to play with his feelings,” play with his feelings— a pause, you don’t like how it sounds. you’re not playing with his feelings, that’s far from what you’re doing. it’s a game, a competition, new to your friends but you and heeseung have always been familiar with it. there’s an unspoken rule to test each other’s limits. the last time you and heeseung did something like this, it resulted with you writing ‘lee heeseung is smarter than ln yn,’ in bold on a sheet of paper and putting it on the notice board for the whole campus to see. in your eyes, it's history repeating itself yet again. sure, there is something else at stake, but the rules are the same, and you don’t know why your friends are acting like you’ve done something terribly unethical. 

“no one’s playing with his feelings, miyeon, and i know for a fact he’s making time to study for finals,” you clarify your side, slight annoyance evident in your voice. “besides, it doesn’t matter. it’s not like this is serious, i only did this to buy time to figure out my feelings while the game gives me a reason to study and not get distracted. you know how i get when i lose focus,” 

that could be the reasoning behind your actions, of course. even while sitting in a cafe with your friends and having a conversation that is about to make your blood boil, you’re thinking of heeseung in the back of your head. his words play over and over again like a broken record player, the image of him on court or studying pops up in your mind every now and then. obsession is a disease and you have it bad. it’s crazy to be thinking about someone so much without being absolutely floored for them. 

“so you’ll date him despite the outcome?” hanbin drags you out of the well of your thoughts, a question that leaves miyeon flabbergasted. 

“if i manage to figure out my feelings then of course,” a chuckle falls off your lips. “i’m telling you guys, it’s not that serious. i’m sure he knows it too,” and you’re really confident about this— it usually never ends on a good note. 

“and if he doesn’t? what if it’s serious for him? yn, you never know how one thing might affect someone, and feelings are not something to gamble on. you should’ve told him you need some time to think instead of giving him a false hope or whatsoever,” it’s now that you start having second thoughts. the next two hours go by amidst silence, a few small talks blooming here and there, but dissolving just as quickly within the ticking clock of deadlines for assignments and exams. 

it doesn’t take a scientist to know when miyeon is upset, for she isn’t the best at masking her emotions. through the sneaky glances at her that you’ve stolen over time, you can tell she’d rather spend the evening in silence than talk to you, which is a challenge with herself because she’s really talkative. it takes two to sing a duet, two to play and game, two people to make a relationship work. heeseung and you— the two of you are enough to make decisions for yourselves, decide what’s right and wrong and, something about miyeon questioning your choices doesn’t sit right with you. 

too many cooks spoil the broth, it’s the principle of your life, the words you’ve been following to this date. it was your decision to have a few friends instead of a fifty— quality over quantity, as one might call it— and there has never been a moment when you regretted having a handful of people to call friends. instead of consulting too many people about your major in university, you simply went with what your parents and homeroom teacher suggested. life has been good so far. the more the better is something that isn’t applicable in your case. instead of telling everyone about your dilemma regarding heeseung, you decided to keep it to yourself, eventually opening up to heeseung when the time comes. you’re doing just fine on your own, it doesn’t make sense to you why a third person’s opinion is making you doubt your decision making abilities that you’ve been so proud of. 

this is not a gamble, you tell yourself, it’s a fair play. you gave him options, he made the choice, it’s consensual. you didn’t force him into this game, he didn’t pressure you to respond, it’s a harmless competition that’s bound to have a positive outcome. you even spend a good fifteen minutes wondering if you should go back to heeseung and take it all back in case he finds it insensitive to put his feelings on the line. doing it in person seemed impossible so you resorted to texts, typing and deleting your message before giving up altogether. in your head, this was an okay decision. a sweet confession, a person with unsure feelings, a harmless competition. 

you hope it doesn’t backfire ten times worse. 

. 

. 

.

three days later, you find yourself on the way to basketball club rooms once again. you checked the court, it was empty, and your only option was to check the club slash locker rooms if you wanted to see heeseung. okay, first things first, you don’t miss him— maybe a little, but it’s because you miss hearing his weird ass answers in class even though they’re right. heeseung just has an unique approach to things, in other words he simply knows how to buy time and go in detail about things he’s an expert at to impress the professors. however, that doesn’t seem to be the case for him because he has approached you six times in the past three days, asking if you’re free to hangout. 

you like to think he misses you or that his requests were because he wanted to make sure you don’t study and lose to him, either could be true. knowing heeseung, he’s capable of going both ways. whatever may be the reason, you turned him down all six times, and it’s not because you have something against him— of course, you don’t. that’s common knowledge by now— your reason for not hanging out with him is studies, as expected of you honestly. the bet aside, you had way too many chapters to learn before exams and all heeseung ever does is take up your headspace everytime you sit down with your books spread open. avoiding him in thoughts wasn’t possible so avoiding him in person was your last straw. 

which leads to the present : you rushing to heeseung, again,  not because you miss him but because you need his help, though one of the reasons could be that you feel bad for turning him down six times. you can hear muffled laughter from a distance as you approach the club rooms, a bang against one of the lockers, a loud profanity that follows afterwards. their humour is beyond your level of understanding. 

“heese— oh, um—” you greet and turn away just as quickly when you realise that one of them is shirtless. it’s obviously heeseung, you can’t mistake his face for someone else. and you’re guessing he’s the last one to come out of shower because everyone else is dressed, maybe he’s someone who likes to take his time showering— you seriously need to stop thinking before your imagination goes bonkers. “sorry, can you come outside for a second when you’re ready?”

another round of laughter follows, more like teasing remarks because you can swear you heard a few of them refer to you as his girlfriend, and it gets you a little flustered, you won’t lie. you even hear one of them yell ‘ooh, get it, heeseung,’ as heeseung walks out, fixing his t-shirt, responding back with his middle finger up at whoever made the comment. 

“hi,” his voice isn’t much louder than a whisper, eyes fluttering between you, the floor, and his teammates who pretend to not look when you peek inside. there’s a soft smile on his face— it’s cute, you think, and then rethink what you just thought. heeseung is, well, not cute— usually. he’s good-looking, handsome, hot, sexy, even, since you’re on the topic of finding adverbs that suit heeseung. cute is rarely one of them, you don’t think you’ve seen him as flustered as he is right now— rubbing his nape, a tint of pink on his cheeks, avoiding eye-contact— that’s far from the heeseung you’ve been seeing for past two semesters. 

“hi, can you send me the pdf of the extra set of questions that prof sent last week? i think i accidentally deleted it while clearing up my storage,” you get straight to the point, trying not to waste much of your precious time. “i could’ve texted you but figured you’d be too busy with practice to check messages,” you remember what happened last time; he took six days to reply to your texts. you’re quite a patient person otherwise but in this case, you’re in dire need of questions to practise for tomorrow’s mock. 

“ah, sure, give me a minute,” and he pulls out his phone, scrolling through an ocean of files and documents to look for the one you need. you do think he’s gorgeous though, it’s a well known fact that he’s stunning, but you think this look of heeseung surpasses the other ones quite easily— hairs wet after shower, partially covering his forehead, a white t-shirt that’s slightly wet near the shoulders because of the water dripping down— you wish he’d at least dry his hair before catching a cold. “actually, i would have replied to your texts if you had— oh, yes, there you go. do you want me to email it to you or…?”

“oh, just texts would be fine, thank you,” 

“done,” a pause, you feel his eyes on you as you go through the pdf to take a brief look at the contents. “do you want to go for a walk? or are you getting back to studies?” at this point, you’re sure that question is a way to tease you about your obsession with studies. heeseung may think you’re overdoing it because you want to win, but it’s no more than the normal amount of hours you spend studying. he never paid you any attention to care about that. 

“no, i’m done for today, actually,” and that’s a big fat lie considering you were planning to solve some questions and revise two chapters before leaving the campus, but it’s fine. you feel bad for rejecting him six times either way. 

never in your life did you imagine that you’d be going on a walk with heeseung. it’s nothing serious, you just didn’t think there would be a day where you two would have normal people conversation while doing normal people activities instead of trying to disparage each other based on grades and academic performances. to think about it now, heeseung isn’t half bad, it was all in your head. it’s not like you had vile assumptions about him, you did find him annoying and way too prideful— anyone like him would be, actually, and heeseung is still quite humble about his achievements because if it was someone else, they sure would have made it everyone’s problem. 

actually, heeseung is insufferable as well. you remember your first encounter with him, first and so far, the worst— in the laboratory. you and heeseung sat next to each other and when the professor asked him to briefly explain his experiment, you realised it’s oddly similar to yours. you had accused him of cheating, like any sane person would, which led to him getting two scores less than a perfect. he only lost one score because of you, actually, and that too because you were professor’s favourite and heeseung was new to the department. the other score, you don’t know where he missed, but that incident led to heeseung deleting your powerpoint thirty minutes before your presentation, which led you stealing his notes and selling it some junior through an undercover twitter account, which led to the professor asking you to help him with notes before exams, and everything ultimately led to the realisation that heeseung is actually quite decent if you behave with decency as well. the give and take is serious for him, because he gave you notes and so, you had to take his offer of going on a walk. even though it seemed like you had a choice, a part of you knew it was a mirage. you would’ve ended up on a walk with heeseung one way or another. 

“i come here whenever i’m tired or just not feeling well,” he says and you wake up from your daydream of memories you shared with heeseung. the way he phrases his words makes it sound like he has brought you to one of his most secret locations, one that no one knows except taehyun, probably, considering they’re close friends, but in reality, it’s the playground you pass by every single day on your way from your apartment to university. 

“oh, are you okay? are you nervous for tomorrow’s match?” you continue, deciding you shouldn’t ruin his favourite place for him. honestly, no one would’ve guessed that lee heeseung would come to a children’s park on bad days. 

“actually, this walk was for you, you looked like you’d pass out if you spent another hour in front of books,” and you’re done, standing speechless with your eyes wide open at his words that he says with a victorious smile on his face. “you should start taking breaks, yn. it’s not a bad thing to go home earlier when you’re tired,” 

he’s right, oh, you know he’s absolutely right about everything he just said, from passing out to going home. a part of him probably even feels glad to have you out on his little walk with him, you’re getting your well deserved rest, thanks to him. heeseung might even ask if he can walk you home considering you’re ‘done for today,’ which is very thoughtful of him— but what does this make you? a liar? miyeon was right, you’re gambling, even though it’s not that serious. so far, you’ve lied about being done with your studies and the bet you made with heeseung because at this point, it’s more like a prank, except it’s not funny and that it might end up with him getting upset with you because tomorrow is basketball tournament’s finals and you’re here wasting his time, all because you lied. 

a liar and a lover, on a date at children’s park— match made in theatre club, you’d say. 

“are you sure this is not your way to manipulate into not studying and losing to you, just so you can date me?” you try to play it cool, knowing very well that it can be one of his tricks or whatsoever. after all, it’s the same heeseung who made you trip in front of your class just three days after being transferred. 

“i was being genuine but it doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” of course, it doesn’t. he gets to win, after all. “can i walk you home?” just as you had guessed. 

“i would love to go home but my bag is still in the library,” you had considered taking it with you, actually, but dismissed the thought once you realised you had to come back to the library and continue with your studies. albeit, you’re not studying, that’s on you for lying into oblivion and giving into his requests.  

once again, you two are back to walking, this time back to the university campus. it’s nice, having a walk with heeseung, it’s sweet, slow, comforting, like slow music flowing around and engulfing you in its arms. the unsaid words are weighing on your shoulders, you can feel the pressure, but it’s not awkward. above the busy hustle of the city and blaring horns, it’s a quiet world with heeseung, it’s nice, like a warm hug after a long day. you didn’t think you had it in yourself to spend a minute next to him without overthinking and possibly starting a banter. you didn’t think heeseung had it in him either, to make a walk feel so close to home.  

“so, how are you coping knowing you’re going to lose once again?” and, it’s back again. everything is a hoax actually— his looks? a trap. his smile? a trap. it’s all a facade because once he opens his mouth, nothing but horseshit comes out of it. 

“very well, in fact, because i know i’m the one getting that first spot this time,” call it overconfidence but you really do think you’ll get your title back this time. you’ve been studying well and hard enough, solving questions and going through every extra set of notes and exercises your professor sent. although, you would claim to beat heeseung had you been prepared or not because it’s fun messing with him. 

“i’d rather have you show some mercy, in that case,” before you know it, you’re already standing in front of the library. “academic defeat and a heartbreak, it already sounds painful. i hope you go easy on me,” it’s sarcastic, of course, all these saccharine words of confessions made you forget how he is under the layers of smiles and winks that adorn his face. a session full of silence follows, the comforting tranquillity morphing into something tensed as he steps closer, your breath getting caught up in your throat as your mind dysfunctions— it’s the effect he has. 

“heeseung,” you put a finger on his lips— the only thing between him and you, the only thing helping you stay sane and composed at the moment, because only you know the struggle of pulling yourself together while standing inches away from heeseung as he grabs your wrist and plants a soft kiss on your finger before removing it from his lips. 

“why, that’s unfair. you get to see me anytime you want while i have to wait because you’re busy studying, you even get to see me shirtless, and i can’t even get a kiss?” and you hate the look in his eyes, you hate how close he is standing and how it makes your heart go crazy. this isn’t even the beginning and you hate how you feel like you’ve already lost, and you hate how confident he is with every breath he breathes against your lips. “just kidding, see you tomorrow,” 

and you hate how this is where you realise that you’ve fallen deep, and you’ve fallen hard. 

IV. PLANET TO A SUN

heeseung has been thinking about the walk for an hour and twenty-seven minutes— actually more, ever since the moment he got home last night, but that is how long he has been practising for, eyes on the ball but mind revolving around you like a planet to a sun. you had texted him about a rule this morning— no kissing before finals. actually no kissing before we start dating, lee— your exact words. they have been holding him back from thinking straight, even made him practise an apology while looking in the mirror if in case his actions offended you in any way. lost in thought, heeseung manages to get another shot in. that’s twenty-third in a row ever since he stepped on the court, which is unbelievable, even for him. 

“is it just me or did heeseung’s performance improve overnight?” jake looks up at jay, fastening his shoelace, a chuckle escaping his lips that goes unnoticed. 

the latter offers a hand to jake, helping him stand as they share a laugh before jay passes him the ball. “well, of course it will. he has to impress his girlfriend today at finals,”

“she’s not my girlfriend,” heeseung grunts almost as if hearing you and the word girlfriend in the same sentences cuts ten years from his lifespan. he knows it doesn’t, he’d kill to call you his’. the reason behind his edgy behaviour is your text and the weird rule you’ve inserted in an already weird bet— it’s not like he minds it, the bet, obviously. heeseung definitely minds not getting to kiss you for the next few weeks. 

“yet,” jay clarifies, emphasising enough for the world to understand that his words are supposed to be in italics. “she will be if you score more than her in finals, which i don’t think is possible because unlike you, she has been studying all day everyday. i don’t know how she’s still alive,” and jay isn’t half bad student himself. juniors in business have his name residing on the tips of their tongues. he simply thinks you’re a freak for being in no clubs and not participating in anything that doesn’t involve studying. 

“she’s the top student for a reason,” jake adds. 

“i am the top student,” and hearing his friends call you the top students hurts heeseung’s ego a little bit. crushes aside, you’re his rival before his girlfriend, and you’re not even his girlfriend. you’re basically just a rival. “also, it’s not hard to study all day if you’re used to it,” 

and jay scoffs in disbelief. “right, you would know something about it, lee i can’t go a day without playing basketball heeseung,” 

“hey, everyone,” your voice reverberating in the court is what stops heeseung from responding to jay with a snarky remark. “just wanted to wish you all goodluck. i really hope you guys win the tournament or else, it’s going to be hard for heeseung to deal with two loses after i beat him in finals as well,” 

heeseung rolls his eyes in disbelief, you hear taehyun exclaim that he has been team yn since the very first day, a claim that few others proceed to back up, especially sunghoon, with his own lore of how he prays everyday for you to win the bet with heeseung. you’re honoured to receive such support, to some extent. a part of you still wishes for the whole thing to be a secret restricted to just heeseung and you but again, it was your fault for placing bets in court, in front of the entirety of the basketball team to witness, even their coach. 

“you’re a little too confident, don’t you think so?” he smirks, taking a few steps towards you with the ball supported between his arms and torso. “let me know where you’d like to go for our first date,” and it turns out heeseung is just as confident about winning the bet as you, perhaps even more. you are not surprised, being defending champions does that to people, or so you believe.

“mhm, let’s have you score a date first, lee,” you would have loved to talk more but decide to bid your goodbyes as soon as hanbin’s message pops up on your phone, the little scowl on heeseung’s face going unnoticed the moment he sees his name on your phone screen. heeseung would never in his wildest dream confess to being jealous— it doesn’t even make sense for him to be jealous of hanbin because he confessed to you, and you seem to like him back. his worries are pointless just like the useless art projects his art teacher used to assign in middle school. 

your fingers dance on the keyboard of your phone as you reply to hanbin, the subtle taps synchronous with your steps with you rushing across the quadrangle, taking the nearest flight of stairs to the library. you wanted to spend the day at your apartment since classes are suspended for the rest of the day on account of the match. however, hanbin managed to convince you into coming to the library to help him with a few assignments here and there. you’re not opposed to studying on days-off, in fact you think it’s better since you get all twenty-four hours to yourself instead of investing any of it in classes. the match gave you an excuse to call in for a break, or an excuse to take your time choosing the outfits as if you’re the main character on such a big day. 

the librarian gestures to you to slow down the moment you almost avoid slipping on the tiled floor, in the process of holding the door frame to stop yourself, an embarrassed apology makes its way from you to her as you spot hanbin in the further corner with his airpods plugged in. your first instinct is to scare him from behind but the thought leaves your mind as soon as you remember that you’re in a library, and getting kicked out on a day that has been treating you well so far doesn’t sound so smart. 

so, you settle with approaching normal, instead of pulling random stunts, pulling out the chair opposite to him quietly to not make any sounds, mumbling a soft ‘hi’ as he takes out one of his airpods. “where’s miyeon?” 

“sick, she’s skipping today’s match as well,” hanbin replies, eyes fixed on the notes he's copying from the laptop to loose sheets of paper, before looking up at you with another question on the tip of his tongue. “are you two still not talking?” 

“we did, none of us brought up what happened that day, though,” you shrug as if it doesn't bother you anymore, as if you don't want it to bother you more than it already does.

miyeon and you have known each other since university, she was a senior in undergrad course who was forced by financial circumstances to skip one academic year, thus rejoining in third year along with you and hanbin. seeing her was less frequent while she was still a senior, although you're not sure if you've spent more than three days away from her ever since postgrad school started. a heavy tension masks all your conversations with her, over texts or in person, and even though you're trying to act like the small talks with her don't hurt you, a part of you is starting to miss the best friend you used to talk to all night, about wasted matters and sharing useless gossip.

silence fills in for the lack of words between you and hanbin and you allow it to do so, deciding not to disturb the decorum of the library anymore. you scroll through your phone mindlessly, there’s nothing to look at except people going crazy about the evening's match. you even manage to stumble upon a thread of arguments featuring students of your university and the one the team is going against. it’s all empty threats, seriously, ‘kys’ and ‘ur mom’s in my bed’ aren’t even insults at this point. they’re funny, sometimes, but you’ll never understand why or how they ended up being insults. ( honestly, you don’t see the potential ) 

“are you serious about heeseung?” a crack in the ice, hanbin's question catches you off guard, with a number of questions running back and forth in your mind before you settle with the one to respond with in return.

you blink in confusion. “i guess so, why?” 

“nothing, it’s just i never expected it to be him, y’know, considering your history,” you think it's unavoidable, questions along these lines, they would've been asked sooner or later. truthfully, even you didn't expect yourself to fall for heeseung.

your history, what even is there to call history except blood and war? both you and heeseung have been up each other's neck from the moment your gazes collided. it sounds like a stupid beef between highschool students, almost embarrassing now that you both are nearing post graduation. with all the days that you’ve spent thinking about ways to get on his nerves, or worse— ruin his projects, it wasn’t just you who resorted to ruining each other’s hard work— no one would have known you and heeseung would ever end up on this note, with him chasing you and you pinning for him, all under the blankets of a silly bet.

“well, as i always say, hanbin, life is unpredictable,” there’s a smile dancing on your lips, a dazzling hint of factuality in your eyes. “besides, he’s a nice guy behind all the annoying things he does. i think he's pretty serious about me, or us, too,”

hanbin has noticed the way you smile at your phone. it doesn’t always happen, only when you’re talking with miyeon or a few friends from highschool, now heeseung ranks up on that list as well. he’d be lying if the uneasiness doesn’t bother him, it’s bound to surface when he remembers all the nights you spent complaining about heeseung. actually, the rant session included hanbin, you and miyeon, but she would rather go to sleep than listen to you complain like a child for hours on roll, leaving you and hanbin driving the conversation. he has lost count of the amount of times you’ve ended up crying in the process, or the amount of times he has hung up on you only to show up at your place late at night to make sure you’re doing okay, and the nights you two have spent watching movies and falling asleep on the couch, followed by the mornings gone by with miyeon being salty over the fact that none of you invited her to your impromptu nightover. 

the thought of heeseung confessing to you still surprises hanbin, it’s one of the things he deemed as impossible since forever. and he can go, warn heeseung about hurting you, dropping all sorts of threats at the boy. hanbin can go on for hours about how he would make heeseung’s life a living hell if he ever broke your heart. he can prove the righteous friend that he is, but at the end of day, he would always be the third person between you and heeseung. hanbin can only assume so much about you two, not even sure if all of it is right. he can only wish so much for you to have eyes for someone else. 

and so, all he does is shoot a smile at you. “i hope he is,” 

. 

. 

.

the only time you step out of the library is exactly three hours and thirty three minutes later, to sprint towards the basketball knowing that you absolutely cannot afford losing seats in the first two rows. fortunately, or unfortunately enough, you’re not the only student going crazy about the game. you can swear at least a dozen came out of the library right after you, even though all of them may not attend the game.

you’re already running late— well, still twenty minutes early but that doesn’t give you much time to meet the team and secure the front row seats. and meeting the team is an excuse, let’s be honest. you want to meet heeseung, have a quick private talk, kiss him good luck, you don’t know; you wouldn’t. your head is in a mess, behind you hanbin is yelling for you to slow down as you run down the stairs. half of you is worrying about seats and the other half is wording her sentences out for you to say when you meet heeseung, and the team. you can wish them all the luck in the world, after all, it’s the university team and you would love to see them win. the whole craze about sports doesn’t feel real and worth the hype but things start coming full circle when you’re the one watching. slowly, as one would expect, but you are starting to understand why everyone goes bonkers during tournament season. 

“damn, slow down,” hanbin huffs, grabbing your arm for you to slow down. “it’s not like they wouldn’t start without you,” 

“that’s the problem. what if they start without me?” but your legs wouldn’t rest before arriving at the court. you know your words sound funny, painting you as if the result of today’s match depends on you. it feels crazy to be this excited about a mere basketball match, nonetheless you know it’s not the match you’re actually looking forward to. “besides, i’m more worried about seats,” 

“i asked hao to save two for us. he’s friends with heeseung, i think he will do that much for his friend’s girlfriend or whatsoever,” you see him roll his eyes at his own words, proceeding to slide his hands into yours before continuing on your way to the venue, this time a little slower. 

you have heard about hao from hanbin and miyeon a few times. he’s pursuing a masters in music, wants to teach violin professionally according to hanbin. miyeon has even attended one of his recitals last autumn, something from sibelius, if you remember correctly. he is popular, and you see the depths of his popularity as soon as you spot him on the bleachers, surrounded by people left and right, one of them trying to grab a seat next to him before he points at you and hanbin, and the crowd goes mild, ultimately dissolves as the players step in. 

“i didn’t know heeseung had a girlfriend,” you don’t know what you were expecting, perhaps a few words of greetings, hi’s and hello’s since you two are meeting for the first time. anything, except that question. 

“believe me, i didn’t either,” and why even is heeseung going around telling everyone that you’re his girlfriend?        

the court breaks into cheers as soon as the game commences and yet, it feels a little quite. perhaps, it’s miyeon’s absence getting to you. had it been her next to you instead of hanbin and hao— who are busy amongst themselves by the way, talking about anything but the match— she would’ve been eating snacks non-stop, giving you a little talk on every player, like a resume. it’s take her fifteen minutes to give you summaries on players from each team, their achievements, girlfriends and probably even mothers, who knows. although, you haven’t attend many games with miyeon to pinpoint every good and bad thing about her impromptu presentation, her unofficial commentary helped you sit throughout the match. it feels incomplete without her, not just the game but days in general. it’s definitely her absence making your surroundings feel quieter. 

so, long story short, you don’t have a clue of what’s happening. well, you do, a little. you know what a dunk and a three pointer is besides the names of players on your university team, but that basically sums up your knowledge about basketball. all sorts of voices are mingling in the air but you’re busy following the ball around the court with your gaze, occasionally cursing and clapping when the team misses a close basket or scores a comparatively difficult basket. the tension between the two teams keeps rising as the game continues. you notice sunghoon groan in disappointment as one of the players from the opposite team gets in a banked shot from the wings, scoring two points for the team. a part of the crowd goes quieter at jay’s failed attempt to save the score for his team, beomgyu patting on jay’s back while muttering something along the lines of ‘good job.’ involuntarily, your eyes travel to heeseung, whose expression stiffens at the sight of the scoreboard displaying a two-point lag.

a time out call follows as the players move back to their respective ends, and it physically hurts you to see the difference in atmosphere between the two teams, or the frowns on the faces of players on your university team. for a second, you even consider walking down to them as they gather around the coach, grabbing water bottles and towels while nodding at the coach’s words between heavy breaths. you catch jake looking in your direction for a brief second, a smile makes its way to your lips before he responds with one as well, proceeding to nudge heeseung’s arm and pointing in your direction. his actions are left with no response— it hurts a little, although you are aware that anything else falls after winning the match on his priority list— and they get back on the court as the game resumes. 

“they need to catch up soon,” hanbin mutters, taking a look at the clock. and even if it’s just a two point difference, you’re starting to understand why it creates a huge gap. it’s almost like scores on a test. going from eighty-three to ninety then hundred is easier than going from ninety-eight to hundred. greater differences are easier to overcome; for you have so many rooms for improvisation and thus, so many chances at closing the gap. the closer you are to a perfect score, the narrower are the chances and it’s almost impossible to pin-point and work on every single weakness of yours within those two points. you’re pretty sure your words would hardly make sense to anyone else, but nonetheless you understand why everyone on the court looks more attentive, probably like meerkats on the lookout for preys and predators. 

much to your disappointment, the play continues with the rivals dominating the court, giving low to zero chances for the opposition to get their hands on the balls. you even see a few of them trying to provoke heeseung, the latter trying his best to not react but you’re afraid he would start throwing punches if another one of the players passed by him with his middle finger up heeseung’s face. one of them, who you assume is the captain judging from the way he has been directing his team, goes in for a hook, immediately getting blocked by taehyun as the court bursts into loud cheers once again. 

“that was a little too far for a hook,” hao comments, and you nod as if you understand his words and know exactly how a hook is supposed to be. you didn’t even know about a hook until now, and you’re still not sure what it is since all the shots look almost the same to you. 

from that second onwards, it felt as if the control transferred to heeseung’s teams as they transition quickly from defence to offence, making quick passes and running the court, practically catching the opposite team off guard. jay passes the ball to jake, who takes a leap from half court, driving towards the unguarded basket. a quick layup using the backboard, as you hear hanbin name the shot, and basically everyone runs to jake for scoring two points for the team as the scoreboards displays a sour tie. it’s a seemingly easy match after that, especially when the players look like they’re back into the game. sunghoon passes the ball to heeseung who goes for another layup and fails, much to his despair, before going in for a dunk and scoring yet another basket for the team, leading it by two points. you see him passing a cocky smirk at the player from before as jake pats him in the back with heeseung almost stumbling in the process. 

heeseung shoots you a wink before focusing on sunghoon’s words as they get back into position, and even amidst the butterflies you got by his recent actions, you don’t miss the way he stretches his fingers, ring-finger specifically, pointing something about the movements to jay before getting his focus back to the game; and you just hope it isn’t what you’re thinking it is. 

it’s a slow game after that, no points scored, four fouls with two of them back to back, one by each team respectively. the frustration increases on the court, evident in each step taken by the players, groans and sighs fill the atmosphere and get louder than the cheers that have gone quieter once again. it isn’t until a few minutes later that all the players run to the front court as soon as they see an opportunity for a fast break with taehyun taking the lead, passing the ball to jay just a few seconds after, who passes it to heeseung— and call it the lack of efficiency or bad timing, heeseung bumps into one of the players from opposite team, an uneven balance, and falls directly on his right knee, as one of the opposite players throws the ball off-bounds to stop the play. 

the medics take him to the benches, bringing ice packs and everything else before escorting him inside. you considered following him inside before hanbin tells you that the officials aren’t letting anyone meet him, probably until they receive updates of his situations. you bite the inside of your cheeks in nervousness, palms sweating as if you’re about to appear for an exam you weren’t informed about until five minutes ago, or maybe it’s even worse. the murmurs from the crowd or the group of girls behind you, to be more specific, do nothing but make you feel more anxious. zhang hao, being a sports medicine student, tries to give you an insight on heeseung’s injury, telling you that even if he fell directly on his knee and it could result in a patella fracture, or perhaps just dislocation— words that compel you to yell at him to shut up before he ensures that heeseung will be fine. hanbin does that for you, noticing your slightly panicked state, telling hao to talk about anything but anatomy of how badly a simple injury can affect a player, and when sunghoon and taehyun return to the officials with an update on heeseung and a pale face, you knew you had to run to your heeseung as if it’s the end of the world. 

“heeseung,” you breathe out, stepping aside to let the nurse from the infirmary leave before you walk closer to him. the awkwardness between you and other players, namely jay, jake and beomgyu, besides the coach, rings all the bells to remind you that coming here was probably a bad idea. well, of course, you like heeseung and are worried for him, but the tension in the air makes you feel like you showed up uninvited. “are you okay?” 

you ask nonetheless, voice close to a whisper, as you stand at a distance, looking at the bruise on his knee. the smell of antiseptic spray fills your lungs, nose scrunching at the way you could almost taste the diclofenac at the back of your mouth. 

“not really,” he inhales sharply, exhaling a reply once everyone left, knowing they had a game to get back to. “look at you, are you worried for me?”

“i’m regretting coming here now,” liar. and then you let the silence carry the conversation with itself for the next few minutes. you don’t know what to say— what can you say? all you do is sit next to him, hands brushing against his as his winces at the slightest touch. heeseung opened his mouth to say something before dismissing his words with a heavy sigh the very next moment. you almost hold his hand— almost, thinking of holding it ever so carefully as if it’s glass with thousands of cracks, and then you’d kiss it ever so delicately, you did it— almost, but then, it’s just you getting upset over the fact that he played even after hurting his hand.

“so, they’re benching you,” you say in an attempt to strike a conversation, a little conflicted with your choice of words, wondering if he even wants to hear about something related to the match at the moment. 

“of course,” he says it like a matter of fact, a fact whose impact doesn’t seem to touch him. “please tell me they have jeno substituting for me. i’ve barely been getting updates in the group chat,” the least he expected was for one of the substitute players to keep him updated about the game through texts, and heeseung planned to get back to the court until you showed up, taking a seat next to him on the benches in the locker room. you don’t understand why they didn’t take him to the infirmary, and decided to think it’s because locker rooms are closer and if there’s anything heeseung should not be doing right now, it’s moving his injured leg. 

you shrug. “i don’t know, i’ll ask hanbin,”

“thanks,” and even though heeseung isn’t really fond of your friend for reasons that are widely known, at least amidst his friend group, he really hopes hanbin is of some use. 

it’s quiet now. you can hear faint cheers buried in the layers of walls and rooms that stand between the court and the locker room, a few muffled footsteps filling up any spaces left in the air, here and there. you assume it’s his fans trying to check up on him, as annoying as it sounds to you for you’d rather have this moment with him all to yourself. you hear him sigh heavily once every few minutes, trying to ball his injured fingers up in a fist to allow the slightest of moments and ensure healthy circulation, a soft hiss leaving his lips at the sensation of striking pain shooting up his nerves. unlike heeseung, your attention shifts to his injured knee with a faint chill running down your spine as you look at his bruise, which now looks more bluish than it was when you had arrived, signifying the possibly alarming amount of blood that has now clotted in the tissues. 

“you can cry,” nudge him with your shoulders and heeseung directs you to the most disgusted face in return. “what? it’s the finals and you’re injured so you won’t be able to play today. any normal person would sob their eyes out,” 

“i’m not a kid, yn,” he nudges back, a chuckle slipping off his lips. 

“trying to act all cool but you’re probably going to cry yourself to sleep for days, or even weeks,” he holds out his hand for you to hold it as you stand up, an action you give into without opposition, intertwining your fingers with his. there’s a smug smile on your face and he sees it as well, although only you know the way your heart is somersaulting at the way your hands fit his’ like pieces of a puzzle. “i know what you are, heeseung,”

he scoffs at your words, hands still entwined, a lovesick glow in his eyes— it’s your first time seeing this side of him, you’re glad to be one of the people to see it. silence has never felt so comfortable to you. the distant noise from court feels like it rushed on its way to you and heeseung, and stopped at the doors, as if you two are beyond its reach. you might never say it to him, but everything seemingly ceases to exist when you’re with him, and the world feels timeless. it’s embarrassing, cringe, and it’s making your heart beat faster with the way he looks at you. “you need to shut up,”

“make me?” a quick response, one that was supposed to be a joke, a joke which was supposed to be accompanied by laughter and brushed off as another baseless comment, but another second passes as you continue to look into his eyes, and you realise you’re actually considering it— leaning in towards him while giving his hand a light tug to pull him towards you the slightest, your other hand cupping his face as your gaze ghosts up his eyes and settles on his lips. when it comes to him, rationality is out of the window and your lips are on his’ planting the softest kiss at the corner of his mouth before pulling away like nothing ever happened.  

a pause; you could hear the silence ringing in your years, eyes fixed over him as if you’re spilling all your secrets to him, waiting for him to take a hint. “what even happened to the ‘no kissing before finals’ rule?’”

and you realise you had actually forgotten about it, for better and never for the worse, because as you said and as he repeated, it’s all about timing. empty locker rooms, quiet hallways with not a soul around, your hand in his, his eyes on you— the timing couldn’t be better, and you know better than messing up and letting heeseung become just a closed chapter of your life. “yeah, i could care less about that,”

there are a lot of things you could care less about, like the cold metal that stings against your back as he pushes you against the lockers, or the fact that anyone could walk in, any minute; you don’t care, don’t know. his lips are on yours and his hands are on your waist, it feels euphoric the way his lips move in synchrony with yours, fitting like puzzle pieces. heeseung tugs you closer by your waist, a faint gasp escaping your mouth that dissolves immediately into your breaths mingling together. it’s intoxicating and is making you go insane, the way he manages to sweep you off your feet with the smallest of actions and simplest of words— from the very first day. 

heeseung was right, and you as well, it’s all about timing. from the day you first looked at him in a seminar, to the day he switched to biotech— you plan on asking him why because so far, all your guesses seem implausible— down to the day he confessed, leading up to this moment with you pressing against the lockers and his lips against against yours. heeseung sighs softly, cupping your cheeks and tilting your head to deepen the kiss, and you could feel the heat of his breath against your lips when you pull away just when it was about to get better, avoiding his lips when he leans in to chase yours barely a millisecond later. your eyes shift down to his hand, one that has been injured during the game, and you proceed to hold it carefully, brushing your lips over the bruise lightly before adorning it with feathery kisses as his other hand travels down to your waist once again, pulling you closer. “you should go easy on yourself,”

you whisper the exact same words he had told you a day ago, traversing your eyes back towards him while your gazes have a conversation so foreign, as if it’s only for the silence to understand. and it’s quite literally just the two of you basking in silence as he rests his head against the crook of your neck, planting a few kisses here and there before pulling you even closer, as if you were going to disappear any second. “i think, i’m in love with you,” 

and timing be damned— because heeseung confesses to you once again, and then he’s kissing you once again, slowly, sweetly, in love, and timing doesn’t even matter because every second feels right with him. with the same air of delighted indifference he comes to know well in the gleam of your touch and the curl of your lips, you simply kiss him back as if to say, hate to admit, but i’m in love with you too. and timing really be damned because you hear loud rounds of cheers as you feel his shoulders stiffen. a slight disconnection between you and heeseung makes you wonder if he’s thinking about the results of the game, which is inevitable, but this is about you and him, and nothing else. you hear the notifications from his phone go off, hinting that the match is probably over, and you pull him into another kiss, another round of selfishness guised as an outlet for him to forget about the game, another round of messy make outs, tasting the freedom of ignorance. 

and then you don’t hear from heeseung again.  

V. OBJECT OF ALL DESIRES

days without heeseung feel like they’re forty-eight hours long.

you think it’s a disease or some sort of withdrawal syndrome. this isn’t your first time without him, in fact, you used to do just fine without him in your life until you let him in. at this point, it isn’t even about not being able to see him— heeseung has been absent for almost seven days. you even asked jay about him to see if he has been in contact with any of his teammates but much to your disappointment, he disappeared off the face of earth like he never existed. taehyun has constantly been reminding you to not fret too much, knowing that heeseung gets a little dramatic after losing matches. you can take his word, obviously, a friend from highschool would know heeseung better than a girl who started talking to him normally barely weeks ago, although you couldn’t help but worry about him as seconds passed like water dripping down the tap, disturbing the silence. 

you know how losses feel— like a part of you has been taken out and you’re left to bleed. it’s worse when it’s about something you’ve loved all your life. you’ve walked next to losses, hand in hand. when you know you’ve lost something while having it in the palms of your hands the whole time, the feeling eats you inside. you wonder if heeseung is feeling the same way you think he is, even if he didn’t show it a week ago when you had met him in the clubroom, the feeling starts to sink in when you’re alone amidst the ghosts of nobodies. even though he was smiling and acting like the little shit he is, you felt anger and regret in the way he kissed you. there was a sense of numbness dripping down his fingertips in the way they brushed against your cheeks, cupping your face. you could’ve been a sweet escape— it hurts to admit that the emotions weren’t possibly real, but you couldn’t blame him. 

losing a match, to put it in your words, meant failing in a test; and losing because of an injury, it’s like skipping a test you prepared for, because of fever. except tests can be rescheduled for students who missed— a luxury heeseung, as a basketball player, cannot enjoy. even you couldn’t believe your eyes when the students on the forum started talking about the lost match, all sorts of comments going around, though none targeted at heeseung, fortunately. yet, your first instinct was to dial his number— out of reach, the first thing you hear on the other side of the line, and all you’ve been hearing for days now. 

you had considered cutting ties with him, not literally, but as in stopping to chase him as if he’s the oxygen you inspire. you could’ve showed up at miyeon’s place with apologies, her favourite snacks and a brief explanation of why you did what you did, and everything that has happened as the consequences of your own actions. with weekends approaching, you could’ve planned a two-day trip with her and hanbin before the winter snow made it hard to commute— just anything to get your mind off heeseung, since apparently, you weren’t on his mind either. albeit, you end up doing nothing, no trips, no plans to see miyeon, it’s just you and your bruised heart with soju on the side. your mind is way too cluttered with thoughts about heeseung to focus on studying and at the same time, it’s way too empty to try doing anything else.  

so, you simply venture down the hallways, drowning in all kinds of thoughts, good and bad. you can use the time to study but concentration has been far out of your reach ever since the match, or ever since he went underground, to be more specific. the impromptu make out session was probably his last straw— it makes sense. you kissed someone who had been walked out of a match because of an injury instead of consoling them. you let your feelings get the best of you, making everything about yourself yet again. you won’t be surprised if heeseung decides to ghost you for the rest of his life after that; or maybe, that’s not possible since you see a familiar figure sitting in the outdoor basketball court, spinning the ball with it’s axis on the ground in a directionless manner. 

“heeseung?” you notice his back tense at the sound of you calling his name, head down low as if he’s responding with an exasperated sigh. “where the hell have you been? i’ve been trying to reach you— heck, even your friends haven’t heard a word from you in days,”

“not now, yn, leave me alone,” and an exasperated sigh is what it was. 

“look, i know—”

“just, what part of leaving me alone do you not understand?” you try to speak but heeseung cuts you off just as efficiently as he does other things, with annoyance heavily evident in his words. had it not been heeseung, you would’ve left already, for you have more important things to tend to, and you’re certainly not interested in matters you’re not supposed to be included in, if only it wasn’t heeseung, and if only you weren’t crazily worried for him. 

“oh, i understand it clearly, every part, actually, and i also understand that you’re upset and leaving you alone would certainly not be the best move considering the way you went MIA for a week,” and you understand his impulses about disappearing into thin air, wishing the ground eats him up or for the walls to cave in till he’s entombed in them, but a person as smart as him should know taking out helps better than thinking about wanting to vanish. “we can sit and have a talk if you stop being such an asshole about it. i’m down to listen to—”

“fine, what do you want to hear about?” he cuts you off in annoyances, the ball rolls down to a distance like your heart when you see the unfamiliar emotion in his eyes. “you were right. i went home and have been crying myself to sleep. i haven’t been eating well either. i skipped five out of nine mocks and barely passed the four i gave, let’s add that too. is that enough?” 

you don’t like the way he puts it, as if it’s supposed to make you feel better. maybe about the bet, maybe, since he’s supposed to rank above you in finals to get around dating you, and maybe watching him lose is supposed to offer you some sort of relief— seriously, what you’re feeling right now is far from that. guilt, anger, shame, you’re not unfamiliar with those emotions. they eat you inside and it’s not because you’ve met with defeat, it’s because of falling off all the expectations people had, giving them another reason to point fingers and laugh. you could be really over-reacting, but if you didn’t have your parents telling you it’s going to be fine every time you didn’t do well on tests, you don’t know where you would’ve been right now. and you think you can play a part of the same for heeseung, if not all. 

you sit next to him, nose scrunching at the sight of dust on the cement laid with cracks. that’s what you get with an outdoor court no longer in use. you can see little plantlets germinating from the soil, emerging through the cracks, the rusted ring catches your eye. heeseung huffs as you settle next to him, wondering exactly how long the court has been unused for, considering its lack of maintenance. “let’s date,” 

and your words are not what you were planning to say or what should be said in this situation, but they still manage to extract a response from him. “don’t play with me,” 

“i’m not, in fact, that is what i’ve been wanting to say to you for days. of course, this isn’t the best timing, but i don’t know what else to say,” you pause in what feels like embarrassment. too bad, his crush is not good at conversations. sometimes you end up nodding and blinking for five minutes straight before saying anything, after a person opens up to you with tears and blood. “and, i’m not going to tell you to stop acting like a child or whatever because the team lost such an important match and somewhere, you’re blaming yourself for it, which you shouldn’t, by the way. all i need to say is that you still have the next year to make up for what you’ve lost now,” 

second chances come with higher expectations from people along with words that end up making one feel worse about their situation. you’ve already heard a few students talk about how heeseung should’ve been more ‘careful’— as if it was his choice to get injured and lose the match. you know it wasn’t going to be easy, especially with his injury that probably requires him out of the court for weeks, but you hope that amidst whatever he’s feeling, between self-loath and regret, heeseung manages to find himself once again. 

“actually, i’m planning to drop out of the team next year and focus on studies. my parents were already against me playing basketball during postgrad, i’m finally starting to notice why,” basketball could’ve been his entire career if heeseung’s grandmother had not wished for him to go into the medical field. seeing the insides of a person makes him want to empty his bowel from the mouth so biotechnology was his next option. heeseung thought having two hands would give him the benefit of managing basketball and academics together, unlike how his parents had wished for, but his recent mock scores and lack of time devoted to studies is making him question his choices. “and what the hell were you on about dating, by the way?” 

you’re half immersed in your own thoughts until heeseung directs the question at you— brows furrowed, confusion shadowing his face— you realise it’s your turn to do the talking. “oh, you know, dating. i think we should start dating already, it’s quite inevitable after that day in the clubroom,” 

it is evitable, really, but you’re down bad— with all due respect. 

you haven’t been okay ever since you realised that you like heeseung, and you’ve been trying to act normal about it, attempting to not lose your cool-hard-to-get-girl composure— miyeon’s words, and they make you cringe— while the thought of him is eating your brain slowly and gradually, making you go insane. if you were to narrate from where you opened and closed the door at, it would be a slippery slope, you don’t know how someone ends up falling for the person they despise. the yn from a month or two ago would be knowing, you can see her shrugging and getting back to her books, saying see saw it coming. ( it’s miyeon’s fault for making you even think about having a mind blowing chemistry with heeseung ) the you from two semesters ago, when he first transferred, would hate you and call you a traitor, might even write whore on a mirror while looking at it because you fold at the sight of hot, smart and sporty men who are perfect at everything, even at ruining someone’s life, like he’s ruining yours; and the yn from highschool, you see her squealing on the floor because oh, what a fan of enemies to lovers she was— heeseung wouldn’t even have been in the current picture if your highschool crush slash rival liked you back. the current you, well, she’s a goner, and in denial that she’s a goner. too much pride does something to a person, especially when you’re an over-scorer and an academic weapon. you’ve lost all your abilities of letting your guard down even once, refusing to give up and accept defeat, no matter how tortuous it is on the inside. 

the current you is more like a victorian man looking at ankles for the very first time. 

“and the bet? what happened to it?” he chuckles, of course, anyone would, considering the way you’ve lost after placing the bet with utmost confidence slash overconfidence. see, it never ends well, anything, with overconfidence, it doesn’t end well, never have and never will. and you, you don’t learn, sitting with the very well known fact that if you were given the chance, you would place the bet with him again.  

“ah, i didn’t mean to do that, honestly. i was confused when you confessed, it was so sudden, i didn’t know how to respond. the bet was the best i could come up with,” miyeon was right, you could’ve used something along the lines of ‘i need some time,’ that day instead of pulling out a bet right out of your ass, and now you don’t know how to save face. at least the fact that heeseung confessed first makes you feel a little better about yourself. “c’mon, i know you love challenges. i was just trying to see if it gets you turned on or something,” 

and heeseung scoffs in disbelief, eyeing you at your choice of words. “yeah, i feel very turned on knowing my crush dragged me into a bet that i’ve been working so hard for and she wasn’t even serious about it,” 

“working hard? from what i saw, the only thing you worked hard for was basketball,” you raise your brows, a taunting intonation in your voice. a part of you regrets the choice of words, knowing that basketball is seemingly quite a sensitive topic to bring up at the moment. albeit, the slight fear evaporates off when he laughs and dismisses your words and nothings. 

he leans a little closer, hands touching yours. “you never know what i’m up to at home,” 

a pause; you look in his eyes and then at his lips, he mirrors your actions with a smirk on his face. you guess that there’s a second meaning to his words, not sure what, but the look in his eyes tells you something about it. “i think we should get back to when you were talking mental and i was talking you down,” 

and you could grab his face and kiss him with no one around, on the unmaintained basketball court for the grey and cloudy skies to see. you could run your hands through his hairs and tell him how crazy he makes you while planting kisses down his neck. you can kiss him till both of your lungs are begging for oxygen, and that's when you'd tell him how he makes you feel— breathless and drowning, a little insane every time you see him flirting with someone that's not you. you can kiss him till the sun goes down and evening takes over, it doesn't matter if you're outside for the world to see. you would've kissed him if heeseung hadn't leaned back, looking at the ball lying stray at a distance.

“by the way, i’d love to date you,” he smiles at the infinite horizon before looking at you, as if waiting for a response already known.

“yeah, i figured that,” you try to play it cool as if you’re all knowing. it’s partially true, he did confess to you first. “let’s make another bet: no kissing before finals, and the one who ends up giving in first has to buy dinner,” you come up with yet another bet, your voice hinting the enthusiasm for no apparent reason.  

heeseung squints at you, a little conflicted, quite unsure of your words. it sounds like a moment of deja vu, hopefully on a better note this time ‘round. “that’s not even valid, we made out not even a week ago,” 

“let bygones be bygones, hee,” he likes the sound of the little nickname you've given him, unlike bygones, the word you use to refer to your very first kiss with him as if it's an unfortunate memory. “it’s decided then, no kissing before finals and the loser has to buy dinner, and i won’t be satisfied with anything less than a five star meal,” 

you squint, index finger pointing at him, a challenging composure. another chuckle from him makes it’s way to you, lips curling into a faint smile. it takes you all the way back to the day you placed your first bet with him, with head empty and no logic, for the entirety of the basketball team to see, hear, and talk about it as if it’s supposed to be on the headlines of the national newspaper. your eyes spark up in anticipation, wondering if the two of you are down for another bet, one that doesn’t proceed towards failure, hopefully.

“the last time you did something like this, you ended up running back to me and asking me to date you,” he scoffs softly, side-eyeing you with a mocking gaze, quite ready to pull out the receipts if you ever deny his words. you hate how correct he is, all the time, actually, and you hate how you don’t have words to argue back.

lee heeseung, a nobody to you till he switched to your department, just some student who was there to pass time until he started ranking above you on tests and flipped your whole world upside down. you tried to not think about him and failed every time— still beats you why. you’ve never let distractions get the best of you, but heeseung, perhaps he’s more than just a distraction, or maybe he isn’t a distraction at all. he’s like a plant in your garden that you could care less about— should care less about, it’s growing without harming your plants, but it’s creeping against a wall with pretty flowers for show, and before you know it, it’s demanding for all your attention that you offer without second thoughts, unwillingly at first. 

he’s the bane of your existence and object of all your desires, to put it simply and make it sound cliché. you’ve had your moments trying to run away from him, get him out of your head, annoy him to the point he’d prefer flying to the other side of the globe, or that could be you too, anywhere, far from him. but life, for the thousandth time, is unpredictable. when was the last time something worked out exactly how you had planned— can’t remember, obviously, just like the way you don’t remember when heeseung started occupying a corner of your brain, popping in and out at random times and disrupting your thought process. the more you tried to ignore him, the further he housed in your head, the deeper in your heart, closer, within your reach, as if for you to grab his hands and let him enter your side of the world. 

and so, you kiss him again, pulling him towards you with the collars of his jacket. you feel him smile, a triumphant smile, as expected from someone who is used to winning. you don't think you can say you've lost, not at the way he cups your cheeks and tilts his head to deepen the kiss just moments before you pull away. “i always run back to you, don’t i?” 

and you're a child infatuated with their favourite sport, a painter falling in love with strokes, a pianist dancing to the melody of rachmaninoff, a student addicted to getting a perfect score, a player addicted to winning. you trace back to things you like, you always run back to heeseung,

and you always would. 

TEN MINUTES LATER :

heeseung plants a soft peck on your lips. “dinner’s on you,” 

“fuck!” 

#—approved. #@ : fas. #k-labels #kflixnet #enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen fic #enhypen fanfic #enhypen fluff #enhypen angst #lee heeseung #heeseung #heeseung imagines #heeseung scenarios #heeseung fic #heeseung fanfic #heeseung x reader #heeseung x y/n #enhypen x reader #enhypen x y/n #heeseung fluff #heeseung angst #kpop fic #kpop fanfic #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #lee heeseung x reader #lee heeseung x y/n

[benedictscanvas]

could you possibly do a benedict bridgerton friends to lovers fic with maybe some jealousy thrown in there? i adore your writing 🫶🏻

this request could not have come at a better time! i finally started my bridgerton rewatch recently and i can feel myself sparking with ideas yet again :) || 2k words, tw benedict is PINING & this is much more suggestive than my usual content, so 18+ please!

can't bear it - benedict bridgerton x reader

He looked bored. It was the first thing you noticed upon entering the ballroom and, in truth, it was often the first thing you noticed upon entering any ballroom. Over your years of friendship, it seemed you had a highly trained eye to seek him out amongst any crowd.

Just as your eyes strayed to him, as if he had similar training, his found you. What had been a dull stare at the ground to avoid any accidental eye contact with the Mamas scattered about the room quickly became a bright and excitable gaze locked to yours and you returned his slow-spreading smile with a rather unladylike grin.

"Hi," he mouthed, a grin of his own now twisting his features. You shook your head at him fondly, biting the inside of your cheek in a foolish attempt to stop your grin from growing any wider.

You were lucky to have a sister with whom your mother was preoccupied. It made it easy to hurry along the sides of the ballroom, exchanging nods with those you passed without stopping to greet them properly, to end up next to Benedict in record time.

You stood side by side, your usual routine, the backs of your hands inches apart but both facing outwards, as if surveying the rest of the room. Each one of your senses was entirely tuned into him as soon as you entered his presence, but it would not look as such to any onlookers.

"You'll start more rumours if you keep trying to communicate across such wide distances, Lord Bridgerton," you began, eyes fixed on the twirling couples so you didn't sneak a glance in his direction, "I thought we were attempting to rid ourselves of the clamours for our engagement."

"They can hardly read into a mere greeting," he responded easily, the words a mere murmur from the corner of his mouth, "I am a gentleman, as you know, and it would be impolite to simply ignore you."

"It would. You couldn't ignore me if you tried, anyway," you mused, "You'd get ever so bored."

"Always so self-important."

His mutter makes you bite back a smirk. Perhaps facing away from each other did nothing to hide your obvious conversation after all. Violet would be sure to notice, you knew, and may once again force Benedict into explaining the lack of proposal between the two of you.

In recent weeks, however, you had been struggling to explain it to yourself. Benedict was so dear to you, so utterly different to the men that regularly bored you, that once you had struck up such unlikely friendship, it seemed you valued it far too much to take it any further.

That, and there had never been any indication that Benedict himself saw marital potential within you. He was by no means a shy man. If he wanted you, you were quite sure he would have swept you off your feet by now.

And what a sweeping it would be, in those strong arms barely concealed by the crisp white shirt, billowing fabric...

"Good evening, Miss Y/L/N," a voice broke you from your spell, and your gaze accidentally drifted to Benedict in surprise before landing on the man interrupting you, "I believe I was promised a dance last we met, and I have heard you are a lady of your word."

You had to fight to keep yourself from frowning as you wracked your brains for his name. Unfortunately, you came up entirely empty and had no choice but to respond vaguely.

"I certainly would not like to gain a reputation for breaking promises," you smiled as taught, taking in handsome features and arms that didn't fill in a shirt nearly as well as Benedict's. You shook that thought from your head as you placed your hand in the unnamed stranger's own, "It would be an honour."

There was a splutter to your left, no doubt Benedict struggling to conceal his amusement at the sudden change in your tone. You allowed the man to lead you to the dance floor, turning subtly to send Benedict a wry smile but finding him staring right through you, expression anything but amused.

It wiped the smile clean off your own face.

His face was thunder throughout your dance, you noticed, however much you tried to focus on the pleasantly mundane conversation provided by your new partner. He really was quite good looking, if only you could appreciate it, but you were entirely preoccupied by Benedict's new foul mood and what could have caused it.

As the dance ended, you bowed politely to your captor, which was the only word that came to mind for him, and hurried in the direction of your favourite friend only to find him gone. This time you did frown, despite your mother's warnings of wrinkles, and picked up your skirt lightly as you slipped out of the ballroom.

Searching side room after side room proved useful. You soon found what could be described as a studio, with large windows to let the light in but currently only cast moonlight across the canvases spread around the room. The moon also lit up half of Benedict, who was stood at the window, staring out into the gardens.

"Be prepared to hide under that desk if anyone should come knocking," you said, startling him as you clicked the door shut behind you, "I shan't let you compromise my honour just because I have to chase after you when you're having a tantrum."

He glowered at you at the mention of a tantrum, the kind of look he usually levelled his brothers with rather than you. It was new territory and you found yourself quickly floundering.

"I did not bid you to follow me."

"And yet here I am," you reminded, taking a tentative step, "So why don't you put a stop to this strange mood and tell me what's wrong?"

"I'd rather not," he said curtly, his voice a little wrong as he turned to face you at last. Were those tears? "Please return to the festivities and I will join you momentarily."

You'd never seen Benedict cry before. In fact, you weren't sure you'd ever seen a man cry in your life, and the sight was terrifying. You wanted nothing more than to wrap him up in a long overdue embrace, but you kept yourself stock still in the middle of the room.

"Benedict..." you began, not sure where you were going despite the plea in your voice, "Please. I have never seen you like this."

He laughs, but its harsh.

"You must not be very observant then, Y/N."

"I beg your pardon?"

"In fact, you must be positively blind. Maddeningly so. How do you ever get anything done?"

You could feel tears of your own welling up in your eyes and blinked them away furiously. It was a great effort to keep your voice level when you spoke.

"I have known you to be many things, Bridgerton, but you are not cruel. I am sure I have done nothing to deserve such vehement insult, so-"

"I quite disagree," he interrupted, face fierce as he stalked over to you until he was right in front of you. Your chest heaved as you looked up at him, eyes wide, and felt the rise of his chest almost against your own, "You are observant, Y/N, and far from blind. It is your cruelty at fault here, not mine. It is yours."

He hissed the last word, pointing a finger at you so close to your chest that your head was spinning. His closeness was intoxicating, his scent crowding you out of enough oxygen and his words were making you lightheaded with panic.

"You're not making any sense," you murmured. His fingertips ghosted across the fabric of your dress near your hips, barely there, and nowhere near the skin underneath.

"You must see it," he mutters back, all gritted teeth and barely concealed restraint, "You must see that I worship you. That I always have."

Your inhale sounded more like a gasp. He shook his head above you, moving closer until his chin was pressed hard into your temple and you keened into the touch.

"I know you do not feel the same. And you are not obligated to, I swear it. But taunting me as you do. Playing with me only to dance with another..." he trails off, breath shuddering, and you can hear those tears in his voice again, "I can't bear it. Please, Y/N, I cannot bear it."

Neither can you.

You reach up and take his face in both hands, finding chiseled cheekbones and jawline, thumbs either side of his lips as you pull him until you can look up into his face again. Your gaze flickers across his face, and you wipe the tears from his face with shaking fingers.

"You're blind, Benedict," you say, leaning up on your tiptoes until your lips brush his, soft, like the ghost of his fingertips against fabric. You know what you want him to do and you need him to do it first, need him to take your lead and run away with it.

When he fists his hands in your dress at your hips and drags you into him, your prayers are answered.

He opens your mouth to his, still gentle but insistent, demanding more, more, more of you. You'd give him everything, right here, mainly because you know he'd never take it. He seems more than content with the here and now as it is, especially when your hands slip into his hair and he lets out a low grumble of a moan that you feel everywhere.

He's trying to pull you closer still when you break for air, gasping it in as the two of you pant into each other's mouths. He runs a hand down your hair, your neck, your arm, until he intertwines his fingers with yours, chases your lips for a peck, then another, then another. You meet him with a lazy grin.

"I dance with the Lords of the ton every ball," you breathe out, "I'd have noticed if you reacted like this every time."

Benedict was grinning too. He looked far more like himself when he did.

"They are usually old, ugly fools," he said, wrinkling his nose in distaste at the thought, "I always hate them having their hands all over you, but watching a young charming bastard who may just have a chance with you hold you as I have always dreamed of doing? It was enough."

"He never had a chance, my Lord," you assured, tracing his hairline, his earlobe just to see him shiver, "You are, as already accused, blissfully blind. Blind as a bat, I should think."

"Recent developments would suggest that to be true," he mused, glowing in a way he wouldn't usually when wrong. Then, all too quickly, his face briefly fell, "I truly apologise for all that I said to you, Y/N. There is no excuse, it was cruel."

"Hm," you agreed, "It was. Although, I can think of a multitude of ways you can make it up to me. Would you care to hear them?"

His eyes lit up at the realisation of your teasing. It was familiar, exactly what had drawn you both to each other time and time again. It was likely what would keep you together for eternity.

"I would like nothing more."

"How about I sit right up here..." you began lowly, moving to take a seat on the desk, "-you sit yourself underneath this desk, and we can have a conversation about compromising my honour."

You grinned at him wolfishly. It looked almost as if his eyes rolled back into his head already, but it wasn't long until he was kneeling in front of you, hands on the hem of your dress.

"And what would you know about compromising your honour, Miss Y/L/N?"

You ran a hand through his hair and used it to roughly yank him forward, until his nose was pressed to the fabric of your dress, exactly where you wanted him. It was easy to see it now, as he stared up at you in total awe: the way he worshipped you.

"Let's find out, shall we?"

if you’d like to request something, please do so here! i’d love to hear from you, sunflower <3

#benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict x reader #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction

[cyberrose2001]

Can I request a Ratchet x Fem! Reader, headcanons or or shot your choice! On how Ratchet would handle the reader having a child from a previous relationship? I think it would be adorable see the grumpy medic interact with a little kid, like 5?

TFP Ratchet w/ an S/O who has a child from a prev. relationship (hcs)

GOD I love this idea so much, I might write a proper fic about it one day gahhh <3

I could’ve made this better but my brain feels like mush atm so apologies for that… I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: SFW/fluff, reader has a kid.

Word count: 543

- Before even diving into the relationship, you had explained to Ratchet that you have a toddler from a previous partner and that they can be quite a handful.

- Ratchet did not seem to mind at all; hell, he regarded himself reasonably competent in handling infants, gaining most if not all of his experience from when he was a practitioner on Cybertron. He loves sparklings (and they seemed to love him as they would climb all over his frame when giving them checkups), so how different could a human sparkling be?

- Very, very different, he learned. He had to be careful around sparklings and humans before, but now with a little itty-bitty human sparkling running around between his pedes, Ratchet is terrified that he’ll step on them.

- Ratchet already had his reservations regarding humans occupying the base. Save for you, of course, seeing that you’re in a committed relationship with him. But having an already small human running around after an even tinier human stresses him more than Miko ever does.

- Ratchet will demand every bot to be mass displaced when you come to the base for visits with your kid, whether they like it or not.

- Despite already being fiercely protective of them (purely from peepaw instincts and a medic’s perspective), it will take some time for Ratchet to warm up to them and start having little play dates. And to the idea of becoming a step-sire to the kid.

- His frame is a bit too rusty to stay on the floor and play Tonka trucks with them. But who needs toy trucks when you have an actual truck to play with? He’ll drive them around the base for joy rides (with your permission, of course), his hardened spark defrosting from the pride he feels hearing their joyous laughter from the passenger seat.

- On one occasion, your toddler patters over to Ratchet and takes his servo; he’s confused but begrudgingly allows them to drag him off somewhere. He glances back at you in a silent plea but is met with your amused expression.

- “Daddy, follow me? I want to show you a something.”

- Ratchet is inwardly sobbing when they call him ‘Daddy’ for the first time, choking back tears when they drag him to greet everyone around the base with an enthusiastic “Say hello, dada!”.

- “Yes, yes. Uh, hello.” Ratchet.exe is not working. Initiate crying and sobbing mode?

- After being dragged around by them, Ratchet offers to help prepare them for bed, still reeling from the immense pride he feels. He’ll help you bathe them, dress them and ensure that they get any medications that they may require before tucking them in.

- Sometimes, Ratchet lays in berth with your toddler curled up on his lap, reading them a bedtime story. And you’ll often find them both asleep with the children’s book slipping away from his servo.

- You’d watch from the door with a warm smile, heart nearly bursting out of your chest, watching him slowly become more comfortable with taking on the important role of a father figure. You’d eventually join the adorable sleep fest, but not before snapping a photo on your phone to keep as your wallpaper.

#transformers #transformers prime #tfp #tfp ratchet #tfp ratchet x reader #SFW #fluff #cyberrosewrites

[oleander-nin]

Writing advice(hopefully)

I TAKE EVERYTHING BACK I SAID I DO HAVE A METHOD TO WRITING. I JUST DIDN'T REALIZE IT WAS A METHOD BECAUSE I'VE DONE IT FOR SO LONG.

advice under cut

Before you write something, flesh the ENTIRE thing out. I don't mean like kinda do a couple word summary, I mean write the basics before you write how the basics go together. You want to write about a picnic? Flesh out things they might say during it, what their bringing, who's making the food, etc etc.

Examples from my own writing doc for my most recent posted fic->

As you can see, it's long, and tells me most of what I need. It's also not organized, and many things are misspelled or grammatically incorrect. This is because my main goal was to get a basic plan out, not to make it look pretty. I also had three slightly different ideas I could go with before deciding on which I wanted. The more you have down, the easier it will be. I also color code mine, but that's not necessary, it's just ease of use. I can explain my color coding if needed, but I won't until asked.

2. Write in chunks. Do you have that really specific scenario already planned out? Write it first. You can make the rest around it, but once you get at least that small bit out, the rest can come naturally.

3. Keep yourself occupied. I get bored easily if I'm just writing, so I have to be doing other things at the same time. Just make sure it's something simple so you don't get distracted. I personally use my cat as to keep my stimulated(?) enough to continue. You could mimic something like this by putting on music/shows in the background, or writing multiple fics at once.

4. Don't force yourself if you can. I know I said I do earlier, but that was mostly a joke. I write to deal with stress, so writing in itself calms me down. It's difficult to do something if I'm not perfectly in tune with it. If a request is proving to be difficult, or an idea isn't doin what you want, change it up a bit until it fits into the puzzle better. You'd rather have a changed fic than no fic.

5. Use prompt generators for ideas if you're stuck. I personally have a big tin of cookie fortunes and verbs/nouns so I pick two up and create a story around that. It helps get your brain going. And you can keep doing this until something sparks.

6. Stay as focused as you can. Close other tabs, keep your eyes on your writing, stuff like that. I know this may seem to conflict with the 'keeping yourself occupied' one, but you really have to find the right balance for you. For example, I can't have music playing, but I CAN talk to other people while I write. Play around until you find your zone.

7. Try not to edit as you go. It's okay to fix a word or two as needed, but once something takes over 5 minutes to fix, you should skip it and move on. Your main goal should be able to get it all down so you have something to edit eventually.

8. If you forget a word, don't dwell on it too much. Just put something as a safeholder(ie: Elephant, Jumanji, etc), highlight it, and move on. You can shoot a friend a text to help find the word, but don't stress if nothing matches what you're thinking of. You can figure it out after, or find a new word.

9. If you get stuck while writing, go back about three to five sentences and read it over. See if you can continue going, or find what you need to change. It doesn't have to be a huge change, it just has to be enough to get you going again. And if you can't figure it out? Skip it and write the rest and figure out the transition later.

10. Use references throughout you're writing. Whether it's on the world, injuries, dialogue, emotion portrayal, or anything in between, do research and find references. It can help make connections in your brain as well as make it easier to write. For many fanfics, if you look up the fandom's wiki, their personalities will be included in their character's article.

I think that's it for now, I might add more later. I really hope this make an inkling of sense, I got frustrated after Tumblr deleted half of what I wrote the first time around. Apologies for the rambles, I am neither good with words, neither with explaining myself in a coherent manner. If anyone needs/wants extra clarification, don't be shy to ask. And my sincerest apologies for not saying this in a reblog @itsyagurlchip, but it was starting to get long and I hate how you can't collapse reblogs so I put it here. If you need me to, I can copypaste and put it as a reblog.

#writing help #creative writing #writing advice

[moongurl95]

7 Times the Charm

GN!MC / May or may not be an alternate version of a long fic I'm working on, but I've hit a writing rut and this prompt by @serpensortiamaxima (this is dedicated to you too OP!) got me churning out this piece until 4AM (now i can sleep with my brain empty! XD) also divider credits here

Summary: It was no secret that the Three Broomsticks can also be considered a social gathering for the latest news, and Sirona Ryan, the owner was at the neck of it. Or, a glimpse of a blooming relationship she'd observed since that Troll Attack in Hogsmeade. (One-shot also posted on AO3)

“Oh, there’s a face I haven’t seen before.” This may be the first time Sirona Ryan’s memory seemed to have failed her as she was confident in remembering her clientele.

“It’s my first time here.” The student had replied almost sheepishly, which explained everything to the bar owner. Of course, she’d heard about the latest talk in the streets of a Hogwarts student having been caught in a dragon attack.

“Welcome! Butterbeers on me.” Sirona assumed that the student was a transferee, after all, she’d never heard of a student starting this late in their Hogwarts education. “Glad to see you two escape injury.” She glanced between the two students with growing worry, having planned to check on the other shopkeepers and residents once the crowd had buzzed down from the recent Troll Attack in Hogsmeade.

“Thanks to this one. Single-handedly took down a Troll!”

“Is that right? Well done.” Of course Sirona couldn’t take the Sallow boy’s claim seriously, not when she was sure of the way the boy had looked admiringly at his new classmate. Before she could decide to play matchmaker however, they were interrupted by some brutes’ arrival.

The second time Sirona next saw the pair was on a relatively calm day in the Three Broomsticks, she considered herself not eavesdropping at all while the two students had quite the passionate discussion over a round of Butterbeer.

“Honestly! Why do you have to trouble yourself on a trip to get something for my sister? Anne wrote she’d be delighted by your very presence alone.”

“Because Sebastian, it’s common courtesy to bring a gift when visiting your friend’s family.”

Now this seemed to be a development. Sirona had to keep herself looking busy as she wiped away at the mugs on the counter, casting a knowing glance by the corner table to quickly spy the flustered look on the Sallow boy’s face.

Sirona could only hope to Merlin that his ‘friend’ fancied him the way he seemed to.

In exchange for asking her assistance on where to find her friend, Lodgok, Sirona in turn thought to request the new student’s help in retrieving her box of letters. Though she never would have predicted they’d also come as a pair this third time around.

“I’m not letting you go alone. And for Merlin’s sake, why a mine of all places? Do you happen to know what sort of creatures could possibly live there??”

Sirona could only watch in amusement as the Sallow boy was being pushed out by his classmate in an attempt to shush him, “Alright, alright – I’ll tell you all about it on the way. Just get going so we can at least finish this while there’s still sun out.”

The door to the Three Broomsticks had shut after their departure so Sirona could only guess how the rest of their day would go. One thing was for sure though, if she’d initially thought the Sallow boy only fancied his new friend before, then now Sirona was absolutely certain the boy was now smitten.

Maybe there was good reason to owl Mirabel after all, nothing better than an entertaining chat about young love over tea.

The next time Sirona served Butterbeer to the new student at the counter, she was half expecting them to be with a familiar face. Instead, they sat alone, looking quite under the weather as they seemed to stare unseeing into the tankard, Sirona was just about ready to lend a listening ear after she’d served all the other customers’ orders when the student had stood up just as a familiar Slytherin entered the premises.

Sirona was quick to notice the two of them weren’t on speaking terms as they passed by each other – the Sallow boy taking the stool beside where his friend just left. She chose to quietly serve him his share of Butterbeer before she continued to keep busy.

“Sirona, would you apologize if you said something… true but ended up sounding… mean?”

So that was how it was… “Well dear, first of all, it’s not what you said, but how you made them feel. So yes, an apology should be expected.”

“But… how?”

Sirona raised an eyebrow at him as if to say the answer should be obvious enough, but ended up sighing in exasperation as the boy looked pitifully at a lost, “If you aren’t ready to tell them personally, then a letter might suffice, and don’t make it just a simple apology either – at least, offer to take them somewhere you’d think would be meaningful to them.”

“A letter! That’s just it, of course!” Sirona watched as the boy waved his hand in thanks as he rushed out the doors, she hoped everything would turn up for the better the next time she saw those two together.

It didn’t however, for just days before the 5th, Sirona herself had received an unmarked letter notifying her of Lodgok’s passing – his gentle soul did not deserve the fate he was dealt with by his brother’s hands. Yet also here in her supposedly lively pub, sat another lost soul who she dearly tried to keep from straying to the Hog’s Head by keeping the Sallow boy’s tankard refilled with Butterbeer.

She’d heard he just lost his uncle and that the Sallow girl also informed him late, the poor twins were now left all alone.

And just when Sirona felt the boy slipping away, from the doors came in a face who she hoped would be successful in reeling Sallow from his darkest thoughts.

“Sebastian!”

Sirona was glad to see the boy encased in a hug, he dearly looked like he needed one…

“You’re safe now. I promise, I wouldn’t let them take you away.”

It may have well been a secret language only the two students shared with each other, but Sirona was nonetheless relieved to see the boy’s shoulders relax, the undeniable soft sob that escaped him was a sound that would forever tug at her heart.

And it seemed that heart wrenching sob echoed around the wooden panels of her establishment as the once lively pub was filled with students of varying years, all of which ranged from sniffling for their parents to a quiet uncertainty that loomed over the older ones.

Hogwarts was under attack, and despite how Sirona herself could not believe such a situation would even come about, the evacuated students who took shelter in the Three Broomsticks were enough to leave her unsettled for what was to come.

“Sirona! Are they here? Did they at least stop by here?” She could only shake her head in response, clearly seeing the Sallow boy was distraught.

“Sebastian! We have to settle ourselves and wait for Black’s announcement –“

“They could still be there, Ominis!” His next words were barely audible but somehow Sirona managed to catch a hint of it, “What if they’re fighting for their lives – alone? Against a Goblin Rebellion!”

“Attention, students!” Black did make an announcement right after that, clearing his throat as if today was a normal occurrence, “I am proud to announce that my esteemed faculty has handled the – uhm… rebellion. Yes, the Goblin rebellion – wait, what was that?”

Everyone seemed to hold their breath as a House Elf seemed to whisper the latest news to his master, who gasped out as if he was scandalized, “A casualty you say???”

Sirona felt her heart drop at the sudden news, she could only watch as Sebastian Sallow all but rushed out of the doors, fearing for the worst.

Fear melted like snow from a season past, and while Spring came a bit too late for those who grieved, the flowers still bloomed.

The Three Broomsticks was once again abuzz with an energy of celebration and nostalgia – students crowded with relief at having survived their O.W.L.s and others were busy planning their summer ahead – two of which Sirona couldn’t help but approach, “Butterbeers on me, to the Hero of Hogwarts.” She’d winked before leaving the pair in their usual spot by the counter, not really meaning to overhear…

“So… I heard Fig left you a place in his will, back to London it is for you then?”

“Yes… and Feldcroft?”

“Can’t say I relish the thought of spending summer by myself, but I have a way to keep busy by doing some odd errands here and there, I suppose.”

“What would you say to a ticket to London?”

“What..?”

“I was only really planning to spend a few weeks there, fix some things that need to be done and well… spend some time in Feldcroft with you… if you’ll have me?”

“Of course! I – but why even take me to London – not that I’m complaining but –“

“Because I care, Sebastian. I – care about you… very much.”

Sirona couldn’t keep herself from spying a glance then, very happy to see the pair both sporting flustered faces. It may have taken a while, but there wasn’t a perfect time than any to start anew.

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts #sirona ryan #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy oc #hl mc #hl oc #hogwarts legacy characters #hogwarts legacy sebastian #sebastian x mc #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #hogwarts legacy imagine #hogwarts legacy fandom #hogwarts legacy fanfic

[umnitsa]

Throughput & Prioritization - A Tale of Management

Summary: You need some help. David Wallace is there to lead you.

A/N: I'm a manager. I need a good c-level to lead and inspire me. I have a crush on David Wallace and as I resignify my work, I write the self-insertiest fic I've ever had the chance to write. I hope you enjoy <3 (there is a chance I will continue this)

Pairing: David Wallace x f!reader (just a hint!)

CW: A lot of cussing. Mostly talk.

Divider by @cafekitsune

“May I speak candidly?” You dropped on the chair in front of the CFO’s desk, huffing. He frowned, looking worried at your distress, then nodded. He leaned on one elbow, hand in the air. “Your CTO is an asshole, and I really can’t make you money if he keeps making those shitty, maddening decisions.”

David laughs, his big hand resting against the desk as he moved, sitting forward.

“Bad meeting, hm?” He leans forward, eyebrows raised, his lips crooked, on a smirk.

“Bad meeting? Shitty meeting.” You growled, crossing your arms and your legs, pouting. “I need you. He won’t listen to me because I have a vagina, probably.”

“I really don’t know how you feel comfortable talking to me like this.” David chuckled, amusedly.

“You know I’m good and I am one of the few managers that have a profitable team in IT.” You huff, shaking your foot. “And you are a good boss, you recognize talent when you see it. And results.”

“Touché.” David slapped the desk, chuckling. “You managed to sell yourself and praise me in the same sentence while avoiding the subject altogether. Congratulations, you became a manager!”

You broke, chuckling, shaking your head slowly. You uncrossed your leg, relaxing against the chair.

“Feeling better?” David asked, his eyes softening.

“Much better.” You sighed.

“Tell me what happened.”

“The CTO keeps throwing more work than my team has the capacity to deal with.” You take a deep breath and shrug. “My team keeps changing initiatives, leaving work in the middle of the way, we can’t get to the end of anything. I showed the numbers and explained little’s law, and he just fucked my backlog again. And I’m pretty sure the thing he prioritized doesn’t even fit the company’s strategy for IT. If I do it, I’ll tank my throughput and get fired, if I don’t he’ll be mad and I’ll get fired.”

David nodded as you talked, his complete focus on you.

“Yeah, Charlie is in a pickle, his decisions affected the productivity of the whole IT team. And his budget was cut, which means no new hires.” David rolled his eyes and tapped his fingertips on his lap.

“I just need someone to influence him. Maybe he’ll listen to you.” You said, moving closer to the end of your chair.

“You’re better than this, you know.”

You look at him, surprised. He smiled gently.

“What does he want? What does he need?” David asks, the tone of his voice soft, enticing.

“He needs a quick win.” You realized, blinking slowly. “He wants fast results.”

“Can you guarantee those?” David moved his big hands, his index and middle finger tapping against his lips. He looked like an eager kid in the classroom that had the right answer to the teacher’s question. But it was your turn to answer. His eyebrows raised, his blue eyes shining in expectation.

“I may have the right thing in my backlog. But why should I save him?”

“Because when it’s time to look at his headcount, he’ll remember you as the only one by his side.” David shrugged, smiling. “And if you can have a quick win…”

“My results will stand out!” You completed, clapping. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“You’re frustrated with his management. And you’re angry. That’s a terrible mindset to make decisions.” He said, very matter of fact. “Now go make your presentation. I’ve seen you in meetings, you can convince him… I’m sure your team will follow you to the ends of the earth.”

You stand up, fire in your veins, your brain quickly making assumptions and connections. You opened the door to his office and paused.

“I owe you a drink.” You blurted, turning to David. He raised his head and looked at you over his glasses.

“You can pick me up here, 6pm.” He said, with a smile.

“It’s a date!” You chirped happily, closing the door.

“Finally,” David muttered absentmindedly, grabbing a pen and focusing on the wad of papers over his desk. “Took you forever...”

#david wallace x reader #the office x reader #the office

[elvisabutler]

gunmetal

summary: elvis loves his guns. you think he loves you. question is are those mutually exclusive. fandom: elvis presley | elvis 2022 pairing: elvis presley x female reader rating: m word count: 3328 not even remotely talking about it. it happened alright? warnings: gun kink. elvis's sexual issues. minor implied food kink maybe? use of a gun in penetrative ways. masturbation ( m and f ). implied future oral ( f ). older/later elvis described/implied. ( i'm not meaning that in a warning re: weight, it's more i do know that some would prefer to not interact with elvis as he was toward the end of his life in ways that are sexual ). minor daddy kink, as in reader calls elvis daddy and he refers himself as daddy. it's not super in your face. minor mommy kink on elvis's part. also unhealthy bdsm practices because you know, no one in this is necessarily fully sober/in good states of mind. just really y'all, this is a...ride. also thigh riding and squirting. author's note: okay. so let me explain myself. this gif is not indicative of the exact time frame for elvis i chose for this though have at it, pick austin elvis and 73ish as ya man here if you want. i definitely did not. so. i read a set of fics that had kinks i don't have in the slightest because i was curious ( because i've been in fandom/the internet too long and i look at dead dove don't eat on some fics and think it's a challenge ) and i faintly regret my choices with it. but it made me basically be like jimmie where i say things like "i don't know what i'm thinking". said fic set has wormed its way into my brain where it lives and tosses me like two pennies and a bit of lint for rent. this is the bit of lint. i am sorry for this. if y'all actually want another gun kink fic from me, i'll probably write it come november but i wanted to do something different with this. i don't know what this is. when i said unhinged, i didn't necessarily mean sexy. watch this be accidentally sexy. also hi, yeah this is day 13 of kinktober, gun kink with elvis. and yes i have had to edit this three times.

Elvis- You love Elvis. God help you and saints preserve you, but you love him. You love him enough that you forget how he can be, how you forget how he slowly is becoming a version of him that you're not sure you want to be with. He's possessive and mercurial on his best days, possessive and terrifying on his worst. Priscilla had warned you, Linda had warned you, they had both told you that Elvis takes and takes and takes and while he gives and gives and gives it's complicated. It's maybe never what you need.

You're giving though, you're the type of girl Elvis needs right now. Someone to keep him in check, to try and slide him into something inching toward health even as his body wants to rebel against him.

But Elvis takes, Elvis has desires that he'd keep unspoken for some girls. But Priscilla took it, Linda took it- his true girls- his girls he wanted to keep would take it. Would take what he wanted to give them. Elvis likes to combine the things he loves into something he figures is better than the two things apart. It's with his food, his music and truthfully his needs and wants in the bedroom. You're his girl and they're his girls and the values them more anything in the world other than little Lisa. They even outrank you and you know it. Girls may come and go but Elvis's guns? Oh those girls are forever, his personal harem to pick and choose from and keep close.

Elvis doesn't sleep well after shows, everyone has told you that from the second you said hello and he said ain't you the prettiest thing this side of the Mississippi. You are always riled up after shows, always a squirming mess he carts off to the bedroom the second he gets to the hotel. Some nights- like this particular night he's not up to the task of fucking you. A sign of his age, maybe a sign of how his body wants to betray him at the one thing he enjoys as much as- well as much he knows things are twisted in his head. He is hungry after the shows though and after this particular show he's got you in his lap, on one of his thighs, your body bouncing and grinding as you use its substantial size to provide pressure to your clit, to your cunt to every part of your body in between your legs. You're facing him and occasionally your hands drift down to his stomach, wanting to feel it, wanting to feel his chest and every part of him. He always gives you a look over his glasses before moving your hand back up to his arm. He can see your face starting to twist like he knows it does when you're heading toward your release, he's impressed tonight. Normally you require his fingers on your clit or pinching at your nipples. Maybe these big thighs were good for something, tonight.

"Make a mess of your Daddy, darlin'. Stain the jumpsuit, hm?" He murmurs into your ear before feeling you shudder against him, your body taking his words to be a command. He places a light kiss against your neck. You find that it feels sticky.

"Are you-" You start and pause, eyeing Elvis, watching him stare at you with those eyes that if nothing else- if all else fails him- would draw in even the strongest of individuals. "Do I need to help you?"

He hums before exhaling, shifting his body to get a little more comfortable on the chair he's sitting in. "Depends on your answer to my question."

"What is it?" You're genuinely curious, Elvis's eyes seem a little brighter today and you have hope tonight might be a good night for both of you.

His hands move to cup your face, pulling you in for a soft kiss. You have to climb up onto him a little from your position but you find you don't mind. From his pleased hum you can feel vibrate against your body you figure he doesn't mind either.

"I wanna see you play with my guns. One of my favorites. I'll take the ammo and everything out just for tonight." He can already picture it, picture you on the bed, him in this chair, his cock in his hand and you- and you on your shared hotel bed writhing as you brushed your clit against the metal. "'m not feeling up to fuckin' ya tonight, but I wanna come watching ya."

You force a smile on your face, it's not that you don't want to do it- it's a strange request, but not unwelcome- it's just you had hoped it would not be a take take take night and instead be a give give give night. "Which one, daddy?" You added daddy to see him smile.

It works.

He chose one with a long barrel, whispering as your ground your ass against him that it was to give you the length he knew you craved. Sure, you enjoyed his girth in more ways than one but sometimes it was just the length you needed. His pajama pants are down by his ankles as he settles into the chair and you allow your fingers to play with yourself, slowly getting yourself prepared for what you're going to do. You're always a little more wet than normal when you have Elvis watching you and tonight is surprisingly no exception. You never used to be like this, never used to be turned on at the thought of someone watching you but Elvis has a way of turning things you thought you knew about yourself on its head. His eyes are zeroed in on your cunt, watching your fingers disappear in and out, glistening ever so slightly with your juices and he can't help the low groan he lets out at it, his hand moving to lazily stroke his cock. Yes, he'd like to get off watching you on his gun, watching you come all over it like you did his thigh not even an hour before, like you have on his cock but he's not in a rush. Next show isn't even for another few days, so if he wants he could lay you out on this bed like the buffet you are and take his time savoring every last morsel and drop of you.

"What are you looking at?" You whisper a little breathlessly, two of your fingers teasing your clit like Elvis had many times before.

"You." He answers simply, his thumb brushing over his tip. "Watchin' how you're preppin' yourself. Thinkin' I oughta help, but there's somethin' about watching ya."

Your lips curl into a lazy smile. "You're always- You know I love it when you do. Maybe tomorrow morning you can play with me like this? Spread my pretty lips open and taste me. Maybe there will be a hint of the metal."

If a growl leaves his throat, if a growl leaves his throat and has him sounding like his Harley revving up, you and him don't comment on it. "Don't be a tease, baby. Think you might be prepped enough. It's thinner than me, 'member that."

You hum before letting out a heavy and mildly overexaggerated sigh. "I guess you're right." Your hand encircles the grip of gun, noting how cold it is with a shiver. Your eyes look up at Elvis before you tilt your head and drag the barrel across your skin, starting from your neck and moving down to your chest, letting the cool metal brush against your overheated skin. "It's cold."

He gulps as he pumps his cock, watching how your npples pebble after the barrel swipes by them. If he could, if he wanted to get up from this chair, he's walk over to you and warm them up, take your nipples in his mouth and suck on them, bite at them, watch you keen and writhe against him. He won't though, because he just wants to watch you.

When you finally reach your cunt, you practically jump at the first brush of the metal against your cunt. You think maybe you should have sucked on it first, given it some warmth before you had it touch you, but it was too late for that. You take a deep breath and look at Elvis unblinking as you slowly shove the barrel of the gun into your cunt. If you were closer to him you'd likely see how the blue of his eyes is completely taken over by the black of his pupil, you'd see how his mouth has dried out from the small pants he can't stop himself from taking and you'd notice how he looks- he looks like he does onstage. He looks completely full of life and ready to strike at the one person he has in his gaze. You.

His breath is shallow the longer he looks, the longer he looks and pumps himself, the precum covering his cock, his jar of lube unused for him. "Goddamn, little one, you should see- drive a man wild, fucking yourself on his gun. Gonna smell like you, won't be able to be at the range without remembering you- won't be able to shoot it without remembering this. Gonna have to explain to the boys why I popped a boner like a fuckin' teenager."

You huff out a laugh, your body letting out a shiver as it tries to adjust to the intrusion of something you're not used to. "Don't wear such tight pants and they won't know. Is this going to be your new favorite?"

He nods. "Gonna have it tucked in somewhere every damn show. Maybe it'll be a good luck charm."

A good luck charm for you and him, a sign that you two will last like him and 'Cilla didn't, like him and Linda didn't. You did this for him, they didn't, they had- your limits are always far more malleable than theirs were. Not a bad thing but it give him some hope.

You pull the barrel out of your cunt and press it against your swollen clit, hissing as you do. "Christ, Daddy, I didn't realize I'd be so sensitive. I'm- how close are you?"

You want to come, but he hasn't and you refuse to be that greedy, not for him right now. Not for him when he's having a good night, not a great night, but a good one and you want to savor it. If you're trying not to move the gun, letting the barrel stay pressed against your clit in order to stave off your impeding orgasm he doesn't say anything.

His hand moves faster, knowing that he is pretty close, he wants to come for you, wants to show you what you've done to him, how you've made him feel. "Talk me through it, Mama."

Your eyes had slipped closed as you lost yourself in the sensations of the metal, the smell of your arousal and sex in the room, the taste of what Elvis had been eating earlier lingering on your tongue. Your eyes had been closed but they shoot open at the word Mama. He was- oh, he was in that sort of mood. Oh, you could oblige.

"Talk you through it, sweetheart? Talk you through how Mama wants to see you come? I worked hard, I took your gun for you. Would have taken it all night for you but your thigh- You let Mama come on your thigh earlier, she doesn't have that many in her tonight." Your voice is practically a murmur but you know Elvis can hear you, can hear how you sound how your voice has an edge of neediness. "I need you to come so I can, sweetheart. You don't need to wait. The sooner you do it, the sooner we can clean up and we can go to sleep. You'd like that, wouldn't you? Us taking care of each other like that tonight. You did good tonight, just like I did. Come for Mama, Elvis, show me how much you appreciate me."

That does it, you asking him to show how much he appreciates you doing this, how much he appreciates you in his life. He comes with a groan, coating his hand and the towel he had put underneath him with his come. He doesn't say anything, doesn't have the energy to, his head lulling to the side a little as he watches you finally move the gun, finally allow it to press against your clit- rub against your clit in a way that has you shivering. You're close and you know that you could likely come without the penetration, you should come without it, but you decide at the last second to slide the gun barrel back inside you as you flutter around it, coming with a hiss because everything is so overwhelming that your throat can't even manage anything else. When you pull the gun out it's covered in your fluids, glistening in the light of the room. You look at the sheets and realize you might have squirted. A bit of shame twists in your gut at that, because this what what made you squirt? Fucking yourself on your boyfriend's gun? What kind of woman were you? Elvis still hasn't gotten up from the chair, his eyes lazily moving between you, the gun and the wet spot. His lips curl into a smirk.

"Ruined the sheets and my jumpsuit. Ain't you a menace to fabrics." He whispers as you stand up and move towards him. You stop and hold out your hand to pull him up from the chair. He eyes it and shakes his head. You keep it there until he takes it with a huff, stepping completely out of his pants as he does.

"I'm your menace, Elvis. Shower?" You hold his hand, linking your fingers together as you lead him to the bathroom.

"Then bed. Gonna let me lay on ya chest tonight?" He asks, pulling you closer to him, his arms wrapping around you like he's that teddy bear he sang about almost two decades ago.

"If it helps you sleep tonight, yeah." A pause. "Love you."

A low hum and a kiss to your temple is the only answer you get back. You'll take it for now.

#elvis presley x reader #elvis presley smut #elvis presley fanfic #i very specifically did not include a lot of tags in this. #i am. #i really did almost just hide this on my ao3. #ally's kinktober 2022 #kinktober 2022 #ally writes #i don't know what this fic even is i truly don't. #WHY I WROTE THIS FOR KINKTOBER I WILL NOT UNDERSTAND. #also no i didn't have an oops when i copy and pasted why do y'all ask.

[fastcardotmp3]

wip wednesday means I can shamelessly talk about what I'm writing so here's the that's just wasteland, baby! Nancy POV direct sequel that's currently eating my brain and keeping me from working on all my half-posted fics MWAH 💜

“You know something?” Robin speaks up as she approaches the bottom of the steps, casual as anything in direct opposition to their mutual trepidation the first time they entered this mausoleum. “No one gives you enough credit for being positively batshit.”

Nancy looks at her flatly, at the upturn of the corners of her lips, the challenge in the set of her brow.

Robin stops walking, leans against the banister of the porch.

Waits for Nancy to answer.

“Hmm,” Nancy hums around the pen light between her teeth before spitting it out to let it land deftly in the palm of hand. “I think plenty of people would disagree with that sentiment.”

Robin makes a face, because as much as she may be one who is wont to verbally extrapolate to the ends of the earth, the thing Robin Buckley doesn't get enough credit for is this sort of fearlessness on her face.

Maybe because of the social stumblings of her past, maybe just because Nancy's only known her in the middle of life-and-death, but Robin is unafraid of the societal expectations of gentleness and subtlety that used to dominate Nancy's every choice in life.

Robin is who she is and she thinks what she thinks and she'll backtrack if she finds out she was wrong, but only if she finds out she was wrong because she trusts her own gut. She's smart as hell and she knows it and so when Nancy points out--

“Besides, you're out here too. Does that make you batshit?”

--Robin's smile goes sharp at the edges, as though she was leading Nancy into that very trap in her labyrinth of a sharing circle.

“Only out here because I was following you, Wheeler,” she says, blunt and drawn out.

Nancy's stomach turns. She tips backwards off the edge of a rowboat and goes sinking, goes somersaulting at the door between worlds and goes falling.

Falling, falling, falling into the depths of her own hard-won fucked-up-ness, huffing out a bitter breath of a laugh punctuated by the snap shut of her journal.

“You haven't learned better than that by now?” she asks rhetorically, already shoving her shiny stories back into her bag because there's no longer a point in staying here.

No more peace, manufactured or otherwise, now that there is, too, no more isolation.

“This is what we do,” Robin says like it's simple, falling into step with Nancy the absolute, specific second her boots are back on the ground and striding towards her bike.

“What is? You stalking me?”

Robin laughs.

She laughs like she really means it, bright and real and like a knife to the chest.

Why does such a lovely sound feel like a knife to the chest?

“Me chasing your tail for you,” Robin explains, tucking her hands into her pockets, “since you're, y'know, busy saving our humanity.”

#dot post #ronance #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #i always said i wanted to write more povs of this universe and it's been almost a full year so...... no time like the present!

[pastafossa]

The last day of 2023.

And holy shit has it been a chaotic ride, one which you all shared with me, or that's what it feels like!

The Major Moments:

Feb: Cato's cancer diagnosis and discovery of weird mutated cells that likely won't be explained until after he passes away. He's still with me, fortunately! No idea how much time he has left but I'm grateful for every second

April: a small leak in my dining room ceiling turned into a bigger leak which turned into a massive hole in the ceiling, at least it wasn't winter???

May: DD Born Again Photos give us all a goddamn heart attack

May: I FUCKING REACH MY OVERALL 1,000,000 WORD COUNT ON AO3. 🎊 🎉 🎊 Next stop is 1mill for TRT!

June: Went to my first con since Covid! Drove all the way down to Philly to see Charlie Cox, WHICH WAS FUCKING AMAZING, HE HELD THE RED THREAD FOR OUR PHOTO, MY FANFIC DREAMS HAVE COME TRUE, AND I TOLD HIM WHAT DD MEANS TO ME AND HE WAS SO NICE I COULD CRY

June: At that same con, I finally FINALLY got to meet my bff @wonderlandmind4 in person after many many many late nights of chatting, and we just CLICKED like we'd been friends for years, which I should have expected, but still! And then I got to meet a bunch of my readers, too! Best con experience EVER

July: enter Whoops Covid Finally Got Me After 3 Years But Charlie Was Worth It ™

July: Finally dusted off my draft of Pasta's First Dark Fic cause even if my brain was too fuzzy to write, I figured I could edit a bit. And I did! And was pretty happy with the results!

August: Shit Now There's A Long Covid Heart Issue And I Can't Be Seen Until Late November Thanks Covid ®

August: leak in the garage leads to me losing about 65% of all the beautiful, special woods pieces I'd gathered over the course of six years for carving. Within a week I am gifted a huge bin of wood from a kind soul at my local witchy shop

Sept: TRT's 6th anniversary!

Nov: I was slowly getting back into the swing of things, doing a bit of writing in between learning to manage whatever was going on with my heart (which we'll hopefully figure out in January when I get all the results of testing in Jan)

Early Dec, and the worst week of my life: mom got sick. Within one day she went from not feeling good to needing an ambulance. By the next day, she was in the ICU - flu induced double pneumonia that was interfering with her breathing and heart issues. And with one more day, she was put into an induced coma and ventilated, without any of us sure if she'd pull through. They told us she'd likely be under for two weeks, potentially longer even if she made it. The amount of messages and supportive comments I got from all of you, the talks I had with @wonderlandmind4 and @shouldbestudying41, just the general sense of having a community to help me means more than I can ever say as you all helped me through that terrible, horrible moment, even if it was just gently messaging me to remind me to try to eat.

Mid Dec: against ALL odds, Mom was off the ventilator in a week. By week 2, she was out of the ICU. By week 3? Off to the physical rehab center. She was there a grand total of 1 week before she was allowed to come home to finish her recovery. Early December was the worst moment of my life, and yet it was also bookended by the best Christmas of my life even if it was spent at the rehab center, because I got to have my mama back, and hug her and tell her I loved her and make jokes, and now she's home and we've been watching Christmas movies and eating grilled cheeses, and as far as I'm concerned, that's what the holiday is to me: not presents and snow and lights, but this moment, this time with her. 'In all the places you find love, it feels like Christmas.'

In just a few hours for me, it'll be 2024. I have no idea what to expect going forward, or even what to plan for, much less a resolution. I know I want to get back to TRT when mom's a bit better (she still needs a lot of help, understandably). I know there are wood carvings I want make; friends I want to visit; witchy events at my local shop I want to go to. But other than that... who knows? If I'm lucky, things will be calmer than this past year. But even if they aren't, at least I know I have dear friends, all of you, and my family, including Pasta Mama, to help me through it.

Goodbye, 2023. Hello, 2024.

#new years #tw: sick parent #tw: sick pet #i have had a doozy of a year #and i truly don't think i'd have gotten through it without all of you #i feel like my life was just one great big tilt a whirl this year #incredible highs and incredible lows #we'll just have to see what 2024 brings #thank you to all of you this year #for your chats and messages #your comments and reaching out #it hasn't exactly been a smooth ride this year and i'm so grateful to all of you that helped push that metaphorical car up the hill with me #we'll see what comes this next year

[anzynai]

Study Break!

Riddle & Ace & Chenya (TWST)

a/n: WOOOO another twst fic done! and its lee riddle!! surprisingly enough, i actually got a lot of lee riddle requests (which i dont blame u nom nom) so im planning to write those requests in the future. still, here i combined two of them so i hope u dont mind! this was actually meant to be posted much sooner but well.. got sidetracked. plus, i wanted to write another fic before i posted this one. (that did not happen) ANYWAY, enjoy!

summary: when ace is forced to study with riddle, he finds that things may not be so bad after-all when a friend of riddle’s comes to visit!

word count: 1.5k

——

“Urghhh..” Ace groaned to himself. “This sucks..” Slouching over his papers, he wanted nothing more than to just go back to his room and sleep for ten years.

See, it was his fault, wasn’t it? That he had to waste three hours of his day on schoolwork instead of doing literally anything else. It’s true that he did get a.. well, less than favorable score on his test, but no! What he blamed himself on was the fact he had accidentally let Riddle see it!

And now, he was here, in the Heartslabyul Lounge, textbooks as far as the eye can see (or really, only covering the table) and Riddle drilling lesson after lesson into his brain. He was sure that if he stayed there a second longer, his brain would quite literally melt.

He hated that Riddle was actually a really good tutor. This wasn’t Ace’s first time getting a tutoring session with the Housewarden, despite the other’s busy schedule. But.. he had to be in the mood to study, you know?

“Do you get it, Ace? This is important,” Riddle asked, causing another groan to pass through the freshman’s lips.

“Yes… but..” He said, knowing full well that he hadn't been listening to Riddle for the past five minutes. “Can’t we just take a small break?”

“Not when you haven’t been listening to me at all. Do you really think you’re deserving of a break?” Riddle narrowed his eyes, his arms crossed. Ace, on the other hand, averted his eyes after getting through his initial shock.

“So you noticed..”

“Of course I did.”

“I just can’t focus! It’s just one test. I’ll do better on the next one.” Ace shrugged, looking out the window. He could be doing other things right now. Should he just.. say he needs to go to the bathroom and just leave? No, it’s Riddle. He would wait until Ace got back and punish him. And no one wanted to be on the receiving end of Riddle’s punishments.

“But you didn’t do well on this one. Tell me, what will you do if this material shows up on the final exam?” Riddle questioned, doubtful.

“Eh..”

“Hehe, playing teacher?” A voice suddenly cut out, startling the two. Ace jerked his head over towards the source to see.. a floating head?!

“Ah! It’s you!” What was his name? Arte… Pinky..? Huh???

“Chenya,” Riddle sighed, then looked up, a glare directed at him, rather than Ace. “Stop using your signature spell to scare others.”

“Hehe.” Chenya winked, then the rest of his body appeared.

“Freaky…” Ace mumbled to himself, still recovering from his heart attack earlier. How did he get in here anyway? When did he get here?

“What are you doing here?” Riddle asked the RSA student.

“Can’t I just visit my friends~?” Chenya put his hands behind his head, casually.

Riddle pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m assuming you’ve already met with Trey then?”

“Nope,” Chenya started, popping the p. “I actually thought I was gonna see you two together. You two used to be like, attached at the hip.”

“We were not.” Riddle looked away.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatcha doing?” He said, half-walking, half-skipping over to the table. Sevens, him and Floyd would get along swimmingly— no pun intended.

“As you can see, I’m tutoring one of my freshmen. He got an unacceptable grade on his last test and I am going to ensure that doesn’t happen again,” Riddle explains, gesturing at the textbooks sprawled about on the table.

“Way to put all my business out there, Housewarden..” Ace muttered under his breath. Riddle pointedly ignored him.

“Looks like he’s been working hard. I heard him ask for a break! Why not give the little freshie one?”

“Little freshie?!” Ace can hardly be grateful for Chenya trying to convince the housewarden to give Ace a break when he’s called that! Still.. a break would be nice.

Riddle looks between the two, a hopeful glint in each of their eyes.

Then, he sighed. “Fine. I will permit silent reading for ten minutes,” He responded, at last, handing him an alchemy textbook.

“Eh?! That’s not a break at all!” Ace exclaimed, before he could help it. He withdrew slightly at the glare that Riddle sent him.

“Yeah. I mean, like, something away from studying. Come on, the Chenya is visiting, do you think I’d wanna watch you two studying?” Chenya whined, throwing his arms out. He seemed very.. mischievous. Clearly, this was not his first rodeo.

“And what do you suggest?” Riddle raised a brow.

“I know!” Chenya declared, like he had been waiting for it, then he set his sights on Ace. Ace startled when Chenya started walking towards him, getting closer and cupping his ear to whisper into it.

Ace lit up while Riddle grimaced. Ace looked at the housewarden, newfound fervor in his demeanor. Ace had a mission and he could tell Riddle was not looking forward to finding out what it was.

“What are you two scheming over there?” Riddle demanded and Chenya shook, like he forgot the other was there. Then, the same fervor was in his eyes.

“Get him!” Chenya shouted, suddenly, as if Ace were a soldier or a knight or… something. Still, Ace obliged, running to pounce Riddle. Riddle didn’t seem to stop him, even though he very well could have, so the freshman could tell that he was curious about where this was going to go.

Then, Ace wiggled his fingers on Riddle’s sides and Chenya joined in, tickling Riddle’s ribs and armpits.

“H-huh?! Unhahand me!”

“No way! You were right, he is ticklish!” Ace exclaimed, almost incredulously.

“Hehe, isn’t he?” Chenya giggled. And that’s when it seemed to click in Riddle’s mind that that’s what they were whispering about. Riddle bit his lip, trying to resist but it was all over before he even began.

“Lehehehet gohoho!” Riddle laughed, an unwilling blush rising to his cheeks. Ignoring all that Riddle was, he looked so.. cute and innocent here.

“Nuh uh! This is how I want to spend my break!” Ace started poking his fingers in between Riddle’s ribs, loudly and obnoxiously singing some classical music, like Riddle was a piano. He knew he would probably die later, but… it was worth it.

When he hit a particular sensitive spot on his ribs, Riddle actually snorted. Yep. Definitely worth it.

Chenya was squeezing Riddle’s thighs, lightly grazing the tops of his knees all the while.

“You twohohoho, stahahap!” Riddle cried, squirming and trying to grab his magic pen from his pocket. That is, until Ace started scratching at Riddle’s waist, grazing his sides just barely, but enough to drive him mad.

“No way! Not when I found out my housewarden is,” Ace started, teasingly. “…this ticklish~” He enunciated his words with a poke to his side, laughing at how Riddle jolted each time.

“Teehee, he is just as ticklish as he was when he was little! So cuteee!” Chenya cooed, his slender fingers exploring Riddle’s tummy and bellybutton.

“Shuhuhut uhuhup!” Riddle screeched, his face bright red and Ace wasn’t really sure whether it was from embarrassment or anger. Maybe both. Maybe this shouldn’t go on much longer, he thought, thinking back about the times Riddle had used his unique magic on him. Riddle was better about it now, but he definitely still had his limits.

“Seems like you’re having fun?” A voice called out of seemingly nowhere. All three heads jerked towards the sound, spotting Trey in the doorway.

“Trehehehey! Mahahahake theheheem stohop!” Riddle giggled, finally giving up on trying to break free as he looked at Trey who chuckled in response.

“Alright, don’t you guys think he’s had enough?” Trey asked, walking closer to them but never actually stopping. Ace looked at his house warden and backed away. Chenya got in a few more pokes in before he stopped, as well, deciding to jog over to Trey.

“Trey! Your best friend is here!” He exclaimed, pointing at himself and winking. A fond smile made its way onto Trey’s face and Ace offhandedly wonders about the history between the three.

It is almost silent for a few moments, save for Riddle exhaling slowly and deeply.

“I hope that made for a sufficient break.” Riddle glared at the two, but especially Ace. Likely for giving into Chenya’s whims, which.. fair, but shouldn’t he be more angry at Chenya who suggested tickling him in the first place?!

“It definitely did, Housewarden!” Ace admitted, pushing any fear of retaliation that he might’ve had, recalling the moments just now. If Riddle hadn’t collared him, he must be safe, right? And well, it’s Riddle. Riddle would never do something so petty like tickle him back.

“Whatever. Let’s just get back to learning. And there will be no breaks until we are finished,” The Housewarden declares, sitting up to pick up one of the textbooks on the table. However, he scooted closer towards Ace, so that they were more diagonal than across.

Ace decided not to think about it too much. That is, until Riddle began poking him in the side every time he lost focus or got an answer wrong.

He supposed that this was what he deserved, so he didn't say anything. At least pokes in the side were all it was…

He shivered at the thought of Riddle finding out about how embarrassingly ticklish he was, but he’ll save that for another day! Now, he just has to get through this tutoring session… Ughhhh…

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland tickle #twst tickling #ace trappola #chenya #riddle rosehearts #ticklish!riddle #lee!riddle #ler!ace #ler!chenya #tickling #tickle fic #jai’s fic

[hello-eeveev]

How to Rest: Director's Commentary—Chapter 4

| Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 |

I always knew this chapter was going to be the problem child. It was the least clear snapshot next to Chapter 6. But unlike Chapter 6, Chapter 4 is the emotional nadir rather than the high, and I did not have a great idea of what form that low point would take for a very long time. So writing this was very much a process of discovery that sometimes felt like pulling teeth, but I still feel like I got a good chapter out of it, and there are some moments and choices I’m excited to discuss.

So let’s get into it! 

(spoiler warning for the entirety of How to Rest)

We start off with a bit of scene setting—Caleb is trying to read a book but is distracted by the ever-present countdown to Essek’s departure—before properly establishing how we got to this point.

It’s a bit of a departure from the format of the rest of the fic because of the cut to a past event rather than it being one continuous scene, but I felt this was justified because 1) it’s also just Caleb remembering what happened this morning, 2) Essek and Caleb do not separate in between these scenes; Essek is there all day, and 3) it aids the narrative. And 4) I like it :)

I have a whole 1644 words laying out what Caleb and Essek are individually doing during their six weeks apart (Caleb’s is week-by-week; Essek’s is a more general summary of his emotional state over the month), which is far too much to include here and largely irrelevant to the story, BUT I can offer you a glimpse into Essek’s perspective as he shows up to Caleb’s house in the middle of the night.

First off! He is somewhere in the Menagerie Coast when he gets the message from Astrid that it is likely safe to return to Rexxentrum. He is also in the middle of his trance, because you’re lying to me if you think Astrid has a normal sleep schedule.

(I don’t think I’ve explained my thoughts on Essek’s relationship to Astrid and directly tied it to How to Rest, but this post was made from my planning for this fic and this chapter specifically, and sums it up well.)

So Essek’s trance-addled, anxiety-ridden brain gets a rush of relief and adrenaline, so he’s not thinking clearly at all, and he gets as far as “Rexxentrum = east = later” before he has his go-bag in his hand and he’s teleporting away. It only occurs to him that “an hour later than the middle of the night” is still very very early in the morning once he’s at Caleb’s door and knocking on it (probably harder than he intends to because again, he just woke up and is tightly wound coil of paranoia and stress regardless). But that’s all right because Caleb is there despite the hour, and is pulling him inside and holding him so tightly that Essek both feels like he is at risk of exploding and being put back together at the same time. 

Six weeks of hell is worth it if it means he gets to keep this.

Essek spends a looong time in the bath to make up for all the quick, cold ones he had to take in the road. Warmth seeps into his muscles, his bones, his heart. He closes his eyes and accidentally trances for fifteen minutes or so, and even that is better rest than he had in weeks. 

He finally takes in the state of his hair. He was aware that it was long and unruly, had felt it tickling his ears and neck for the better part of a fortnight now, but taking a razor to the unkempt hair was like washing away the last of the muck and grime. 

He emerges from the bathroom and sees Caleb asleep on the couch, and what a joy it is to be overcome with tenderness and…

(This is one of the first times that word has crossed Essek’s mind with the full romantic and devoted meaning behind it. He recognizes it and sets it aside with the knowledge that it may well be the just product of a long-awaited reunion.)

He sits with Caleb and finishes his trance knowing that they are both safe and he is cared for here. 

Now let’s talk about lines and scenes from this chapter:

Essek held his spellbook in his lap, propped up against one knee, an invisible Mage Hand keeping the book he was referencing floating in the air just to his left. 

I have given Essek the Telekinetic feat (as shown by the invisible Mage Hand) because I refuse to believe he used a whole-ass 5th level Telekinesis to take the cupcake from Jester in c2e74.

[Essek] was chewing on the inside of his lip, Caleb noticed, and the pen he tapped against his chin pointed directly to the slight pull of his skin beneath his mouth. This—Essek in the Tower, bathed but unstyled, comfortable and focused and brilliant—was perhaps the loveliest sight Caleb had ever seen.

Caleb is down so bad he just likes to look at Essek and honestly I don’t blame him.

It’s about comfort! And feeling like you don’t have to put on airs around each other!! Essek doesn’t have to look or behave like anyone but himself here!!! And Caleb thinks he so beautiful for it!!!!!

He moved across the couch and wrapped his arms around Essek’s middle, shifting him just enough that he could hook his chin over his shoulder. Essek went along with this repositioning without hesitation; he leaned fully into Caleb without taking his eyes off his work. He tilted his head to the side, his cheek warm against Caleb’s own.

It’s not just comfort in a space, but comfort in an interaction! It’s like second-nature to lean into an embrace now AHHHH

ahem.

anyway.

“If you think they would be of use to you, you are more than welcome to my notes on the Happy Fun Ball.” Caleb made to summon one of the cats to retrieve them, but Essek laid a hand on his arm, stopping him.  “I appreciate it,” Essek said, “but I don’t think there is time to go over them tonight.” Caleb lowered his hand, and his heart fell alongside it. “Right. Of course.”

Caleb was not intentionally trying to get Essek to stay longer, but he certainly wasn’t trying to get him to leave sooner. Poor buddy :( and then he’s having a resurgence of the dread with added anxiety about Essek’s well-being while Essek’s still in spell-mode :(((

In this next section, we stumble into a misalignment of Caleb and Essek’s goals, at least in this moment. They’re both trying to recuperate from a very stressful six weeks apart, but they’re approaching it from different angles. Caleb’s way of making himself feel better is trying to convince them both that it doesn’t need to happen again, but Essek’s is reminding them of the reason it happened in the first place. It is Essek’s desire for Caleb’s rest and peace of mind vs. Caleb’s desire for Essek’s safety and well-being. Essek’s mindset is, “I will not subject you to a life of transience and paranoia. Maybe I deserve it, but you do not. After everything you’ve been through, you should be allowed to create a comfortable life for yourself. I love you care for you too much to let the consequences of my poor choices jeopardize that.” While Caleb’s is, “I am fully aware of what you have done, and I have known that refusal to let anyone else shoulder any of the burden. And it’s bullshit. I know what you are facing, and I am here. I accept the risk that associating with you brings because I love you care about you a great deal. I have the resources to keep you safe, and if there is a gap, I have the resources to fill it. I will do whatever is within my power to protect you.”

They try to comfort each other, but they’re also frustrated. Mostly at the situation, but kinda at each other and kinda at themselves. And a big part of what made this chapter difficult to write was finding the balance between showing frustration and showing concern, because honestly, the frustration wasn’t planned. It kept showing up, and I, Eve, the author, had to figure out how to incorporate it in a way that felt true to the characters, the scene, and the fic as a whole.

“You are leaving soon.” Essek’s mouth went slack before pinching into a frown. This close, Caleb could see the remnants of his earlier exhaustion, the faint circles under his eyes, the redness around his irises.  “Ah,” Essek said, closing his eyes. The weariness seemed to settle into his body anew. “Yes.” […] Essek covered Caleb’s hand with his own and nudged closer. “But I will return.”

Caleb is not the only one dreading Essek’s departure. But Essek is trying his best to stay optimistic, partially for his own sanity, partially because both of them having a breakdown about how much stress Essek being on the run is causing them would be a really sucky way to end this visit. It wouldn’t help Caleb at all, and Essek just had six weeks of stewing in the misery of his situation, so he can put off the next breakdown to when it’s not going to cause both of them to lose all sense of reason.

“Caleb.” Essek’s hand was gentle as it came to rest on Caleb’s knee, but his voice was tight. Concerned. “What do you need from me?” […] Caleb opened his arms, and Essek fell into them. He wove his arms between Caleb and the couch and squeezed him tightly around the waist before settling his head against Caleb’s shoulder, his breath skimming across Caleb’s neck.

This is something of a call back to All Things End, specifically this moment:

“Is there anything else I can do?” Caleb pressed his lips together, looking down as he placed his elbow on the armrest and extended an open hand towards Essek. Taking a deep breath, he glanced up. “Stay with me a while?” Essek softened and took Caleb’s hand in his, wrapping cool fingers around a warm palm. “Of course.”

Like. Please note: Essek is more confident in both his readiness to ask and in his ability to provide comfort. Caleb is less nervous to accept it. Holding your crush’s hand vs. laying on your dear friend/bf/doesn’t-matter-what-you-call-it’s chest like a weighted blanket.

But also, unfortunately: the “of course Essek can stay” of then vs. the “Essek must go” of now :'(

“I miss you,” he choked out.

Not “I have missed you,” not “I will miss you,” but “I miss you” less as a current emotion and more as a state of being. Essek is away more often than not, and even when he visits, it is for such a short amount of time that he is not truly able to reprieve Caleb of missing him. This is the essence of what is bothering Caleb in this chapter, and saying “I miss you” while Essek is here is the closest approximation he can get. He’s throwing darts trying to pinpoint his emotions.

“I…” Essek’s confusion filled the silence. “I am here.”

But Essek doesn’t know that. How could he? “I miss you” is surely not an unusual thing for them to say, but it doesn’t make sense when Essek is here, holding him. I think Essek recognizes that there is some further meaning, but he cannot figure out what that may be. 

Caleb throws another dart and gets a little closer to center:

“You don’t have to go.” Essek sighed, resigned, and pressed his forehead against Caleb’s neck in what felt like an apology. “Yes, I do.”

And Essek finally understands that Caleb has been trying to say, “I want you to stay.” Essek cannot promise him that, and they both know this, so there no point in pretending it's that simple. But there is something about knowing this that allows Essek to let down his own walls a bit and let Caleb see how the separation affects him, too.

“I have only just confirmed that the Assembly is unaware of my movements. It would have been better for me to stay away for at least another week, so as not to give my hand away immediately, but I—” His voice faltered. “Well.” He tightened his arms around Caleb.

The unspoken sentiment here is “I needed to see you.” But he can’t say that out loud. Not yet. He’s too emotionally stunted. The earnestness and blatant sentimentality would give him hives.

I don’t know what else to say about this. I am in my own walls. You know that image of someone biting a laptop? Yeah. That. 

Cut content (1) “It’s not easy being a weighted blanket”:

A brief rush of vertigo suddenly came over Caleb. He tried to blink it away, and while the initial sensation faded, a slight sense of floatiness persisted. “Apologies,” Essek said, running his hand along Caleb’s spine more easily than he should have been able to with the weight of both of them pressed against the couch. Ah. Adjust Density.  “I was losing feeling in my hands.”

Cut content (2) “Essek flexes his shadowhand skills”:

“The Assembly is not looking for me officially, so any tail Ludinus sends after me must be small and likely has some limit to their resources,” Essek explained. “Becke has her fingers on the pulse of the remaining Scourger contingent and is disinclined to believe that any would be working under Ludinus without her knowledge.  “Regardless, a target teleporting erratically across the continent is difficult to track at all, even more so without the force of a government to bolster the effort. After six weeks, they have certainly lost my scent. With some skill and some luck, it will be a long while before they are able to pick it up again.”  Essek lifted his head to meet Caleb’s eye. “That is why I was gone all that time. I had to be sure that shaking them off would last, and that no suspicion would fall on you or any of the Mighty Nein.” 

(a/n this is very hot of Essek tbh)

“This is the longest I have stayed in one place in quite some time.”

I wrote this line at 3am. It destroyed me. This line is what led to this post. I can’t believe I did this to my boy. He spent 6 whole weeks never staying in one place for more than 18 hours. How dare I. I’m so sorry, Essek.

“There is always a place for you here.” He felt Essek smile.  “Someday, maybe.”

This is the rewrite of this short exchange that, for the longest time, was the only solid I had written for this chapter. 

“You don’t have to go.” “I do. I wish I didn’t.” “Someday, maybe?” “Someday.”

No matter what, I knew that I wanted the “someday, maybe” sentiment. It’s kind of the core idea of this chapter, and it’s all they can really offer to each other at this point in time. We will discuss the first line more in Chapter 5, but the seeds have been planted.

Their foreheads knocked, and Essek’s eyes fell closed. “I will miss you,” he breathed, “most dearly.”

Yes, this is a not-so-subtle nod to Miss You Dearly, but it is also a nod to the fact that for the better part of 3 years now, I have headcanoned that Essek and Caleb use “my dear friend” when they refer to the other. Not “boyfriend,” not “partner”, though they’re not really going to correct anyone about it. It’s not wrong, it’s just not what they say.

Does this line really work as a reference to that headcanon? No, I am realizing. Nevertheless, that was part of my intention. I’m just thinking of it constantly, and I have yet to figure out a way to properly incorporate it into my fics.

With a tilt of his chin, Essek pressed his lips to Caleb’s.

This post sums up what happened here. I didn’t mean for this to happen. In some ways, I was trying to avoid it because I… kinda feel bad? that all the big kiss scenes seem to happen from Caleb’s perspective? Yes, this is silly. Yes, I have a How to Rest coda fic in the works that amends this somewhat.

“It will not be so long this time,” he said. “I promise.”

Essek cannot promise Caleb that he can stay, but a promise to visit more often and more frequently is not impossible, especially after the work he put into getting ahead of a tail.

While Essek put on his boots, Caleb went into the kitchen to scrounge together food that would keep well to send with him—half a loaf of bread Caleb got from the market the other day, some dried meats, the last few hard candies from a tin given to him by a student, and a puck of fermented tea from the Blooming Grove that he knew Essek liked—and bundled it all together.

This scene didn’t exist until I was sitting down and writing the transition between “they leave the Tower” and “Caleb starts to teach himself Private Sanctum,” but I love it. The care package, somewhat hastily assembled on account of zero notice that Essek would be showing up, is both practical (Caleb knows what keeps well on the road) and indulgent (candies and a favorite tea for a man on the run). The tea is pu-erh tea, which Essek tried back in Chapter 3 and which Caleb keeps in his house specifically because he knows Essek likes it. This is very important to me.

Caleb slipped into his study and tossed a few pearls in the tin with the candies. He didn’t doubt that Essek had enough, but, well, one could never have too many.

c2e135 01:07:05!!! “How are you on pearls?” “I will always accept more.” “They go fast.” hhhhhhnnnnnnngggghhhhh

Plus, Essek’s gets a little surprise present when he opens the candies the first time, and I think that’s nice :)

He looked down and ran his fingers softly across Caleb’s wrist. “I suppose it is time to say goodbye, then.”

For all his talk about how he has to go, Essek is procrastinating. He put on a very brave face, but he had a miserable time for the last 6 weeks and he’s worried that might happen again. It won’t get that intense again, I know, but he doesn’t. And even if he did, he’s allowed to steal a moment or two more. Like the Beacons :)

Essek reached into one of his pockets for a stone whose origin Caleb could not begin to guess, and rolled it around in his palm. “Goodbye, Caleb Widogast.”

It is important that Essek uses Caleb’s name—his full name—before he goes, as he will not be able to until the next time they see each other. We see that in the message Essek sends a bit later, where he says:

“Goodnight, my friend. I will see you soon.”

“My friend” isn’t really an Essek-ism. He most likely picked it up from Caleb. Other endearments with more romantic connotations aren’t really a good idea for someone on the run to be using openly. “My friend” is generic enough to the average eavesdropper, but you and I both know he’s really saying, “Goodnight, my (dear) friend (Caleb Widogast).”

Caleb opened his notebook and got to work, a small seed of hope sprouting in his chest.

I used a plant metaphor to describe Caleb’s feelings in Chapter 6, so I wanted to repeat that here to create a bit of a throughline. A leitmotif, if you will. Essek gets the fire/spark descriptors, Caleb get the plants ones. We have a little fun here. We get a little silly.

#there's a lot to chew on with this one #this chapter went through a lot of iterations during drafting #but i'm happy it ended up here #long post #shadowgast #caleb widogast #essek thelyss #eve talks #eve’s writing #how to rest #how to rest director's commentary

[squishmallow36]

Aro Dex Fic I don't feel like Titling

Word count: 2333

Tw: swearing, murder/near death experience mentions (i promise it's fluffy tho)

Taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed!): @stellar-lune @gaslight-gaetkeep-gayboss @kamikothe1and0lny @nyxpixels @florida-preposterously @poppinspop @uni-seahorse-572 @solreefs @the-blender-of-the-genders @rusted-phone-calls @when-wax-wings-melt @immersion-blender @good-old-fashioned-lover-boy7 @dexter-dizzknees @abubble125 @hi-imgrapes @callum-hunt-is-bisexual @xanadaus @callas-pancake-tree @hi-my-name-is-awesome @katniss-elizabeth-chase @arson-anarchy-death

And of course a HUGE thank you to @synonymroll648 for giving me the motivation to write this thing. It'd still be rotting in my google drive if it weren't for you and I hope it lives up to your expectations from that one snippet. Sorry it took an extra day; I got distracted playing factorio in true Dex fashion

On Ao3 or below the cut!

    A knock at Dex’s bedroom door cuts through xor blaring music. Xe’s fully prepared to wage all-out guerilla warfare against whichever one of xor siblings dared to interrupt one of the few times xor brain isn’t being a little bitch. 

    One of the very few times xe isn’t worrying about seventeen thousand different productive things xe has to do and is instead simply able to ignore them. 

    And that’s exactly why xe’s spent the last two and a half hours coding a game of bingo. Sometimes that just kind of happens. It’s not like there’s anything xe can do to change it. 

    Dex pulls out his earbuds, calling, “Come in!” 

    Sophie’s head pokes through a small gap in the doorway as she greets, “Hello!” 

    Awfully cheery for someone who has a near-death experience once a week. I wonder what Keefe’s done this time. 

    “Oh, hey.” Dex smiles. “I didn’t know I still existed in your mind.” 

    Sophie closes the door behind him as he points to his temple, giggling, “Photographic memory.”

    “Ah. That explains it. What sort of project do you have for me this time?” Despite what she may claim and what Dex wants to admit to xemself, Sophie has a…tendency to only come see xem when she has a project for xem. That’s just the way it works these days.  

    “Hide me from Sandy. I don’t want to deal with him today,” Sophie answers, smooshing into the bean bag in the corner. 

    Dex sighs. “If you get murdered under my watch, I better not get blamed.” 

    Xe may mean it in a joking way, but history has shown it’s a possibility that shouldn’t be immediately discounted, and then it would be all xor fault if something happened to him. 

    Sophie makes a disgruntled noise. “You sound just like Sandy.” 

    A smile pulls at the corners of Dex’s mouth. “...Maybe I’m part Goblin. That would explain a lot.” 

    What exactly it would explain, xe doesn’t know. But there’s probably something somewhere. 

    “Like the fact you’re seventeen feet tall?” 

    Note to self: learn the US customary system of measurement. 

    At least, the way she says this implies that this is a large number even if the Elves don’t measure things in feet. Feet--as in, the attached appendages--vary in size too much for their pretentiousness because everything has to be standardized. 

    But not the same way humans do. The human metric system isn’t good enough either. Why that is, nobody knows. 

    “I’m a normal height. You’re just short.” 

    Actually, xe’s half a maik taller than the average elf, but that’s close enough for the sake of argument. 

    “You know what? Fuck you.” Sophie replies, getting up from the bean bag and burrowing into Dex’s bed. 

    Or at least that’s what it sounds like he says. The blanket muffle factor is very high. 

    He pauses for a second before mumbling, “I live here now.” 

    I really hope you can breathe in there. 

    “Mood.” Dex turns to go back to xor Bingo project, but xe has a thought--wasting xor only one for this week on a Tuesday--

    Why do Elves use the same Gregorian calendar as humans do anyway? Eh, whatever. That’s an issue for another day. 

    --and asks Sophie, “Why didn’t you choose to go brother Keefe?” 

    “More time before Sandy finds me. He’d check there first. Or maybe Everglen. Either way, it’s high up on the list.” 

    Dex shakes xor head. “So you’re trading my life for what? Ten minutes of being buried in a blanket cocoon? Can’t you do that at home?”

    “Well, yeah, but I don’t have Gwendle at home,” she replies, crushing the fluffy pink pig’s head in with her elbow. 

    “If something happens to Gwendle, I swear to fucking Exile the Neverseen are going to look like a bunch of Level Twos.” 

    “Level Twos are vicious, my dude. I hope you can bring it.” 

    “I know. I live with three of them. Send help.” 

    Sophie does not seem to take this as an actual plea for help. Or actively chooses to let Dex suffer. 

    “Wait, the triplets are Level Twos? They’re still supposed to be like,” Sophie pauses, “seven.” 

    “They were nine the first time you met them!” 

    “That’s both wrong and incorrect.” 

     No, unfortunately, it is neither of the above. And Dex has learned from the most obnoxious of Level Twos, so any sort of punishment xe creates is certain to be horribly painful. 

    Sophie recovers quickly from this revelation, asking, “So what’s new in your life?”

    “Not much. I have a random bruise on my arm and I’m not sure how it got there.” Xe tries to show her, but his head is buried in the blanket cocoon and has no chance of appreciating the yellow blob.

    Is it weird my bruises don’t really go through the bruise-looking purplish stage and instead go directly to yellow-green? I should Google that at some point.

    “How about you,” xe tacks on after a moment because that is the correct next step of the social contract. 

    “I’ve been experiencing gay thoughts for Keefie. You know how it is.” 

    Dex laughs nervously. No, I don’t, Sophie. 

    It’s not that Keefe isn’t objectively attractive, all Elves are, but that’s part of the problem. If all Elves are gorgeous, then none of them are.  

    Don’t blame me for getting my philosophy from The Incredibles. There’s only so much I can do. 

    “Oh, and, uh, by the way. I’m not exactly straight,” Sophie mentions casually. 

    Dex sees flashbacks of one of the last times xe was trying to procrastinate, trying to find Amy on human Social Media because that seemed like a good use of his time. 

    Incidentally, he found both Amy and Sophie, who stated in his description that he’s bi. Also the gender thing. That should also count for something although that hasn’t been updated in a while and still included they/them which has since been blacklisted for reasons.

    “I--I know. I stalked your Instagram page.”

    Sophie sits up, blankets puddling around her, hair standing on end from static. “You found that?”

    “I’m a Technopath with too much free time so…yeah.” Dex shrugs. “Spent some time trying to look through every single Sophie Foster but then I figured Amy would probably be following you and somehow she managed to find me a while ago.”

    “Why the fuck do you even have an Instagram?” 

    “I’ve got to keep up with the chocolate man’s bullshittery,” Dex replies like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. 

    Sophie clearly has no clue who Dex is talking about, but doesn’t bother asking. There are some days when going to a lecture is almost tolerable, but she’s not going to waste her free time away from Sandor to learn. “Fair.” He pauses, falling back into the bed with a huff. “You’re smart. Can you explain something to me?” 

    “I can try?” Dex replies, attempting to mentally prepare for whatever he tries to throw at xem. 

    “Elves are fucking stunning, yes?”

    Xe was not prepared for that. 

    “Yes?” Objectively, of course, but yes. 

    ���So can you explain to me why my gay awakening was caused by Grace O’Malley? Like, what the fuck, brain? She’s been dead for centuries. I don't understand this. And this postdates moving to the Lost Cities by the way. This was two months ago.” 

     I could’ve told you two years ago, but I was oblivious to myself so I’m not going to be like that. Not today. 

    Dex nods like xe understands what she’s saying, but despite xor human studies, xe has no clue who this is, but there’s reasoning behind it. Just like the entire conversation they had ranking all the US presidents by how attractive they were. 

    That Franklin Pierce won by a large margin.

     Why that was a conversation, xe couldn’t tell you. Why Grace O’Malley is causing Sophie so many gay thoughts, xe couldn’t tell you either. 

    “You have no clue who I’m talking about, do you?” Sophie asks. 

    “No but that doesn’t mean I don’t have Wikipedia…but, please be my Wikipedia for this. It’s sure to be more entertaining than normal Wikipedia.” 

    “I see you’re enjoying my suffering,” Sophie mutters, but before Dex can reply, he’s off on a rambled explanation. “Grace O’Malley, also known as Granuaile, was the baddest bitch that ever lived. I mean yes she was documented to have a husband at one point and a boyfriend at another point but then he was killed and she absolutely fucked his killers over so, yoou know, that comes out even. She’s known today as the pirate queen of Ireland and, gods, I wish she’d step on me.” 

    Are the Allos okay? 

    “None of my little gay thoughts make any sense. By any rational means my gay awakening should’ve been Biana or Marella or Linh. Oh gods, Linh is so pretty. Isn’t Linh so pretty?”

    “I…haven’t really thought about it I guess.” 

    “What the fuck do you mean, my dude?” Sophie asks, sitting up once again to stare into Dex’s soul.

    Dex shrugs. “I mean it just hasn’t really crossed my mind.”     

    Sophie buries his head in his hands. “What do you mean it hasn’t crossed your mind‽ I can’t seem to have any other thoughts even when I’m literally in the middle of getting murdered.”

    Dex takes a breath. “Would you like a possible explanation to this whole dilemma?”

    Cranking sarcasm up to eleven, Sophie replies, “No. I enjoy suffering this anguish. Teach me your ways.” 

    “Yeah, so, um. A couple of weeks ago I might’ve come to the realization that I’m aro…”

    Smiling, Sophie asks in pretend anger, “Why the fuck did I kiss you then?” 

    “You see, what I believed was romantic attraction was really just a wonderful combination of a squish and comphet. So yeah. That happened. I’m sorry.” 

    “Oh, don’t be sorry. Elves being painfully blind to the obvious is just simply a genetic trait we all seem to share.” 

    “...I thought I was part goblin.”

    “You inherited the worst of both worlds. Obliviousness and being tall,” Sophie laughs.”So how’d you overcome your predisposition to obliviousness?” 

    Dex begins, “I was laying in bed one night at about, let’s say three a.m. because that’s better than the actual time, refusing to sleep because sleep is for losers--”

    “Mood,” Sophie interrupts.

    “--and out of nowhere the realization hit me like a sack of wet mice. Looking back, the lack of heart palpitations should have been a very telling sign. And there was some sorting out and reclassifying what I previously believed was romantic attraction but everything can be explained away pretty easily,” Dex finishes. 

    “Palpitations? Is that related to Emperor Palpatine? Dex, are you gay for a crusty old Star Wars dude?” Sophie jokes.

    Dex laughs. “That would be so on brand for me but, sadly, no. You know when your heart gets fluttery during a panic attack? It’s the fancy medical word for that.”

    “Why do you know this? You aren’t a healer; you don’t like people enough for that.” 

    “Partially because Merriam-Webster offers a word of the day calendar and partially because my brain just sometimes decides to store the most useless shit. Like the periodic table. Can you tell me the molar mass of copper off the top of your head?”

    “63.55, of course. But you don’t have a photographic memory. This makes no sense to me.”

    “You see, to make room for all that extra storage, I forget an equal number of things. Often the victims are remembering to eat and sleep and which way is left and right.” 

    “Mood. Do you know the left hand right hand trick?”

    “...no?” Dex answers. 

    “If you hold out your left hand, it looks like an ‘L’ which is the same letter that starts the word left. And the right hand is backwards,” Sophie explains. 

    “I hate to break this to you, Soph, but that might be the case in the Latin Alphabet--I should really get back to Duolingo--but that’s not how it works in Elvin runes. And I have a feeling it would take more brain power to remember the rule than to remember left and right so I think I’m just not going to know directions ever. I’ve resigned myself to my fate.” 

    Before he can craft an elaborate mnemonic device to help both of them with a skill they probably should have learned in elf-kindergarten, Dex’s mom yells up the stairs for xem. 

    Half a second later, she’s followed up by a chorus of slightly-off-timed “DEX!”s from the triplets. 

    Xe cracks the door open, replying, “Yeah?” 

    “You wouldn’t happen to know where Sophie might be, eh?” 

    The triplets attempt to also repeat this, to vastly more disastrous results as Dex and Sophie have the shortest staring contest in recorded history. 

    ‘I’ll send her right down!” Dex says, trying to keep any sort of emotion from xor face to no avail. 

    Sophie’s gaze hardens into a glare with the fury of an incredibly cliche but still somehow accurate thousand suns. 

    “You can go and fuck yourself,” he says quietly. 

    Dex pretends to consider. “Nah, I’m too ace for that. Now. Begone before Sandor comes and destroys my room. Everything has its assigned place and I’m not in the mood to reorganize. Not today.” 

    “Bye! If I never get to leave the house again I’ll hail you when I get bored.” 

    Please don’t. I’d rather not have a panic attack and avoiding calls is a very good way to do that. 

    Dex waves as Sophie escapes xor room and down the stairs. If she gets kidnapped by the triplets on the way down, it isn’t xor fault. 

    Xe collapses back into xor chair, leaning too far back and scaring xemself before sighing. 

    That was…less painful than anticipated. Still not telling my mother any time in the next thousand years though. Even with a society constructed around the arospecs we call the council. That’s not happening. Not under my watch. 

#kotlc #kotlc fanfic #kotlc dex #dex dizznee #kotlc sophie #sophie foster

[amadwinter]

✨✨✨✨🫱Care to share🫲✨✨✨✨

The message was sent to you because someone loved your writing and stories. ❤️

▪️What are your writing suggestions for newcomers, or what would you have liked to know when you first started?

▪️How do you write different personalities and perspectives? Could you explain how you came up with the manner you written your favorite or any character?

▪️What do you do when you have writer's block?

▪️How do you come up with new ideas and develop them?

▪️Any messages for your readers or fellow writers?

You are welcome to answer if you have the time and desire, or you can simply respond to the questions that come to mind.

💐Thank you for your work as a writer and as a member of this fandom!💐

🧡🧡🧡 Gosh thank you anon! It really made me smile to receive this.

That's a long list of questions, but I'll try my best to answer them all.

What are your writing suggestions for newcomers, or what would you have liked to know when you first started?

It doesn't need to be perfect. In fact, aiming for perfection is an exhausting endeavor. Whether it's characterization, canonical details, length, description... Just do your best. And push yourself a little beyond what you think your limits are on occasion. Your first attempt may not end up how you want it, but you'll get better the more you write.

How do you write different personalities and perspectives? Could you explain how you came up with the manner you written your favorite or any character?

I really like finding out what makes a character tick. Why do they think like they think, how do they see the world, how do they see themselves. I find the broad parts that I can personally identify with, and draw upon my own emotions and experiences to put myself in the mindset of that character.

Like Anakin Skywalker is a temperamental fascist with superpowers who used to be a slave. I can't really identify with any of those things. But fear? Anger? Loneliness? Grief? Yeah, I can get those. I can also understand the panic when it feels like your emotions are crushing you and you can't get out from under their weight and all you want to do is scream out to the universe but you don't think anyone will hear you.

It's funny, because I think I'm better at writing Anakin's POV, yet I relate far more to Obi-Wan temperamentally than I do Anakin. Something something it's easier to put yourself in someone else's shoes than look into a mirror.

What do you do when you have writer's block?

Scream? Okay but no really what I do is I open up my document and just try to plug away at it. Sometimes I'm successful, sometimes I'm not. But I know that if I never even try, I will never be successful. Sometimes, I'll move onto a different project for a time and see if I have success there. But if I stay away from a project for too long, it gathers dust and I feel terrible about it (RIP my current WIPs).

It really helps that at any given time, I'm balancing a few different fics at once. And sometimes it hurts.

How do you come up with new ideas and develop them?

Ideas come randomly and frequently, from watching TV or movies, reading, things seen online, or just life. But I write them all down, even if nothing ever comes of them. Writing them down is important, because they may not be anything now, but they can grow into something over time.

I toss and turn these ideas over in my brain, and when I think I've got a good one, I open up a blank document and start jotting down all the relevant thoughts in my brain and working them into an outline. It might take some time for it all to come together, or I might get sudden, intense inspiration and it all comes out at once. It really depends on the idea.

Any messages for your readers or fellow writers?

I love the Obikin fandom. I've never been into a fandom as deeply before, and I don't know if I will ever be into another like this after. We're not without our issues, but looking upon other fandoms (or even other ships within Star Wars), we've got it pretty good, all things considered.

I'm here because of what I love, and I'm glad to have met others who share similar sentiments. I'm also really glad that I can pay it forward by running an event (with my bestest best co-mod).

I published 30 Obikin fics last year. I can't wait to find out how much I'll write this year :)

#q&a #thanks for the ask!

[itsevanffs]

breaking my hiatus for like five seconds (wow, what a surprise) to bring you a small psa. i got another 'pls update' comment today and i wanted to share my reply to it just to get this over and done with because i get too many comments like this.

here goes:

my friend, this is not the interaction you think it is.

i'm feeling generous today so i'll explain.

firstly: a 'i liked your fic!' goes a long way. it shows me you actually liked my story and engaged with it. 'please update' tells me nothing except that you want more. in theory that's a nice thing if you don't think too much about it, but i'm an author, thinking is what i chronically do. 'please update' can mean anything from 'i really want to read more because it's so good' to 'everything so far has been absolute garbage and only a truly phenomenal update can save this'. funny thing about creative brains is they are often inherently pessimistic. i am much more inclined to think someone hated my fic than loved it. please at least tell me what you thought before you start begging for more - or just don't beg. tell me you liked it. that's a much better way to motivate me.

secondly: i am not a farm animal. i work at my own pace, for free (i am not paid in any manner, and i don't take donations either), and demanding (because that is what you are doing) an update will not change my rate in any positive direction. arguably, anytime anyone demands an update i slow down my update speed, since i work on the incredible principle of spite. you're shooting yourself in the foot here bud.

thirdly: you're coming in at a funny fuckin time my friend because this is the first time in almost five whole years i'm on an actual literal hiatus for both physical and mental reasons, so you're gonna have to be a good boy and just wait like the rest.

fourthly: do you know how long it takes to write a thousand words, on average? my writing speed on a good day is 1k per hour. that's eight consecutive hours for a single chapter of this fic. now, i did it to myself, you may say, but i sure as hell am not stopping with my consistent character length, nor am i going to take a 9-5 off my fairly hectic real life to write eight thousand words in a day so i can get it to you by tomorrow. what do you expect when you say 'please update'?

i don't mean to call you out specifically or whatever but this is like the 20th comment exactly like this i've gotten this year and i'm a little sick and tired of it.

if you take anything from this, then just... butter your comment up first with a compliment. seriously. 'i liked this, looking forward to the next chapter' is a low effort, fool proof way to not piss anyone off.

have a nice day.

#fanfic related #fanfic #personal #comment #any attempted harassment toward the person i was replying to will result in me blocking you btw #just putting that out there #long ish post

[theimaginatrix27]

Actually, no, I am going to talk about this

I have long known that Juliet Marillier disapproved of fanfiction. She wasn't going to stop people from writing it, but she didn't approve of it.

I recently looked at her FAQs on her website, which she's updated and refined since I was last able to read any of them. And what she says about Fanfiction is more than a little upsetting to me, and in some ways may explain why fics based on her works are so sparse on the ground.

"I understand that fan fiction is a sort of tribute – it means readers like my books enough to want to create new stories about the characters. But I would much rather people invented their own characters, settings and story ideas. I know a whole lot more about my characters’ lives than I ever put on the page, and I believe their stories should be exclusively mine to tell."

This hit me like a freight train. It's been a long time since I saw any of this, and I understand the author is in her seventies now, so she's from a generation where this opinion was commonplace.

But this is the attitude that is a big contributing factor to why my writing stalled.

When I was in High School, I tried to put aside all fanfiction ideas and focus on original ones. I was fourteen and thought the story of my most complex fanfics at the time could have the fandom stuff stripped out and I could still have a complete story.

It never got past the first book of what I thought might be a trilogy of stories about fairies. I wrote two incomplete drafts and then abandoned it.

My Sisterlands story, on the other hand, has grown alongside a fanfiction story (the fic now known as the Maginite Chronicles). Some aspects of both came about because of the other. The stories share characters. They have grown with one another and with me.

In the 2010s, I got my own computer and was able to explore the internet at my leisure. I discovered fanfiction websites and fell down a rabbit hole of truly wonderful stories. And suddenly my brain was teeming with new story ideas! I was inspired!

And yet, I felt guilty for focusing any of my attention on these fanfic ideas, because I was still under the misguided belief that my original ideas were superior to my fanfiction ones, that fanfiction was frivolous and pointless and unoriginal, and I should be concentrating on stories that could make me money and not crib off other authors' works.

And it stifled my creativity. It stifled my motivation. It made it so much harder for me to write fic, but also my originals.

There were other factors to why I didn't write as much as I wanted to over the past decade. Some of it was self-inflicted. Lack of ideas has never been one of my problems, though prioritising which story to write at any given time is very difficult for me when I have so many in me.

But I fundamentally disagree with Juliet on this here. Others have said it better, but once you've released a story into the world, unless you plan to write sequels, you don't get to decide you're the only one allowed to tell stories about these characters forever.

Maybe I know more about my characters than others do. Maybe I know more about my setting than others do. Maybe there's going to be stuff that gets cut from the books before they're published because it's the best thing for the story told in those books.

But do you think I'm going to tell people they can't play with the dolls I donated to the public library because they're mine! Nobody else can play with them! You're only allowed to watch me play with them!

No! Of course not! That's ridiculous! I already donated them! They were paid for, they're meant to be shared! Like any story is published to be shared!

"That means I don’t encourage readers to write fan fiction based on my work. I don’t like readers to share those stories online, though I can’t stop them from doing it. However, writers of fan fiction should note that if they infringe my copyright they could find themselves in trouble with my agent and the publisher. I love the fact that my readers are writing and I encourage them to continue. Just be original, folks."

I know there are legal restrictions on published authors, so they can't read fic. I also know I wouldn't be the storyteller I am without fanfiction. The Sisterlands wouldn't exist without fanfiction.

Juliet you write fairy tale retellings! That's fanfic! That's not original! Your books are based on fairy tales and folklore, you don't get to sit on your stack of fairy tale retellings and tell us to create your own original characters and settings. My fairy tale retelling series is fanfic of my favourite fairy tales, told in a way I like, with characters I put names to and fleshed out, but that began as fairy tale set pieces! And they also wouldn't exist without books like yours!

I don't know when she posted this version of her views. The website doesn't make that clear. And she's got some progressive messaging in her novels if you know where to look.

But if she can't see nothing is original, including her own work for the reasons outlined above, I don't think I'd be able to convince her now, even if I hadn't annoyed her when I was freshly online and eager and sent her a dozen emails full of enthusiasm and questions. And a few requests I didn't know would be quite beyond her at the time, but I hadn't found all the writing resource websites I have since then.

Also look at the series you've abandoned for financial reasons and then try to justify why people who want more shouldn't write the continuations you can't because publishers won't take them.

#Fanfiction #Writing #Trix Rants Rarely #And I wish this wasn't coming from an author whose work I so deeply respect