#but he cannot save a pen even if his life depended on it
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somebody get aaron on the penalty drills please
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My Overwatch headcanons part 1
Support addition
(Please respect my headcanon there just headcanons) Also this took hours for me to do my ppor hands TvT
Lifeweaver/Niran Pruksamanee
He smells like dew and fresh leafs from the tree's, he has this nice scent to him which is very sweet but not too sweet.
My boy hate's styling his hair since it's so long but he manages to take good care of it even though it's a hassle for him.
He's very close to Sym but loves to bother her once in awhile but know's she can put up with his non-sense even though he tends to do the most craziest thing ever.
Niran love's his parents very much but honestly he wish that would would understand why he's on the run than bother him of coming home or turning his long life project in to Vishkar.
Enjoys the company of both Hanzo and Sym since he grew to bond with them but it's also nice to have someone to talk too.(bonus points there tea friends)
Loves teasing others, mainly he doesn't even realise he's teasing people until later on since he sometimes doesn't even know if he's teasing or not.
He tends to listen to some of Lucio music and give his input in by giving him some advice but so far he has no complaints about his music.
There are times were he will accidentally life grip the wrong person even though, he was suppose to pull someone else to safety but if he pulled the wrong person who happened to be in front of him as he apologised none stop but will get mad at the person he was suppose to pull for charging in blindly.
He misses his sibblings and parents but does write letters to them saying that he's still alive and well.
Him and Symmetra are still gossip buddies since he would spill some of the tea that he knows.
His date with Bap went better than expected but he might go on another dinner date with him again.
People assume he's a vegan but in reality he isn't but doesn't eat too much meat he'll have once in awhile but not everyday.
His favourite food is mainly Pumpkin coconut soup, usually his mother knows how to make it but he can replicate it with no problem.
He and Hanzo are pen pals..That's it their just pen pals.(but there secret besties)
People often tend to mistake his kindness for flirtatiousness which happens almost all the time.
Know's that the others hate when he grips them to safety even though it's for there own good since there a bit reckless(mainly Genji and Rein)
He may not look like a person who enjoys bugs but he does, he probably picked up a few of them and showed them to his parents when he was younger and maybe as well towards Sym when they were room mates much to her dismay since he finds him interesting.
While he was room-mate's with Sym he was very well organize but whenever he was working on his project he would go on a no sleep streak just to get it done (Sym had to convince him to get his beauty sleep)
Has his own skin care routine (You cannot tell me he doesn't have his own skin care routine)
In his spare time he enjoys to meditate with either Zenyatta or Hanzo since he enjoys there company.
He's known for stealing food from the fridge but as of right now he's the one who steal Hanzo cake in the middle of the night and watches the chaos ensues as Hanzo accuses a few people who had eaten his cake.(Has thrown Kiriko under the bus once or twice to save himself from Hanzo wrath)
Love's to eat spicy food and enjoys seeing people reaction since he doesn't look like the type of person who enjoys spicy food.
He has ADHD.
Hate's Vishkar with a passion and wishes that his dear friend Satya would understand his whole point of how Vishkar isn't meant to help people.(Which is another reason why he"Graduated early")
He and Ashe bond a bit on their parental issue's/trauma to one another even though there almost similar it's different in there own way.
Has a sassy attitude when things tends to go south depending on how the mission goes.
He and Hanzo are close but not that close unlike Satya since he knew her longer than Hanzo.
Enjoys playing horror games even though he may not look like the person who enjoys it .
He actually worries for Moria, since he doesn't like that fact she's killing herself all in the name of science just to help others, Even though he knows what she's doing is wrong.
Completely understands Baptiste point of few for Cassidy since he too finds the cowboy very attractive as well
Ana Amari
She has regrets on being a horrible mother to Fareeha ever since she basically disappeared but moreover she just abandoned her daughter and wishes to make amends with her
Ana doesn't feel anger towards Amelie (Widowmaker) as she shot out her eye, she has no ill will towards her in all honestly she feels upset on what happen to her that she couldn't save her
Is actually proud of Cole and does see him as her son since he was close to her as well as Fareeha.
Will never forget the day when Cole called her mom once while she was teaching him how to shoot, it actually made her very emotionally (has never let him forget it but only when there alone)
Is under a ton of stress since she worries for both Jack and Gabe, since she wants too help them but knows that there going to refuse her help since both men are very stubborn.
She does have feeling's for Rein but is worried that it might not last for them since both of them are old but mainly she worries for Rein's well being since one wrong move might be fatal for him.
She really does see herself in Kiriko mainly when she was younger and in her prime but still Kiriko is a bit reckless but is learning along the way like she did.
Really really want's to go to Fiji and enjoy her retirement but knows that she can't but only in her dreams can she relax on the beach.
When Junkrat asked her to be his mother figure it's not that she didn't want too adopt him but it's mainly the fact he'll ask to many question. Which will cause her a headache or worse she might put him to sleep if need be, cause she already has too many kids to watch after (mainly Cole and her daughter)
She's really proud of Fareeha but is very worried about her safety even though she knows Fareeha knows what she's doing.
Hopes that one day Fareeha would forgive her but knows that it'll take time when she's ready to forgive her.
Is grateful that since Genji move's around it really does keep her sharp in battle since clearly Genji is the best target for her(Though she won't tell him that since he might run away from her)
Has secretly adopted Hanzo because she knows how that he needs someone to talk too.(She also adopted Genji too)
As much as she adores Cole he sometimes get's a bit on her nerves but know he does it in the goodness of his heart and she knows that but she's too old to have competition with him on who's the better shot.(She know's she'll beat him so she's sparing him the embarrassment)
Worries about Jack but will always have his back till the end even if it maybe stupid she care's about him cause someone needs to get him out of trouble.
Is very tired and exhausted mentally and emotionally but puts up a front.
She enjoys having tea with either Hanzo or Sym but sometimes having the both of them over for tea is really relaxing for her.
Wants to help Gabe but knows that deep down he'll refuse it and it honestly hurts her since she cares about him after finding out he was alive all those years.
Basically is a babysitter to the newer recruits and always tell them to make time for themselves too relax but sometimes it tends to go over there heads.(Which reminds her of herself when she was in her prime)
Like she says hates being feared since it really hurts her since all she wanted was respect from others than fear, since it has taken a toll on her since she'll forever be known as the world deadliest sniper and nothing more just a killer.
Angela Ziegler
Is sleep deprived 24/7 and runs on energy drinks and strong coffee
Wants to help Widowmaker since she notice that a bit of her emotions are coming through but knows she can't get too close she just needs to find the right timing.
She really enjoys Genji and Fareeha company since she does tend to over work herself and they always help her out by taking her to bed.
Swiss Chocolate is her favourite but she also like milk/dark chocolate too .
Would always throw away Cassidy cigar packs but would tend to find more, which annoys her because she doesn't want him to smoke anymore.
Enjoys Zenyatta company since she wants to know how his healing works but also the fact he help Genji out more than she ever could and wishes she could have done more to help him.
Is very pissed off at Moria for her unethical medical style for "Healing " Reyes and Widowmaker by making them suffer in pain
Wishes that Gabriel would have went to her if he was suffering/ help him out with the pain he's dealing with so she can end the pain.
She has doubts that she isn't the best doctor moreover she regrets not seeing the signs that were in front of her before the fall of Overwatch.
People assumed that she resents Hanzo for killing Genji but she doesn't she actually feels bad for him since she heard him cry a few times during the night from night terrors(She talks to him during times where he wake's up from his night terrors and sits with Hanzo comforting him to the best of her abilites)
Knows she overworks herself but she can't help it since she feels like she failed so she pushes herself to work even harder were she sometimes forget to eat and sleep.
She's grateful that Genji and Fareeha will always look out her even Cassidy too though she wishes he would still stop smoking.
Moira O'Deorain
Is sleep deprived and runs on coffee as well as spite so she ends up looking very not healthy or in the best shape.
Has chronic pain in her arm but deals with it since it's only a minor setback with her experiments.
Finds joy in others misery since it makes her happy.
Loves to bring up the fact that Genji is not saint since he agreed with her that Reyes did the right thing by killing Antonio.
She and Angela tends to but heads a lot but has respect for Angela even though in the end Reyes went to her and not Angie.
She won't admit it but she does miss Cole company but still finds him annoying as ever.(Though she won't admit it too him)
Finds Lifeweaver enduring and clearly she wants to learn more about his bio-lights than ever(Much to her delight he doesn't tends to run off but also dismay that he wants her too stop experimenting on herself)
Has own a few pet bugs mainly hissing roaches since there amazing and very calm animals but owned a few pet mice and rats in her youth.(Bonds with Lifeweaver about her hissing roaches)
Thinks science is more better than medicine and will die on this hill with that statement no matter the cost.
Is tried of hearing Gabriel complain about being in consent pain so she just gave him pain killers to shut him up about it but knows it only work just a bit but it'll at least keep him quiet, Since she is actually working on a way to end his pain she just needs more time.
The tests she runs on Sigma are more brain waves activity wise.(Sombra is keeping an eye on her and she knows it)
Doesn't care if people find her experiments unethical they always get the job done for her no matter how dire the consequences are, even if it means she dies in the end.
Honestly wishes that she would have given Genji a proper body than the bare minimum that Angela did.
Has a bug collection plus has a book about different types of bugs as well.(Mainly the ones that have venom )
Zenyatta Tekhartha
Zenyatta even though he speaks in a calm voice deep down there's a huge amount of regret for things he wish or said.
He's grateful that he met Genji and he wouldn't have it any other way, he also finds the Genji is his favourite student(even though he does feel disappointed in him sometimes)
Zenyatta just enjoys pranking the others about what he did before he awoken after the crisis since too doesn't have a clue what he did so he made a few lies.
He care's deeply for Ramattra and knows that he cares for him too but he wishes he would stop on this destructive path he's on.
He finds it funny that Ramattra and Genji bicker with each other but keeps an eye on them in case if they do anything stupid to one another(Had to separated them since it getting a bit tense)
By all means he isn't a pacifist, but he does fight when its necessary(Though he has bruised Jack ego while sparring with him which was funny)
He enjoys spending time with Genji since Genji also saved him but won't admit it too him.
Zen is willing enough to help Genji brother Hanzo out since he has his door open for the elder Shimada but just like Genji when he first met him refused his offer but he knows within time Hanzo will come to him when he's ready so he's not forcing him.
He has no idea why he floats he just finds it cool.
Has actually broken down in anger and mourn for Mondatta after he heard the news his brother was killed. That will be the only time he felt true anger.
He thanks Angela for saving Genji but also encourages her that she did a good job on saving his brightest student.
Always is willing to listen too someone issues since he doesn't mind that they also vent to him.
He has wished he knew what he did before the crisis but to him it'll forever be a mystery that not even he could solve, he hopes that the Iris will tell him.
Deep down he knows Cole is suffering in silence but doesn't want to push him to talk, he knows that Cole can come too him when he needs too or when Cole requests it too him. (He knows that if he approaches Cole, he'll lie to him stating that he's fine)
He enjoys gardening with Symmetra and likes her company along with her friend Niran, their such nice people.
Kiriko Kamori
Enjoys annoying others mainly to get a rise out of them since she enjoys it.
Does see that Genji and Hanzo as older brothers and cares deep for them.
Is actually mad at Hanzo for leaving since she thought he died along with Genji when the Hashimoto took over Kanezaka and Hanamura after he left but doesn't know the whole story that it got dismantled by Overwatch
She doesn't know what happened to Genji as Hanzo won't even tell her(She thinks it was the Hashimoto clan whom brutally attacked Genji)
Loves every single type of donuts, she mainly eats them all the time even though it bad for her
She writes to her mom keeping her updated and making sure she is safe, even though she knows her mom can handle herself she doesn't want her getting hurt.
Her mom gave her a fox plushie when she was little and she still has it too this day even though Pharah makes fun it, it keeps her company knowing that her mom is keeping her company even though she's far from home
Writes too her friends as well making sure that they keep tabs on the Hashimoto but also writes down on other things they need too do which still hasn't happened yet which is arson
Doesn't understand why Hanzo won't pick up the sword and she'll never know since Genji is also keeping her in the dark about it as she asked him why.
She named the Kitsune Yanagi (Willow)
Has encourage Hanzo and Genji too name their dragons but doesn't know that they already did when they got them
Is besties with Brigitte,D.va, and Tracer. She really enjoys their company
Knows she needs to take things slow but too her slow is boring and doesn't get anything done
She learnt JSL when she met Akari which she practiced too the point she knows how to start off a conversation. She also started learning ASL as well, but also convinced Genji and Hanzo too do JSL
Wants too be friends with Illari but always gets avoid by her too the point where Hanzo tells her too stop to which she does(She's jealous of Hanzo because he and Illari talk to one another)
She's also jealous of Brigitte since she also became friends with Illari and asks how did she do it too which Brigitte tells her she has no idea
Has ask Lifeweaver for his skin care routine since she get's acne and acne scars too, she was disappointed when he told her to stop eating donuts
Find's Widowmaker such a buzz kill though has always wondered why her skin was blue
She thinks Hanzo has a crush on Cole, she's there number 1 shipper too the point were she actually tries to set them up on date's
Has stayed up all night with D.va just too play video games with her mainly horror games.
She finds Cole interesting but doesn't want to get on his bad side since he has gotten mad at D.va before in front of her.
Worries about her father every day and prays that he'll be alive the next day
Care's deeply for both Hanzo and Genji but tries her hardest not to bother them too much even though she has so many questions on what happened to them and where they went
Brigitte Lindholm
Brigitte is socially awkward when it come's meeting new people, but she's slowly getting better at it
Love's her mother apple pie and knows how too make it
She's a daddy's girl, she loves her dad but tends to worry about him about taking a break
Goes to Hanzo for some criticisms when she writes her poetry since she looks up too him for any creative ideas .
She's forever grateful that Kiriko introduced her too Hanzo, but is also grateful that she met Kiriko since she matches her energy too when they spar
Is Lucio number 1 fan but is scared to ask for an autograph from him but knows that he'll sign one for her she just doesn't know how to approach him for one.
Has taken in stray cats, much too her father and mother dismay but none the less she take's pride in her children.
The first time she adopt Mitiz, was when Mitiz was a stray kitten that she took in and cried begging her dad and mom to adopt her since Mitiz was sick.
She does find dogs cute and adorable as her siblings has a few of them but she more of a cat person than anything
Has a small crush on D.va and Kiriko but won't tell them since that's too embarrassing
Finds that Genji is a big baby when they spar, since she honestly thinks she didn't even hit him that hard(Even though she cracked his visor a bit)
She basically has to tell Rein too slow down since he's not in his prime anymore though he some how manages to convince her that he isn't which makes them spar
Has a major sweet tooth
Her cheat days contain donuts, apple pie and candies. She's trying to cut it back hint the word trying
Plays video games with D.va along side with Kiriko but usually just watches them play but is the back seat gamer trying to help them either get pass a level or point out the clues that is in front of them even though it frustrates her since they don't notice
The first time she saw Illari she reminded her of Hanzo for some odd reason, she basically became her first friend in which she didn't know how, but none the less they have bond on how cute their pet's are
She finds Cassidy quiet enduring even from her father it usually sounds like he makes it like everything is Cassidy's fault. Now she's not sure if her dad is basically telling her the truth.
Lena knows about her crushes with Kiriko and D.va which makes her very embarrassed by that statement since she knows Lena means well but she can't do it because it's scary
Lúcio Correia dos Santos
He was very surprised when he found out that Lifeweaver was part of Vishkar but is on the run from as they wanted to use his biolight that he made, it made him sympathies with him on that level since that is what happen to his dad(though he stole it back from them)
Lucio really doesn't like Symmetra since she doesn't understand that Vishkar isn't as what they seemed, he doesn't trust her fully but he slowly allowing her in since it appears that it maybe dawning on her on what they're actually doing but as of now he doesn't trust her yet.
Always writes to his dad and tells him that he's safe, but also keeps him updated on what he's doing
Will forever be grateful when Brigitte saved him since always tell her that was a good catch
Huge fanboy when he saw Tracer and Genji, got very nervous upon speaking to them since he didn't even know how too act around them at first.
The first time he did wall riding it was actually terrifying for him since he honestly wasn't so sure if he was going to fall or not but he won't admit that
He easily get's flustered when someone flirts with him every part of him shuts down
Knows Brigitte wants an autograph from him but doesn't want to embarrass her if he approaches her asking her if she wants one so he's waiting for her to ask him for one
He once asked Lifeweaver on why he is so keen on still being friends with Symmetra even though she see's nothing wrong with what Vishkar is doing, but was a bit shocked by his answer since he was the reason he slowly started to allow her in.
He won't lie he has a small crush on Lifeweaver and pretty much will never admit that to him.
Tried to get Zenyatta advice but too him listening to nothing but silence doesn't sound right too him since he needs to do something
Has ADHD since he really hate's standing still and doing nothing.
Give out song writing tips too Brigitte but tells her she's doing a good job for far.
He enjoys watching Hanzo carve are even though Hanzo is a grouch he pretty much enjoys at how skill full he is.
Worries about his dad as he scared that Vishkar might come and either do something too him
Love's teaching others how too play soccer but he can be very competitive at times well mainly most of the time, he just hates losing
He's trying really hard to be nice too Symmetra he really is even trying to understand from her point of view as well but its just too hard
It made him happy that Genji allowed him to hook up his lights with his music even though it made him mad it truly made his day since Genji finally agreed to it once and only once
Is still pretty upset with the soccer match that he watched with Illari and too this day he still blames the ref for not seeing that foul for the first half
He enjoys asking everyone's favourite but when he tells his favourite animal is the Axolotl, people usually seem surprise since he seems more like a person who enjoys frogs. Though frogs are his second favourite animal also he just finds axolotl's cute.
Jean-Baptiste Augustin
Baptiste has a few regrets on what he's done too Mauga but he had to leave since Mauga always brought out the worse in him
He won't denied the fact that he still has a crush on Cole since how could he not, but he let Lifeweaver know about this but was shocked when his new bf agreed with him that Cole is good looking.
Was surprised when Lifeweaver asked him out on a date and is excited to have another date with him too, apparently they're going to have another soon
The only people he's truly scared of from Talon are Sombra and Widowmaker
He worries about Lifeweaver and Mauga meeting for the first time since he has no idea how Mauga would actually react upon meeting Lifeweaver. and he knows that Mauga won't kill him which is what scares him the most.
He's honestly surprised that no one has figured out that he used to work for Talon and he has Cole to thank for that.
Is scared of Symmetra since she found out he was dating Lifeweaver thinking he was going to die by her after she threaten him in a not so friendly way.
Tried to confess his feelings too Cole but chickened out last minute when Cole smiled at him leaving him in a flustered mess(Niran had to comfort him)
Feels like shit for not realising that Cole hates pork since he shared his pork griot with Cole once (He had to tell Cole to spit it out in his hand)
He misses eating dous makos (Haitian fudge)
Enjoys Cassidy company but always fumbles his words when he's with him, since his feeling for him will never go away
Is Pharah sparing buddy
Hate's it when Pharah tells him to just ask Cole out since he has "two hands" (He can't though he stumbles over his words and get's embarrassed. He'll get there soon)
Illari Quispe Ruiz
Has major regret on what she did and has night terrors about it wishing that she never became an Inti warrior.
She finds tends to find Hanzo comforting and enjoys his company while she listen too the is advice he's giving to her as takes it to heart.
Finds Kiriko a bit too head strong but wants to be her friend.
Has a sleep over with Brigitte as they talk to one another about how cute their pets are.
She and Mei spend time together talking to one another as she also enjoys her company.
How she found out about Sombra was through Cole and is paying her to find what else happened with the solar threading. She won't stop till she finds out what went wrong with the ceremony.
Thinks Hanzo has a crush on Cole but won't say it loud though she thinks almost everyone likes Cole.
Got invited to watch D.va,Brigitte,and Kiriko to play video games with Brigitte offering(to which she agreed)
Love's listening to Lucio music since she finds some comfort in it, helping her relax.
Knows Hanzo secret since he told her on what he did to his own brother, making her understand that this was a rough topic for him to speak about.
Usually stands on the sidelines but when offered company she allows it but has a bit of paranoia of hurting someone
She knows she can go to Zenyatta but she worries that he might not understand what she's done to the other Inti warriors.
Doesn't even know why she enjoys Hanzo company, she just does.
Has tea with Ana as she wants to learn more about her than even but tries not to mention on what happened too her with the widowmaker incident.
Finds Cole interesting since he doesn't talk to much about his past but mainly talks about things he did during Overwatch before it all came crumbling down.
Hanzo and Brigitte are her sparing buddies since she can keep up with them.
Enjoys Lifeweaver company there no reason for it since she just does
Knows how to make papa rellena (stuffed potatoes) since it's her favourite food since she loves eating it
Her and Brigitte are gossip buddies we'll mainly Brigitte since she usually tells her what goes down between Kiriko and D.va.
Plays soccer with Lucio and just lets him win too boost his ego since the last time she won it wasn't a pretty sight to watch so she allows him too win.
Caught herself almost calling Hanzo dad but quickly coughed to cover it up.
Watches Hanzo carve his wooden charms but was surprised when Hanzo asked her if he wanted to teacher to which she said yes.
Had a pajama party with Mei and Brigitte as they watched movies together.
Might get another llama for Chuño since she doesn't want him to be lonely. If she does end up getting another llama she might name them Pionono(jelly roll )
#overwatch#overwatch headcanons#my personal headcanons#lifeweaver#niran pruksamanee#ana amari#kiriko kamori#angela ziegler#tekhartha zenyatta#overwatch lucio#jean baptiste augustin#overwatch brigitte#moira o'deorain#illari#illari quispe ruiz#bapweaver mentioned#bapssidy mentioned#tumbleweaver mentioned#desertflower mentioned#yeehan mentioned#this took longer than it should have
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the favourite poet. 1.2k words. cw for gore, death, and mentions of alcohol. a short aeron piece
The last thought you had was of Lawrence Alma Tadema’s The Favourite Poet. In this moment, you are the woman sprawled on the stone, head on a pillow, limbs thrown weakly in annoyance. She is bored of listening to her friend read poetry from a scroll whose length cannot be determined. The only difference is that you’re listening to the hums of another along to lost Parisian melodies, and your limp stature is not from boredom. It is from the way your body has been strung, each limb positioned for proper work in your rigor mortis. If you could feel it, you know it would be agonizing.
Underneath your cadaver is metal. The lights in the room are low, save for the ones which illuminate your body like a stage. Next to your head is a copy of The Favourite Poet on an easel as a reference. On a cart next to you sits a tape measurer and bolts of coral fabric. The only living soul in the room is a man decorated in red. You are unsure if the crimson is from the finite fluids from your body or from someone else entirely.
You both can and cannot feel the cuts. Nerves die faster than the stars when the sun rises again. Perhaps you can hear the blade that slices into your skin, or perhaps you can feel the vibrations and the movement of muscle. You understand it is happening, but there is no way to protest. He has already sewn your mouth shut, to replicate the woman in The Favourite Poet, silent in her observation of the woman who shares her space.
A funeral would be much better than this. A funeral would be much better than having him delicately pull each organ from your stomach, handling it fondly, putting it in a box to burn or preserve later depending on the mood, sewing up each hole in your body whether it was a pre-death wound or a postmortem incision, painting your skin with something too heavy to be daily makeup, dressing you in a dress just like the woman’s, skewering your body with rods and ropes both in and outside your skin and-
Even being buried in water would be much better than this. He is not your mortician, and your body is not a cadaver. Instead, it is a base for him to play with, to destroy and repair with needles and thread. It is now his to bend and shape.
He’s waiting for some paint around the wound on your right knee to dry. For a second, you can remember him smashing your legs in with a baseball bat, forcing you to fall to your knees, burdening the skin with asphalt. The thought disappears as fast as it came. From here, though, you can see him as he taps the back of a pen against his cheek. The head of your body may be lying horizontally, face to the ceiling, but he had made the switch early in the process. The sockets in your head are now filled with glass eyes, and the eyes which you have worn all your life now sit in their own glass jar.
He keeps a book of every piece of art in his gallery. You can read the entry he is writing for you, but you are unsure if you can process it in your state of decomposition. It starts with your name and a Polaroid.
You don’t remember him carrying a camera and taking a photograph of you.
The page reads like an obituary. It is an about of your life: your age, your occupation, your interests, your favorite food, your favorite song, your favorite season, your thoughts on the afterlife, what love tastes like to you, your location (though it’s not a city or a country. It’s 4138LE), your secrets, your regrets, the people you’ve loved and the people you’ve lost-
Your favorite painting. The Favourite Poet. You realize that these were all questions he had asked you on your first date. He finishes the last sentence and places his pen behind his ear. The ink dries quickly, and with a hum, he seems satisfied. His fingers creep over to the top corner, and he flips through the pages. For a few moments, you think that you might recognize some of the men and women with photographs like yours.
He sets the book on a countertop, seated next to half a dozen jars of paintbrushes waiting to be properly rinsed. Instead, he reaches for a small notepad, scribbled with numbers scratched over dozens of times. They look like measurements.
You recall your first meeting with him. You had run into him at a bar. He was sitting on a barstool, chatting up the bartender as she did her work. You could tell that they had known each other for a while, and you were to timid to interrupt their conversation. Even when his eyes were on her with upmost attention, you couldn’t help but shake the feeling of being watched. Eventually, he turned to you with a smile.
“Sorry, I can’t help myself sometimes,” he apologized, fingers tapping against the bar top. As compensation for making you wait, he offered to buy you the drink. You accepted, as long as he wouldn’t tamper with it. He swore on a dead lover’s life and laughed. You couldn’t help but stare at the geometric tattoos on his skin, which seemed to burn, wanting to be heard. Something about him mesmerized you, glued you to the spot on the floor between the hustle of the other patrons and the quiet of him. Eventually, you came to sit right next to him. You didn’t notice the disappointed glimmer in the bartender’s eyes.
This is when he asked you all about yourself. You only got a name from him. You know now that anything he said before was probably a lie. When he said he was an artist, you expected an oil painter and not the multimedia art of flesh, blood, and fabric.
You said you were feeling sleepy. He offered to walk you out and to the bus stop. For a moment, you were relieved that he wasn’t some creep offering to drive you himself. He rewarded that relief with fresh air in a new hole in your stomach. In your shoulder. In your chest. In your leg.
Here, your body is pulled apart like the Vitruvian Man, chest prepared for a vivisection that allows for the skin to peel like flower petals. You are an artist’s work in progress. Who you were is forever stored in a book that only he has access to. Your family and friends will never know what happened, where you went, what has become of your body as it is prepared to be displayed alongside other fashioned corpses. You are his secret. Instead of being the favorite poet, you are the favorite muse, only becoming more beautiful with each second you are supposed to be rotting.
The rot will never come. You will lay on stone, head on a pillow, listening to the wordless rambles of another corpse who you will never know.
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Libby Spotlight: Fantasy eBooks
A Shadow in the Ember by Jennifer L. Armentrout
Born shrouded in the veil of the Primals, a Maiden as the Fates promised, Seraphena Mierel's future has never been hers. Chosen before birth to uphold the desperate deal her ancestor struck to save his people, Sera must leave behind her life and offer herself to the Primal of Death as his Consort.
However, Sera's real destiny is the most closely guarded secret in all of Lasania—she's not the well protected Maiden but an assassin with one mission—one target. Make the Primal of Death fall in love, become his weakness, and then...end him. If she fails, she dooms her kingdom to a slow demise at the hands of the Rot.
Sera has always known what she is. Chosen. Consort. Assassin. Weapon. A specter never fully formed yet drenched in blood. A monster. Until him. Until the Primal of Death's unexpected words and deeds chase away the darkness gathering inside her. And his seductive touch ignites a passion she's never allowed herself to feel and cannot feel for him. But Sera has never had a choice. Either way, her life is forfeit—it always has been, as she has been forever touched by Life and Death.
This is the first volume in the "Flesh and Fire" series.
Queen of Myth and Monsters by Scarlett St. Clair
Isolde, newly coronated queen, has finally found a king worthy of her in the vampire Adrian. But their love for each other has cost Isolde her father and her homeland. With two opposing goddesses playing mortals and vampires like chess pieces against one another, Isolde is uncertain who her allies are in the vampire stronghold of Revekka.
Now, as politics in the Red Palace grow more underhanded and a deadly blood mist threatens all of Cordova, Isolde must trust in the bond she's formed with Adrian, even as she learns troubling information about his complicated past.
This is the second volume of the "Adrian X Isolde" series.
The Cornish Princess by Tanya Anne Crosby
Said to be a changeling child awarded to the King and Queen of Cornwall, Gwyndolyn is “blessed” at her christening with three fae gifts: a prophecy for her future, a gift of “Reflection,” and a golden mane—literally. Every lock of her clipped hair will turn to filaments of gold, provided it is cut by her one true love.
Alas, no one understands more than Gwyn that her blessings are in reality curses. Any man who gazes upon her will see his own heart reflected in her countenance, and depending on his virtue, she is either the loveliest woman in all the land... or the most hideous. It's a cruel jest of the capricious Fae, for unless a man's heart be true, she is destined to be coveted for her wealth, and despised for her face.
To make matters worse, Gwyn's aging and ailing father is desperate for an alliance with King Brutus of Loegria. The Romans are coming, and according to the Goldenchild Prophecy, only by uniting their Draig banners can they stem the Red Tide. He offers her to the ambitious and cruel Loch, who fought his way through the ranks and is reputed to have murdered his elder brothers. But so far as Loch is concerned, his betrothed is only an eyesore to be tolerated. He would never have married the girl if it weren’t for the fact that her shining golden tresses were supposed to fill his coffers—a lie, because her hair is no more than a tangled nest of golden curls.
But Gwyndolyn was not destined to be a spurned wife. To achieve her destiny as the Pen Draig, she must survive the treachery of Loegria's court, and the torments of her betrothed...
This is the first volume of the "Goldenchild Prophecy" series.
The Fall of Númenor edited by Brian Sibley
J.R.R. Tolkien famously described the Second Age of Middle-earth as a ‘dark age, and not very much of its history is (or need be) told’. And for many years readers would need to be content with the tantalizing glimpses of it found within the pages of The Lord of the Rings and its appendices, including the forging of the Rings of Power, the building of the Barad-dûr and the rise of Sauron.
It was not until Christopher Tolkien published The Silmarillion after his father’s death that a fuller story could be told. Although much of the book’s content concerned the First Age of Middle-earth, there were at its close two key works that revealed the tumultuous events concerning the rise and fall of the island of Númenor. Raised out of the Great Sea and gifted to the Men of Middle-earth as a reward for aiding the angelic Valar and the Elves in the defeat and capture of the Dark Lord Morgoth, the kingdom became a seat of influence and wealth; but as the Númenóreans’ power increased, the seed of their downfall would inevitably be sown, culminating in the Last Alliance of Elves and Men.
Now, adhering to the timeline of ‘The Tale of Years’ in the appendices to The Lord of the Rings, editor Brian Sibley has assembled into one comprehensive volume a new chronicle of the Second Age of Middle-earth, told substantially in the words of J.R.R. Tolkien from the various published texts, with new pencil illustrations by the doyen of Tolkien art, Alan Lee.
#fantasy#ebooks#libby#library books#reading recommendations#reading recs#book recommendations#book recs#tbr#tbrpile#to read#booklr#book tumblr#book blog#library blog
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Review: Dom Malin’s newest folk single ‘All I Know’ tenderly explores mental health suffering amidst a soundscape of paired-back delicacy
From acquiring his first electric guitar at the age of 12, the rising folk-pop star Dom Malin has always had it in his bones to create music. After gaining a university degree in music and working as a teacher in a creative college, Dom has poured much of his life into developing his skillsets, and now with a growing discography of music he’s only continuing to flourish. From publications writing shining pieces on his releases to BBC Introducing Lincolnshire who has on several occasions featured his music as the song of the week, as well as interviewing him, Dom is well on his way to getting himself heard across the globe - and his newest offering ‘All I Know’ will surely only turn more heads his way.
As ‘All I Know’ takes the listener on a profoundly personal and intimate journey of storytelling, the soundscape is one of minimal instruments but that doesn’t for a second limit its vastly striking impact. Lead by a repetitive finger-picking pattern, ‘All I Know’ immediately urges the listener to sway along to its delicate rhythm. With a few added backing harmonies at times, there’s an intentionally stripped-back approach to the four minute sonic experience you’re whisked along on, made both soothing and heart-wrenching depending on how sincerely you place your heart in its hands. Resonant piano notes and guitar strums also chime in for more build-up moments, adding impact to specific lines that tell deeper segments of the unfolding story or as it wraps up to conclude. Dom’s soft, haunting vocals complement such a serene sound with ease, commandeering the moments that are more bare and filling the emotion behind each word so you can’t help but feel inclined to ache along. Every aspect of the soundscape of ‘All I Know’ feels completely intentional in each instrument and sung word as Dom journies you through an emotionally transformative experience in sound alone, capturing a sense of sorrow and sincerity built so wistfully over time time that you can’t help but simply feel so in-tune with the expressions of each melancholic tone.
Following a conversation with a friend, Dom penned ‘All I Know’ to sincerely depict the heart-wrenching experience of losing someone close due to mental health, leaving an ambiguity towards whether they take their life or simply become a shell of themselves lost to the clouding of their struggles. Fleeting between the perspectives of a friend looking in and the one living through it, ‘All I Know’ is an incredibly pain-stricken journey through both mental health suffering and the helplessness that comes with only being able to see someone fall apart and not help them: ‘I miss you, please come home.’ Filled with unanswered, rhetorical questions that feel desperate for a meaning that cannot be found, lines like ‘I’m not me, who is this ghost I see? Why won’t you let me breathe?’ weigh heavy as the listener feels just as much of an onlooker on their struggles as those closest to them. Even so much as the referral to oneself as a ‘ghost’ lingers with meaning, feeling they’re already gone whilst looking at themselves, completely detached from their identity and yearning for a reason it has been stripped from them. Despite the narrative’s darkened woes, there almost seems to be a sense of hope in each chorus that proclaims ‘down by the river, she calls to a saint to save her.’ Whilst still carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders and pleading to be saved, the simple act of reaching out seeps with a hope for recovery, but ‘All I Know’ truly leaves it up to your interpretation how its heavy narrative concludes.
Check out ‘All I Know’ for yourself here to ache along with Dom’s poignant lyrical journey and tenderly built soundscape!
Written by: Tatiana Whybrow
Photo Credits: Taylor Olson
// This coverage was created via Musosoup, #SustainableCurator.
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☘️𝕲𝖊𝖓𝖘𝖍𝖎𝖓 𝕴𝖒𝖕𝖆𝖈𝖙
𝕴𝖓
🎀𝕴𝖘𝖊𝖐𝖆𝖎 𝕸𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖆🎀
You got teleported into a Novel called Love or Hate, where a villianess of an influencing family gets jealous of people around Crown Prince and tries to kill everyone especially his beloved and meets unfortunate death.
𝔽𝕠𝕣 𝕀𝕟𝕥𝕣𝕠𝕕𝕦𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟
𝕎𝕒𝕥𝕥𝕡𝕒𝕕 𝕒𝕔𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥
Click on the link for more information, If the link doesn't work then please be kind enough to inform me, Thank you💮💮💮
🖤 𝓩𝓱𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓵𝓲
*:･ﾟ♛ ﾟ･:* On getting into the novel as Villianess and not being able to go back to your world you decided to stop going down the path of original Novel Plot but make your own and live a life in luxury away from all the characters. Your first step was to break the engagement with Crown Prince, who was surprised when he heard you say that to him, you were just so in love with him and then after being unconscious for almost a week you decided to break off the engagement.
*:･ﾟ♛ ﾟ･:* Zhongli could not understand why you would do such thing and you knew he will fall in love with the Heroine when she appears, you told your father to annual it, since you understood that the affection holds no value in Crown Prince's eyes, but Zhongli wasn't able to digest this piece of information, when he tries to approach you, you run away, avoid him at any cost, he realizes how important you are to him, so he rejects your request to annual the engagement even after you nearly begged him and promises you that he will cherish you now on, leaving you thinking what went wrong.
*:･ﾟ♛ ﾟ･:* You sat with pen and paper tried to sort everything out, although Crown Prince was trying to win your favor back by sending you gifts, letters and asks for your audience only to get ghosted by you, getting involved with him will give you nothing but a miserable fate, no matter how handsome the Characters are you refused to acknowledge them any further. Now it felt like Zhongli clingys to you more than anything.
💛𝓐𝓮𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻
ﾟ･:*༻*:･ﾟWhen your carriage stopped infront of your state you saw Aether was there waiting for you, he told you that he heard you were trying to annual the engagement, for a minute you forgot how fast news spread in this era, Aether had a happy glow on his face, he told you that you deserve better. At some point you knew that Aether grows distant from Villianess in Novel Plot but the case here was totally different now he invites you or comes to you uninvited.
ﾟ･:*༻*:･ﾟYou don't stop him tho, he became your bestfriend, he taught you horse riding, sword fighting and helped you in all those things you were interested in. Thanks to Aether your bad dancing got better, you always wondered how he never go tired dancing with you, when you step on his foot unintentionally during practices. Physical touches increases slightly, you don't doubt it since it's normal for friends to hug a second more right?
❤️𝓓𝓲𝓵𝓾𝓬
⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ Since there was nothing better to do, you started to put your hands on family business and was sent to pay visit to the business partner. To your surprise when you saw Diluc, he looked just like the Novel described him to be, stern, stoic and cold. His presence was intimidating but you had to win this opportunity so you confidently placed your views even when your legs were shaking under the gown you were wearing, you put your hands together and pursued him.
⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ Diluc seemed so lonely, he had no one to worry about him, just him and his thoughts. So you decided to greet him with smile and ask about if he ate his meals properly because he skipped them for one or two days due to his loads of work, which was bad for his health, if he needed to fight with Crown Prince for Heroine then he should be healthy, so you took care of him while you were staying in his Mansion.
⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ At first he was wary of you but he eventually warmed up and when Diluc laughed in one of your jokes, you felt grateful to witness that because no one saw him smiling other than Heroine, he looked really beautiful. He said you were way too different than what the rumours described you to be, you were perfect.
💚𝓧𝓲𝓪𝓸
✥ ۪۪۫۫◃ ✤◃ ۪۪۫۫✥ Bandits attached your Carriage, it was difficult to defeat them but with your escort and Aether's sword fighting training it became quite easy, even though you are not much of a sword fighter than Aether but you could protect yourself for once. When Crown Prince heard you were attacked he immediately assigned you his Loyal Knight who later becomes Imperial Knight respected by citizens, to which you obviously rejected but as persistent as he is you were made to accept the Knight for the time being since all the knights in your family are either afraid of you or not want to serve you and you had no fetish with working with someone who is not willing to be with you.
✥ ۪۪۫۫◃ ✤◃ ۪۪۫۫✥Xiao was very quite and skilled Knight so he was very attentive to your needs, and once caughted you, when you tripped on your gown while climbing staircase, due to which he got on his one knees and asked for your forgiveness. It left you speechless why would he do such thing? Ask for punishment instead of a thanks for saving your bones, you couldn't help but ask him, Xiao's answer made you clutch your fingers, he thought you, a noble lady would get disgusted by his touch since he is lowly born.
✥ ۪۪۫۫◃ ✤◃ ۪۪۫۫✥ You asked him to stand, Xiao is your favorite character who suffered so much and was never able to voice his love for Heroine, you holded his hands in yours, ignoring his body flinching and told him how he should not look down on himself, he is equal, everyone is equal since you all are humans and that you cherish him, he put his life to protect you. You said him all those things you wanted to when you read the Novel, not everything really but it left him blushing while you laughed walking ahead of him what a tsundere.
💙𝓚𝓪𝓮𝔂𝓪
☽༓✮･*˚ A handsome Mage Master kept on disturbing you, the smug looking guy who you meet in Local bars when you were out exploring about the Novel world, he helped you with your case to find out the solution to obtain the land for the project with Duke while giving you many riddles that exhausted you but seeing a worried Xiao was worth it when he says I don't care after nagging you for hours.
☽༓✮･*˚ You doubted if this guy was the one of the Male Leads who was owner of Mage tower because he was exceptional handsome, for a side Character to be so good looking is quite rare, but he debuted after the Grand ball so it couldn't be him, you debated. In Original Novel Plot they never described how he looked, but it was for sure he was popular among ladies. The guy introduced himself as Kaeya, who sometimes requests your presence in Mage tower, only VIP guest were allowed and when you asked him how he managed to get the permission he says it is one of his ways, suspicious enough.
☽༓✮･*˚ You eventually spend more time with him than required which sometimes anger Aether since your time with him reduced, of course you haven't told anything about him to anyone. To save himself, he once introduced you to the group of women flirting with him as his girlfriend. Kaeya sends his familiar in butterfly form for the most stupidest message through your window to which you react differently depending on your mood.
"How are you my Lady?"
"Am I allowed to miss you?"
"When will you visit me?"
"Have you been using me all this time?, I am heart broken T_T Heal me!"
🧡𝓒𝓱𝓲𝓵𝓭𝓮
❀⑅*⋆༶⋆❀⑅* Strong hand holded you securely, as you danced with him, who was wearing black laced mask in Masquerade ball organized by King for a yearly festival which you were forced you to attend by your Father and Crown Prince. One of the guys asked for you to dance with him, as per tradition one cannot reject the another requesting party, otherwise you would have been eating the food served for guests, imperial food is on another level, Zhongli sometimes tries to lure you to spend time with him by making such excuses.
❀⑅*⋆༶⋆❀⑅* The stranger pulled you even more closer saying that you are looking much more prettier than before, your first meeting but you did not recognized him or so you thought, and he told you that you are known as the most beautiful woman in the Kingdom, neighboring Kingdoms takes interest in you. You do remember the guy who helped you in fighting with Bandits both of them have the same hair color and playfulness in their voice.
❀⑅*⋆༶⋆❀⑅* When you asked him about it, if he was the guy from before to which he replied maybe, leaving you in the middle of the dance and bended in the crowd, Mysterious as Childe you thought, whoever he was, you hoped for him to not bring more problems than you already have. A groaning voice of Crown Prince from behind made you turn around questioning you why you danced with other guys than your fiance, you never thought a composed man as Zhongli would whine to you for such a small thing.
#genshin impact#yandere genshin impact#yandere x reader#yandere#tumblr#tumblrfeed#yandere story#genshin impact diluc#genshin impact zhongli#genshin impact childe#genshin impact kaeya#genshin impact xiao#genshin impact aether#yandere zhongli x reader#yandere diluc x reader#yandere aether x reader#yandere xiao x reader#yandere childe x reader#yandere kaeya x reader
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atlas | kim dongyoung
pairing: doyoung x reader
words: 15.4k
summary: kim doyoung has a lot of titles. student body president, music club president, favourite student of every professor who’s blessed enough to have him. in other words, he’s not your type and never will be. at least he’s a good kisser.
or, you feel the weight of the world on your shoulders and you do not know how to hold things as delicate as glass.
genre: college au, fwb au, hurt/comfort, angst, some fluff
warnings: very suggestive content, making out, language, smoking, alcohol, mentions of sex under influence, me being pretentious,,
prompt: anonymous said: slippery + doyoung + "you can rely on me, you know." from the first dialogue link! LOVE YOU ❤️
song rec(s): playlist here !
a/n: yes it’s me experimenting out of my comfort zone again. yes you are required by law to listen to keshi while reading this hahahaha anyway writing this was painful. <3 (aka today i tried writing very complex human emotions and failed again. classic.)
In the beginning, there was no beginning. Ergo, this isn’t really a thing.
You shouldn’t be thinking of summer in Introduction to Latin. You are a good (perhaps great, if your ego allows) student after all. Here you are, though, listening to the ticking of the clock and wondering if you sigh loud enough, you won’t have to construct another sentence with the word for ‘death’. You pause to tell yourself that you shouldn’t be thinking of summer out of class either. Unremarkable; that's what it was and you don’t like unremarkable things.
When two people end up alone together, there’s not much to make of.
“You know,” he had said, locking eyes. “We should get out of here.”
“And then what?”
“Fuck.”
So here’s the thing: this isn’t and won’t be a thing.
Doyoung has never been subtle when drunk, you found out, and he’s not as gentle as he looks. You flip the page of your notebook absentmindedly. You don’t like where your thoughts are going; the clinking of ice against glass rings in your ears again. It’s been far too long (one whole month) and you’re craving a bit of fun. You may forget yourself but you’re reaching your fingertips a little too far to call him again. More excuses pop up. See, in your world of perfection, there’s a hierarchy of things; men rank rather low.
(Fun doesn’t.)
Here’s another thing: you forget yourself quite often. You know very well that you’re the one who continued this not-thing and now you’re daydreaming of Kim Doyoung in class hours.
And under grey bed sheets with a tired smile, Doyoung is hard to forget.
It was a party, it always is. That time, however, was the first party of the year Doyoung and you happened to be attending at the same time. You can’t remember who hosted it—the frat probably—but it was at a bar called the ‘The Meeting Place’ which had too many people you didn’t care about. Doyoung was there, in his laid-back glory, and you were drawn in far too easily. Being single did not help your case—and the alcohol certainly didn’t. You’re not sure if it was the gentle touches against your wrist or quick words that left his mouth or the attractive all-black get-up. All you know is that it was your mouth against his by the end of the night in a small booth, hot and impatient. Once, twice, thrice and you didn’t even need parties anymore.
It’s not like you weren’t aware of what you were doing; it’s just that you were quick to give in—like you didn’t want to resist in the first place. And now, summer smells like Doyoung’s perfume.
The first night had given Mr. Student Body President a near-stroke. You weren’t the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men at parties either so the morning had been full of awkward explanations to each other till you’d kissed him to shut him up (much like in a disgusting romantic comedy, minus the feelings) and somehow, it worked. He didn’t refuse and if you recall, he’d eventually pulled you closer by the waist.
You huff, twirling your pen. He’d never admit it.
You didn’t kiss so sloppily after that, unless it was to make out against a wall or while fumbling with the keys to your apartment. The lack of alcohol can bring wonders. You were a little surprised that he’d agreed—he is the Doyoung you’ve known since freshman year after all; blunt, rude, cares more for his grades than he’d ever for you. How laughable. He’s almost the same as you.
Here’s one last thing: Kim Doyoung is not and cannot be your type.
You had the same part-time job in your second semester at a local fast food joint, and to summarize, your interactions were less than friendly. You can’t possibly count the number of times he yelled at you for trivial mistakes, and the number of times you sent angry, clipped sentences his way. So, yes, neither of you have told anyone—just acting friendly got you enough eyebrow raises. If there’s anything worse than contradicting yourself almost directly, it’s having to explain that to your friends. So, you kept it a secret and so did he, for his own reasons.
You massage your forehead. If you think any more of this during class hours, you’re going to have to classify this as a terrible, terrible problem; like you don’t have enough already. You tune in to the lecture again, hoping it drowns out the rest of your thoughts.
You tap your pen against the desk till you’re asked to stop by the professor. There goes your last resort. It isn’t the first time, but you breathe a sigh of relief at the hands of the clock. Casual means casual—you know it better than anyone. Maybe it would be easier if you could be more open about it. But you can’t. Your own problems aside, Doyoung would kill you if his reputation went down, even a nick. Men like that are so difficult, you curse to yourself.
You run into Ten in the hallways, brightening at his absurdly wide grin. In fact, you haven’t seen him remotely upset since freshman year, when he couldn’t join the dance club, not because he failed the audition but because he mixed up the dates and missed it entirely. (It’s okay; he got in the next year.)
“Guess what!” he yells before you’re even in conversation range.
“What?” you yell back.
“No, guess,” he says, when you’re close enough.
You roll your eyes. “You scored a date?”
Ten deadpans. “No. I don’t even want one.”
“Loser.”
“No, you.”
“How clever.”
Ten flicks your forehead with no provocation whatsoever, making you yelp in pain. After a minute of cursing on your part, he squishes your cheeks to bring you back to reality—like he wasn’t the cause. You bite your lip to keep yourself from scowling. His hair is still light brown from the bleach, and you fix his bangs out of habit; your dumb friends are all you have at the end of the day. You sigh. They all lean on you unwittingly.
“Anyway, the news? I’m not guessing anything else,” you warn, taking a sip of your coffee.
“Well,” he draws out the syllable. “I heard- know you’re into the smart type. You know, student council kinda guys? So…”
You choke, the coffee leaving your mouth just as quick as it entered.
“Who told you that?” The laugh that leaves your mouth is forced and certainly fake but it’s the best you can do.
Ten rolls her eyes, still smiling. “I was thinking if you would be interested in a certain Park Hyungmin.”
Oh. Student body vice-president. He’s most definitely your type, with a gifted body and equally strong academic prowess—not to mention perfectly maintained tan skin and the most radiant smile you’ve ever seen in your life.
“Oh, yeah, he��s hot,” you nod in agreement. “What do you want me to do with him?”
“He likes you. Like, totally has the hots for you. And I owe him so please help me out here.”
You furrow your brows, heaving a deep sigh.
“You...want me to go on a date with him?” you ask.
You can oblige. Park Hyungmin is the hottest dude on campus (probably). It’s a win-win situation—in fact, it’s even better. A certain bitter taste finds itself in your mouth. It must be the coffee. You swallow it.
“Yeah.”
And the deal’s done.
It was casual commitment, like most things you do for fun. You don’t think much of it, and the thought takes its final bow when you run into Doyoung himself.
Well, sort of.
You turn heel when he appears in your line of sight, pretending to fix your hair against a damn wall. You aren’t quite ready to face him yet, considering the coffee hasn’t kicked in—it’s not healthy how much you depend on it. Dependence is different, however, from consciously drowning yourself in it.
See, Doyoung is anything but tolerable without a few shots of vodka. Or after sex. Or when he’s mumbling in his sleep. And you can’t erase any of those scenes. This is you trying to save yourself (and Doyoung) from embarrassment and a whole lot of explanation.
His coat looks expensive and you’d rather he had it on instead of on his arm. The tucked-in sweater and pants combo accentuates the line of his waist and the colour—you wonder where he found a teal so fitting—looks serene in the crowd. He’s wearing his glasses though, looking a little less put together than usual. Still, no one seems to notice and he continues to explain something to his group of friends.
God forbid you find Doyoung attractive during daytime.
His lips are chapped but pink as ever, the hair messed up by either the wind or his friends—you should stop staring by now. You give in. You’ll text him to book a hotel room tonight.
Sometimes you wonder how he has that large a friend circle, and always, the question answers itself. Eloquence, wit and regrettably, good looks—what does he lack? Maybe if he lost the habit to nag people around fifty-six times a day, he’d be the perfect man.
An arm slings over your shoulder, punting the soul right out of your body.
“Fuck, Johnny, don’t do that,” you hiss, placing your hand over your chest involuntarily.
The head of the photography club apparently spends his time terrorizing everyone he remotely knows. You make a foul expression but iIt’s not like he ever minds your scowling. He says he’s had enough practice from teasing Doyoung (and you’ll admit, it’s the only time you feel sorry for him). You were certain Doyoung would have filed him for harassment sometime in sophomore year.
“What are you even looking at?” Johnny asks, raising an eyebrow at the plain offwhite expanse of the wall in front of you.
You feel hot at the neck. “I was fixing my hair.”
“In front of a wall?”
You click your tongue. “Do you not have class?”
“Oh, don’t be so quick to send me off.” He places a hand over his chest in mock hurt, fingers stretched delicately.
To your dismay, the rest of his friends gather around giving you happy greetings—greetings only carefree college boys are capable of delivering. To your further dismay, Kim Doyoung arches an eyebrow at you, the same way he does on nights you’re doing things less than appropriate to think of in broad daylight.
“Hey, Doyoung, don’t you have anything to say? Or were you too drunk to remember?”
You bite down on your lip a little too hard. Doyoung, on the other hand, looks like he’s just seen God, stammering out a “what?” nevertheless.
“Weren’t you supposed to buy (name) a drink for driving you home that night?”
“Right,” he says, clearing his throat.
Oh, he’s bought you a drink enough times. Summer has waned but whatever thread you tied around your wrists hasn’t. Right now, your guess is that Doyoung has been ensnared in the common ritual for college boys to walk around campus and declare their friend is single just to embarrass him (or by some miracle, score him a date).
Everything, apart from the way you look at Doyoung, feels like a charade. You shake your head with a quick laugh, smacking Johnny in the arm and pay your condolences to Doyoung—keep it light. You’re good at it, or pretending you’re good at it, at the very least.
Doyoung’s gaze on you lingers for a moment and then you breathe. You’re going to be late for class—you offer the classic excuse and you’re out of there. In a way, it’s exciting. You’ve always wanted to have a secret relationship, even if this isn’t a real one.
Doyoung is like the summer breeze, and you’d like for him to stay that way.
The next time you grace each other’s presence is when Doyoung’s tongue is in your mouth and his hands are running up under your shirt.
He’s quite a pretty sight—messy hair, red lips and rosy cheeks. He moans into the kiss as he has quite a few times now and there’s the lovers’ high running through either of your minds. When he presses his lips to your neck, a soft restrained sound escapes you, not quite prepared for the sting of electricity through your skin. He moves to your collarbone and shoulders and then even lower, hands gripping your waist tight. The walls do not have ears here; these hotels are cheap but they’re built for privacy and maybe you’ll let yourself believe for once that you can belong to someone.
“Why did you text me in the middle of the goddamn night?” he mutters against the base of your neck.
“You want reasons now?” you whisper, hands running through his hair.
Doyoung has pretty fingers, pressing at the right places and prettier eyes that look at you with something akin to, dare you say it, love. He kisses you like he hasn’t had enough; and it makes you feel important.
He’s even better when he’s annoyed.
You wake up at around five in the morning. Propping yourself up on one arm, you take a moment to look at your partner. It’s easy to make out the line of his nose against the pillow, and if you focus, you can see his lashes against his cheek and his dark mop of hair clinging to his forehead. However gentle the moonlight is, it is kindest on a lover.
Funny.
Too tired to sneak out, you go back to sleep.
“All I’m saying is that you have too much coffee,” Doyoung complains, slipping on his loose black sweatshirt. “It can’t be good for your health.”
You shake your head, scrolling through your phone as you lay on your belly. You’ve seen this view enough times—his back to you and sitting at the opposite edge of the bed, his incessant complaints and opinions about something that happened recently, running his hand through his hair when he sighs. You press on the calendar app and type in a note labeled ‘x’. Keeping tabs isn’t a bad thing; especially if you like order. Spending too many nights with someone is going to land you in trouble. That said, if you could trap love in a bottle, you would.
“You taste like coffee,” Doyoung adds with reddening ears.
Sometimes, it’s easy to ignore what he says if you listen to the sound of his voice instead. You sit up, scooting closer as Doyoung shoots you an alarmed look. He’s so cute like this; something about all the painted fences he puts up around him makes you want to lean in closer.
“So,” you poke his side. “How many relationships have you been in? Proper ones.”
“Three,” he answers, to your surprise.
Your eyebrows shoot up. “That’s more than I’ve been in!”
Doyoung furrows his. “How many have you been in?”
“One.”
He seems equally surprised but doesn’t probe further. After all, the price sticker that spells ‘youth’ clings to his forehead just as it clings to yours.
“How many people have you fucked?” you ask suddenly, enjoying the visible flush across his neck.
“You’re doing this on purpose,” he notes, flicking your forehead.
“Ow!” You place your palm against your forehead. “Okay, I get it, you have nothing to brag about.”
He shakes his head, an exasperated sigh leaving him. “I just don’t think you have to know. I like privacy.”
“Wait.” You gasp. “Don’t tell me- That night- don’t tell me you were a virgin—”
Doyoung squishes your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, a laugh erupting from your mouth.
“Who’s a virgin?”
Nothing about this, you find yourself realizing, is complicated. It’s easy, gentle, natural, like a breath of fresh air—everything but complicated. Even under dim lights and within the depths of night, Doyoung is warm and uncomplicated. His chest, his hands, his lips—they are warm, as are his words.
But Doyoung is a fucking fairytale.
Even after these few months, all you know about him, in the definitive format, is that he plays the keys for more hours than he sleeps. What he does for fun, what his classes are, how he became student body president—you could play guessing games all night.
“Do your friends know where you spend your nights?” you ask, leaning back against the pillows.
“They know what I’m doing, not who I’m with,” he responds, running his fingers through his hair.
You purse your lips. It’s nothing hurtful but you don’t like the hush-hush in his tone.
“Why not?”
“Because this is a secret,” he responds as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Do you want them to know?”
He’s right.
“Ah, whatever,” you mutter, a stream of curses following when your elbow collides hard with the edge of the bedside table.
“Your mouth is filthy.” He looks away to his phone. “I don’t swear as much.”
“Well, of course it is. I had your—”
Doyoung presses his palm against your lips with a tired sigh. “Please. Don’t speak. For the sake of my sanity.”
You smile under his hand and he returns it; and the November morning warms up.
“Where were you last night?”
You were expecting the question. Areum is the worst possible candidate for a roommate if you want some privacy. You don’t think she ever sleeps; sometimes, you wonder if she even showers because all she does is stare at her laptop screen and adjust her designs. Her lips are always chapped and her hair is always in a simple low ponytail but somehow still messy. You’ve never met someone so exhausted yet so full of life at the same time.
“Who were you with last night?” Eunji yells from the bathroom, before the two of them laugh.
You knew you shouldn’t have stayed the morning. You have the nosiest roommates anyone could (not) ask for. But they’re still your friends, you tell yourself begrudgingly. You would tell them about Doyoung if it weren’t for Eunji’s big mouth and Areum’s lack of common sense. And if it weren’t for the inherent comfort of privacy.
(Some part of you wants to keep him to yourself. You don’t care about student council president Doyoung or his friend group’s everything-regulator Doyoung or always-has-his-shit-together Doyoung. The one in your bed is the most loving.)
Areum adjusts her glasses, narrowing her eyes at you. “So? Any answer?”
You break out of your daydream at her voice, feeling a flush creep up your neck.
“I don’t have to explain anything,” you retort, snatching the coffee she brewed from the tabletop. “It was a Friday night and the two of you like Netflix more than me.”
“That’s mine,” Areum mumbles out a weak complaint.
“But don’t go out alone,” Eunji whines. “It can’t be safe.”
You laugh. “You know me. I don’t do anything too dangerous. Besides, you guys have that tracker app.”
They shrug, offering you a thin smile. A part of you is happy that they trust you but another part wonders what it would be like to be worried over. Maybe getting nagged isn’t so bad.
You take a sip of Areum’s coffee and almost spit it out right back.
“Did you add salt?” you ask, wiping at your mouth and hoping the taste disappears.
“Uh.” A reply so intelligent, you wonder if she ever pays attention to anything she's doing.
You take a moment (a few), sigh (several times) and make your way to the shelves. Grumbling, you make her a proper cup of coffee before you leave.
Classes don’t wait for you (even if you think they should) and the world doesn’t wait for you (again, you think it should wait for people) so you’ve made it a point to understand the whole deal about rules. If everyone followed the rules, it would be quite a pretty scene; messing up is only valid if it’s done prettily. You laugh at the thought. That’s near impossible. The bus ride to the campus consists of music and thoughts of bleak tomorrows—an average commute for college kids, you think. You sure hope you aren’t alone in this.
Doyoung smiles at you in the hallway today, and despite your best efforts, it makes your day smell a little fresher.
Your day: classes, coffee break, classes, complaining with Ten, assignments, ‘me’ time. For someone who pretends to be laid back, you use your planner as though for survival. There’s no sticky notes or colourful sketches (except on occasion); just good old fashioned to-do lists and a calendar marked with time you’ve spent on productivity. Every day is a list to be completed. If people call routine a man-made cage, instinct is the biological cage. You’d rather be in control of the cage you’re in. You’d rather be in control of yourself. It’s scary otherwise.
So you know how to get the job done—it’s ingrained into you the same way you would place your hands over your ears at loud sounds, or the way you would run to your bed in the dark after switching off the lights.
It never occurs to you that the reason your world is so perfect is a sad one.
Sometime next month, it’s going to snow. Not yet though, and it’s still too cold.
The inside of the cafe helps the slightest, the heaters situated far back from where you sit. Christmas decorations are up already and the combination of red and green meshes delightfully into the form of an aching headache. The wood paneling on the walls are worn at the corners, the garlands hardly covering them, and the barista behind the counter seems as gloomy as the decorations are bright. You wouldn’t be noticing all of this if you weren’t stuck in one position.
You lean your cheek further into your palm and sigh, only this time Ten asks you to, quote, ‘shut the fuck up’.
He pulls up his sleeve and reaches for another pencil. His cryptic process continues, as it has been for the past half an hour and you feel yourself getting impatient, trying to not bounce your leg and get another bout of quibbling from your half-mad artist friend. You don’t usually run low on patience; but Ten has a special pass to test drive it.
“How much lon—”
“Shh!” He hushes you quickly. You can’t remember why you agreed to being his portrait study subject but you sure as hell regret it.
Around fifteen minutes later, you take a (permitted) breath. You have neither the energy nor the neck strength to glare at Ten but you make sure to show your displeasure by snatching the cookies from the table with a particularly sour look. He gets up and pushes you to the side of the small worn-out couch offered by the equally small booth.
“God, that chair was uncomfortable. My butt is frozen solid,” he lets you know, and you roll your eyes.
“You know, if we weren’t friends in high school, I would never be friends with you,” you state.
Ten tilts his head to the side, a mocking pout over his lips. “I would die without you, (name). Really.”
You smack his arm and he yelps, smacking your arm right back. The sound attracts some attention and giggles, and you make a gagging gesture to let them know you are in way or form in a relationship. The low-volume music changes to something with a more distinguishable beat, the sound of doors opening and closing almost every two minutes accompanying. Arriving on time is an accomplishment, especially arriving before rush hour on Fridays at the only decent cafe on campus, but both of your classes end early and there is no way you aren’t taking advantage of that. Leaving, however, is mostly done when you’re being glared at by the waiters and waitresses.
“Doyoung asked about you,” Ten says, all of a sudden. “Kim Doyoung.”
You try to not show concern, but raise an eyebrow. “What? So? He’s not my type or anything.”
You bite your tongue. That was too quick a response, too obvious. Your cheeks grow hot. Ten doesn't say anything, however, and for a moment, you think you’re in safe waters.
“Are you guys… into each other or not?”
You cough, trying to show your surprise at something so outrageous. “Why would you think that? Does he look like someone who dates around?”
“Actually, he’s been on quite a few dates.”
“No way.”
You know that. He’s told you about it before, in vague references, but you know about them nonetheless.
“Isn’t one student council guy enough?” you mumble. “Why are we talking about Doyoung?”
He shrugs, a familiar feline smile on his face. “Just asking. He talks about you sometimes. Actually, we forced it out of him but whatever.”
You shake your head. “You’re all terrible.”
“You seem to like him though.”
“Who said that?”
Ten sighs, ignoring your question. “If you guys are dating—”
“We’re not.”
“—or fucking—”
“Ten.”
“—you should learn a thing or two about him. The guy’s not as annoying as he looks. Or stuck-up. He’s really nice but don’t tell him I said that.”
“I know that,” you snap, feeling warm at the neck all of a sudden. “I know him.”
“Oh, you do? Tell me what his hobbies are then. Or his major. Or the clubs he’s in, apart from the student council.”
“He- He likes to sing and he’s- he’s—god, what is this? An interrogation? I’m not going to meet his mom for dinner.”
Ten gives you an ‘I knew it’ look before leaning his elbow onto the table. “You’re sleeping with a guy you don’t know anything about. Serial killers would love you.”
You massage your forehead. “Look, I know he’s a good guy, okay? And he’s sweet- and- and—wait a minute. Oh my god, you tricked me.”
Ten lets out a snort. “Hey. Okay, look, the other guys might be dumb as shit but I have, you know, a working set of eyes. I can tell. It’s not that hard.”
You grumble but the cat’s out of the bag anyway. You should’ve known Ten would figure it out—he’s a nosy little shit, and he’s been that way since high school.
“Whatever. As long as Doyoung doesn’t start panicking about his tarnished reputation or whatever.”
“Oh, I think he’s desperate to let everyone know.”
“To you, Ten, everything seems obvious. It’s annoying.” You mess up his hair.
“No, I mean, I thought you were dating.”
“Well, we’re not.”
Ten shrugs.
“And I don’t like him,” you add. “I like the- the thing that’s going on because there’s no feelings attached.”
He looks somewhat pained, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed, but doesn’t respond to your explanation. “Can I ask for a favour?”
“No.”
Ten sighs. “Come on. You didn’t even hear me out.”
“You’re going to say something stupid. Or insulting.”
“It’s neither, promise.”
You run your hand through your hair, breathing shallow. “Fine. I don’t have to agree though.”
Ten purses his lips. “It’d be better if you did.”
You hum in response, biting into the cookie and trying to ignore the glare from the nearby waitress. It’s about time you left anyway.
“Get to know him, dude. Don’t break his heart.”
“What?”
“Just kidding. There’s a party tonight. Hosted by yours truly. Finally moved out of that stinky dorm room. Bring over some friends but not more than three. And lend me some money for a juicebox.”
“That’s a lot,” you mutter. “You ask for a lot of favours.”
“Oh, speaking of which, Hyungmin—”
“He already asked me out on a date. Am I supposed to say no? You never mentioned he has such an attractive voice.”
“Oh, I’m not telling you to not go on that date. You have to, actually. I’m going to be in a lot of trouble otherwise.”
“That sounds good to me.”
“Shut up. I’m not done speaking.”
You roll your eyes.
“But if you didn’t, I could draw some conclusions.”
“What am I, your chemistry experiment now?”
“Well, you and Doyoung seem to be—”
“Don’t complete that sentence.”
“I was going to say something funny.”
Ten flashes you a blinding smile and you sigh. By now, you’re about to get kicked out of here so you stand up discreetly while he packs up his stuff. You hug your jacket close to you as soon as you leave, shivering at the evening breeze. The sky is inky, but with a faint sort of ink—deep blue and light, all at once. From the crowd, you can tell classes just got over for quite a few people, eclectic chatter filling up the street.
“Fine. I’ll bring Eunji,” you tell Ten after some contemplation. “And whoever else responds to my text first. Areum never leaves the room. You know that.”
“Thanks, (name)!” he messes up your hair. “I would give you a kiss but someone will end up punching my pretty face.”
You furrow your brows. “Well, you’re not my type anyway.”
“I’m too good for you,” he responds in a sing-song manner, waving at you before running off and disappearing into the university crowd.
There’s always a sort of buzz in the air you can’t quite describe at college parties.
Even if this is a relatively small one, you feel an oncoming headache the moment you enter Ten’s new apartment, which you’re sure had a ‘no parties’ rule in the rental contract. You spot Kun, Ten’s roommate from the dorms and he flashes you a quick smile in greeting before he’s swept up by a doting crowd. Apparently, a cute guy in animal sciences is rare and it makes him rather popular.
Eunji disappears from your side the moment she spots Johnny, and the number of eye rolls you’ve given her haven’t warned her off him yet. You suppose it takes heartbreak to change a person. Sighing, you make your way to the kitchen only to be greeted with the strange sight of Yuta trying to balance Jaehyun on his back so they can imitate some anime formation and back out immediately. Living room, it is, despite its populous space. (You don’t really want to think of bedrooms right now.)
The apartment is quite big for what Ten told you the rent was. The hallway to the two bedrooms is narrow but you suppose something has to be sacrificed for space. You furrow your eyebrows at the two bedroom doors. Ten never said he was getting a roommate. You shrug it off, sitting down on the rather stiff couch. The lack of furniture, apart from the couch and a coffee table, makes the place look even larger and people sparse. You like the beige walls; Ten’s always loved warmer colours but something makes you think he’s going to be ruining them in a few days with garish green paint before he comes crying about that to you.
“Hey.”
You look up to the familiar voice, heart rising to your throat.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Doyoung remarks before sitting down beside you and offering you a cup of god-knows-what.
“I don’t take drinks from strange men,” you say, biting down your smile and crossing your arms.
“If you didn’t take drinks from strange men, we wouldn’t be fu—”
“Doyoung!” you hiss before looking at him with careful suspicion. “Are you drunk?”
“No. A little bit. Not enough.”
You sigh. “How will you get home now?”
“I live here, idiot.”
“You’re- You’re Ten’s roommate?” you sputter.
“Yeah. New one,” he responds. “He used to live across our room in the dorms, I can’t believe I actually agreed to this.”
“I can’t believe it either. I’ve seen cats and dogs friendlier with each other than the two of you.”
Doyoung laughs. “He’s surprisingly one of the better people to room with. I’d rather eat my own blanket than room with Yuta again.”
You laugh at his irked expression, eyebrows furrowed so cutely. The line of his brow bone to nose to lips, it seems a little too perfect to belong to someone. He relaxes his shoulders a little, leaning back on the couch as he looks somewhat lost in thought. (“You think too much,” you’d told him once. “And you think too little.”) If only that were true, you smile to yourself.
“Are you sure you can hold parties here?” you as when the music suddenly rises in volume.
“Well, it said student-friendly,” Doyoung responds, looking visibly disturbed. “Not sure if I want to test the limits of that so early.”
There’s a pause, filled in with loud pop music. You don’t think Ten, your dear introvert, would have agreed to such a party but there’s a chance Johnny or Jaehyun had something to do with this. You don’t know who to suspect when it comes to their group of friends.
“I still can’t believe you’re rooming with Ten.” You look at Doyoung.
“Well, that makes, what, eleven of us, I guess?”
You laugh, feeling conscious all of sudden. Maybe you should listen to Ten’s advice.
“Doyoung,” you call, looking at the cup in your hands a little too passionately. “What’s your major?”
He looks at you with eyes widened ever so slightly, and a pause over his lips.
“Linguistics,” he answers.
“Oh. You said something about it once,” you mumble, recalling something vague about an assignment of his. “You know mine?”
“Yeah,” he answers, eyes cast on his watch.
“Well, that makes me feel a little guilty,” you mumble as softly as you can.
“You should be,” he says. “You never listen to anything I say.”
You scoff. “You just complain most of the time.”
“Really now?”
“Yes,” you snap, looking away.
You look back again when you hear the sound of Doyoung’s laugh, a distinct brightness in it. Sometimes, you wonder if you really are as awful as you’ve made yourself be.
“You’re cute,” he says. “No wonder everyone is so in love with you.”
For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you.
“Everyone?” you laugh. You don’t care about everyone. It’s burdensome.
“Everyone. They hate you too, by the way.” He smiles to himself. “Heard you’re going on a date with that dimwit. Hyungmin.”
You feel a sudden discomfort in your being. Taking a sip of the drink, you try to shake it off as best as you can.
“Yeah, I- I don’t think I’ll go,” you say, waving it off.
Why are you lying? You left it hanging on a maybe. Part of you wants to tell Doyoung; he is your friend after all and you tell friends stuff like this. The other part tells you this is cheating; lying and pretending everything is okay—it feels like cheating.
“Oh.” He looks lost before he focuses on you. “Why not?”
“Why do you care?” you ask, trying desperately to calm the uprising in your chest.
He stays quiet for a few seconds and then shrugs, looking away from you. It makes you feel a little guilty to dismiss the situation so quickly, another item to add to your troubles. You sigh.
“Sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“No, it’s okay. You’re right.” You can see his Adam's apple bob up and down.
“I’m not,” you say. “I’m wrong. I really didn’t mean it.”
He looks at you all at once, his gaze so gentle that it makes you think he wants to kiss you, or do something equally affectionate. Instead he sighs, downing whatever’s left of his drink before a wash of sudden looseness does away with the tension in his body.
“You have any more questions for me?” he asks, smiling. “What's it like to be student body president—or, or what instruments can I play? My favourite animal? Colour?”
You smile back. “What is your favourite animal?”
“I don’t have one. Don’t like them. Unless it’s a soft toy.”
“No way. You’re lying.”
“Now, I answer your questions and you call me a liar? Makes me a little hesitant to answer the next.”
You roll your eyes. “Okay, next then. Why didn’t you join the frat? All your friends are in it.”
“Hurts my ego.”
You laugh. He’s still probably an honorary member. There is no way he’s apart from friends for too long with all those feelings of fraternity he has, no matter what he says. It’s the same as you. Affection leads nowhere though; just to short-lived moments of comfort.
You realize, through the course of the night, that you never asked. How he got into the student council, what his classes are, what he does for fun—you never asked. It’s almost like you didn’t want to know.
How sad, you muse to yourself, to be this way. To be so wrapped up in your own problems that you fail to see people around you. Pity, however, isn’t something to feel at a party. You talk with Doyoung for the rest of the night till the sound of his voice makes you feel certain ghosts of butterflies, and till you have to take Eunji home before she does something she regrets. This is what it really means to have the price tag of ‘youth’ strung across you perhaps—when you feel old and immature all at once, and in between, when you feel nothing at all.
Doyoung is too old to mistake love. Or too young.
Labels don’t define anything, especially when it comes to relationships—so even if he calls it love, whispers it to himself at midnight when he’s sitting alone on his bed while his friends are passed out drunk on the floor, it is empty. And then there’s you. The heat of your skin, the curse of your smile and that cheeky laugh you do to get on his nerves. He wants all of it and he’s not ashamed—but he’d be a liar to say he can shout it to the whole world. He’s not that kind of man, and what is his can remain his without the rest of the world prying its damn fingers in. The first night, no, the second—third? He can’t remember which night it was but something pent up in him exploded and he didn’t try to control it for once.
“Ow,” he mutters.
His throat burns from the whiskey. He hates drinking alone but you’re either asleep or with friends and he can’t think of anyone else but you. He tugs at the turtleneck collar, getting uncomfortable by the minute, and then proceeds to take off his coat.
For a moment, he considers getting back to the living room. There were more than enough people with lingering touches against his shoulder and longing gazes—they’re not you. He leans back onto his bed. Another hour and everyone will be gone; why did he even let them hold a party in the first place? Parties just remind him of you—he takes a whiff and smells summer and lemon vodka all of a sudden. A deep sigh leaves his lips.
You might not seem to find yourself especially sad, but Doyoung finds something oddly touching about you. Maybe it’s the way you say his name, he muses, like you’re desperately trying to fill the gaps. But it can’t be him in particular, of course—it’s a lover, any lover.
He hates long nights, just as he hates winter but lately, they haven’t been feeling too cold. Isn’t it ridiculous the way he’s running after you? Doyoung was never meant for this. It’s fucking pathetic and it makes him want to tear all his hair out but there he is, still and quiet in the same place. A certain agony makes its way through him. His hands are freezing and yet his insides are burning—nothing makes sense and right now, he doesn’t want it to. He presses his cold hands to the warmth of his cheeks and a laugh erupts from his mouth.
He must be going crazy to laugh like this in an empty room. The car lights from the window travel slowly from wall to ceiling, the only thing moving in the stagnant of his room.
Inevitably, he thinks of the end. It should come quick; in fact, he’s never been one to do this. He’s always been someone to get attached to people. He doesn’t know how the end will come because this shouldn’t have begun in the first place.
Doyoung’s out of breath.
“Crazy bastard,” he mumbles to himself, followed by a groan when he lifts his head up. As if on cue, the door opens and shuts with a bang. Ten walks in looking drowsy, running his hand through his hair with a disgruntled face.
“I hate to say this,” he slurs. “But you’re right. We can’t have extra furniture and parties. Gotta choose one.”
Ten lays down flat on the bed. “I vote out that ugly ass clock you bought. Why do we need it? We have phones and laptops.”
“It was a gift,” Doyoung mutters.
“Oh. Uh. Actually, someone already, uh—”
“Leave it. We’ll talk about that in the morning.”
Doyoung massages his forehead, groaning at the pain when Ten suddenly decides he’s all up for cuddling.
“Ew,” he says, scooting away from Ten. “Get away from me.”
“You don’t mean that,” Ten whines, trying very hard to pull Doyoung into a hug. Of course, his attempts are blocked by Doyoung’s palm against his forehead.
After a few more seconds of trying, Ten huffs and turns away, crossing his arms. “I don’t like you anyway.”
“I know,” Doyoung mutters.
Ten erupts into laughter, sounding more like a psychopath than a close friend of his.
“You do that every time you like someone?” he asks in between fits.
Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “I just said—okay, yeah. Whatever.”
There’s a much needed silence and Doyoung wonders if he can just fall asleep without kicking Ten out.
“You should tell (name),” Ten says all of a sudden, Doyoung’s heart stopping at your name.
“What?” he whispers.
Ten looks at him as though he’s talking to a particularly stupid child. It makes Doyoung scowl but there’s too much alcohol in his system to know if he really means it.
“You don’t- you’re- everyone in this goddamn building knows,” Ten explains, exasperated. “Jaehyun knows, and he’s the densest kid I’ve ever met. God, if you like (name), go for it.”
Doyoung blushes so deep, he considers pressing his palms to his cheeks again. He thinks for the next few moments. Ah well, if they had to find out, he’s glad he didn’t have to declare it himself.
“Whatever, just ask (name) out. It can’t be that complicated.”
Except it is. You don’t have to spell it out for him—he knows the way you feel. The two of you only ever wanted one thing out of this. But if there’s something Doyoung isn’t good at, it’s keeping his mouth shut. He wonders how many times he let it slip, wonders if you even care enough to notice. God, it’s starting to sound pitiful for him.
“Ten. How much did you drink?” Doyoung asks, raising his head.
“Nothing. None. I’m not drunk.” Ten shrugs. “Just sleepy.”
A ‘wow’ is all Doyoung can respond with. He still isn’t quite finished figuring out what sort of horrific planet Ten stumbled from. A notification ding distracts him from kicking Ten off his bed and he has half a mind to toss it onto the bedside table but it’s still half. He softens almost immediately.
It’s a text from you: a ‘u’ followed by a smiley face and then a meme he can’t quite read through hazy eyes. He finds himself smiling anyway and sends a barrage of emojis, whatever he finds because he likes the way you get annoyed at them. Sighing, he decides that’s enough. He’s not in the right state of mind for conversation.
Doyoung shuts his phone off, attempts to push Ten off the bed one last time before closing his eyes and dozing off.
Not every day is meant to be fun—you know that in your twenties—but it’s still somewhat disappointing to have bad days. Like youth is meant to give you some sort of happiness daily. That’s what they make it sound like.
You groan, rubbing at your back. Sitting at your study desk for so long does not have good long term effects. At least, your temporary, meaningless assignments are done. You scowl at the text on your laptop screen; the more you look at it, the more you hate it and so, you shut it off. It’s not like your pissy professor is going to be impressed by anything you do. However, you like the orderly certainty of schoolwork.
Break time consists of guilt and sugary snacks. You’re done with most everything and you suppose leaving the final review of things to a later date can’t hurt. In fact, it sounds rather appeasing. A few more moments pass in making a decision.
You get dressed. The apartment feels eerie all alone, and you’re sure as hell not going to spend the rest of your evening here. You shiver, quickly striding out the front door and locking it before taking out your phone.
People misunderstand winter. Winter is only the end of things; and sometimes, the beginning. It isn’t cruel or crushing, it’s just taking its course. However, you have a tendency to blame seasons for all that happen in it. For instance, you shouldn’t be missing summer when you really miss the first night with Doyoung.
He picks up after calling thrice. You wonder what he’s even up to, if Saturday evenings are also booked full for such a guy.
“Why do you take so long to pick up?” you complain. “Do you not get days off?”
“I’m busy,” he hisses.
Something’s wrong.
You pause, unsure what to do. It’s not his voice but the one in the background that catches your attention.
Inviting him somewhere.
Rather sensually.
Your ears feel hot and you drop the call. Of course. Of fucking course. You’re the idiot thinking it was a thing. This whole thing is casual—feeling sorry wasn’t in the contract. Fucking around was.
It’s not like you’ll be heartbroken by something like this. Of course not. Of course. Doyoung and you never had a beginning so there isn’t an end, really. It’s fine. It’s fine. You take a deep breath and browse through your phone. With the onset of Christmas holidays, you have around three options left. Ten (yikes), Jaehyun (no way) or the latest addition, Hyungmin.
Well, you’re dressed. You have to go somewhere. And your statement about Hyungmin being the hottest guy on campus still stands.
You send two texts to the boy before deciding that’s apparently enough time waiting. He picks up after a few rings, voice groggy from what you assume to be a late afternoon nap.
“You up for a drink?” You cut to the point.
“Uh? Oh, uh, now? I am, of course- I just need—”
“Twenty minutes. I’ll text you the address.”
Nothing cheers you up like your favourite bar. Or friends. Or people who respond to calls.
Hongdae is as busy as ever. You knew the bar would be packed but not this packed. Still, you managed to grab a seat at the bar table. With the oncoming night, the smell is just going to get worse—so there’s nothing wrong with treating yourself to some lemon vodka (and its refreshing scent).
Hyungmin arrives exactly four minutes early, and the mussed up hair makes you think he must have been in a hurry. For what, you can’t be sure.
You can still see the inklings of Hongdae nightlights on his hair right before he enters, and in the fallacy of that moment, you think it’s going to be Doyoung. You sigh. This isn’t the time for that.
“Sorry,” you say, gesturing to the bar table. “All the tables were booked.”
“No, no,” he responds quickly. “I actually prefer it here.”
He’s tall, not that it’s the first time you’re noticing, but even when he’s sitting, he’s at least two heads taller than you are. His shoulders are accentuated by the mocha coat, no doubt part of the latest trend this winter. As a fashion student, he hits the mark and more.
For a moment, you feel bad for knowing his major. Ten let it slip about him and yet still, you feel guilty for remembering it. You’re not supposed to go into unnecessary detail about people that don’t matter. Does he matter?
“Surprised you could make it,” you joke half-heartedly. “Aren’t you lot always busy with something?”
He laughs. “The student council? Oh, we’re busy alright.”
Busy. Right.
“What about you? Aren’t you part of like three different clubs?”
“So what kind of busy?” you ask, ignoring his question. You’re part of two, now that you left the music club last semester. It’s not like small talk matters though.
“Uh,” he hesitates. “You know- attend meetings and events, coordinate committee work, supervise stuff, etcetera etcetera. So busy, yeah.”
“Busy on Saturdays too?” you ask, before thanking the bartender for the drinks.
“Yeah, I guess. Doyoung has it worse than me honestly. Even now, he has to take care of stuff because of me. Hah…”
You gulp down your drink making Hyungmin raise an eyebrow in concern. “Stuff? Because of you?”
“Yeah.” Hyungmin scratches the back of his head. “He’s with the girls.”
“Girls?” you ask, playing with the glass. You’re starting to feel annoyed, red lining your vision.
“Yeah.” He makes no notion of clarifying his statement.
“Must be quite the president,” you say, resting your cheek against your palm.
“Oh, he’s a nightmare.” Hyungmin laughs. “He has to control everything.”
You try to mask your scoff. You know what he can be like when you’re working beside him.
“Oh, and the guy has no sense of humour,” Hyungmin laughs, the sound easy on the ears.
You blink.
“I think he’s funny,” you say quickly. You swear you have no idea why you sound so defensive.
He hums in response and you consider biting your tongue, telling him you’re only here for one thing and forgetting the uncomfortable churning of feelings inside your chest.
“Forget I- I’m a little confused today.”
Is that an acceptable explanation? You can’t think straight enough to decide. The silence on Hyungmin’s part, however, worries you. The crowd around you fills in for the next few moments as your companion seems to debate something with himself.
“Look, I know you and Doyoung are… I don’t know, something.”
You huff in irked amusement. “God, does everyone seem to know?”
“Not until late actually.” Hyungmin takes a gulp. “He’s been acting weird. Doyoung.”
You look away, breathing shallow. You don’t like it, the way things seem to be getting out of hand. All this time, the world seemed to be in the palm of your hand and now, it’s spilling everywhere; the sand in the hourglass is already up to your knees and you don’t know what happens when it fills.
“Do you actually like him?” he asks, leaning back just a little. You know where this is going. “Are you guys dating?”
“No,” you respond, checking your watch.
“Oh.”
There’s a moment’s hesitation in him but you’ve seen that look before. You know that look.
“Then we can- uh- we can—”
“Fuck?” you ask.
He gulps. “I mean, you can say no any time—”
You pull him by the collar and kiss him, hard enough to melt away your hovering thoughts. He kisses like you expect him to, not how you want him to. You know this sort, and somehow, that makes you feel comfortable. Knowing what you’re getting into is easing but it doesn’t lessen the weight of it.
It’s sickening. The way you’re pretending it’s Doyoung.
Hyungmin pulls apart, panting heavily. “Oh, okay.”
“Tell me you drove here.”
He holds up his car keys in response.
You’re not the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men, but it’s better than falling in love with them.
So you follow a lover to a hotel room and try to feel something. Some time, when he’s kissing you against the hotel room walls, he pulls apart and asks, “You’re thinking of someone else, aren’t you?”
You know the answer; it just won’t leave your lips.
“It’s okay,” he says with a weak smile, “Let’s just have fun.”
And every time his mouth was on yours, every time you saw stars, you felt the ghost of Doyoung and his haunting touches. It was strange and unfair and unlike you—or at least, unlike the you that you built over the past few years. You feel as though you’ve misplaced something—like something was supposed to be there when you reached out but instead, it was empty space.
The night ends as it should and you leave right before dawn with an apology text you couldn’t put half your heart into.
Most winter nights, you wake up with pain so profound, it’s seeping into your bones.
It never made sense. You never tried to make sense of it. So you let the aches push you down by the shoulders, lodge itself into your neck and back; and you tell yourself, it must be what you deserve. It’s cold and you’re walking barefoot on frozen ground.
You gasp. The weight of who you are and who you have to be—it has its knee on the back of your neck, shoving you into the damp earth. There’s no particular reason to it; it makes it seem as though it’s insignificant. Unimportant. Irrelevant. But that’s the problem—the weight of the world on your shoulders makes no sense. Whose world are you even carrying? Whose approval are you trying to win? You scramble to get up, messing up your bedsheets in the process, and pull your blanket around you. Your own warmth surrounds you and it makes no difference. You frown.
You remember your phone call with your mom, and your lips tremble. You shouldn’t have told her about how crappy your finals went but it slipped. You tried to explain that you did work for them, that you gave it your best but sometimes things don’t work out. She didn’t have to say it out loud for you to hear her thoughts.
You’re disappointing.
You wipe at your eyes, feeling annoyed at the emotion. If you could let the ground swallow you whole, you would. In a heartbeat. You don’t even know what you’re doing most of the days despite that pretty planner of yours.
You get out of bed, pull on your cardigan beside the bed and grab your lighter and pack. The tiny balcony makes for a great smoking spot and while you would scold any of your friends for committing to this, you do it yourself. Hypocrite.
For all you try to shove into yourself—hobbies, student clubs, actual clubbing, friends—the more you feel less than enough, as if everything just vanishes into thin air inside you. As if you aren’t enough and never will be. You play by the rules and you lose, you break the rules and you lose.
Maybe it’s because you let yourself be filled by the intricacies of other people that they like you. And thus, you cannot stop for fear of loneliness.
Just as you’re feeling crushed again, you picture Doyoung against your back, placing his nose in the crook of your neck—something he has never done—and you wonder why it helps.
Sucking in air too fast, you cough. You shouldn’t have let it go on for so long.
It was fun—harmless fun. You shouldn’t even be thinking of taking a step in some other direction. You’re friends, barely, but you like where you are. If Doyoung was that important, you wouldn’t be going about this all backwards. You sigh, though it comes out jagged. The room is quiet and that’s the way it should be at four a.m, of course, but you crave music all of a sudden. Doyoung and you are just a temporary fix; and you let that thought relax you.
When you think of his chin on your shoulder, however, it feels feather light.
“Why are we doing this?” you ask.
The atmosphere is warm and toasty, just like you expect it to be in a bakery with light pink doors and a collection of plastic potted plants on display. The decorations aren’t an eyesore here and somehow, it makes you feel better. It’s a little far but you decide it’s worth it.
Doyoung shrugs, sipping his hot chocolate. “It’s Christmas, and we’re both here.”
Your eyes follow the hanging lights over the counter, wrapped in pine tree stickers and eventually to the neat display of a ‘Season’s Greetings’ menu, the contents of which are currently at your table. A Christmas song by some singer who’s been popular lately plays, tunes light and dancing. You hate the end of the year solely because of the extra pressure January brings. Nothing you can’t handle, of course. Nothing you can’t handle.
You sigh. It’s been a little difficult lately.
“Doyoung, really, why are we doing this?” you ask, genuinely curious.
“Are you- uh- are you not enjoying this? I could—”
“No! No, it’s not that. I feel better, actually.” You bite your tongue almost immediately after. It’s not like he’s supposed to know the sort of hell week you’re having. A poorly received term paper, finals that weren’t up to your expectations, crippling loneliness without friends and, oh, the self-doubt—you are at the lowest you can be in college. The only sweetener right now is in the hot chocolate and the way Doyoung’s looking at you.
You feel something close to guilt.
“Good.” He smiles. “You seemed… You seemed a little down.”
The sliver of warmth between your ribs makes you think this is unreal. It feels uneasy to be so affected by someone but you let it slide, turning back to your hot chocolate.
“Why didn’t you go home this time?” you ask, sipping your drink.
“Oh, I didn't really want to face my parents,” he says before leaning. “Didn’t do too well this semester. And my brother’s going to be there with all his achievements.”
You chuckle in disbelief. “You don’t like your brother?”
“I love him to bits. Just can’t stand my mom’s nagging when he’s around.”
“That’s rich coming from you.” You cross your arms, smiling triumphantly. You feel like children squabbling but it’s so lighthearted, you want to laugh.
Doyoung raises a pointed finger, about to retort but nothing comes out. He puts his hand down.
“I guess you’re right.”
You shake your head. “I’m sure she’s proud of you too.”
“I know that,” he says, laughing. “Of course she is. I don’t keep myself busy for nothing.”
You gulp, a sudden sourness rising at the base of your tongue.
“Busy, huh? Didn’t know spending saturday evenings with girls also counted as busy,” you mutter against the cup, half-hoping he doesn’t hear you.
“What?” There’s a perplexed look across his face.
You wave your hand in dismissal. “Oh don’t mind me.”
“Are you talking about me giving a tour to the fresher girls?” Doyoung leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Hyungmin does that usually but Mr Man was sore from soccer practice and Friday fucking.”
You blink. “Fresher… girls?”
“What, did you think I was at a brothel?” Doyoung laughs in amusement.
You feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “No! No, of course not.”
You wave your hands about for a few more seconds, trying to come up with an explanation. This makes things rather embarrassing.
“Sorry,” you say finally. “I jumped to conclusions.”
Doyoung laughs, rather deep and heartily, and you wonder if your apology really did sound as stupid to him as it did to you.
“You do that a lot,” he notes.
“Thanks,” you quip, cutting the pastry with your fork a little too forcefully. His laugh follows. (You hate it so much. It sounds like pure adoration.)
The next few moments consist of scrolling through your phones (because Doyoung says his ‘mouth hurts from talking to you’) and you would’ve been in a better state of mind if everyone wasn’t posting pre-Christmas photos with their families.
“You know they’re opening that park. What’s it called- Winter Wonderland or something. You said you wanted to visit.”
You look up at Doyoung amused.
“Let’s be honest. You want to be in bed, Doyoung,” you say. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I care,” he answers, looking at you with his doe eyes. “About you. You sulk when you’re upset.”
“I don’t sulk,” you reply but your smile is obvious when you exit the cafe.
It’s like a date. The more you think of it that way, the more it makes you smile.
The evening is perfect—orange and pink and loving and happy. Doyoung trails behind you as you tread over the sidewalk with cheeky remarks about his speed.
“I’m in the track club, you know?” he huffs, finally tired of your jabs.
“As what, the start point?”
A fake, sarcastic laugh leaves him. “I wouldn’t get to see you if I walked ahead.”
You feel warmth creep up your face. You mumble, “that’s cheesy.” It’s too weak though, and it goes unheard.
For the first time, you notice his eyes are a little like yours in what they reflect. You love them.
So this is where the crowd went. The amusement park, or whatever you call it, is buzzing with a faint sort of excitement, mostly in the children that didn’t get to go on a vacation elsewhere. It’s quite the wonderland though so you can’t see them complaining.
“Do you think they’ll kick us out if we make out on the Ferris wheel?” you ask, smiling at Doyoung.
“I’m not making out with you on the Ferris wheel,” he replies, making a face.
You do end up making out on the Ferris wheel, and you get butterflies from it. It’s like a teenage dream but Doyoung looks even better. You pass on the cotton candy because frankly, you’ve had enough of sweet things. You sit at the frozen wooden seat, hoping it warms up while Doyoung brings the two of you some fries.
Your phone buzzes with a notification. Your eyes light up at the mail from your professor. You had turned in the term paper three days ago, weeks ahead of schedule and were particularly proud of the way it turned out.
You look at the email and zero in on the word ‘redo’.
Your shoulders sag immediately. You spent four weeks on that—and it’s not good enough? You search frantically for how it could have gone wrong and come up with none. That’s not supposed to happen. Something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong. The week’s exhaustion swallows you up again.
When Doyoung returns, he looks at you concerned before quickly setting the fries on the table.
“(name). Is something wrong?”
“Huh?” Your voice sounds so weak and squeaky, you feel embarrassed. It’s embarrassing that after all these years, you still don’t know how to handle failure.
Because it’s not supposed to happen. You tell yourself that over and over and it makes things worse.
You feel dirty, underneath all that dust and crumbled rock dangling in your hair. Whatever rests on your shoulders is cracking and collapsing, and you’re pushing in the wrong direction to make sure it all stays up.
He reaches out his hand but you avoid it.
“No,” you mutter, weakly shaking your head.
You rub at your nose and eyes, hoping you can hide behind your forearms. Doyoung shouldn’t be seeing you like this, he doesn’t deserve to see you like this. You turn away from him, your palm gently pushing against the soft material of his shirt.
Doyoung doesn’t move. Instead, he gently tugs on your wrist so you have no choice but to face him with your red-rimmed eyes. You’re not sure if it’s embarrassment or pity, but the concern in his eyes makes you cry harder.
“You don’t have to do that,” he whispers. “You don’t have to find a place to cry.”
For the first time in adulthood, you learn what it’s like to lean your forehead against someone’s chest this way. Doyoung wraps his arms around you and the sound of his breathing soothes your near-erratic heart.
“I worked really hard on it, you know?” you mumble against his chest. “My term paper.”
“I know,” he whispers.
Doyoung strokes your head delicately, fingers running through your hair with airy touches. Eventually, you let go of a final sigh and look up to his lips.
He seems surprised at the kiss but it’s all you can think of now. It’s gentler than usual and Doyoung moves cautiously though he seems to like it all the same. His arms feel comfortable around you. When he pulls apart, he looks at you yet still with careful concern.
“We can- we should stop if you want,” he says, and he means it.
You shake your head. Night is creeping in overhead, deep and quiet and slow.
“I like you, Doyoung,” you say finally. “I really, really like you.”
Doyoung’s eyes widen, as though a rabbit wary of the traps it might set foot on but he eases into your touch almost immediately.
“I like… I like you too.” His lips waver but he looks away and takes a deep breath. “I like you so much.”
You smile and think that maybe everything is set right now, with his chin against your shoulder and your arms around him.
Doyoung discards the jacket once you’re in your apartment, kissing you fuller now. Every other thought leaves you; you beg him to make you forget the rest of the world. The walls are comforting now that he’s here, and it’s warmer, hotter.
“Can we- Can we go a little slower?” you mumble, his arms still gentle when they wrap around your waist. He parts his lips from your neck to look at you momentarily before nodding.
You suddenly understand why he always makes you feel so good. There’s a certain fondness to his touch and warmth to his kisses. There’s no one quite like him, really.
“I love digging graves, especially if it’s my own,” you mutter against the pillow.
Doyoung laughs. “What did you do this time?”
“This time? Excuse me? Do you think I’m some sort of trouble child?”
“Hm. Let’s see. Yes.”
You pause. Why do you hesitate to tell him you slept with Hyungmin? It’s not like you were cheating—you weren’t dating Doyoung. Besides, that night with Hyungmin didn’t mean anything. A horrid feeling snakes around your throat, heavy and piercing. You resort to changing the topic.
“I’m… I took another course beyond my understanding.”
“That’s it?” he asks.
You nod.
No, no, no; it’s all backwards now and you don’t know how to reverse it.
Doyoung takes your hand in his, delicately and yet firm. His chest is against your back, bare and warm. When he presses his lips against your knuckles, the warmth that flushes through you makes you want to believe in something else entirely. You feel weak.
A part of you argues that you feel honest—in a moment of clarity you don’t think you deserve. Neither vodka nor whiskey can make you this clear in the head; you struggle to breathe straight. How awful it is to feel warmth and not believe in it at the same time.
“You can rely on me, you know?” he whispers.
The knot in your chest makes you want to cry.
You feel lonely and the opposite of it all at once. Doyoung is too much for you—too kind, too pretty and too true. He makes you realize too many things at once.
There are a few things in the world that can stifle loneliness. Like the notes Doyoung plays on the piano, like the songs he hums in the morning till you place open-mouthed kisses against his neck.
You realize, all of a sudden, that Doyoung really is your dearest friend.
And yet, you don’t think you deserve it. You’ve never loved, you believe, but you have. You don’t remember it well enough. The lovers’ touches you kept searching for led to this. Hypocrite. You wanted a lover’s touch and you rejected the love that came with it. What a complicated bundle of emotions. You weren’t always this way.
You loved your first cat when you were six, all the way till it died a warm death in your bed. You loved your mother even when she yelled at you for skipping your chores. You loved your middle school friends when you talked about comics and movies you saw for the first time.
It’s hard to love the same way now.
You suppose sympathy needs a little backstory. Nothing is unconditional.
It had all started when your heart had broken into two clean pieces. You put a bandaid on it and called it a day. No one taught you to ask for help.
Your friends know someone broke your heart; you tell them everything. Friends, friends—you wanted them so bad and yet, you keep them as far from you as you can. You pretend to be paper-thin and so shallow, sometimes you wonder if that’s all there is to you. But for all they know, they know next to nothing. It wasn’t just the aftermath of reckless puppy love.
The first time your heart broke, it was watching your mother cry in the living room for a reason you didn’t understand. You wondered who committed the crime, who should be charged—and you found no one. A loveless marriage is cruel, yes, but you cannot point fingers. It isn’t just cruel; it’s infuriating.
The second time, the two pieces of your heart broke into a few more. It was a boy with an inviting smile and flags whose colour you couldn’t quite discern. They must have been red, but everything else was too—hearts, cheeks, lips, and the threads around your wrists. And eventually, he guided you to the conclusion that you are undeserving, unworthy, unloved.
You were strong, however. It was easy to collapse on the bed and feel the weight of the world settling in, but you stood up again on shaking knees and you told yourself to have fun; you can have fun without feelings. You know better than to attach meaning to fun—you might hate insignificant things but it’s only fun if it’s pointless. You’re not letting go of this place you’ve worked so hard to arrive at, with all the shattered pieces in your hands.
It’s better to offer nothing at all than offer broken pieces.
“Can we stay like this?” Doyoung’s arms tighten around your waist, his breath shallow against your shoulder. “Just for a little bit.”
His voice is beautiful as always, but for a moment, it strikes you as sad.
Everything’s twisting up into knots and you are frantically running your fingers over them to straighten it all out. You know what it’s like to let things rot; and you are tired of it. Why can’t everything disappear for one moment? Why can’t you just let it be the two of you?
You sigh in response, nodding.
“I might not know what’s happening in there,” he starts, drawing circles on your chest with his finger, touch comfortably light. “But…”
I’m here and I get it.
Is that what he wants to say? You don’t think you’ll get to know. You’re not exactly voicing yourself either.
Stay the night. You want to say it but your lips are frozen.
Instead, you rub your thumb over the back of his hand, fitting into each other as perfect as a lie. You would tell him, you try to convince yourself, if you could say it with enough conviction. There’s no point to saying things that are half-meant, that are true but only just enough. You’re a coward.
And now, this has gotten complicated.
An end.
Tapping his pen against the desk, Doyoung grows increasingly annoyed. The council's next meeting agenda isn’t going to finish writing itself but he can’t bring himself to either. Besides, Ten’s pacing outside his room is starting to get on his nerves.
“Ten!” he yells. “Can you quit it? You’re making too much noise.”
His disapproval is met with silence. For a moment, he spaces out and reflexively thinks of you, only to feel a confusing sort of emotion. It’s normal, he tells himself, and that it’ll sort itself out.
Doyoung feels like a glass box more often than not. If he breaks, who picks up the pieces? Who gets cuts all over their fingers?
‘Whoever breaks him’ should be the answer. But that’s wishful thinking. It’s not that simple.
He’s so see-through that it’s painful. He used to tell Taeyong he’s wrong but he’s never been able to prove it. He is easy. It’s embarrassing.
But then again, part of him likes it when it comes to you. He likes it when you kiss him after a particularly heated disagreement, he likes when you get on his nerves just so he’d fuck you and most of all, he loves the push and pull. Fun is just that. He doesn’t know what he’d do if that heart of his he placed so gingerly into your palms falls and shatters.
The line between hate and love is thin; and he’s enjoying walking it too much.
He has nothing to offer but himself. He laughs at the thought and shakes his head. It’s somewhat dirty, and not just in the sexual sense.
“Ten!” he yells again. “Stop pacing!”
Getting up from his seat, he strides over to his door, swings it open and finds Ten scratching his head and glancing at his phone in repeated action.
“Ten?”
He’s so in a trance that he hasn’t noticed Doyoung. He is the lovable sort of idiot if he ever chooses to be so. Most of the time though, he’s just a smartass.
“Oh, oh no, I’m a bad friend,” Ten mutters to himself, his pacing growing more restless. He scratches the back of his head, eyebrows furrowed and too inside his head to notice Doyoung. He wants to ask but something tells him he shouldn’t.
Turns out, his apprehension isn’t strong enough these days.
“Whose date did you crash?” Doyoung asks, more than annoyed already.
When Ten looks at him, Doyoung feels rather shriveled and freezes on the spot. Call it instinct but Doyoung respects fear and pain. Ten has a mixture of the two, amplified when he looks at Doyoung.
“Doyoung. Hey,” he says, trying to tone down the distress in his voice.
Doyoung still hasn’t recovered from the initial surprise of Ten looking that way.
“Did you fuck up? Did someone fuck up? Why do you look like that?”
Ten sits down on the small couch. “Long story… I guess. Too many details, you- you know? Just—”
“What the fuck happened?”
Ten still can’t look him in the eye. “The group chat’s a little…”
“Ten,” Doyoung snaps. “Cut the crap.”
“No, that’s- that’s what I’m- You’re going to be upset.”
Doyoung straightens, furrowing his brows. “I think I can fucking handle it.”
“You know that date I set up for (name) and Hyungmin?”
“You set that up?”
“(name) slept with Hyungmin.”
Doyoung quietens. The silence seems to make Ten uncomfortable as he shifts in his seat, getting up when Doyoung speaks.
“So?”
Ten blinks. “You’re not upset?”
“Just what kind of loser do you think I am?” Doyoung mutters.
Glass shatters just that easily. Maybe he wanted you to shatter him. Maybe he was already cracking at the edges.
“Doyoung, you don’t have to—”
“Stop,” he exclaims a little louder than he intended. “Stop looking at me like that. I’m a grown man, I can handle shit like this.”
It still hurts though. You lied to him and he let you in. You lied to him. Doyoung sighs, returning to his room with a realization he should have had long ago. His night ends with more deleted drafts than he’s supposed to have and eventually, with increased discomfort, he delegates the job to Park Hyungmin himself with the excuse of sickness.
Doyoung does feel sick. He felt this way once, in highschool, but it had turned to red, hot anger ready to lash at anyone and everyone, spilling from his lips as easy as it was to breathe. And Doyoung can never feel that way towards you. He was different back then too, of course, but you—you’re unlike anyone he’s ever met. He loves the comfort of you, and something like that is hard to come by.
He feels like laughing again but instead he finds tears on his cheeks. Silly boy, he can hear his mother tell him. You don’t give your heart to heartbreakers.
So Doyoung falls asleep to the sound of upbeat music in his earphones, music he hates even just to pass the night. Morning will come and he will have to become stronger. Comfort is fleeting, after all.
With everything said and done, you know very well that if you were to tell someone you love them—genuinely, truly, from the heart—it would be Doyoung. It’s not a sudden realization, like the sky falling apart or a tidal wave crashing against the shore and sweeping away the city. It is like the gentle lapping of water, though, or the way the clouds change shape—natural and anything but alarming. You want to stare at it forever, and you want to believe that’s how it will be forever.
“You told everyone we had sex?” Your voice is boiled to a shout.
Hyungmin looks torn, lips moving but no explanation making its way out. “I- I told my friends, not everyone.”
“And you forgot that your friends talk? Everybody talks, Hyungmin, what were you thinking?”
He sighs before taking a step towards you. “Why are you so angry about it? As far as I remember, you had no trouble talking about whose pants you got into.”
You scoff. “With friends, not the whole campus.”
“That’s exactly what I did!”
You cross your arms, feeling so upset you might cry and unsure as to why. You’re usually good at dealing with stuff like this, keeping things in the right place.
“It’s because of Doyoung, isn’t it?”
You snap your head to Hyungmin. There’s a serene sort of look to him despite his unkempt appearance, and a look of understanding.
“I’m sorry. Really. But if you were so into him, you shouldn’t have called me that evening. It might not matter to me but…”
You broke his heart. All that devotion he had towards you led to this.
“You’re right.” You choke on your words, leaning against the wall. “Fuck… Fucking…”
You turn around, making your way out of the hallway and hope the tears on your cheeks dry faster if you run.
You can’t remember the last time you ran. Your world didn’t need running from, it was right in the palm of your hands. Now that you look back, the world was always on your shoulders and heavy as it can be. Maybe you liked it—the weight. You could’ve shrugged it off any time; you didn’t need all those caging schedules or careful, elegant steps.
No. Atlas couldn’t shrug because his punishment was his existence. To have weight is to have meaning; and that is how you intended to live out your life.
Doyoung makes you see it differently. To love so fully even if it seems cautious—you, who has never loved at all, couldn’t comprehend it. And because he makes you see it differently, the box is now open and all hell is loose.
For once, you don’t want to live in the world you crafted. You want more love, more hurt and you want to open the doors. You don’t mind hell if it’s for him.
You ring the bell to Doyoung and Ten’s apartment and pray the news hasn’t reached him yet. He said he was busy this weekend; maybe he was detached enough from his phone for once. You just want to be the person to tell him. It’s not a perfect apology otherwise.
Doyoung opens the door with pursed lips and cold eyes. There’s a sense of ease over his shoulders and arms but he won’t look at you and panic rises to your throat.
“We’re not fucking tonight, (name),” he says.
“That’s not- That’s not why I’m here.” Your voice is so meek, you wonder what happened.
Doyoung steps back, crossing his arms. He’s still looking at his feet and you feel the urge to reach for his face.
“I wanted to tell you- I… I just—”
“That you’re fucking other people?”
“God, Doyoung, stop with the fucking. I don’t care about that right now.”
“Really?” His voice is so sharp, it digs into your skin. “You were just in it for that. That’s the fun part in your stupid life, isn’t it?”
You feel a sharp pain in your nose and forehead. “You’re- Now that’s- Doyoung. I’m sorry. That’s what I wanted to say.”
“After—” His voice chokes up. “After everything is done? Stop with the excuses and face it for fuck’s sake. You aren’t made to fall in love. That’s why you dance around it all the time.”
Although he says that, he doesn’t sound angry. He sounds defeated.
“It’s not like you aren’t cautious,” you retort, throat feeling heavy. “You said it yourself- you don’t want to care too much.”
“I was wrong,” he says, voice hoarse. “I care about everything more than I’d like to admit. I care about you more than I’d like to admit.”
“The Hyungmin thing didn’t mean anything, okay? You were busy and—”
“So why did you lie?” He strains to not raise his voice. “Of course I knew our little thing didn’t mean shit to you. Why did you pretend it did? Last week, you said- you said—”
“Doyoung, last week- last week I- I wasn’t pretending, I swear.”
“You could’ve just saved yourself the trouble and the dignity.” A short, humorless laugh leaves him.
You feel your lips tremble, the explanation not quite made its way out yet. He looks so innocent like this, rabbit-like eyes watery and full of pain, pure the way they have always been. This is your mistake, isn’t it?
“Doyoung, please,” you manage to say. “That was wrong. I couldn’t clear up my head. Please don’t—”
“No. I was an idiot. Or you see me as one.” He frowns deeper, lips trembling. “I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t have. We shouldn’t have been at the same fucking party and I shouldn’t have drank so much. You’re- I’m not that kind of person.”
You bite down your lip. “What kind?”
Doyoung laughs, the sound raspy and empty. “The kind to not fall in love with you.”
It damn near breaks your heart to look at him. You have to say something, it shouldn’t end like this. You’re desperate and all you think is that you don’t want it to end at all.
“Please, I thought of you as a friend, that’s why—”
“And this is what you call being a friend?” he cuts you off.
You feel the sting in your eyes and nose, making you turn sharply to the side. You wish he’d just make you cry. It makes you feel the rancid guilt all the more.
“Make Hyungmin your friend for all I care. Let’s stop this.”
You stare at your feet, unable to respond.
“You can have every boy in the world, (name). Don’t come to me.”
“Can you just stop talking about everyone else?” you yell, desperate. “Do I talk about your exes? Seungjae or- or what’s-her-name—”
“That’s different!” He looks distraught, breathing heavily and with a painful red flush over his nose and cheeks. He runs his hand through his hair, tousling it further. “You lied to me, (name). You lied.”
Your cheeks are wet and the look that flashes over Doyoung makes you think he wants to step right out to you. He stays frozen in place, however, looking away to the side.
“Did you notice?” he asks softly. “Even once? How much I cared?”
You can’t answer, letting the tears drip down your face. It’s getting colder and colder.
Doyoung bites down his lip before parting them. “All we did was have sex anyway. So please just- just leave.”
You take a long few moments but nod, hugging your coat closer and stepping out of his apartment. You think you hear Ten’s footsteps but it’s followed by the bang of a door—this is how it ends then.
The line between hate and love is thin; and you are deserving of neither.
You perfect your next semester’s academics, and the next. It still feels empty. You go out to drink with friends and return to a messy bed you sleep in alone. You smile as always and you laugh as always. No one asks you how you are as always. You never needed anyone to ask you how you are.
Ten tries but you push him away. You don’t need to drag in other people into a mess you made. He feels sorry for the whole thing but you tell him it was you that spilled the paint, Ten just handed a dash of it to you.
You were right. You don’t deserve Doyoung. At least, you made it so that you don’t deserve him.
‘It’s better to have loved and lost than to not have loved at all’—it still hurts.
Every day is part of a list again. You doodled in some of the pages, when you thought you were starting to fall in love. There’s only a skeleton of it left now. Soon, you’ll let it crumble to dust too.
You tear apart the planner sometime after graduation and cry and curse at yourself for doing that. No one’s good at parting with things they care about. You’re no exception.
It’s December again.
This place is a little strange to visit right after graduating, especially with the memories flashing you by. Johnny said he booked one of the private booths (“A senior’s treat!”) but you feel your steps growing hesitant when you reach the neon signs by the stairs. It spells ‘The Meeting Place’ and smells of cigarettes just like it did the first time.
You stop midway up the stairs. For a moment, you think of Doyoung sitting there and wonder if you’ll ever be able to talk to him again. If you had the chance now, would you take it?
Of course, you wouldn’t. There’s too much to be set right and you can’t do it.
There’s supposed to be the six of you. Johnny mentioned Ten and you know Eunji’s invited too. You saw Jaehyun on the way here, still a student. You sigh. It must be him, the one they failed to mention to you. Kim Doyoung. There’s no one quite like him.
You spot him first. Looking a little forlorn as he gazes absentmindedly to the side, he faces away from you and you get the inevitable urge to run away. It’s a funny feeling.
Your stomach is churning. You don’t want him to see you. Ten babbles on about something to Johnny, smiling like he found candy while clearing his drawers. Eunji looks tired, leaning against Johnny’s shoulder and you wonder if she already drank more than enough shots.
“(name).”
You jump at Jaehyun’s voice from behind you.
“Hey,” you respond, giving him a wide smile.
He hesitates. “Are you okay? Not that you don’t look okay- you look really good actually. I mean, are you and… you know okay?”
“I don’t think so, Jaehyun,” you say and make your way to the booth.
It’s a little cramped for the six of you and Doyoung gets up before you can even greet him. It’s not like you deserve it anyway but it tugs at the wound.
“I’m going to go take a drag,” he mutters.
“You don’t smoke,” you say, looking up.
He stares at you momentarily and you look away. You think Ten and Johnny glance at you with pity but you don’t really care.
“Can I come with you?” you ask, barely a whisper.
“Sure,” he says, to your surprise.
The smoking area is so small, you’re surprised it’s even there. A glass structure overlooking the neighbourhood, there’s barely any light within. The only thing nice is how warm it’s in there.
Doyoung lights his cigarette and then offers to light yours. It’s quiet, the music from inside numbed to the cold doors. You really can’t take it. You stub the barely consumed cigarette and throw it into the bin.
You’d rather just stay quietly in his presence.
“You’re not smoking,” he notes.
“It’s a bad habit.” You look out through the glass.
Doyoung chuckles. “You were a collection of bad habits.”
“And good ones too,” you quip. “I was a perfect student. I was perfect in most everything actually.”
Doyoung’s smile widens. “You were. You certainly were.”
A few more moments pass in silence, your eyes traveling over the outside scenery which seems to be growing duller by the second. City lights have never felt fainter.
“It was an accident, right?” You say suddenly. “The whole thing? Us?”
Doyoung hums. “Yeah. I fell in love by accident.”
You smile weakly. “Right. I never got to apologize.”
“I loved you on purpose.”
You look up at him. There’s not a lot of people who say what they mean. He looks the same as he used to under your grey blankets, with a warm blush over his cheeks and kind, wide eyes.
“You’re so damn pretty,” he murmurs, “even now.”
You scan his face for signs of lying.
“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” you ask finally.
Doyoung blinks before easing into laughter. “You- You’re- You’re the same as ever.”
You let yourself crack a smile.
“Doyoung I- I really am sorry,” you say quietly. “And I did- do care for you.”
Doyoung stubs out his cigarette and discards it before looking you in the eye. You notice he’s wearing his favourite black turtleneck in the proximity, the grey plaid coat covering most of it. You really liked that look on him.
“I’m sorry,” you say once again. “I want you to know that. I didn’t want to hurt you and I promise I won’t ever do it again.”
You mean it. You’re never going to hold glass again. He doesn’t deserve it.
“That’s a problem,” he responds, breath mingling with yours. “I want you… I want you to hurt me. If you really do love me, I’ll take it.”
“Doyoung,” you whisper, turning away despite your whole body screaming at you to give in. “I meant it. I can’t hurt you.”
Doyoung cups your cheek with one hand, glancing at your lips for a moment.
“You’re warm,” he says.
He’s warmer.
“I want to kiss you,” he says.
You want to kiss him too.
“We went about this all wrong, didn’t we?” he asks.
“We did,” you answer, voice barely above a whisper. “I did.”
Doyoung pulls back. “Then let’s start again. I’m Kim Doyoung, I majored in linguistics. I was student council president and I made a mistake.”
You smile. “We don’t have to do that.”
Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “After all the trouble I went through to make a good introduction?”
The two of you laugh, and it gets warmer.
“I’m (name),” you say. “I was a top student and I made a bigger mistake, Kim Doyoung.”
“Oh? I wonder what it was.”
“Kind of a long story.”
“I’ve got all the time for you.”
You smile and start. He responds with gentle kisses. You’re piecing your world back together again; but this time it’s feather-light and fits right in the palm of your hand.
#kim doie perfect man bye#doyoung x reader#nct x reader#nct doyoung scenarios#nct scenarios#nct imagines#doyoung imagines#nct fanfic#doyoung fanfic#nct angst#doyoung angst#nct 127 x reader#nct 127 angst#nct college au#moonwrites#okaaay idk what this is either#if you get annoyed midway thru the fic you are perfectly valid <3#i will literally never write smth like this ever again 🤡🤡🤡#if you notice inconsistency in character no u dont#(i had to fix up some earlier inconsistencies but it gave more inconsistencies maybe i should give up writing for good)
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HAPPY 100 MARS!!!/&/&: AHHH! okay so i’d love a tier three if you didn’t mind! i wanted to know which 3 characters would smoke ouid and what you think smoking with them would be like? ily tysm!
▭ WHICH CHARACTERS SMOKE WEED?
includes matsukawa, hanamaki, suna
warnings drug use, explicit content, doing things under the influence, implied sexual content, slight nsfw.
authors note lol ik some people don’t like the whole “w*ed” and dr*g use hc but it’s all fiction and based on my own personal opinion (: i don’t mean to offend anyone lol i smoke too <3
This is a long one, beware <3 also it’s also my dream blunt rotation LMAO
𖥻 MATSUKAWA, ISSEI !
definitely the philosophical stoner
always has a question or an answer
depends on how much he’s smoked though
eyes get really red and he looks really hot
prefers backwoods over regular papers
always smoked regular papers though bc woods are bad for you (:
does that thing where they lick the paper and look at you at the same time
the hottest man smoking ever god please
always makes sure to have you sitting on his left so that he passes it to you first
loves smoking people out
doesn’t really care if you put in money or not
if issei is around, everyone is getting high
smokes makki’s unemployed ass out like everyday lmao
loves to hotbox
lights you up for the first time and tries to get you into another galaxy
“if you’re gonna get high, at least do it right”
definitely funny as fuck when he’s high
always definitely ready to fuck
very touchy when he’s high
will hold on to you for a long time and forget he’s doing it
but if you make him let go he genuinely feels the skin contact nearly rip off
calm down mattsun your possessiveness is showing
tries to explain all the different types to you but forgets mid sentence
literally cannot formulate a single structured thought
definitely leans in to make out with you more than once
loves shotgunning with you
already lazy but when he’s zooted he’s UNBEARABLE
he really does wanna fuck but ends up smoking too much with you because you played chicago and forgot
doesn’t really get hungry for food but munchies?
ate all of the snacks
has no remorse for his actions either
stares into the deep nothing for like 10 minutes
just to snap out of it and look around suspiciously
“do you guys hear that….?”
“…..no?”
“………..the paint is screaming at me?”
ok buddy don’t ruin this for everyone else
knows how to french & ghost inhale
has argued with makki many times over the earth being flat
doesn’t really think it’s flat
ends up believing it is after makki told him the world was actually dome shaped
has a grinder shaped like a dragon ball
not a peer pressuring kinda guy but thinks everyone should get high at least once
definitely gets iwa and oikawa to try
loves getting oikawa high cause he thinks the guy is fucking hilarious
laughs at everything
just a great guy, especially when he starts smoking
falls into a weed coma and doesn’t wake up for like 3 days though
treats it like it’s a regular hangover
definitely falls asleep with his entire body on top of you and no remorse for the weight
says “i’m fried” and isn’t embarrassed about it for whatever reason
he’s hot so no one judges him
𖥻 HANAMAKI, TAKAHIRO !
definitely a comedian when he’s high
always the funniest guy in the room
when him and mattsun are together though?
undefeated
him and issei both smoked for the first time together
after that though?
they became unstoppable
don’t get me started with after volleyball season ended
prefers bongs because he thinks he looks cooler lmao
everyone assumes makki is high but they don’t know he actually gets high
offers to smoke you out cause you’re hot lmao
makes fun of you when you cough
even though he still coughs
hates hotboxing because he can’t handle it
but refuses to pussy out so he’s always the first one to agree
in his own words
“my mother didn’t raise no bitch”
makki please
ideal smoking partner
is one of those people that fuck the passing rotation up because he refuses to pass it to anyone but you
secretly does it because he doesn’t want anyone else’s lips touching yours
prefers to smoke with just his close friends but doesn’t mind a session
doesn’t like shotgunning cause he starts thinking his breath smells bad
gives in anyways because he doesn’t want you doing it with anyone else
loves when you put your legs on him
the pressure gives him chills
makes jokes 24/7 because he likes hearing you laugh
can’t french inhale but mattsun taught him how to ghost inhale and he hasn’t stopped since
takes videos of himself cause he thinks he looks cool
realizes he looks like a fucking idiot but fuck it we ball
falls into a weed coma with his head on your lap and his phone unlocked and still on
does that thing where he lights it up with it in his mouth and looks really fucking hot while doing so
has a breaking bad rick & morty rolling tray and is really proud of it
gets really into music when he’s high
will sing along to all the songs while he’s packing the bong
as i repeat
looks hot while doing so
definitely a hungry high
orders food before you even get to ask
“makki, want some snacks?”
“oh nah it’s cool, i already ordered mcdonald’s”
“????? we just finished smoking????”
prefers smoking over drinking but will do both when he wants to go big or go home
eyes get really low
talks kinda slow but really deep and it’s fucking hot
laughs by throwing his head back and it’s really cute
gets cold when he’s high
it doesn’t matter the season
he gets fucking cold and it makes no sense
so he’ll need your body heat to warm himself up (;
𖥻 SUNA, RINTAROU !
a confused high
no doubt about it
this man never knows what the fuck is going on
ik everyone complains about the stoner!suna hc
but i think it’s fucking hot lmao
always has like 2 blunts rolled and on him at all times
is one of those people that will use any excuse to do it
“……(sighs) i’m gonna go take a smoke break.”
“suna we just got here??”
“exactly”
likes joints and edibles the best
not much of a hungry high or munchie high
but he hyperfixates on a certain food and will eat it until there is nothing left
ate an entire pack of gum in one sitting before
definitely watches cartoons the minute he starts to feel the buzz
rarely talks unless to pass it to you or make a single joke that has you about to pee yourself
he doesn’t say much but when he does?
the man leaves an impact
hates smoking with other people
doesn’t like when they fuck his blunt/joint up
hates smoking joints rolled by other people unless he watches them do it
always complains when you ask to smoke with him but secretly loves it
shotguns with you and acts like nothing just happened
hello sir how dare you make me fall inlove like that
forgets everything so don’t try to say anything important to him
zones out because he’s too busy imagining fucking
but then forgets about fucking and starts thinking about what’s on the tv
can’t hold a conversation but will go in-depth as to why spongebob squarepants was more than just a sponge
“no you need to listen to me, patrick star is much more than just his best friend—”
“….rin what the fuck are you talking about?”
“you’re asking me like i know? pass the blunt.”
definitely got into smoking in high school but didn’t actually do it like that until college
lies on his drug tests lmao
smokes after every win as a celebration and smokes after ever loss as a reliever
lmao seek help sir
definitely tries to get you to take your shirt off when he’s in the moment
swears it’s because he’s doing you a favor but really just loves how you look in his clothes when he’s high
doesn’t really know when to stop because he’s never greened out before
all his supplies is a simple shade of black
he’s a simple man
can do all the smoke tricks
but won’t do it in front of anyone cause he hates when people point it out
likes hotboxing because it gets him higher faster
is actually friends with the guy he gets weed from lmao
his perfect date with you was that one time you guys stood home and did nothing but smoke and watch family guy
tears up every time he thinks about it
has a picture of himself with two blunts in his mouth and his eyes really red and it’s really fucking hot
giggles even though he tries not to
uses pens when he can’t physically have weed on him
doesn’t really like it because the pen high makes him knock out after a few pulls
once rin falls into a weed coma???
don’t even think about trying to contact him cause that man might as well be dead
doesn’t wake up to save his own damn life
you can smack him and the most he’d do is probably groan and turn his head lmao
#matsukawa headcanons#hanamaki headcanons#suna headcanons#matsukawa hcs#makki hcs#suna hcs#issei matsukawa#hanamaki takahiro#suna rintaro#matsukawa x reader#hanamaki x reader#suna x reader#haikyuu#haikyuu headcanons#haikyuu x reader#au#hq headcanons#hq mattsun#hq makki#hq suna#hqhcs#haikyū!!#haikyuu!!#xxxmars#tw/drugs
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ETERNAL - i
➳ summary ; They have died so often that death has lost its meaning; hurt so regularly that pain has become inconsequential; lost so much that they hold each other to the light of the stars. They have nothing yet they have everything, as long as they have each other. And, after centuries, they now have her.
➳ pairing ; bts!ot7 x fem!reader
➳ genres ; The Old Guard au; fantasy, historical, action, romance, alternate universe
➳ themes ; angst, fluff, death
➳ warnings ; murder, death, violence, blood, guns, burnt bodies, nudity [nonsexual], nightmares, drugs? [sleeping pills], a bunch of boys being in love
➳ word count ; 4.8k
➳ note ; I watched The Old Guard on Netflix [a serious recommend if you haven’t already seen it] and got hit with major inspiration. Nothing better than found-family and immortal soulmates. I put of a lot of time, effort and love into this, so please treat it with delicate hands. And please, please, give me feedback if you like it. Thank you, and enjoy :)
They have done this before, enough times—too many times—to be familiar with the routine.
The nightmares, all too vivid and yet frustratingly vague, of blood and pain and death. Glimpses of a face they have never seen, memories that do not belong to them. The lingering thoughts of why another, why now, why at all?
They have done this many times, and yet it never gets easier, never makes sense.
⎯⎯⎯
When they submit to the clutches of slumber, it is beneath the glowing moonlight that shines through the broken ceiling of an abandoned church. Overgrown with vines that hold the crumbling walls together and hidden behind bushes and weeds and shadows, this building will be safe, for them. For now. It may not provide much warmth, or much shelter, but it gives them a sense of anonymity that they so desperately depend on. Right now, it hides them from the world. They are nothing but each other’s, so long as they are here.
Usually, sleep brings peace. Long ago did they learn how to banish demons from their dreams, memories of pasts both true and terrible, and so through sleep they find temporary solace from the demands of their long lives. They hold each other in their warm arms, forget about their worries if only for a brief moment. They are but seven men, seven soulmates, seven loves, existing together without burden.
Until tonight.
It is familiar, the weight that descends upon their chests, pushes against their rib cages. An invisible force both squeezing them and pulling them apart, flooding them with vague images, sounds, feelings. In sleep, they hold each other tighter, safer, but they cannot escape the myriad of memories and thoughts that fill their minds.
A pair of eyes, so brown that they are pure, so dark that they are nearly black, blink at them as sweat begins to shine upon their skin. These eyes are young, but they hold wisdom, maturity, that can only come with death. Witnessing it, causing it, experiencing it. These eyes are filled with desperation in this moment, but also a stubborn determination; they know what is coming, and yet they will continue to fight until their dying breath, as they vowed⎯⎯
⎯⎯a uniform, black, stained with dirt and blood, without any identifying marks. No dog-tags, but a tan line around a soft neck where they would normally hang. Trained muscles behind firm fabric, knowledgeable fingers clutching a military assault rifle. Steel-toed boots, scuffs through the polish, dirt in the seams and drops of red in the laces⎯⎯
⎯⎯heart beating through chest, adrenaline spiking, but something’s wrong, this isn’t supposed to happen, how did they know we were coming? Need to get out, need to get to cover, need to save⎯⎯
⎯⎯the enemies found them, caught them, have them, bound and bloodied in a dark cave or dungeon, they can’t tell. Chains rattle against stone where bodies shift for comfort, but no comfort can be found for bleeding wounds, broken bones, bruised skin. Eyes connect, know they’re saying goodbye, can’t speak but wish they could say something, apologise, curse, plead, pray. By the time footsteps stomp their way in, handgun cocked and aimed at their foreheads, they have already accepted that⎯⎯
Gasps echo in the silence as seven bodies jerk awake, trembling and sweating and aching with pains that another is experiencing. Their minds are still clouded, submerged within their dreams, but they know this routine. They know what they have just seen.
Hands scramble beneath their makeshift bedding as they reach for their journals, their pens, and begin to scribble whatever details they can remember ⎯ eyes, blood, pain, death. They’ve all clung to different images, and they desperately remember everything they can before it washes away with their wakeful clarity.
“I saw, um, eyes,” chokes the youngest, his pencil already sketching the eyelashes with careful precision. “Brown, dark. Looked like a girl’s.”
“She had to be military,” says another. “Maybe special forces? No insignia on the uniform and dog-tags were taken off. Black-ops?”
“I saw a glimpse of a scar on her hand. Might help to identify her.”
“There were others, too; a team. I have a feeling she was the leader.”
“It was a rescue operation, but I don’t think they succeeded. The enemies saw them coming. She was confused as to how.”
“Did you see the gun she was shot with? That’s military grade. It was either supplied by somebody on the force, or they were the force.”
“God, I have a headache.” Seokjin rubs his temples, a pain lingering behind his eyes but never ceding. “Never thought after three-hundred years that we’d get another one.”
Arms curl around him, a sigh breathed into his neck. “Me too, hyung.” Jeongguk nuzzles closer, finds comfort in the warmth of his lover’s broad shoulders. “I feel sorry for her. Now she’s going to have to deal with this too.”
“Hey, what did I say about pessimism?” Namjoon’s pointed look is directed towards the youngest, but the words are for everybody to hear. A reminder. “Our lives may be long, and hard, and difficult to deal with at times. But we have the opportunity to help people, to affect change, and, most importantly,” his eyes soften, “to have each other.”
“Wah, hyung’s going soft on us,” Taehyung grins, leaning his head on Namjoon’s shoulder.
Behind him, Jimin clings around his torso like a koala. “Yeah, those are big words for somebody who so often tells us how insufferable we are,” he agrees.
Sitting up, Yoongi joins the conversation with a voice still deep with sleep. “That’s because you are insufferable. But that doesn’t mean that hyungs love you any less. Eternal life would be extremely dull if we didn’t have you annoying us constantly.”
Taehyung and Jimin smile at each other, eyes glittering with something devious, and something close to love. “You all just bore witness to that,” Jimin says, pointing at Yoongi. “You all heard him say that, so you can’t yell at us for being annoying ever again!”
“Free pass!” Taehyung agrees.
Hoseok, still lounging his head in Yoongi’s lap, rolls his eyes. “Yoongi-hyung said it, but none of us did, so we can, and will, still yell at you.”
The two pout, but question it no further. They could spend centuries arguing over petty things⎯have, regrettably⎯but they’d much rather get along. For now, forever.
“Hyungs,” a small voice whispers into the silent air, drawing attention to where the maknae still hugs into Seokjin’s back. He’s pouting, and they want to coo at him, but his next words break them out of their reverie of adoration. “What about the girl?”
Your ears are ringing when you finally wake, images of your nightmares still clinging to your mind, so vivid, so real. They were filled with pain, and fear, and the bloodied faces of your soldiers as they were shot one after the other. You remember screaming for them, pleading, hoping against hope that they’d listen. But, instead, you had watched them die.
You hope that you didn’t scream aloud, didn’t wake your team. They deserve the rest, even if you couldn’t have it.
Muscles stiff and aching from a restless slumber, you shift in your cot, move to adjust the blanket. But your cot is harder than you’d like, your blanket out of reach. In fact, you can’t move your arms at all.
When your heavy eyelids finally open, you realise why your dreams had felt so real.
The stench of blood and death is so thick in the air that you can taste it, that bitter tang against your tongue bringing bile up to the back of your throat. Your body isn’t just sore, it’s screaming; it’s as though you can feel your muscles re-knitting together after being torn apart. And maybe it’s panic that crushes against your lungs, constricting your airways, or maybe it’s grief.
Because as soon as your eyes land on the dead bodies of your teammates, you can’t breathe.
Your throat is so sore from screaming and crying that the sounds escaping it are torn and scratchy, but you can’t hold them in. Not when you see your friend’s brain splattered over the wall behind her; not when you see your second-in-command holding her hands together, mid-prayer when the shot was fired.
You sob, and yell, and cry out until your throat is raw, and then when you have no voice left, you continue. You may not be dead yet⎯and for what reason, you don’t want to know⎯but you don’t think that you’ll ever truly live after this. How does one move on from their friends, their family, being slaughtered before their very eyes? How does one process the fact that they were left behind?
Through the crushing weight on your chest and the searing pain in your throat, you hear footsteps approaching. The heavy boots do nothing to hide their owner’s steps, impatient and strong, but you can’t find it within yourself to be afraid. The worst thing they can do is torture you some more, maybe even kill you, but you’d welcome death at this stage; you’d welcome reprieve from the sorrow that threatens to swallow you whole.
It’s a man, unsurprisingly, who walks through the mouth of the dark cave, ugly face covered by a mask pulled up to his eyes. He looks at you, something in his half-hidden expression that you don’t have the energy to place, and then says something in a language that you cannot understand.
Heaving a breath and swallowing blood, you meet his sharp eyes. “I don’t understand you.” Your words scratch their way out, hardly discernible, so you try again. “I won’t tell you anything, so just kill me and get it over with.”
This time he shouts, still angry but this time not at you, though he never tears his gaze off your crumpled figure. Like if he blinks, you may disappear.
Once again, hurried and heavy footsteps make their way into the room, a pair of men joining their comrade. These ones are holding guns. You can’t find it within yourself to flinch.
More foreign words are thrown at you, some that seem like questions, but your mind is too rattled, head too sore, to even try to comprehend what they might want from you. Your shoulders ache from where your arms are secured behind you, and your legs ache from hours⎯maybe days?⎯of disuse. So you sigh, level what you hope is a glare towards the two newcomers, and repeat, “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
Looks exchanged between them, hesitation, and then, “You should be dead. Why are you not dead?”
In a moment of weighted silence, you try to determine if they’re serious. Because surely they aren’t asking you how you are alive while being held captive by them. But they don’t elaborate, so you’re left with an even greater migraine than before. “Are you fucking serious?”
The expletive makes them simultaneously point their rifles at you, and this time, you do stiffen. You may be feeling slightly suicidal right now, but you also have reflexes.
“I don’t know why I’m alive.” The admission is spat from between your teeth, reluctant and bitter. “Why don’t you ask whoever it was that killed the rest of my team?”
“I killed your team,” one of them says. The first one. Without a gun, obviously having thought there would be no threat in entering this dungeon. “I killed you, too, shot you in the head myself. So tell me again. Why are you alive?”
“Maybe you’re a bad shot,” you reply. “How am I to fucking know why you let me live? Now do me a favour, will you? Either let me go or shoot me for real this time.”
You don’t have time to register the sound of the gunshot before the bullet goes through your forehead.
“Anything?”
A sigh is the only response that Namjoon receives.
“Alright,” he continues, “what do we know for sure about her?”
“Honestly, hyung?” Jimin looks up from the laptop he’s perched at. “I don’t think we even truly know if it’s a woman. We saw her⎯their⎯eyes, but not much else. Like, sure, we think it’s a woman, we’re pretty sure of it, but nothing’s certain. The visions were really vague this time around.”
“He’s right,” Yoongi agrees, never looking up from the screen of his own computer. “I’ve been searching the military databases, but it’s hard to pinpoint covert operations that don’t technically exist. We didn’t get a dog tag number, or an insignia, or even an idea of which country’s military she’s in. I hate to say it, but we might just need to wait until tonight. Get some more pieces of the puzzle.”
This is what Namjoon was afraid of, not that he was expecting anything else. His boys are good, but even they can’t work miracles.
“I feel sorry for her,” Jeongguk hums, cheek pressed into the couch cushion where he’s taken a rest from research. Not that he ever really started; that was always his hyungs’ strong points. “I mean, she’s all alone right now, probably really confused, really scared. I know I was before you all found me.”
That sentence strains their hearts, makes them pause. Jeongguk had been alone for nearly a decade before they had finally found him, lonely and of unsound mind, unaware of the curse he’d been unwillingly given. They’d spent years helping him heal, helping him accept, and now they can proudly say that he is stable and content. Happy, even, sometimes.
You, however. You are in the exact same place that he was. Maybe worse, they don’t know.
Taking slow steps towards the couch, Hoseok gently lifts Jeongguk’s legs to place them on his lap when he sits. He feels the strong calf muscles beneath his fingers as he strokes the uncovered skin, bare only for their eyes, until the young one has relaxed his worried muscles.
“I know it’s hard, Jeongguk-ie,” Hoseok says, voice just above a whisper, soft and yet sure. “I know that we all want to find her as soon as possible, but we can’t just yet. Hopefully the next dream will give us more, but until then, we just have to stay focused. Let’s not get lost in that mental spiral, okay?”
Jeongguk hums, not fully sated with the answer but understanding nonetheless. “M’kay, hyung.”
The comfortable silence in the room following their conversation doesn’t even stretch five minutes before a figure slams into the building, flourishing his arms and announcing his arrival enthusiastically.
“We’re back, bitches!”
Seokjin follows behind Taehyung, closing the church doors after the younger had slammed them open and looking exhausted. “Taehyung chatted with the cashier for half an hour before he even asked for help. We could have been back hours ago.”
“Hey.” Taehyung directs a look at the oldest. “Her outfit coordination was unlike anything I’ve seen this century. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she’s as old as Hoseok-ie hyung!”
“Is that a compliment or an insult?” Hoseok asks Seokjin, who is smiling despite himself.
“Definitely a compliment. I’ll admit, she reminded me of that one fashion mogul we knew in Paris. The one...Jimin, you know the one I’m talking about. Red hair, lazy eye?”
“It wasn’t a lazy eye, hyung,” Jimin corrects, “she was just keeping an eye out in all directions.”
“Yeah, anyway,” Seokjin says, “none of that matters. We got the stuff. Took a while, but we got it.”
Taehyung empties his plastic shopping bag onto a wiped-down old table, cardboard boxes falling onto the surface. “I’ve got to say, modern medicine is pretty ground-breaking. I wish we were smart enough to have invented it earlier.”
“Do you think it’ll work?” Yoongi asks, sounding a lot less interested than he actually is. “I wouldn’t think that sleeping pills would affect us.”
At this, Namjoon bites his lip. “Usually, I’d agree with you, but I’ve been doing some thinking. If the pills aren’t hurting us, our bodies shouldn’t heal too quickly; they should still have time to take effect. Just like how we can get drunk but not have liver issues, or smoke but not get cancer.”
“But smoking’s still gross,” Jeongguk mumbles.
“So,” Hoseok ponders aloud, “if we take the pills, it should prolong our sleep so that we can lengthen the dream? Do you think it’ll work?”
“We’ve never been able to test it,” Namjoon shrugs. “The worst thing that could happen is our body processes it quicker than it works, and we have a normal night’s sleep with normal visions. It’s worth a shot.”
“I think a few of us should not take the pills,” Seokjin says. “That way, if the pills really do work, some of us can still wake up normally in case of an emergency.”
Namjoon nods his head in agreement. “Okay. We’ll rock-paper-scissors it tonight. Until then, let’s rest.”
The second time you wake up, you are significantly less disorientated. You know where you are, what has happened and, most importantly, that you should definitely be dead.
You’d seen the gun, heard the click, felt the bullet spilt through your skull. You know what a killing shot is, have dealt a few yourself, so you know that you should not be opening your eyes to an intense headache right now.
An acrid odour drifts through your dazed thoughts, a stench so strong, so unpleasant, that bile immediately rises and spills from your mouth. You don’t have much to vomit, so you spit mostly water and stomach acid onto the ground beneath you as you wretch from your aching throat.
No, not the ground. Something far worse.
When the tears from your eyes clear away and you look to the ground, you see what is digging into your skin, jabbing at your muscles; you aren’t sure why, or how, but you are lain across a pile of bones and scraps of cloth, sizzling flesh still warm to the touch and sticking to you in chunks. You are atop a pile of burnt bodies, unharmed and soaked to the bone with the reeking smell of charred flesh.
Your stomach is empty, and so you can only scramble from the pile and retch.
For several minutes, all you can do is allow your body’s attempt to empty itself on the ground. Even more so than before, your mind is overwhelmed with thoughts and questions and worries, most of which lead to the fact that you are lying naked in the middle of a desert, next to a pile of burnt bodies, unharmed and somehow alive.
You are at least thankful that you are already lying on the ground when you faint.
*
There are seven pairs of eyes⎯brown, warm⎯that look at you, look at each other. Words remain unspoken, for the pupils reveal every thought, every emotion. I care for you deeply, they say, now and forever. The words are not meant for you, not yet, but they feel familiar. As if you have heard them in every past life⎯
⎯Surrounded by trees, a sight which would usually calm you but now only acts as a hindrance, you run through the familiar forest without grace. Bare feet bleed trails of red through the undergrowth, sore arms never dropping the heavy weapons that slow you down so. You should not be alone, never usually are, but now you are accompanied only by your panic and the wolves that chase you. These ones, however, do not howl or gnash their feral jaws; they calculate, the way only a human can⎯
⎯Metal hangs heavy around your lithe neck, skin raw and bleeding beneath its unrelenting grip. Fingers grab into your filthy hair, knotting into your bun. Worthless piece of filth, growls a man. You are not unfamiliar with his tone, nor his insults, though this is the first time you have felt a glob of saliva being spat onto your cheek. Can’t even follow the basic rules. Somebody really ought to make an example of you⎯
⎯This room is bright, brighter than the last, and yet somehow glooms darker than all. Shadows hang heavy in the corner where invasive eyes hide, but you can look only to the man who sits in front of you, posture relaxed despite the tensity that thickens the air. Go on, he taunts as you are shoved to your knees, the pain nothing compared to the fear that fills you at the sight of the executioner’s sword. Show us that smile of yours. Grant the world one more. Grant him, he nods towards another figure who you refuse to meet gazes with, one last dazzling grin. You do not, but you do whisper an apology under your breath, one that will never be heard⎯
⎯Gold silk hangs from your broad shoulders, the fabric draping gracefully down your tall body. Each detail stitched into the delicate robe sparkles in the candlelight, patterns that tell stories of love and power and beauty. Jeonha, somebody says to you, a face that is hidden from your view. I am sorry for this, Jeonha. Gold silk soon turns crimson when the knife plunges into your back. You are not even allowed the courtesy of looking into your killer’s eyes⎯
⎯You had always thought that you would live longer, survive the odds set against you, but you know now, as your mother tends to the gash carved into your chest, that this time, luck is not your benefactor. It is not so bad, she assures, though you know the look in her eyes, see the light in them dimmed with grief of a life not yet lost. You wish to tell her everything, anything, but the words bubble up in your throat and you struggle to spit them out. She knows, though, you can see that she knows, and her calming hand rests over your heart, which beats slower and slower with each moment. I love you, my sun, my son. Rest well. Her hand grows cold, or maybe that is you. For you no longer feel, no longer worry, only close your eyes and fall⎯
⎯Urgency pumps your blood faster, the sound echoing in your ears, as your weeping eyes search around you. Nothing, not the chaos around you nor the wound in your shoulder, can stop your wobbly legs from moving, not when you have to find him. There you are, comes his voice from behind you, and you turn so quickly that you become dizzy. But he is there, wounded yet alive, and he is offering you a smile that you struggle to return. You fall into his arms, he into yours, hold each other with all the strength that you have. And when an arrow pierces through your heart, spearing through his chest, you are connected even when you fall, lifeless⎯
*
This time, you wake with a gasp and a speeding heart, images so vivid still lingering in your mind. Your chest is still sore where your heart lies, the organ heavy with another’s grief, and you are surprised to find yourself covered in your own tears.
Still in the dirt, still nude, still alive, and still confused, you know that the only way to survive is to keep moving. Memories of dreams that had felt so real may plague your mind for a while, but you cannot dwell. You have had nightmares before, strange and also plausible ones, and you know. You know that to submit to the darkness of your own mind is a death sentence in itself. So you stand up, dust off your bare skin, and begin walking in an unknown direction.
You only cast one glance back at the bodies behind you. Your team, in all probability. Your friends. You are leaving them in the middle of nowhere.
This, too, you do not allow yourself to dwell on. Not now. Not yet.
Though the night has long since begun, darkness creeping into every corner of the room, one figure lies awake, thinking. Listening.
He is selfish, he supposes, for choosing not to sleep in a time when it can be so important. He should be allowing the visions to greet him, remembering the details, soaking it all in. Instead, he blinks away his exhaustion in exchange for wandering thoughts. He is not ready to allow another’s memories into his mind; for his to enter their’s. He has unwillingly revealed his sins to far too many already.
Hoseok is afraid. And he is tired.
Around him, his six loves breathe deeply, bodies relaxed in slumber and minds lost to the visions of their eighth soul. Some stir, occasionally, and he is sure he’s heard one of the maknaes whimper, but all is otherwise silent.
He would die a million painful deaths just to ensure that they could maintain this peace forever. He supposes he has, already. But he doesn’t regret it. Not for them.
Though the silence is calming, it also beckons his eyes closed and his mind into darkness. So, in an attempt to battle the tantalising call of sleep, he rolls over, stands up, and quietly sneaks out of the crumbling building they’ve taken shelter in.
The air outside nips at his skin, prickling goosebumps down his back and arms, but it is always chilly at this time of year, in this part of Europe. He forgets which country they’re in. Possibly close to France, but likely somewhere in Italy. He can smell salt in the air, the ocean not far away.
Yes. Italy.
Through thick undergrowth and overgrown weeds he wanders, mind idle and busy all at once. His feet take him around the perimeter of the area⎯a consequence, he supposes, of living a paranoid life⎯but his thoughts are elsewhere. On a girl he has yet to meet. On you.
How will you react, he wonders, to this life? To them? Through the brief flashes he has seen of you, you are a woman who seems steadfast, capable, and determined. But he’d also seen your team; felt the love you hold for them. Will you be able to part from the life that you can no longer lead? Will you eventually accept them as your new family?
There are too many questions, too many things to worry about. This is why he doesn’t hear the footsteps approaching him from behind until two arms wrap around his shoulders.
“You should be asleep.” The words are whispered beside his ear, warm breath fanning down his neck. He shivers, but doesn’t respond. “What’s wrong? Let me help.”
Hoseok sags into the strong embrace, allows the arms to tighten around his chest, and sighs. “I’m worried, Namjoon.” Namjoon hums, doesn’t say anything. “Is it selfish of me to not want to see her memories? To not want her in my head?”
A pair of plump lips kiss the tip of his ear. “Perhaps,” Namjoon says. When Hoseok stiffens, he pulls him closer. “But being selfish is not necessarily a bad thing. You are allowed to prioritise yourself every once in a while.” Namjoon can sense that Hoseok is not yet appeased, so he adds, “There are six of us here to take the visions when you can’t. And if you do decide to rest, there will be six of us here to hold you through it. Being selfish does not mean that you are alone.”
“I’m so tired,” Hoseok whispers, and they both know that he is not referring to his lack of sleep. “We’ve all got such baggage, so much hurt, and I wonder if adding the weight of an eighth will be too much.”
“Hey.” Namjoon gently turns Hoseok in his arms, holding him close still. They look into each other’s eyes, see everything that they have grown familiar with. That they have grown to love. “We will also have another person to help share the load. For now and forever, we are in this together. It’s okay to have doubts, or worries, but never forget that you are ours and we are yours.”
Foreheads touch and eyes close, the silence of the night engulfing them as they share each other’s heat. And here, they are okay. They still have fears, still have troubling thoughts, but they are not so bad when they are together.
“C’mon,” Namjoon mumbles. “Let’s go back inside. Whether you decide to sleep or not, we should stay with the others. You know how they can get about cuddle piles.”
This does make Hoseok breathe a laugh. “Okay. And hey, Namjoon.” He presses their lips together in a brief, soft kiss. “Thank you, my love.”
“My eternal,” Namjoon replies.
That night, they both allow sleep to take them. They join the others in dreams of bloodshed, heartache, and death. And they hold each other a little closer. And they are okay.
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#bts#bts angst#bts fanfic#bts fic#bts fluff#bts oneshot#bts ot7#bts ot7 x reader#bts poly#bts poly!au#bts poly au#bts reader insert#bts scenario#bts x reader#ot7 x reader#poly bts#poly bts x reader#namjoon x reader#seokjin x reader#yoongi x reader#hoseok x reader#jimin x reader#taehyung x reader#jungkook x reader#kim namjoon#kim seokjin#min yoongi#jung hoseok#park jimin#kim taehyung
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Assorted Eli Clark Headcannons
These aren't romantic, I just like his character rand think he’s neat.
cut for length
-He seems like a very soft spoken kind of dude. He has a very steady moral compass and is a balance between introverted and extroverted.
Like a mom friend.
-But he's got old man energy so he's the group's collective grandpa.
-I feel like he'd be the type to ask if you want to talk about it if he sees you struggling with something.
-If it involves another survivor, he's even open to be a meditator for the two of you.
-People take him up on this a lot. So it leads to the gossip of the house perking up whenever they hear Eli is looking for someone.
-Don't worry, you aren't being followed. Brooke is keeping a very close eye on the surroundings, and he'd even have it take place in his room. Just to make sure no one is watching.
-He has heavy taste for jazz music and when it picks up in tempo hell say it, "goes hard"
-Lucky showed him some 80s tracks and they're either hits or misses
He's a sucker for sound design.
-Brooke is his eyes yes, but when he sends her out he's left with just his ears.
Ideally he'd like to have someone he trusts with him. But he knows he won't always have that. But hey, he can dream. Cant he?
-I feel like when there's group movie night he'd watch the film with everyone.
Group movie days are fun because of the commentary everyone brings.
Like. They'll pause it just to go off on character design and shit. Maybe sing along to some of the songs. Yell at the characters.
-Just group movie things.
-100% Eli has taken the time to find some of the OSTs from the movie. And when Brooke is asleep he'll just reach over on the nightstand by his bed and listen to them. Recalling all the fun times they had.
-In times like this, it's what I’d relate to closing your eyes and imagining you're there again
-This man cannot make an insult to save his life.
-He just feels so bad about it.
-He absolutely isolates himself in the beginning when he first gets to the manor. He played heavily into the brooding loner type.
-The edgy mystery type.
-The don't fuck around with me type.
-But that's because he doesn't want to make the same mistake twice.
-He has very heavy protective urges when he cares about people. He wants to keep them safe and well and happy. And those motivations, those parts of him are what got him into this death game in the first place.
But oh dear god
-Once those walls break down, he goes off running.
He jumps through every hoop he has to in order to make sure his friends are safe.
-He has a soft spot for animals (See Brooke. And I imagine before he met Brooke he had a cat.
-If you ask him about it, depending on how long he'd been in the manor you get 2 different options.
-1) forming bonds with animals is an extensive process which i utilize. It's only fitting that I started young.
-2) oh, cats make great company. And i like how soft they are. :)
-100% people will try to dress Brooke up in little outfits. And she hates it.
So when he wakes up and Brooke is just spazzing out, he is absolutely panicking trying to figure out what's wrong with her.
-She cant fly? She's moving erratically? What could it be?
-He goes to pick her up and feels some fabric.
-Did someone tie her up maybe?
-Only to hold her up in front of the mirror and see her in a little outfit.
-He'd have to work hard to stifle laughter. But at least it wasn't something serious.
-If you’ve read The Outsider’s you’ll know what I mean when I say Eli doesn’t lock his door.
-He has little material possessions except what he uses on a day to day basis.
-Maybe the scattered card Emma made or the letter opener he got from Victor.
-Oh, and the tape recorder on his nightstand. :)
-(Eli and Victor are pen pals and take pride in writing to the other survivors.)
-He has nothing really to steal so he has nothing really to worry about.
-He tells it to anyone he sees having a breakdown or someone who just needs a quiet place to go to his room.
-But even if some of his stuff goes missing or a prank gets pulled on him.
-It's never going to mean as much to him as it would helping out someone who needs it desperately.
-He has a soft spot for egg salad sandwiches
-If anyone is really sad, and he's run out of wisdom to give. I imagine he'd just ask them if they want to see something he found endearing he saw in a book.
-And if they say yes, he’s going to smile so fucking hard as he has Brooke sit on his lap or some other perch and just
#eli clark#idv seer#idv imagines#eli clark images#identity v seer#idv eli clark#seer imagines#how the fuck do i tag
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I don’t know if there are AU fics there about Thor meeting Jane in Asgard instead of his mom in Endgame but... could you write if there are none? Love your writing style btw
I started this in quarantine last April, and here I am a year later finishing it. ANGST AHOY. (and thank youuuuuuuu!)
She’s more beautiful than he remembered. He sees her from behind at first, her small frame swathed in a simple, blue wrap gown. She’s folding her clothes from Midgard, hands deft. She misses Rocket darting behind the small lounge, syringe in hand.
Thor steps fully into the room, and she must hear him. She calls out, “No, I don’t need any help with my clothing, but thank you for the offer.”
He can’t immediately speak. He means to say something, he... he must’ve had a plan before Rocket shoved him through this doorway? Surely, he’d thought of something clever and suave and charming, something that he would’ve said to her when they’d been together and he could make her laugh. Something he would’ve said before--
Before.
Then she turns and--Norns, she is beautiful.
“Oh, Thor,” she says, and then she smiles. “Hi. Sorry, I didn’t realize it was you.”
His tongue feels thick in his mouth. “Y-you-you, uh--” He swallows and tries again. “You don’t have to apologize. For anything. Ever.”
Her brow furrows. “Hey, are you okay?” She’d always known him so well, hadn’t she? And he’d just--allowed her to slip away. Over two years of living together, years of loving and being loved, and he’d just--
“Thor, what’s wrong?” The sheer concern in her voice as she sets her folded clothing down makes his knees feel weak. Then she’s walking towards him and he doesn’t feel prepared for this moment at all.
Norns, he’d made such a mess of everything, and then he’d never gotten a chance to fix it.
She seems to realize at that moment that he’s not the Thor she knows, and she freezes halfway to him. There’s a small, needy part of him that wants to reach out to her, just feel her touch one more time to remind him of a time before his failure so catastrophically rocked the universe.
The other part, that knows he is on a mission and needs to do this in order to succeed, tries to come up with an excuse or a plan. He had one before he walked in, certainly.
“You--” Jane draws back, adopting a tentative, novice defensive stance, “--are not Thor.”
That’s an easy enough answer. “Well, yes, yes I am.”
Her eyes narrow. “Mm, no. Last I saw him, Thor’s beard was shorter. His hair wasn’t, uh--” She glances at the top of his head, “--that. One of your eyes is brown.” She looks down at him. “If you’re Thor, then where’s your armor?”
“Um. Not. On?”
“Yeah, consider me unconvinced. If you’re Thor,” a clever smile dawns on her face, like she’s just solved a long series of complex equations, “then call Mjolnir.”
“Oh.” He’d somehow forgotten that at this time, he still had Mjolnir. He still had his honor, his courage, his--
He’d been worthy, at this time.
“Jane, that’s--I just--” Thor sees Rocket moving behind her, his arm cocked back and ready to take the infinity stone that flows through her veins. “Rocket, wait!”
Jane’s eyes widen, and she whirls around and screams, “What the fuck is that?”
“Thor, come on!” Rocket exclaims.
“Jane,” he says again, “Please just trust me. We need your help.”
She backs away slowly, trying to keep both Thor and Rocket, with his arm still poised to stab, in her sights.
“That’s a talking raccoon,” she breathes. “I’m talking to a raccoon on an alien planet.”
Rocket protests, but Thor cuts him off. “Jane, please.”
“We need to borrow the Aether for like two seconds,” Rocket says. “The fate of the universe kind of depends on it.”
“Someone better explain to me what the hell is going on and fast,” she says, voice raising to nearly a shout, “or you will not like what happens!”
Thor notices the molecular red and black swirling at her fingertips and in her eyes. If she stays this stressed, she’s liable to explode on them. That might knock her unconscious, and while that might make their task in stealing the Aether from her easier, but he can’t stomach the thought of doing that to her.
“Jane, listen to me,” he says, voice soft, falling back into a familiar pattern of calming her down when she’s upset. “I am Thor, but... not the one you know.” He desperately wants to reach out to her, as was his way when they were together, but he holds himself back. “I promise I am not deceiving you. I know that you cannot carry a tune when you sing in the shower, but you do it anyway. You graduated summa cum laude from Culver and got your first doctorate before you were twenty-two, and you always wondered if you should’ve slowed down to enjoy university life more. You always chew the end of your pen or pencil when you’re working. We had dinner with your mother every other weekend--” He winces a little at that mention. "That--um. I guess that hasn’t... happened yet.”
He sees wheels turning behind her eyes, and there’s something easy here between them, a familiar thread of trust that feels all too good for Thor to pick up again. Her brow furrows slightly as her incredible mind works, and her bottom lip ends up between her teeth.
“You’re saying this is time travel,” she says, matter-of-fact. Like she’s positing a hypothesis with Tony or Darcy in the lab.
He’s missed this. He’s missed her. Norns, has he missed her.
“Oh my god,” Jane breathes, “Time travel.” A massive grin spreads across her face. “It’s possible; I knew it!” Her eyes are alight and Thor is struck with another stab of longing. She’s standing right in front of her and yet he misses her so fiercely. “Tell me everything. How did I do it? I’ve only got some rough schematics drawn up of a wormhole generator, but I bet that’s how it was done. Ha!” She pumps a fist in a small victory motion.
“We’re wasting time, here, loverboy,” Rocket interrupts, his small claws wrapped a little too eagerly around the syringe meant to transport the stone.
“Rocket, shut up,” Thor growls.
She steps closer to him, her eagerness for knowledge shining from her face like a light. “How’d we compensate for the energy? Ooh, and how are you planning on returning to your timeline? Do you have some sort of recall device? How is that powered? Or is it like a yo-yo type of device which sends you for a certain amount of time and then calls you back automatically? That would make sense for why your raccoon friend is in such a hurry.” Her eyes widen a little. “That seems like something I’d do. It would probably be beyond the scope of our capabilities to make a power cell small enough to carry on your person, depending on when you guys came from--”
It comes out of him like pus from lancing an infected wound: “You didn’t do it.”
It breaks his heart a little bit to see her imagination come to a grinding halt, to see the shock and disappointment flood across her features. “I... I didn’t?”
Tears prickle at the back of his eyes. “No. You... no.”
“Oh,” she breathes. He can see her visibly shrink, shoulders caving in and her previous exuberance extinguishing like a snuffed candle.
His chest hurts. He wants to hold her.
“I’m sorry.” His voice cracks.
“Oh,” she says again, a different note to it this time. “Am I, um... you know. Dead?”
It feels like a punch to the stomach to hear her say it. He can’t voice it out loud. He’d seen her name on the list of known Avengers asset casualties. Her name was chiseled into stone on the Lost Monument in London. He’d only visited in a fit of drunken self-flagellation one time, and once had been more than enough.
Apparently he doesn’t need to say it. Even without years together under her belt, he’s never been particularly subtle nor she particularly obtuse.
“I see,” is all she says, her arms crossing over her chest, one hand coming up to her chin. Her thumb taps her lower lip once. Twice. “How did I die? Old age?” She winces a little. “Something sooner than that?”
Thor’s tongue sits thick in his mouth.
“A bad guy snapped his fingers and killed half the universe,” Rocket says, impatient with Thor’s inability to communicate. “You were part of the unlucky half.”
Jane’s eyes widen. “Snapped... his fingers.”
“Yes,” Rocket grits, “and if we don’t borrow the Aether we won’t be able to bring any of those people back, so if you don’t mind--”
She’s already offering her arm before he finishes his sentence. “Take it. It’s killing me anyway, although--” Jane lets out a harsh chuckle, “--if you’re from a future where I’m killed by a finger-snapping psycho-killer, then I guess I won’t die from this, at least.”
Rocket smiles at Jane and then sends a seething look Thor’s way. “See, Thor, how efficient a little cooperation can make things?”
For how much they struggled with fixing Jane’s Aether affliction in this timeline, it’s almost trivially easy for Rocket to jab the needle into Jane and take the stone. The syringe is specially crafted to draw in and store this particularly finicky stone, but it goes off without a hitch, and when Rocket withdraws the needle, Jane simply covers her now bleeding arm with a hand.
Rocket thanks her, the caustic raccoon strangely polite now that he’s realized what kind of person Jane is, and turns to Thor.
“Time to jet, big boy,” he says.
“Wait,” Thor says, impulse overriding any other judgements, “give me a moment.”
Rocket sighs, and glancing between Jane and Thor, he seems to understand. Given the chance, Thor knows Rocket would want to talk to his family that he lost. Thankfully, it looks like he will afford Thor the same courtesy.
“A moment,” Rocket echoes, a not-so-subtle reminder that they cannot stay here in the safety of the past when they have a job to do. A universe to save. People to bring back.
Rocket exits the room, leaving Thor and Jane alone.
“Do you, um.” Jane’s hands scrunch up the skirt of her dress before she gestures at the couch. “Want to sit?”
As he sits down, Jane follows next to him, so close and warm, he realizes belatedly that he has been dying to talk to someone who loves him. Desperate to talk to someone who knows him on a deeper level than his friends on Earth and New Asgard. (At this time, they’re all alive. His mother, here and hale. Volstagg, Fandral, Hogun, Sif, likely somewhere nearby and plotting with him on how they’re going to solve the latest challenge. And Jane.)
She asks him a simple, “How long has it been?” and it all spills out of him, a dam overdue to be broken after five years of holding his pain and guilt at bay. He tells her of Ragnarok, the broad strokes of it anyway, losing his friends and his home and Mjolnir, that they’d broken up, Thanos, the stones, the battle they’d lost, the five years of wounded peace, and the chance they now have to fix it.
“It doesn’t feel like enough,” he whispers. “All that suffering and pain because I failed. We found him, and I killed him... but what was the point? We were too late, and I was just an idiot with an axe.”
“I might not know you as well as your Jane does,” she says slowly, “but I know enough to know that you’re no idiot.” She leans into him, looping her elbow around his and reaching for his hand. Their fingers twine, something familiar to Thor but new for her. “Everyone fails at something. That doesn’t make you a failure, it just makes you like everyone else.”
“But I’m supposed to be better.”
She shrugs. “Then prove it. When I first met you, and you failed to get Mjolnir back from the crater site, you didn’t shut down or stop trying. You just...” She sighs. “I don’t really know, but you just decided that you were still going to be better, even if you didn’t have your hammer. You taught me about the realms, you went to Izzy and apologized for smashing her mug,” she chuckles a little at that, “and it probably wasn’t what you wanted, but what I saw then wasn’t a failure. I didn’t fully get it then, but you had literally lost everything--your home, your way of life, your family, Mjolnir and your powers--but you still smiled at us, still kept moving forward when everything was trying to crush you. That’s a hero, if you ask me.”
He swallows, his emotion for this woman threatening to overwhelm him for a few heartbeats. “Thank you,” he whispers, leaning his forehead against hers. She leans back, relaxed and easy.
“You should try to call Mjolnir,” she suggests, so casual and offhand that it nearly knocks him off the couch.
He could, he realizes. Mjolnir is not gone in this timeline, and if they will return the Aether to it’s proper place, Mjolnir can make the trip back just as easily.
He’s spent the last five years proving himself to be a worthless lump of a man, being the exact opposite of what Jane thought him to be, but it isn’t too late for him. It had never felt right, being in the skin of a depressed, lazy drunk who sometimes couldn’t summon the energy to leave his bed or talk to his friends. It hadn’t been him. In fact, he’s felt more like himself since he’d come back to the Avengers for this wild, last-ditch effort to fix what Thanos did than he’s felt in a long time.
The last five years have changed him, certainly, but if Jane can still see the man who’d unflinchingly faced down death as a human man in New Mexico, then he can try to see him to.
Thor stands and reaches out, calling for a presence that had been his constant companion since he was a boy.
He calls, and Mjolnir answers.
Thor smiles.
#fosterson#fosterson fic#jane foster#thor#Anonymous#molly answers yo asks#my fic#lmao this was originally supposed to be a 'microfic'#and here i am a year later#and this aint no microfic
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What’s your favourite thing about the Klebekah dynamic and your fave scenes? What was it that drew you to them
Thanks Yuki for asking this, it took me hours to think of all my fav scenes but it was worth it lol ❤️
My fav thing about the klebekah dynamic:
So, klebekah. I simply love them if it isn't obvious by now lmao, their codependent and dysfunctional toxic relationship fascinates me so much. They're litteraly the most important person in each other's life and I love that, I love how they understand one another with just a look, I love how they never gave up on each other for a thousand years despite all the betrayals, I love how they adore and worship one another, I LOVE THEM.
Rebekah was the person klaus loved the most in the world (besides hope ofc) it's actually funny how most of the fandom doesn't realize the impact she always had on him, she was his humanity for a thousand years, she was his constant (along with Elijah ) and he was hers, and as we saw on the show Rebekah was the person he showed affection the most.
As for rebekah, Klaus was the man she ADORED since she was a little girl, he was her big brother, the person she wanted to be like when she gets older, her protector, soulmate and best friend. Rebekah was the only person who never actually tried to change him, she loved him as he is during a thousand years and I LOVE THAT.
-The thing that drawn me to them:
Are a lot of things but THE CHEMISTRY was what made me fall in love, fun fact: but the first time I discovered klebekah I was watching a tvd scene on YouTube a couple of years ago and coincidentally it was their 3×03 Chicago flashback scene with Stefan, and I thought they were a sort of threesome of something lmao and when I knew they were siblings I was shocked but continued to ship them anyway cause why not.
What are your fav scenes ?
Oh boy, this is a very DIFFICULT question cause I practically love all their freaking scenes, but I eventually have to choose so there you go:
-I'll begin with tvd:
-There's 3×03, of course, THIS WHOLE EPISODE IS FULL OF INCEST. the "I'm not your girlfriend", the "choose him or me" Klaus' jealousy, the eye sex, the daggering session, the hand holding, EVERYTHING SCREAMED KLEBEKAH. This ep was such a strong introduction to their strange dynamic.
-3×04: my fav thing about this ep is Klaus taking rebekah to shop and being a child about it. He was so done with her already but at the same time so happy to have her around again. I loved the surprised expression on Stefan's face the whole time, he was not used to this side of Klaus, he was not used to Klaus being wrapped around someone's little finger. I loved their little conversation when she was trying that dress and she said something about women in the 21th century dressing like prostitues and that she got dirty looks for wearing trousers and then Klaus said you wore trousers so women today could wear nothing. Lmaooo it was hilarious.
- 3×15: "I hated you when I learned that you killed our mother but after a thousand years together as a family you're the only one who never left me "
" Aren't we a pair ?" THIS MF LINE GETS ME EVERYTIME. I don't have words to describe what it does to me but I love this scene and the fact that Klaus thought that rebekah was going to show him her torturer's skills makes it better.
-3×18: " you destroyed our family" "I wanted a family they just didn't want me, and now that we're unlinked we're no longer responsible for each other" "so are you leaving ?" "As soon as a get my stakes I'm gone..... I'm gonna make a NEW FAMILY of hybrids" "and if I choose to stay ?" "Then you're just as pathetic as Finn " THIS WHOLE scene was a masterpiece, them looking at each other like that makes me wanna give them a hug:
-3×20: it wasn't really a klebekah scene cause it was Esther in Rebekah's body but the way Klaus smiled at her and agreed to go to the dance JUST for her melt my heart.
-3×22: oh gosh this one, breaks my heart but love it so much " how dare you save Caroline over me ?" " You left me !" "it's always been me, not Finn not Elijah no Kol ME, I LOVED YOU through everything and you don't even care " and then he chokes her and say something he -IM SURE- regrets immediately "you know something rebekah you're right I don't care, from this moment on you're not my family you're not my sister you are nothing " and then he breaks her neck. I HATE THIS SCENE BUT I LOVE IT. these two needed couple therapy. Klaus was horrible, she watched him die, she mourned him, her heart broke. He could've told her about his plan tho ? I'm still wondering why he didn't but I guess he was just being an asshole as usual and took her as granted. And him saving Caroline over her was not it.
-4×04: the flashback hunter scene "YOU TRUSTED HIM OVER ME " "WHAT DID HE PROMISE YOU " "TELL ME REBEKAH " it was like he caught her cheating on him lmaooo. On the same episode there's the famous line "laugh at the girl who loved too easily but I would rather to live my life than yours Nik, no one will ever sit around a table telling stories about a man who couldn't love" the way he looked down after her saying that breaks my heart, cause Klaus could love, he LOVES her, then he daggers her -cause he's a paranoid bastard- and he cries about it.
-Let's switch to TO scenes:
-1×02: this episode is one of my favs but the best scene was when Klaus was choking Hayley after he learned that she wanted to abort the baby then, rebekah slammed him against the wall (it was hot tbh lmao) and she said "it's okay to care, it's okay to want something that's all Elijah was trying to do all he's ever wanted for you, all we've ever wanted." The way he looked her deep in the eyes gets me everytime, he was trying so hard not to cry. Then they sat together, exhausted, and Klaus told her about his plan -that involved giving Elijah to marcel lol- and if she doesn't like it, there's the door.
-1×03: one of my fav episodes too and it has so many good klebekah scenes, “that depends what plan you mean love my plan for global domination or rebekahs plan to find love in a cruel cruel world” then she giggled and threw a pen at him so lovingly lol. They were teasing and all flirty with each other in front of Hayley and they acted as nothing happened the night before and Klaus never gave Elijah to marcel, after that they teamed up and everything was going fine but Klaus happened. then there's the masquerade ball scene when Klaus called rebekah " you really are a hideously evil little thing aren't you "
and them being jealous watching marcel and cami dancing. later in this ep theres the famous “you disgust me” scene, the tension was so thick i acually thought they were about to kiss and have sex on that damn piano lmao but klaus as usual disapointed rebekah, she trusted him against all her better instincts and he choose to act against her back cause he thought his plan was smarter.
-I'm not sure in which episode this scene is but I remember Klaus telling rebekah "you were quite resourceful today..... sometimes I think I don't give you your due little sister" it was so cute cause Klaus knows that he doesn't give Rebekah enough credits, and she was so happy to hear him say that.
-1×14: the famous "YOU CANNOT HIDE FROM ME REBEKAH" this episode had me crying the first time I watched it, Klaus was so angry, disappointed and hurt, he could not believe that his baby sister did this to him, that he was in denial for almost a century and he for that she must pay. "Rebekah would not call my father no matter how angry she was " "enough of your lies" even after seeing the truth from the source he still couldn't believe it cause he loved her so freaking much and he thought she did too.
Then them fighting and Klaus getting turned on by her beating his ass up
-1×15: this mf scene.
The kiss, THE FREAKING CLOSE TO THE LIPS KISS. the sexual tension in this scene was HUGE, Klaus finally "set rebekah free" and he was DRUNK doing it. "We don't have to run anymore, we've found a home" and the look on Rebekah's face is priceless, she was shocked and almost guilty cause at this time she has already called mikeal and Klaus was a little too late.
Also in the same episode, THE BLOOD SHARING. Look at them just look at them.
-1×16:
THE BABY MIKAELSON FLASHBACK !! OMG, this scene melts my heart. "Don't be afraid I won't let it hurt you " "will you stay with me till the storm ends ?" And he did stay with her no matter what. I love this scene cause it shows how close and protective they were of each other since forever. Then he gives her the wooden knight so she can be brave. I'm soft.
Then there's this one too ! I love how Rebekah was actually the only one to ever stand against mikeal, she even tried to kill him, just for Klaus. So much devotion.
I'm still not over this one, the hurt on Rebekah's voice as she says those words, Klaus's tears, the whole episode was so angsty but this scene was IT. and then he realised what he did to her, that instead of protecting her he was hurting and suffocating her so he did something he's not used to do, being selfless, and he let her go.
The 1×22 scene: LITTERALY on top of my fav scenes list ! Klaus giving hope to Rebekah proved how much he trusted her "there's no one I would trust more with my daughter's life" and the fact that she came back just for him (and hope) proved that she never really wanted to leave, she just needed a little freedom. Then when he handed her the little toy I WAS IN TEARS OKAY, it was so soft. They were so happy and relieved to see each other again.
-2×09: "if anything goes south I'll be there to pull you out" "you and I on the same team it must me Christmas" he promised to protect her at any cost and she knew he will. Them teaming up against Esther was so great, then the "take me instead" , Klaus was WILLING to sacrifice his immortal life for REBEKAH, if this isn't pure love then I don't know what it is.
-2×17: another episode losing his shit because his wife-sorry sister is in danger. He let Freya enter his mind just to save her (and he was so suspicious about it cause he didn't want her to know his strategies but in fact he was just afraid she'll know about his questionable taste in woman lmaoo)
And this mf scene is so cute, look at their smiles, the forehead touch, his hand on her neck, here on his arm, FOR YOU FOR NOW. I can't believe this is actually canon.
-2×22: "family tradition!" "Minus the family."
"Well, you're here."" In the skin of your choosing, no less."
"Well, poor you. Because that body is such a hardship."
"You would hand over your crown? And do what?" "Raise my daughter... with the help of my sisters. One big, happy family."
" Now, that does sound grand-- minus the giant, Elijah-sized hole in the room. And, whilst your sisters raise your child, what will the child's mother be doing, exactly?"
"This, dear brother, is not what happiness looks like."
This scene was so important, Klaus was wrong and he needed someone to remind him that what he did was not necessary, that he hurt most of his family, and rebekah was there for that. He wished she'd stray with him to "raise" his daughter but after this scene we see Freya offering her Eva's body so she leaves.
-3×09: "you're always leaving" "and I always come back" THEN THE DAMN HUG. their hugs are always so good, the way they close their eyes and hold each other tight and they seem like they never want to let go of each other. Then she has to leave and make Elijah dagger her without telling Nik, cause she wants Nik to be happy for once.
-3×22: "wasn't you who once told me I could talk my way out of hell " and then they smile affectionately at each other and HUG tightly. After this he took her hand and they both walk to their possible end, and she watches him getting stabbed by marcel after she was forced to say all those things she did and didn't think. The whole trial scene was a masterpiece. I love it.
-4×02: this EP was full of klebekah soft scenes. There was the reunion HUG . the way she runs to him the second she sees him and the way he reaches to her and hugs her tightly to his chest.
The kiss on the cheek after "thank you for not abandoning me" and the way he smiles at her was so SOFT OMG.
-4×03: the goodbye hug "Nik you do not need me anymore, I know that I'm your fav sibling and of course I adore you" "you were the only one who never treated me like s misfit, for centuries my only place was by your side...." AND THEY HUG TIGHTLY AGAIN. this was the first time Klaus let Rebekah do whatever the hell she wanted without fighting or daggering and it was revolutionary to her. (The fact that she's his fav sibling and she KNOWS it makes me so happy lmao).
-5×01: their phone call about Elijah. They were both so lost and devastated without him it broke my heart. "How does he look?" "Happy.."
-5×08: "ah Nik always so dramatic"
They were so happy to be reunited after 7 years of being apart, look at them hugging each other so tightly. I LOVE this scene.
-5×12: then there's the goodbye scene, Klaus gave her the cure so he can make up for a thousand years of hurt, "live the life you've always wanted to live, MY SISTER" the way he looked at her so proudly, so in love makes me cry. In my opinion he gave her the cure so they can reunite again in the afterlife. Both him and Elijah can't live or die without her, they're supposed to be together, they're meant to be together and the cure will bring her to them, to him, again. It was such a good scene, the hug, the last glances, everything.
And that's it!!! I'm sure I forgot some other scenes but those are the most important. ❤️
#klebekah#thanks yuki for asking this#and sorry for the typos#most of this was written at 3 am#evanescentrainbow#the originals
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chapter 2 of "sorry to my unknown lover" is up!
read on ao3 here
read chapter 1 on ao3 here and on tumblr here
chapter summary:
He is still watching his own blood settle on the ground when Vincenzo groans, stirring. Han-seok looks down at one of the shards of glass, how it turns reflective in the light. He sees his own smirk, and looks up.
It all starts now.
read under the cut below
chapter 2: prometheus
Jang Han-seok slips his phone into his pocket. It had been almost child’s play getting his personal effects back after his brief stint in jail, and he has no intention of returning.
Not when he has who he wants right in front of him.
He looks down at the great Vincenzo Cassano, unconscious and tied to a chair. His hair is matted with his own blood, and there is glass embedded in his knees. Han-seok bends to take out the glass, and wraps the wounds with cloth. It wouldn’t do to have Vincenzo’s wounds get infected too early. He does, after all, want him to be conscious for the next part of his plan.
At first, as he had watched Vincenzo and Cha-young banter easily on the sidewalk outside the plaza, bitter green jealousy twisting his stomach like acid, he had considered taking Cha-young instead. Wouldn’t it be nice to toy with Vincenzo from afar, dangling things like Cha-young’s glittery earrings in front of him, forcing him to come to her and scream in fear for her life?
It would, but he had realized that he didn’t need Cha-young to toy with Vincenzo. He could do that from two feet away from him, in a warehouse with nobody around them for miles.
Funny, really, how many abandoned warehouses there are, with nobody to care about them or even think twice about the screams coming from them.
The screams that he has every intention of pulling from Vincenzo.
He picks up one of the glass shards that he had pulled from Vincenzo, and runs his finger along the jagged edge of it. It pricks his finger, and the blood catches the industrial lighting overhead. He watches idly as the blood beads up and falls to the ground. It sits there, staining the gray concrete a dull brown.
He is still watching his own blood settle on the ground when Vincenzo groans, stirring. Han-seok looks down at one of the shards of glass, how it turns reflective in the light. He sees his own smirk, and looks up.
It all starts now.
-
“Noona , I can help.”
Both Cha-young and Mr. Nam look up with a start, and see Jang Han-seo standing there, shirt rumpled and tie askew. He is holding a computer and some sort of device, and his eyes are bloodshot.
She can only stare at him. “What are you doing here?”
“I got the text from hyungnim, too. That is what’s going on, right?” He looks in between them, eyes darting like he is nervous. Cha-young remembers a flippant line in Han-seo’s folder in the guillotine file: He was abused and tortured by his older brother for years, and resultant drug addiction , takes in Han-seo’s slightly shaking fingers, and decides to take a chance.
“What did he say in his message to you?” Mr. Nam says, seemingly reading her mind. He beckons Han-seo closer, and pulls out a chair for him to sink into. Han-seo unlocks his phone and sets it on the table, along with the computer and mysterious gadget. The message is nearly identical to the one that she had received but in context, significantly more terrifying: Hi Han-seo. Did you miss me? You can’t get rid of me that easily, little brother.
The picture and its caption are different, too. The picture is of a man’s hand, presumably Han-seok’s, holding a bloody watch, Vincenzo’s bare, pale wrist in the blurry background. Mr. Nam inhales sharply at the sight, and Cha-young impatiently clicks to the caption.
One more.
Cha-young has read her former hoobae ’s folder in the File; she knows what the watch signifies. For a second, she is standing outside a makgeolli shop on a rainy night, a clear plastic umbrella falling from her fingers that have suddenly gone numb, and pushing past bystanders who have gathered to watch; dispassionate, uncaring, apathetic bystanders watching one man die and another struggle to live, and sees the hundreds of sticky notes that had been stuck to the wall for months until she finally allowed herself to take them down. She stands up abruptly, and the other two men stumble to their feet after her.
“Byeonhosa-nim ?” Mr. Nam asks tentatively.
“Han-seo, what’s the laptop for?”
“Do you know where hyung is right now?” he asks abruptly. They both shake their heads. In the past few hours, Cha-young and Mr. Nam have come up with a plan for what to do when they find Han-seok, but they have been stumped on how to find him. It wasn’t like he had conveniently called them that they could track his phone, and surveillance footage courtesy of Mi-ri and Agent Ahn hadn’t turned up anything useful.
“I didn’t think so,” Han-seo continues. “You both know about his practice of collecting watches, right?” Cha-young exchanges a glance with Mr. Nam, who turns a delicate shade of green. She nods.
“ Hyungnim likes to wear the watches that he collects. He switches them around, wears a different one everyday. Never even matches them to his outfit. It’s ridiculous.” Han-seo trails off, rambling about sports watch and black suit, and Cha-young realizes she needs to steer the conversation back to relevancy.
“Han-seok has no fashion sense. So?” she asks, feeling her patience fray with every passing second. With every passing second Vincenzo could be getting tortured, or dying, or both at the same time.
Cha-young owns exactly one black hanbok . She has worn it three times in her life. First to her mother’s funeral, standing silently in the funeral parlor, fuming when her father stepped out to take a call from a client. The next time was nearly ten years later, for her father’s funeral. Then she had felt nothing, just a cold sea of emptiness, right until she saw the picture of them both at her law school graduation, at which point she had been punctured like a balloon, or a plant cell with too much water intake. The last and most recent time was at Vincenzo’s mother’s funeral. Then she had felt a bone deep sorrow, and a dizzying feeling of inevitability, like this was going to be the rest of her life. Going to funerals of people taken from her much too soon.
She refuses, however, to take out that hanbok again. Let it collect dust on its hanger in her closet. Let it fade with time. She refuses to lose anyone else, and she refuses to lose Vincenzo.
She’ll be damned if she lets Jang Han-seok change that.
“So,” Han-seo says, typing on the laptop. “I installed trackers in all of the watches. I’m finding his current location right now.” He looks up at them. “He will try to control the action from now on. His plan is probably to keep baiting you, noona , with pieces of information about Vin- hyung to keep you dependent on him. But now that we know where he is, we can confront him on our own terms. I mean, your terms. Because it’s your plan.” he finishes slightly awkwardly.
He turns the laptop to face them, and she and Mr. Nam crouch down to see. The blip on the screen is pointing to a warehouse over twenty miles outside of Seoul, which makes sense.
Cha-young looks both of her companions in the eye. “Let’s get to work.”
-
“Had a nice rest?”
Vincenzo leans back in the hard wooden chair he is strapped to. “It’s not first class, but it’ll do, I suppose.”
In front of him, Jang Han-seok sneers. Vincenzo just stares at him patiently. His initial few seconds when he woke up had remained unknown to his captor. He had lain there, still and silent, breathing evenly, to try and get a feel for his situation. Once he had deduced that there was only one person with him, and that they weren’t in the city, he had allowed himself to groan and let Han-seok know that he was awake. Now that his eyes are open and he has swept the area and can visualize it in his mind’s eye, he has nothing else to do other than let Han-seok show his hand.
After all, Jang Han-seok is nothing if not dependably predictable.
True to form, Han-seok stands abruptly. “Shall we take a picture? I’m sure sunbae would love to see how you’re doing right now.”
“I’m sure you’ve already sent her a picture, but go ahead.”
His captor narrows his eyes at him, and then strides away, out of sight. Vincenzo takes the opportunity to close his eyes and collect his thoughts. It’s been far too long since he was kidnapped. The last time was two years ago, when he woke up and found himself in a vineyard in Sicily, bound hand and foot.
He had burned the entire place down, as well as everyone in it.
Now, however, he cannot recklessly escape, or else he will lead Cha-young right into a trap. He has no doubt that she will find him and bring the right people and use the right resources to rescue him.
He knows this. He knows the competency of everyone that he has worked with for the past few months.
Over the past fifteen years, he has carried out more illegal acts than he can remember. He has burned, stolen, framed, defamed, and killed and killed and killed. He has not regretted much of it, save for one thing. Collateral.
Vincenzo knows that his actions after coming to Korea are in somewhat of a gray area. Yes, they are illegal, and very much dangerous, but they are justified . They are a means to a very much honorable end, and he doesn’t regret them. No, what he regrets is the collateral. Before, the word collateral had served as nothing more than a clinical way to refer to the people that got hurt in the crossfire. Collateral was a number, a number of people, an amount of money needed to fix it, statistics on a page in il capo’s ledger that got crossed off with a fountain pen, the book shut before the ink finished drying.
However, he still remembers straightening to his feet, his pointer finger still stained with fresh blood after tracing the letter C into the rapidly spreading bloodstain on the floor. He had scanned the area, because there was nothing that the capo hated more than loose ends on a job. When he had looked into the car, he had inhaled sharply, because there was a child cowering in the backseat, curled around a worn stuffed animal.
But now, collateral is the faces of people that he does not want to see gone. Against his will, he has become fond of every person living in Geumga Plaza, who has told him, with shining eyes, that he had given them something to fight for. They have all been living from day to day, not expecting much of the days to come, and now they veritably shine in their daily lives.
It’s like someone lit a fire underneath them, and once that fire was lit, no one could dare to extinguish it.
He shifts in his chair, and prepares to wait for Jang Han-seok to come back. Cha-young will come for him, and they will rain hell upon the world after that.
Until then, Vincenzo has no problem in being the one who dared to light up the world. The one who stepped down to earth, a fistful of flames in his palm. The one who bestowed heat and light and warmth and life to the world.
He does not regret his past actions, for he has kindled flames from smothered embers, and no one can put them out. For this, he will gladly be their fallen Titan, their Prometheus.
#vincenzo#chayenzo#vincenzo cassano#hong cha young#jang han seo#jang han seok#chayenzo fanfic#my writing#my fic
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First Impressions // Chapter 1
Fandom: Servamp
Ship: LawLicht (main), KuroMahi (side), Tetsono (side), Jekuni (side)
Characters: Hyde, Licht, Kuro, Mahiru
Summary: After Licht meets the wealthy bachelor, Hyde, she was certain that she could never be friends with him. Their paths continues to cross and she slowly comes to know him. Licht wonders if she judged him too quickly. (LawLicht, Pride and Prejudice AU, Fem Licht)
(Ch.1) //
Licht was immersed in playing her piano. She loved music and she wanted to become a pianist. She understood that it would be difficult for her to be a professional musician due to her gender. Women were taught music and art but there was an expectation that they would perform as a hobby rather than a career. Despite the limitations, Licht was determined to pursue her dreams.
She hoped to provide for her sisters with her passion as well. While her family were respected among high society, they were far from wealthy. Both of her parents were rather frivolous with money. She had four sisters whom she adored and she wanted to give them an easy life. The hardship the sisters faced brought them closer.
“Father, I must speak with you immediately!” Mikuni yelled as she stormed into the drawing room. Licht was confused by her sister’s tone of voice. She rarely heard her be genuinely angry as she was now. While Mikuni would often feign a dramatic personality around strangers, she was truly a composed and intelligent person. “What is this that I’ve found in the study?”
She slammed a piece of paper onto the table in front of their father. Licht was curious what could’ve made her sister so upset and she stopped playing to listen to their conversation. Mikuni stabbed her finger against the words on the paper and Licht thought the table would break beneath her anger.
“Your will states that our house and land will be inherited by the male heir of our family after your death. Must I remind you that you have five daughters and no sons, Father? If you die without a son, the house will be given to our cousin, Haruto, and he will surely evict us. You will be forcing us to be homeless or to rely on the charity of others.” Mikuni took a pen and pressed it into her father’s hand. “I will not leave this spot until you amend this will so the house will be split equally among the five of us.”
“Mikuni, you are being unreasonable. This is a fairly standard will. Women are not permitted to inherit property so I couldn’t include you in my will. You are very intelligent so you should be able to understand the law.” He said and his answer only made her frown deepen. “Your Uncle Toru is very kind. Perhaps he can take you girls in.”
“We grew up in this house and Mikuni should be the one to inherit it.” Licht argued in support of her sister. “She took over the estate’s finances and she’s the only reason we weren’t forced to sell off the house to settle your gambling debt. Mikuni can run the business better than Haruto. He has never stepped foot on our land and doesn’t know it as well as Mikuni.”
The Eves owned a modest animal farm and their main income came from training horses for nobles. When Mikuni was only seventeen, she had decided to help with the family’s business. She had gained the respect of the workers over the past ten years and they saw her as their manager over her father. Despite her efforts to save her family’s home from debtors, she would still lose it.
“You father and I have already discussed the issue, my sweet children.” Their mother said. “There is no need to worry about our financial security after you find husbands. In fact, a wealthy family will be moving into the estate next to ours. The Servamp family has several eligible bachelors and one will be taken with our beautiful Sakura. Perhaps, several will ask for her hand!”
“The town hall will be throwing a public ball to welcome them to the countryside. I shall introduce you to them.” Her father added.
“A ball? We must go into the village and buy me a new dress for the occasion. All the men will fawn over me.” Sakura cheered in excitement and jumped to her feet. She was the youngest sister at nineteen and she was rather spoiled. Licht hoped that her younger sister would mature out of her vain personality with age. “Mikuni, can I borrow money? I already spent my allowance on my new bonnet.”
“Sakura, we cannot afford to buy you a new dress every time you step out of the house. I’m certain that you will find a suitable gown in your closet.” Mikuni told Sakura sternly. She turned to her parents and her backs straightened. “I don’t agree with your plan to marry us off, as though that will solve the issue. I will find a way for the house to stay in our family.”
“You have always been a headstrong woman.” He sighed. “JeJe, make tea for us. It should help calm Mikuni.”
“JeJe, escort me to the stables. I want to oversee Misono’s riding lesson and whether Tetsu is caring for her properly.” Mikuni purposely spoke over her father. JeJe stopped next to her and she placed her hand on the crook of his arm. She began to leave the room with him. She only looked back to her parents to say: “For the sake of my sisters, I wish you a long and healthy life. I want you to know that I’m disappointed by both of you.”
Licht watched Mikuni leave and she debated if she should go after her. She knew her well enough to understand that her sister would prefer to be alone to think. As she closed the lid on her pianoforte, she decided she should find her fifth sister, Mahiru. She didn’t want her to return home to the tense atmosphere and be confused. She could explain the situation to her so she would be prepared at least.
She wrapped a shawl around her and she left the house. Licht thought of the different places her sister could be on the estate and she immediately walked to the stream. They loved to play in the shallow water when they were children and Mahiru still loved the spot. She could trust to find her next to the stream with a sketchbook on her lap.
Licht passed the horse stable and crossed the field to reach the creek that bordered their property. She stared at the grand manor that rested on the other side of the creek. Her mother said the Servamp family would move into the estate in a week. She didn’t agree with her plan to arrange marriages for them. She was a little curious about the family though. Even lost in thought, her feet were familiar with the path and she could walk to the creek easily.
In the distance, she could see her sister. Mahiru sat on a wooden swing that hung from the tree overlooking the lake. She didn’t call out to her immediately because she wanted to play a childish prank on her. She crept behind her sister so she wouldn’t notice her immediately. The moment Mahiru stopped drawing, Licht jumped forward and lightly grabbed her shoulders. “Surprise, Mahiru!”
“Licht?” She gasped and almost fell off the swing. Mahiru placed her feet on the ground and rocked her body back so she was looking up at Licht. “Is it time for lunch already? I was certain that the bell only rang ten times. I’ll start cooking. Is there anything particular you want to eat?”
The sisters would do the chores around the house to help save money. They had to depend on each other while they were growing up. Their father was often gambling and their mother only doted on Sakura. Mikuni’s efforts to save their family home inspired the others to do the same. Licht wanted to become a pianist, Misono helped Mikuni and Mahiru worked with the house’s staff.
“I came to warn you that Mikuni had another fight with father about the family estate. I didn’t want you to be blindsided when you return home.” The swing seat was wide enough for two people so Licht sat next to her sister. She lightly pushed the swing into motion with her feet and Mahiru mirrored her movements. She told her about their father’s will as they swinged slowly.
Mahiru stared at the sketchbook on her lap where she had drawn their house. They had countless memories connected to their home and she couldn’t think of leaving everything behind. “Father is still in good health so we still have time for the will to be changed. Perhaps, the title can be given to Uncle Toru. I trust him not to throw us out. I would prefer if Mikuni was given the house but it’s nearly impossible.”
“By the law of arrogant men, property cannot be owned by property. We are so much more than what they see us as. Women should be provided the same rights as men.” Licht spat. Her anger became a cunning grin and she said: “In the event that the house does fall into Haruto’s hands, we must welcome him with a feast.”
“Extending an olive branch could help us keep the house.” Mahiru nodded. “We can explain to him that it’ll be best for everyone to have Mikuni run the estate.”
“I had planned to poison his wine. We shall keep his death a secret and tell the lawyers that he is simply on a business trip. We can live in our home indefinitely. Though, we will need to find a safe way to dispose of his body.” Licht suggested. Mahiru knew that she was partially joking with her outlandish suggestion and she laughed. She wanted to ease the tense atmosphere with the joke.
“Licht, you must stop reading those gothic novels. They’re quite macabre. Maybe we can get away with your plan because the constable will not suspect women of being so ruthless.” Mahiru stopped the swing and she stared at the garden across the lake. “Do you remember how we would cross the creek to pick the flowers on Hanafield? It’ll be dangerous to sneak into the garden now that it’s being rented.”
“Well, the Servamps won’t be here until next week. We should pick flowers while we still can. No one will notice if a few goes missing.” Licht jumped off the swing and took her sister’s hands. She lightly tugged her off the swing and then pulled her towards the creek. A fallen tree reached over the water and they used it as a bridge.
“We shouldn’t trespass on someone’s property, Licht. We were young when we went to pick flowers from Hanafield’s garden and we didn’t know that they belonged to someone else.” Mahiru followed her sister even though she felt a little concerned. She had always admired how free-spirited Licht was. “We should only pick the wildflowers next to the creek.”
“Alright. But we should collect enough to make flower crowns for Mikuni and Misono and all of the horses in the stables!” Licht decided and Mahiru nodded in agreement.
They reached the end of the fallen tree and Licht held onto her sister’s hand to keep her balance as she stepped down. The wood was slippery but she wasn’t afraid of falling into the creek. Her slippers were flat and allowed her to walk easier than heels. The two sisters didn’t notice the horses grazing on the grass downstream from the log.
“You shouldn’t be trespassing on this land, Ladies. May we escort you back to the village?” A voice behind her caused Licht to turn her head slightly to see who it was. She took her eyes off the ground and she placed her feet on a loose tree branch. She felt herself fall backwards and her stomach dropped. Licht didn’t want to drag her sister into the water as well so she let go of her hand.
Mahiru called her name but her voice was quickly muffled by water. Between the cold water and the impact of the water, Licht was disorientated. She managed to turn herself in the water to see sister reach out to her but someone held her back. The layers of Licht’s dress made it difficult to swim to the surface. Her lungs burned but she knew she couldn’t breathe in as her body screamed for her to.
Suddenly, a warmth surrounded her hand.
Licht was pulled out of the creek and she could finally breathe again. She clung to the creek’s bank and took a moment to collect herself. A hand patted her back and she found it easier to breathe with the light touch. She wasn’t able to thank the person who saved her before Mahiru took her attention. Her sister knelt in front of her and immediately placed a shawl around her wet shoulders.
“Did you hit your head, Licht? Do you feel dizzy? We must take you to the doctor to see if you have a concussion or hurt.” Mahiru insisted. Even though she was the middle sister, she would mother her sisters. “Thank the gods that this gentleman was here to save you. Let me help you out of the water, Licht. Keep the shawl around you.”
Mahiru’s words made Licht realize that her clothes were soaked through. She was grateful that she wore a dark blue dress and it didn’t reveal anything. Licht tied the shawl around her shoulders before she took the hand Mahiru held out to her. She climbed out of the water and looked back into the creek. The man who saved her had his back turned to her and she assumed it was out of politeness.
“Thank you,” Licht said to him. The blond man turned to face her and she thought that he had a handsome face. He had jumped into the water to save her without hesitation so he was likely a kind man.
“We would love to speak with you gentlemen longer but I must take my sister to the doctor. She also needs dry clothes.” Mahiru interrupted them and Licht knew that she was right. They exchanged a polite goodbye as they left. Licht heard water splash behind them and she assumed the man had climbed out of the water. She wondered if she’ll get the chance to thank him for saving her and learn his name.
She grew up in the countryside so she knew most of the residents. Licht didn’t recognize him though. She looked over her shoulder to the blond man. He walked to another man and she recognized that he was the one to stop Mahiru from jumping after her. Their appearances didn’t resemble each other but the way they regarded each other reminded her of siblings.
Then, she overheard their conversation.
“Who do you think they were, Kuro? Their clothes are refined but their manner doesn’t reflect that. Her sister tried to jump into the water. I know she intended to help her sister but she wouldn’t have been able to do much. At least you were there to stop her. Which family do you think they belong to?”
“Hyde, you shouldn’t call her sister— Hyde?” Kuro yelled in shock when a slipper flew past him to strike his brother. His voice was drowned out by Licht’s rage.
“How dare you speak lowly of my sister, Shit Rat? Apologize or face me in a duel!” Licht yelled. She loved her family and she wouldn’t allow someone to disrespect them. She took off her other slipper to throw at him but her sister stopped her. Mahiru knew her words were far from a threat and she tried to pull her back. “Never step onto my creek again!”
Hyde couldn’t pull himself out of his shock to respond to her. He didn’t intend to insult her family and upset her. He wasn’t able to apologize before she was gone. Beside him, Kuro sighed: “That was a terrible way to introduce ourselves to the neighbours.”
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A/n: Ellie and I were discussing this idea in the discord server ages ago and alas this happened. Also big thanks to the Logang for helping me and believing in me.
Word count: 1,169
Warnings: angst with a happy ending, morally grey sides, roman is a tiny bit mean (but he apologises) crying.
——————
It is a surprise to nobody that the logical side loves to learn. Logan could tell you anything you wanted to know; teaching exhilarates him so much. However, nothing pleases him more than his room being in such a disarray. Why? Because the clutter of books, pens, pencils, notepads and other nick nacks shows that Thomas is willingly learning something new!
You see, the state of Logans room depends on Thomas. If Thomas is willingly learning something new whatever he is learning will portray itself in clutter all over Logans floor, bookcase and desk. However, the longer Thomas doesn’t acquire any new knowledge the cleaner Logans room becomes. Much to Logans dismay.
Growing up, Logans room was in a constant state of chaos. Books, pens notecards, projects all took residence in Logans room, Keeping him company. However, once Thomas chose entertainment over chemical engineering his room gradually became tidier and tidier until one day Logans room was immaculate. There was no longer anything taking residence in the logical sides room and for the first time in his life he was truly alone.
————-
The loneliness had never quite left his side after that. No matter where he went loneliness’ nimble fingers wrapped themselves tight around his throat, leaving him with a constant tightness in his chest and a gaping hole in his heart. No longer did Logan feel any positive emotions. Thomas destroyed all emotions Logan may have had felt in his youth when Thomas chose to entertain rather than to save the planet leaving his room permanently immaculate in the process. Afterall what exactly had Thomas learnt from entertaining?
However, Logan could never tell the others how painful it is to be reminded of how Thomas chose Roman over him every time he walks into his room, the evidence is all there; Thomas is clearly happier performing rather than when he was learning. Logan had spent most of his existence ensuring Thomas remains healthy and happy and if that means Logan has to endure emotional conflict every time he rises up to his spot in Thomas’ living room, then so be it, besides who cares about what Logan thinks?
The sides have made it perfectly clear he is unwanted; they only keep him around when they want to prove a point, he is merely a tool for them to use whenever they please, nothing more. Logan wishes he could miss the way the other sides completely disregard his input or brush aside his concerns regarding Thomas’ career path. He tried bringing up his concerns once before but all that led him to, was a promotion from acquaintance to the new antagonist. Since then, Logan has kept all his crippling insecurities locked up in a metaphorical box and only himself has access to the key, he cannot risk being a disappointment ever again.
The sides don't even know about Logans predicament with his room, they had always assumed Logan was some sort of clean freak but if they personally knew him, they would know that was the opposite of the truth. Logan worked best in mess, not in a constant reminder that Thomas did not care about him.
However, the state of Logans room changed after a particular event.
Thomas had called upon the sides to discuss ideas for future episodes, Logan did not know why Thomas had even called upon him, it's not like any of them will listen to what he has to say, as soon as he opens his mouth to contribute he will be interrupted by one of the others or even Thomas himself but he still rose up anyway, after all Thomas needed him.
---
Logan was starting to become frustrated; this discussion had been happening for hours now and nobody had let him have a say. One more try couldn’t hurt. Logan thought to himself.
“I have an proposit-”
“Oh, hush bill nye the science tie, creativity is not your area of expertise it is mine, besides all you care about is math anyway” Roman hissed bitterly.
“Pump the breaks princey! let's hear Logan out instead of disregarding him like we usually do”
Well that was new, Thomas had never defended him before. An unusual warmth blossomed in the logical side's chest, making him feel that buzz of excitement he hadn't experienced since he was young.
“Thank you Thomas. As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted by Roman, I have a proposition in relation to the next sanders sides episode”
“What idea do you have in mind Logan?” Thomas spoke softly.
“How about we film an educational vid-”
“An educational video really? Sounds stupid” Roman hissed.
“Roman at least let me state my idea before you make a judgement” Logan exclaimed sharply. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take.
“My bad. I'm sorry Logan” Roman guiltily said.
“It is quite alright Roman” Logan spoke softly, he could see the guilt swimming in Romans eyes, and he hated it.
“My proposition is to film an educational but informative video discussing different techniques on how to set a healthy routine. Thomas you are in desperate need of an efficient routine and I'm sure many of the viewers are in need of one too”
“Logan, I love that idea, I can't wait to begin researching!” Thomas spoke, buzzing with excitement.
“Well it seems we have resolved the problem, I will be going, goodbye Thomas” Logan tried not to let his excitement show but Thomas listened to him! He actually liked one of his ideas, how could he not be excited?!
Logan sunk back into the common room to read the tempest and shovel crofters into his mouth, after all he deserved it, Thomas defended and listened to him, he couldn’t believe this!
Three jars and a finished book later, Logan decided to start working on Thomas’ schedule. Nobody followed Logans schedule, but he could not help hoping that one day they might appreciate the time and effort that is put into them.
Logan marched up the stairs to his bedroom with a spring in his step but froze when he opened his door. The once immaculate room was now a mess, pens, pencils littered the logical sides desk, books and notepads were sprawled all over his bedroom floor and bed, he couldn’t believe it for the first time since Thomas’ career change he was learning something!
Logan broke.
The logical sides knees buckled from under him, causing him to collapse onto his messy floor. Logans bottom lip quivered, and the tears came all at once. Audible sobs squeezed through his tight throat and escaped his lips. He tried to stifle them with his hands so the others could nothear him breaking down. He can't believe it; his room hadn’t been messy since Thomas started YouTube but now it was in utter chaos.
Logan did not know how long he remained sitting on the floor with hot tears streaming down his face, but he did know one thing:
Thomas finally listened
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TATMILB, CHAPTER 3
Penelope spent her life writing love letters, which didn’t seem like a terrible idea until the letters were mailed out and Schneider received one of them. Hoping to fool their exes, they agree to fake a relationship. But are they lying to everyone around them, or to themselves? aka my To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before-inspired AU.
Penelope x Schneider, ODAAT. available on ao3 with extra author’s notes.
Chapter 3: Penelope tries to bond with Alex during movie night; he and Lydia bring the family’s donations to Goodwill. Schneider returns from vacation and confronts Penelope. She panics.
While Schneider was away with Nikki over the weekend, Penelope splurged on a trip to the movies--luring Alex with the promise of food he didn’t have to sneak in.
She was trying to focus on silver linings instead of her anxieties about Elena, and the upsides included her new availability for Alex. Twice as much parent to go around could only lead to more bonding, right?
He had lobbied for an R-rated comedy, which she was definitely not willing to pay for. On her own, she would’ve headed right for the newest Bradley Cooper drama, but no amount of chocolate could convince Alex to sit through that.
So they compromised on an action movie--which would have the added benefit of covering up the sound of her soda later. Agreeing to buy concessions for Alex didn’t make her a different person. Her discount snacks were better than their overpriced junk, anyway.
He grinned at her over his bucket of popcorn while they waited for the lights to go down, and she considered her bribery a success. See, she could be the cool mom. Even if she had Raisinets in her cargo pants.
“Hey, Mom?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you still miss Max?”
Where did that come from? The question hurt, mostly because it was so unexpected. With Max exiting her life right before Lydia’s stroke, neither Alex or Elena had mentioned him much in the last year. They’d all had other things on their minds.
She let the pain pass by before she answered.
“Yes, Papito, I still do. It’s hard to let go of people you love. Sometimes, a part of you misses them even after you’ve moved on.”
He nodded, sipping his soda.
“Do you think you’ll start dating again anytime soon?”
That question was even more out of character for her son, whose world had been so often self-centered since he first came into it.
Penelope narrowed her eyes at him. “Why are you suddenly so interested in my dating life?”
“I was just wondering.”
”Well, I’m having fun the way things are. You and me, catching a movie on a Friday night, mother and son time with Elena away. Why would I want to date when I could be doing this?”
She grabbed a handful of popcorn and caught the way he cringed. Or flinched. Whatever it was, there was guilt there. Her mom radar went up.
“Alex, what is it? Is something going on?”
“It’s nothing!” He assured her in a rush. “It’s just...I kind of--did have a date.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. You wanted to go out together, so I rain checked it with Chloe for next weekend. But I mean, let’s be real, Mom. This can’t last forever. I’ll go off to college too, or modeling school, whatever, and then who will you hang out with?”
The trailers started playing, just in time, letting her wallow until the movie started.
Penelope couldn’t keep the sadness off her face as she watched Alex settle in with his snacks. He was growing up so fast on her. Too fast. And Elena was practically out of the house already.
She didn’t want to date just to avoid being alone, but hearing that concern from her teenage son? Ouch. So much for being the cool mom.
Now Penelope was glad that they’d picked an action flick. She was ready to watch some stuff blow up.
****
Alex emerged from his room the next morning waving his phone at her.
“Mom, that was the third text I’ve gotten from Elena since she left reminding us to take that stuff to Goodwill.”
“Good morning to you, too,” Penelope replied.
She was almost out the door, but her son had the luxury of sleeping in on Saturdays until baseball season started. He was taking full advantage of it.
“Seriously, she woke me up--and I need my beauty rest. She’s not gonna stop bugging me until you drop it off.”
“Alex...” Penelope shrugged into her coat, kissing her Mami on the cheek in thanks for the quick cafecito she had substituted for breakfast. “It’s all boxed up, we finished it before she left; it’ll get there.”
“I’m just saying, she’s gonna start texting you next, and I don’t think you’ll enjoy the lectures any more than I do.”
“Well, I’ve got plans with Jill today--and I’m about to be late. Mami?” She raised hopeful eyebrows in Lydia’s direction.
“Hmm?”
“Can you go with Alex to the Goodwill donation dropoff? I won’t be back until dinner.”
“Si, Lupita. Go have fun with your friend, we will handle it.”
“Great. Thanks. The things I’m getting rid of are in my room, next to the closet.”
“You know, this would be much easier if Schneider had not taken his girlfriend on a vacation.” Lydia frowned. “He could carry much bigger boxes than myself or Papito.”
“Hey, I can lift heavy stuff,” Alex protested.
“Yes, but you should not have to! You should save your strength for wooing your future wife.” Lydia patted his face.
“Luckily for us--and Alex’s future wife--none of the boxes are all that heavy,” Penelope said. “And there aren’t too many of them. Now, I really have to go. I’ll see you both tonight.”
****
Absorbed in work and school, Penelope didn’t give their Goodwill donations another thought until Tuesday, on her way out of the hospital. The two boxes she’d packed in her room were gone, concluding that chore.
Or so she thought.
Penelope was digging in her purse for her keys when she saw Schneider striding her way. “Oh, hey! I thought you were gonna be off the grid with Nikki for another couple of days.”
“No, that trip is kind of...over. That whole thing is kind of over.”
“Again?”
Hurt crossed Schneider’s face before he buried it. He was really good at that, she’d learned--mostly from moments when she was the one hurting him. Way to go, Penelope.
“I mean, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
“Eh, I will be. Eventually. It’s not like we were engaged, right?”
Schneider shook his head. “That’s not why I’m here, though. Nikki may have dumped me for one of the jock dads at St. Bibiana’s, but that doesn’t mean I think you and I should blur the lines on the rebound.”
She stared at the creased blue paper he held up as he continued.
“Not that I’m not flattered, obviously. You’re the most badass woman I know, an amazing mom, anybody would be lucky to--”
Penelope’s field of vision narrowed to the letter in his hand, a letter that she definitely recognized. She didn’t hear the rest of his sentence. She could only hear her heart pounding in her ears, making her wonder if she was about to pass out there, next to her car.
How did Schneider get that? What was happening right now?
“I found it slipped under my door when I got home. And honestly, Pen, if you needed to tell me this stuff, you could have just done it in person--we’ve had enough late night chats that nothing’s really off limits at this point.”
She took a deep breath, trying to focus on a technique that worked for her during panic attacks and after nightmares. Since the moment felt like an actual waking nightmare, slowly counting backwards didn’t help much. He was still there. Waiting.
“Schneider, that letter--it’s not what it looks like, I swear. I don’t want to date you. At all. I wrote it because...”
She was still trying to find the words to explain something much too complicated for a parking lot when she saw motion past Schneider’s left shoulder.
Max was exiting the hospital and heading straight for them, holding a bright white envelope in one hand.
It didn’t take a genius to know what he was coming over to say.
Which was good, because Penelope’s mind was not exactly in top condition. It was already a five-alarm fire up in there, and every part of her was screaming I cannot deal with this.
In the fraction of a second she had to consider her options, Penelope acknowledged that the mature response would be to face it now--to explain the situation to her ex-boyfriend and her best friend at the same time.
Or, she decided, as she felt both men’s eyes on her and her palms started to sweat...she could do literally anything else.
Going with her first impulse, Penelope reached up and grabbed Schneider’s shirt with both hands, pulling him toward her. Before Max could get one step closer, she kissed Schneider like her life depended on it.
She couldn’t have explained to anybody why kissing Schneider seemed like a better idea than letting Max think she was still pining over him. Right then, she just needed Max to stay back. To leave them alone.
Did it work? She wondered. She couldn’t check without breaking off the kiss, but the silence seemed promising.
Of course, the quiet only emphasized the situation she was now in. She was kissing Schneider. She was in a hospital parking lot, a few yards away from her ex-boyfriend, kissing Schneider.
Pressed against her, Schneider didn’t react. Not after the initial moment, or several more. He let her kiss him, but he didn’t kiss back. And that was fine, Penelope told herself. That was better.
“Thank you,” she said when she let Schneider go. He stood there, flushed and baffled, looking at her like he had never seen her before.
Though confusion was written all over his face, Schneider nodded. “You’re...welcome?”
Penelope wasn’t willing to push her luck any further. She couldn’t avoid the embarrassment forever, but at least she had managed to postpone it until she got home. She needed time to figure this out.
Without another word, and without glancing back to where Max was probably still holding his own letter, she got into her car and drove home.
****
Her reprieve was brief, not that she’d expected any different. She caught the aroma of dinner as soon as she walked through the door, and barely had time to praise her Mami’s cooking before Schneider arrived.
“Oh, good, Schneider, you are home from your vacación,” Lydia said. “I made enough for you to join us, just in case.”
“Hey,” Alex added from his spot at the table. “You’re back early, right?”
“Yeah, Nikki and I broke up.”
Schneider offered that explanation to Alex, but he was looking at Penelope. She shook her head in response, hoping the tiny movement would go unnoticed by the others. Hoping that Schneider would understand. Not now. Not in front of the family. Please.
His shoulders tensed where he stood, like her silent plea was a blow he had to absorb. But when he finally looked away from her, smiling at Lydia and taking his seat, Penelope knew he would let it go for now. “So you can see why I needed a nice, comforting family dinner this evening.”
“Oh, pobrecito Schneider,” Lydia said, patting his back before she sat down across from him. “You can do better.”
They were waiting for her to settle into her place at the table, but Penelope couldn’t join them until she knew for sure. She headed for her bedroom, straight to the spot where her army duffel would be.
Or where it used to be.
“Mami?” She returned to the table and sat, trying to sound calm. “What happened to my duffel bag?”
“I don’t know,” Lydia said, pouring herself some rum as though her daughter’s world wasn’t spinning out of control in front of her. “Where did you see it last?”
“I keep it in my closet,” Penelope snapped back. “It’s been there for years. Where did I see it last,” she added in a mutter.
“You do not need to take that tone with me,” her Mami scolded her. “I did not touch your ratty old bag. I do not know where it is.”
“Well, I know I didn’t move it, and it’s gone. So can anybody explain to me how it up and disappeared?”
Lydia thought it over. “I suppose...if it was in your closet...it might be at the Goodwill.”
She clamped down even harder on her temper. “Why would it be at the Goodwill?”
“As I said, Lupita, I have done nothing wrong. But your boxes were next to the closet. So if it is missing, that may be why.”
“It was just an old duffel bag, right, Mom?” Alex was halfway through his dinner, but he couldn’t ignore the tension in the room. “You can get a new one.”
“Not everything’s replaceable, Alex. That old bag had a lot of memories attached.” She picked up her fork and tried to focus on her food while her mind reeled. It also had five incredibly personal love letters tucked into the inside pocket. Letters she’d never wanted their subjects to read.
Now Max knew she never got over him, and wanted him back. God, after more than a year, how pathetic he must think she was.
And that didn’t begin to address the other letters. How long until those came back to haunt her, too? What about the man currently watching her while he ate, pretending that he wasn’t? How could she possibly explain any of this to Schneider?
She stabbed at her salad, lost in thought until she was done eating.
Worried she might snap at him next, even Schneider was quiet during the meal. The scraping of utensils against dishes filled the silence until Penelope cleared her plate and went to her bedroom.
Schneider swallowed loudly after Penelope left, but didn’t offer up his usual attempts to paper over the unease that lingered behind her.
Instead it was Lydia who broke the silence. “Lupe hasn’t used any of her old bags in years. I do not understand why she is so upset about this one.”
“Maybe she’s going through menopause,” Alex offered up.
Schneider’s fork clattered loudly onto his plate.
Lydia shook her head. “No, that can’t be the problem, Papito. She is far too young.”
“It can start between the ages of 40 and 50,” Alex argued, ignoring the way Schneider was gaping at him. “Mom’s just inside the window.”
“This is very inappropriate talk,” Lydia scolded him, standing up to clear the rest of the plates.
“Elena wouldn’t stop lecturing me about it, okay? She wanted me to be ready when it happened in case she was moved out already. You know how she never shuts up.”
Schneider left Alex sitting alone to go find Penelope--normally she would be back out with the family after dinner, but if she was going to try this hard to avoid him, she wasn’t giving him much choice.
With Lydia at the sink and Alex’s face in his phone already, Schneider doubted the others would even notice him gone.
He tapped lightly on her door. “Penelope?”
The long silence wasn’t comforting, but eventually he heard a quiet “Come in” and let himself in.
“Hey,” he said as he shut the door behind him. “You know, Max seemed just as confused as me, back at the hospital. He just sort of stared at me, once you drove off, for the longest five seconds in history, and then he left without saying anything.”
“Yeah?” Penelope was looking at the floor more than him, but he could tell she was listening.
“Yeah. I think he wanted to talk to you too. Which made me even more confused. What’s going on?”
A brisk rap on the door sounded before it opened--not giving either of them time to respond.
“Mami.”
“It’s time for dessert,” Lydia told them. “What are you two doing in here?”
Penelope ignored the gossipy insinuation in her tone--she knew better than anyone that it was her Mami’s way of hoping something interesting was about to happen, whether it actually was or not. “We were talking about dessert, actually. I was asking Schneider if he wanted to go with me to get ice cream.”
She raised her eyebrows, hoping he would follow her lead. “What do you say? Dessert run?”
Whatever he was thinking, or feeling, Schneider kept it to himself. “Sure, Pen. Sounds good. My treat.”
“Oh, Schneider, you are such a generous man,” Lydia told him with a hand on his arm--laying it on a little thick even by her usual standards.
“Mami, calm down. It’s ice cream, not new shoes.”
“Lydia, did you want new shoes?” Schneider perked up, and Penelope grabbed him by the arm to pull him past her mom before they could get any ideas.
“She doesn’t need you to buy her shoes. Let’s go.”
Penelope rushed him to the door with one hand on his back, nudging him forward as she opened it.
She was in such a hurry, she almost shoved him directly into Ben--who was standing on the other side, hand raised to knock.
“Oh, hey, Penelope. Is this a bad time?”
#alvareider#one day at a time#odaat#penelope x schneider#to all the men i've loved before#penelope alvarez#schneider#lydia riera#alex alvarez#max ferraro#alvareider fic#odaat fic#my fic
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