#so he may care less about her reputation because he refuses to think about it
Note
What are your thoughts on the twins (mis)communicating about whether to dish their secret to save Arima?
Ohhhh that’s a hard one!
I honestly don’t really a side for which twin in correct, cause in a sense, they’re both in the wrong.
The most obvious one is Aqua, my boy went behind Ruby’s back and exposed they’re mother’s secrete without consultation at all. And his defense being that he vaguely explained it to her in an ominous question about protecting her friends.
To give him the benefit of the doubt, it seemed like his goal was to make Ruby dislike him because of it, and pulled the same apathetic attitude he did with Akane when breaking up with her, so we can assume he had a larger goal here given that he could have handled it a lot better and we’ve seen that hes capable of it. ( to add to that thought, he leaked the information when Ruby previously said how much she hated leakers in chapter 93 )
While it was wrong what Aqua did, Ruby is shown to be especially childish here. While Aqua’s question was vague, she did agree to do anything to help her friend. But in the argument, she barley mentioned Kana’s scandal at all and focused on Aqua’s “betrayal” of their Mom’s image. While acknowledging that they’re little to no bad points to what he did and only helped the twins in their popularity. And sadly Ai is still dead, and the protection of her friend should be important enough to sacrifice Ai’s image.
We can also mention she’s being hypocritical here. She got mad at Aqua for doing anything for popularity, while she has done the exact same thing and gained most of her popularity from underhanded methods that she was getting so mad at Aqua about. In their previous argument in chapter 93, we also see that she told him that she would do almost anything to be popular and get to the dome like Ai. And wouldn’t a scandal with on of bkomatchis members affect if they would go or not?
Honestly I really hope they make up soon, as a Hoshino twins focused account this was a slap in the face, but at least they’re interacting???😭
#THEY NEED THERAPY SO BAD#we could also say that Aqua has been avoiding of thinking of Ai for a long time due to trauma#so he may care less about her reputation because he refuses to think about it#though his idea of what Ai would say seems rly in character#and he prolly has a more objective view of her with his time as Gorou while Ruby only knew her in person as a mother#Aqua’s lack of attachment is rly rude though especially since Ruby’s perspective he loves as just as much as she does#it would obiously confuse her since he never showed favouritism to kana before#we’ll see how this plays for both of them because Ai’s death will for sure be talked about and idk if they can handle it#oshi no ko#aqua hoshino#ruby hoshino#onk#ai hoshino#manga#kana arima#eiko answers
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If your sibling is a rogue then make the best of it
I would like to think that Jason is very Hondo Onakha about kidnapping, very dramatic, fairly polite/chill to the one he kidnapped, minimal trauma, very professional overall but also very theatrical. Out of anyone in Gotham to have as your kidnapper, Jason aka the Red Hood is by far the very best person.
ALL of Jason's family whether they be legal, biological, emotional, or honorary, will absolutely try to convince Jason to kidnap them to get them out of some stupid civilian event. Whether or not Jason will go along with it will depend on several factors such as:
Does this benefit Bruce and get him out of a boring civilian event too? Then so sorry, you're just going to have to suffer!
How busy is Jason at the moment? Because being a drug lord and vigilante is actually pretty time consuming and kidnapping can be a lot of work for potentially very little gain.
What does Jason get out of it? Yes money is all well and good but Jason is rich by his own merits and can just steal from Bruce whenever, there's got to be more to it!
When is the last time Jason has kidnapped this sibling? He can't do it too often or it gets less effective. He has a reputation to maintain after all!
It may also depend on which sib is asking and what they need to be "saved" from.
Dick asks to be kidnapped from a bachelor auction charity? Ha! No chance, sorry Dickie! He will be there though and take pictures and laugh. (And also join all the other siblings who are stalking Dick and the winner of the auction in the event the winner wasn't one of the Bats or an invited member of the JL or Titans using Bruce's money) Dick asking to be kidnapped from a gala or some opening night of trendy place he's at to maintain civilian status? Maybe but the bribe has to be considerable. And it cannot benefit Bruce. Dick's normal bribes consist of taking some tedious part of an investigation over for Jason or getting intel from JL databases for Jason and the Outlaws.
Cass? Anytime and always, favorite sister who can beat him up has special kidnapping privileges, though they did stop for a very long time when some weirdos put out the theory that the Red Hood was in love with Gotham's Princess. (idk if Cass is considered Gotham's Princess in any version of canon but she is to me) Cass does still repay Jason in the form of Black Bat keeping an eye on Jason's territory when he's out of Gotham for any significant length of time.
Tim? He does owe the kid for several incidents and Tim normally doesn't abusive the privilege so he'd probably do it but there does have to be some sort of bribe for appearances sake. Tim usually gets Jason to agree in exchange for pictures of Batman tripping over his cape or in some other ridiculous position. Bonus in Jason's mind if Tim requests a kidnapping when Bruce is off world or otherwise occupied, therefore giving Brucie Wayne's reputation a hit. However if Tim wants to be kidnapped from something where Bruce is also suffering as Brucie, Tim is SOL (Tim might get revenge by getting Kon to wear Red Hood gear and "kidnap" Tim from the event if Jason refused. Kon will do it because Tim asked and also I would like to think that Kon isn't too fond of the guy who beat his best friend/boyfriend nearly to death and will mess with him if given the chance) Since kidnapping normally interferes with things that Tim wants to do however, he may instead bribe Jason to not kidnap a sibling that has asked to be kidnapped. Jason usually obliges this no kidnapping request.
Barbara? Sorry, no, he doesn't want to stress the Commissioner like that. He will, however, kidnap other people for her if she asks.
Stephanie? No Stephanie, he doesn't care what you offer, he's not kidnapping you so you can avoid your finals! Stephanie has, however, worn various wigs and been various hostages who died at the hands of the Hood in order to maintain his reputation. She gets paid in baked goods for her service.
Damian? Damian considered the idea ridiculous and proclaimed he'd never stoop so low and he would carry out his duties no matter how onerous! Damian then had to go to a Gotham gala. Damian is trying very hard to figure out a suitable bribe to get the Red Hood to kidnap him often enough that Bruce will be forced to keep Damian away from galas because of the ongoing security threat. So far it hasn't worked because Damian is very bad at bribing Jason, Jason thinks Damian forced to interact with normal people is funny, and Tim is successfully bribing Jason to ignore Damian's bribery attempts. The Red Hood has "kidnapped" Damian once, as a treat, when he thought the kid was looking particularly down about something.
Duke? Duke has yet to be made to attend any society gatherings as the solo Wayne (normally that falls to Bruce, Dick, or Tim) and can usually be spotted hanging out with Cass by the snack table at any gala or trendy event. He's not at Cass's level of reading body language but he's pretty darn good and he and Cass have reached a new level of being able to avoid annoying rich people while at parties. Duke is Cass's favorite gala buddy. Duke hasn't felt the need to ask Jason to kidnap him yet but Jason will allow the first one to be free of charge, no questions asked. After that Duke hasn't figured out suitable bribes for Jason but has realized that all of his siblings are hyper competitive and that Jason would absolutely wager a kidnapping in a competition or for a bet.
Alfred? If Alfred asked then Jason would without any caveat. Alfred will not ask however but might ask on behalf of someone else and Jason will comply.
Bruce? Jason just laughs. And if someone else is planning on kidnapping Brucie Wayne from a particularly boring business meeting or gala? Jason will actively thwart the kidnapping to force Bruce to continue to deal with social activity.
Jason usually splits a portion of the ransom money into bonuses for his goons since their original job outline is drug dealer/enforcer/mobster and not kidnapper. If they're going to get major felonies on their records, better make it financially worth it. All of Jason's goons are masked during any kidnapping event. The rest of the ransom money goes towards a charity of Jason's choosing.
Jason has also kidnapped people who are not his family or family adjacent. Barbara thought her dad could use a vacation at one point but he didn't have the PTO for it so Barbara had the Red Hood kidnap him. James Gordon experienced the weirdest kidnapping of his life that included some of the best food he'd ever eaten, an extremely soft bed, his pile of books that were on his reading list, and access to the sports games he'd meant to watch. The ransom was successfully paid after he had a week to relax. Gordon was then, as per protocol, allowed time to relax after his "harrowing" event. Barbara forced him to take the time. Strangely enough, some politicians who had been giving the Commissioner a hard time were suddenly very quiet when James Gordon came back, well rested, well fed, and ready to get back to the grind. It, of course, had nothing to do with the very polite emails with pictures attached that they all received while the Commissioner was very publicly out of the way.
Oliver Queen, when he was visiting Gotham, was kidnapped by the Red Hood. He was released after the ransom was paid and specifically he was released back in Star City. Mr. Queen was unavailable for comment after the incident but some sources say that he was cursing bats for some reason.
Lois Lane found herself kidnapped by Red Hood and ransomed by the Daily Planet while Superman was off world. Lois Lane returned safely to Metropolis and published a shocking expose on Luthor's latest scheme. Her sources for the article remain a secret.
Bruce is very grumpy about the whole thing, not just because Jason won't help his poor father get out of the stupid social event, but also because Jason being technically a rogue like this makes it very hard for him to successfully argue that Jason should let himself regain legal living status.
#bruce wayne#batman#tim drake#batfamily#jason todd#dick grayson#damian wayne#gotham#stephanie brown#batfam#duke thomas#damian wayne al ghul#cassandra wayne#red hood#brucie wayne#barbara gordon#alfred pennyworth#selina kyle#timkon#kon el kent#conner kent#tim is my favorite#but he wouldn't be the only one that jason kidnaps#james gordon#lois lane#oliver queen
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ELYSIAN ♫
05. Time is a bargaining tool
Time is a bargaining tool.
Scara knew that.
“You want me to feature on your album?” You repeated Scara’s words, beginning to doubt your ability to hear, “Do you realize how risky that is?”
Scara bobbed his head with pleased a expression etched on his face as if his words weren’t weighted with worry, “That’s why I asked you if you were ready to take a risk.”
You stood up, unable to sit still, now pacing across the room. Bambi must have sensed your unease, because he too, started following you while rubbing himself against your legs, “On a normal occasion, I wouldn’t mind. But you’re playing with two careers here. I might sound frustrating, refusing your offer, but don’t blame me for being realistic.”
“When have I ever cared about reputations?”
You fought the urge to smack him back into his senses.
“Never, but you’re in an industry where the public’s opinion can change the trajectory of the career you’ve established for years.”
And I don’t want you to go through that as well.
“We’re not puppets.”
“That’s debatable.”
Scara sighed, tousling his hair once again—his nervous habit, “We shouldn’t let them control us.”
It’s easier said than done.
But you understood where he was coming from.
You faced him, offering your utmost sincerity, “I don’t want to drag you in my mess. Nor do I want to cause more trouble than necessary.”
Silence engulfed the room. You glanced over at your friend. He’s deep in thought, gaze intense, expression unreadable. But you knew he was scheming, thinking of ways to persuade you—anything to assure you that all’s well, ends well.
Because what Scara wants, Scara gets.
“How long is your hiatus?”
You shrugged your shoulder and decided to sit back down. Bambi trailed you as he leaped up the bed and onto your lap. Clingy cats are the best, “I don’t know, but they’ll probably kick me out before it’s over. I have less than three months left, anyway.”
“What if we use this opportunity?”
“What do you mean?”
He crossed his arms, “Tell your story. Your silence leaves for more assumptions to grow.”
“I would if they let me use my voice. I was planning to wait until my contract is up to take legal actions.”
He tilted his head, “Why can’t you now?”
“Because they’re silencing me. Especially since my accuser is from the same company,” You deadpanned, stating the obvious, a detail he may have forgotten.
Scaramouche scoffed in disbelief, eyebrows furrowed as he shook his head in disapproval, “But they’re willing to throw you under the bus and take her side over you?”
“Which is why I don’t want to be responsible for ruining the career you’ve built for years. Even my friends are receiving unnecessary hate just because they’re connected to me.”
“So it’s a lost cause?”
You nodded.
“Can you…” Scara hesitated, wondering if he should continue, “Can you think it over some more? At least until your hiatus is up?”
You crossed your arms, failing to hide the faint smile creeping across your lips, “You sound desperate.”
“Enjoying my misery?”
“Absolutely.”
“I’ll win you over, just wait.”
Time is a bargaining tool.
You realized that.
Notes:
“We’re not puppets.” Haha so about that
another update cause i feel bad for ghosting 🫡
hope you all enjoy :))
i’m sorry if i couldn’t tag you (bolded = couldn’t tag)
Synopsis: After 7 years of enduring the media’s relentless pursuit of painting you as a villain, you’re forced to go through an indefinite hiatus with a tainted reputation on your head. However, just when you thought your career was over, a certain 5WIRL member wants you to feature on his solo career. Surely, this won’t affect your reputation once more, would it?
Scaramouche x fem!reader
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#genshim impact#genshin impact x reader#genshin x reader#genshin impact modern au#genshin fanfic#genshin smau#genshin modern au#genshin imagines#genshin fluff#genshin idol au#scaramouche#scaramouche x reader#scaramouche imagines#scaramouche x y/n#scara x y/n#wanderer x reader#kunikuzushi#scara x reader
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I've been thinking about Willoughby, Crawford and Wickham and how they play somewhat similar roles in their respective novels without being the same character.
Crawford is bored and his flirting is just meant to entertain him. He doesn't care about what this does to the woman or potential consequences (mainly for her, his behaviour seems to be based on plausible deniability. He never openly courtes the Bertram sisters so he can't get shunned for that). He's indifferent rather than malicious.
Wickham is a gold digger, he likes the attention but would never do anything to hurt his potenial prospects (running away with Lydia seems to contradict that but 1) he refused to marry her (until he was bribed by Darcy) because he was still betting on finding a rich heiress and said it was Lydia's own fault for coming with him and 2) even though it was a fairly public stunt I doubt it would be talked about outside of Hertfordshire or Meryton (and why would Lady Catherine tell her friends when they don't know the Bennets or Wickham? Then again, who knows with Lady Catherine?).)
Somehow Willoughby feels like the worst of them all. He seduces girls because he has nothing else to do like Crawford but when he gets Eliza pregnant he dips and abandons her which feels malicious or at the very least cowardly. The way he leaves Marianne, ignores her and then his marriage is even more spineless.
He really is the most detestable out of them all.
(John Thorpe would be on this list but he has neither the charm, looks nor brains to seduce anyone. He is playing this game completely alone but convinced he's winning big time.)
I agree with you!
The big difference with Willoughby in my mind is how far he'll go. Henry Crawford and his sister may joke about how he doesn't plunge girls too deep, but he walks a very careful line of plausible deniability, as you say, for both himself and the Bertram sisters (and we assume for other women he's flirted with in town).:
Everything returned into the same channel as before his absence; his manners being to each so animated and agreeable as to lose no ground with either, and just stopping short of the consistence, the steadiness, the solicitude, and the warmth which might excite general notice. (Ch 12)
He leaves both of the Miss Bertrams with their reputations intact when he departs from Mansfield for Bath.
This is very different from how Willoughby behaves, where everyone in his and Marianne's circle is pretty certain that they are engaged. Also, Henry Crawford pretty pointedly "dumps" Maria Bertram, while Willoughby ghosts Marianne and leaves their relationship open ended like a coward, as you pointed out.
Another despicable thing both Wickham and Willoughby do is prey on women who are of lower status: Eliza Williams and the tradesmen's daughters of Meryton. We are never told that Henry Crawford does anything like this, his game is played with social equals and we are never given any indication that the unmarried women he flirts with are in danger of physical ruin. His affair with Maria Rushworth at the end is awful, but Maria was a married adult and she knew what she was getting into, the narrator even confirms that it was her idea. It's on a different level from what Willoughby and Wickham did with younger women who had less ability to understand the consequences.
#question response#john willoughby#george wickham#henry crawford#pride and prejudice#jane austen#sense and sensibility#mansfield park
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People angry with rhys for assigning cassian to nesta damage control and rehabilitation and angry with cassian for being to strict and harsh with her and not making excuses for her behaviours is insane
You really just want rhysand to release nesta into velaris when she took more power from the cauldron than she can handle so she can roam amongst the fae children of his court that she hates so much? If I found out that the leader of my nation released his drunken impulsive abusive racist against our race suster in law who is also overpowered and capable of k*lling us all I'd be rioting the next day.
For all he knew as well there wasn't anyone in his IC who wasn't in danger around her except cassian, he's her mate rhysand probably can't imagine any fae would be capable of harming their mate whether they want them or not.
And for the people thinking nesta wasn't that bad and wasn't a danger to the people of velaris feyre didn't mind killing a fae man she didn't know for the simple crime of being fae, nesta hated fae 50 times more than feyre with 50 times less compassion and Impulse control than her, and for all rhysand knew from feyre's memories she was the devil himself nobody was safe around her except the person she physically couldn't bring herself to hurt;
- she literally never cared about feyre's life when the beast came to take her she only protected elain while letting feyre get taken
- she would constantly verbally abuse feyre to the point of irreversible damage to her character and self esteem
“His snarl set the flames of the candles guttering. 'You aren't what I had in mind for a human- believe me.'
I could almost feel the wound deep in my chest as it ripped open and all those awful, silent words came pouring out. Illiterate, ignorant, unremarkable, proud, cold- all spoken from Nesta's mouth, all echoing in my head with her sneering voice."
"I needed new boots, but Elain needed a new cloak, and Nesta was prone to crave anything someone else possessed."
"[...] I glanced at Nesta’s stillshiny pair by the door. Beside hers, my too-small boots were falling apart at the seams, held together only by fraying laces."
“What do you know?” Nesta breathed. “You’re just a half-wild beast with the nerve to bark orders at all hours of the day and night. Keep it up, and someday—someday, Feyre, you’ll have no one left to remember you, or to care that you ever existed.”
She refused to help even though everyone was in danger. “Find somewhere else,” Nesta said again, straight-backed. “I don’t want them in my house. Or near Elain.”
On top of that, Nesta loves to read and she never wanted to teach her younger sister how to read, but there was no problem in encouraging Feyre to hunt while Nesta herself was sitting at home.
"The story is told from Feyre's point of view and she may not have interpreted it correctly." Yes, because there are really many interpretations for your older sister to leave you to die while hugging the other sister. Thank you, next.
If Nesta was a man he would've been an irredeemable monster after acosf, because for an abuser she never truly redeemed herself or expressed any true remorse through actions rather than internal thoughts
Remorseful abusers don't try to hurt their victims further by dragging their reputation through the mud when they take them into their new home
Remorseful abusers don't try to attack or alienate their victims support system
Remorseful abusers don't try to rationalise or excuse 5heir abuse
They simply accept that they F'ed up and live with and accept the consequences of their actions such as their victim struggling to trust them again, their victims loved ones disliking them or never forgiving them, etc..
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Like. In Wei Wuxian's case, his actions have the possibility of stoppping or mitigating the harm being done to others. So it makes a certain amount of ethical sense for him to take the risks he takes. In Jin Guangyao's case, that's not necessarily true. When he's undercover, if he sticks his neck out for the Nie disciples, there is no real possibility of saving them. There is a near guarantee that he dies along with them, or that he's punished severely enough that he's no longer useful as a spy, in which case the sunshot forces are fucked. His sacrifice here would be less than useless. When he serves his father, what happens if he refuses to help set up Wei Wuxian? Probably he gets sidelined and Jin Zixun does it instead. He gets a reputation as an unfilial bastard with a fondness for demonic ways. Nobody is helped, but he is harmed. If he executes Xue Yang against his father's orders, it's likely he is either executed in turn, or cast out. I guess you can argue that at least Xue Yang can't commit further harm here but... Fuck that's bleak. Wei Wuxian acts recklessly to save or help particular people he knows and cares about. That's a very different and much more rewarding thing than killing a person who *may* commit nebulous future harm for some vague idea about justice and then dying yourself. In Qin Su's case, if he refuses her he harms her at least as much, if not more than, he harms himself. Nobody is saved, but he is harmed and some abstract moral principle is preserved. This is also true of the Tingshan He and Nie Mingjue. The thing is, Jin Guangyao *is* capable of taking great personal risk up to and including death *if* it has a chance of materially helping people he cares about (especially in cql). But for the most part, his body would just be another one on the pile. And because (I think) he's much more utilitarian than most of the other characters, he doesn't see the point in that. Idk.
#untamed stuff#shameless jiggy apologism#idkif this is anything its just me rambling and vibes#obviously nothing is cited and its just like#headcanons and shit so#im not making any claims or anything
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More thoughts on the Rebel!Todoroki AU
I'm now actively thinking on this. Why.
My main thought starting this line of thinking is about how none of the Todoroki's ever blow the whistle on Endeavour in canon; while some of it (a lot of it, unfortunately, knowing Hori) is probably about not wanting to ruin his life, since they've secretly loved him all this time or whatever, it's probably also based in a few more practical facts: not wanting themselves to get dragged into the mud, wanting not to drag their mother into the mud, and an Endeavor-born lack of faith in heroic accountability which is completely canon, to the point where they may have gotten assassinated if they made too big a stink about it. While those same practical motivations are still there, so no blatant call outs of what he did, in this AU there is far less mercy in how they discuss Endeavour to outsiders.
Fuyumi, here, is still rather soft spoken, and when she talks to reporters, she always leaves them with a positive impression, until they review what she actually said, and not how she said it, and they realize she never once actually referred to Endeavour as her father, or as someone related to her, or in any sort of relaxed way indicating that they're family; it's just 'Endeavour, Endeavour', over and over again, always carefully proper in how she refers to him by his hero name, which is de facto his job title.
Moreover, they then realize she never says anything nice about him; hell, she barely talks about him at all! Summed up, she basically says that, 'Yes, I have heard about a hero named Endeavour' and that 'Yes, I have heard he has done (this newsworthy thing); I heard about it on the news just yesterday'.
It leaves every interview she gives ultimately unusable for how utterly empty and lifeless they all are.
Natsuo, meanwhile, is less subtle. And by less subtle, I mean he has one line about Endeavour he gives to anyone who asks him, every time he's asked about him: "Every day I wake up I pray he trips over a banana and dies."
Nothing else. He says that one line, says bye, and walks off, and has done this for years. He's a cryptid like figure for those that pay attention to this kind of thing, and in the hero forums more focused on the celebrity end they have long running debates on if he actually means that, or if this entire thing is this strange, elaborate joke he's been running on anyone who pays attention to him; he never goes into any other detail, and every other Todoroki refuses to comment on this, even Endeavour (if for different reasons than his children).
Rei... the thing is with Rei is her life is kinda utterly destroyed. Natsuo and Fuyumi care about things like their reputations, if they'll be believed, and her reputation, but Rei herself? Nah, she's gone through eight cycles of the stages of grief while she's been trapped in the psych ward, and Rei no longer cares about those petty things; at this point in her life? Rei wants one thing, and one thing only:
To kill Endeavour with her own hands.
And since she decided that, she started acting better, to get good evaluations and to get her husband to visit her as she gets 'cured'; she lies and lies and lies to every therapist about whatever they want to hear, she acts calm and sensible and buries all her negative feelings deep down inside her, while carefully practicing small, but controlled uses of her Quirk in ways that no one else can tell.
And she does this for years, slowly cycling into a deeper insanity, because as it turns out? Endeavour doesn't actually care if she's 'better' or not; he got what he needed from her, and while leaving her locked up is a money drain, he's got the cash to burn and it's more convenient for him to just have his inconvenient wife locked away, far from the prying eyes of the media, than to let her out and risk an incident of some kind. By the time he actually does go to visit her, she's at a level of fucked up far beyond she had ever been outside, even at her worst, and there is zero hesitation in her when he finally appears before he, repentant. As it turns out, all her children have grown up, but they've all drifted further and farther away from Endeavour as they aged; he lives alone now in his massive house and the last time he got a chance to talk to his prized heir in private, without the cameras watching, so they could have a real conversation? Shoto froze the hand that touched him solid before walking off without saying a word, and it was only then that the reality started to sink in.
Rei then acts, as she has been for years now, and the second he lowers his guard, he stabs him in the face with a shiv she made out of ice. Here, Endeavour doesn't get a cosmetic scar from a Nomu, no. Here, he loses an eye to his wife.
And as for Shoto? Well. In this, at least, he is his mother's son: Shoto well and truly does not care about the media; he was burned by them when he was young and grew up distrusting them, and never once saw a reason to change that stance; at this point, he basiclly considers them more noise pollution more than anything legitimate, and the media classes that UA put the students in in their third year did nothing to change this impression, no matter how hard Present Mic tried.
As a hero, Shoto is many ways... raw. He doesn't focus on how his costume looks, or talking to his fans, or getting his image out there, or even having an image, he just... saves people, half out of defiance of his father's way of life, where saving people is just a tool to help his image rather than being a reason in itself, and half out his genuinely good nature.
Out of spite, he's reverted to an older form of heroism, and people noticed that. There are plenty of hero 'traditionalists' who see him do his own thing, be blunt and uncurated and hate it, but he nevertheless has a steady and growing fanbase for how straight forward he is; among his fans, he's known as the 'Rebel Hero' and over time he eventually took to calling himself that because he never really bothered with a hero name beyond 'Shoto'. He's never been able to break into the highest ranks of heroism, and probably never will (not that he cares), but in sheer amount of fans he's actually in the top twenty or thirty of heroes in Japan.
To be fair, he only gets away with it because he's Endeavour's son, because he never needs to generate his own popularity when the media loves to use him for an easy scandel when nothing's going on, and when his sheer notoriety protects him from the worst abuses of the Hero Commision, because unlike others, if Endeavour's son, the one everyone knows and is an active hero, was to suddenly disappear, Japan would lose it's shit, and they're smart enough to know that, even if Shoto himself isn't away of how dangerous the waters he treads in are at times.
All of this, of course, makes his response to questions about Endeavour infamous: he says absolutely nothing.
On the rare, rare, rare occasions he deigns to talk to a reporter, if that reporter dares to mention his father the same thing always happens:
First, he uses his version of the Endeavour patented, 'I don't care if you live or die so I'll gladly walk over your lifeless corpse' stare on that reporter for about thirty seconds. Then he walks off without saying a word.
And then he never acknowledges that reporter's existence ever again.
And this is not because he's trying to spare anyone's reputation, or even to try and harm Endeavour; his contempt of the media is that low that he genuinely thinks talking about his father with them is a complete waste of time.
...Well, anyways, beyond all that, a few more thoughts on this AU concept as a whole: there is no Dabi here, he genuinely died. There is, in fact, no AFO at all, and the greater plot of MHA basiclly isn't happening; All Might is, depending on when whatever story is happening is in the timeline, either in his final years of heroism or retired, and with no successor, because Izuku ruins Shoto's glorious clusterfuck. The people are there, sure, but society isn't quite at that point of seconds away from falling to pieces, so they're all in different places (if I commit to more world building on this I'll try to figure out where the more relevent people actually are). If this ends up with a greater plot beyond 'various stories of AU Todorokis', I like to think it'd focus on the HC as the main villains in how they're controlling and perverting heroism.
I like the idea of Shoto killing his father and going on a villain origin story as part of a long running psychotic break, I really do, but I honestly also like the 'Rebel Hero' dynamic I literally just came up with today; I'm conflicted. As kind of a middle ground it's easy to put off Rei's confrontation until years after he becomes a hero, and even justify it (because, you know. Never coming to see her is an Endeavour thing to do) so I can get both, but it feels like a cop out, like I'm refusing to commit.
Meanwhile, while working on how Rei is thinking (that is to say, I took the canon blank slate and blatantly made shit up), I'm wondering if I should make her a villain, here; after stabbing Endeavour, she escapes, and takes on a lot of the Dabi energy this story doesn't really have. No real development, just the idea of it: I'm still on the fence if it's good or not, but I think it's interesting so I'm mulling it over, and waiting to see what happens in my rotten swamp of a mind.
I think this is one of my few non-critical posts? I don't think it belongs in the usual 'mha/bnha critical' tags I use, anyways.
#endeavour critical#rebel!todoroki au#i have no idea why I'm brainstorming this#fuyumi is politely an asshole#'ah yes I've heard of endeavour'#natsuo is blatantly an asshole#'every day I wake up I pray he trips on a banana and dies'#rei gives no shits#and is murderous#shoto gives no shits#the 'rebel hero' shoto#why am i doing this
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Eddie Munson knows who he is. He is painfully self-aware. He is aware of the way he uses his boisterous and devil may care persona as a shield against the rest of the world. He uses biting words as weapons; he never was one for physical violence. He is well aware of his flaws.
Hyperactive. Impulsive. Loud. Rough. Vulgar. Silly.
He wears all of it like armor. He knows who he is and he doesn't need the people around him to see the softness that lurks right below his hard edges. That he feels everything so much.
He's always felt everything so much it spills out of him. It allows people to hurt him.
He knows he's a sucker for a pretty smile and flattering words. He knows he shouldn't deal hard drugs to a scared cheerleader, but she nearly begs. And he impulsively takes her back to his trailer. And it goes wrong. So fucking wrong.
He knows his life is ruined the moment Chrissy Cunningham is supernaturally, gruesomely killed right in front of him. He watches her body snap from the inside out. Her eyes implode. And he learns something else about himself.
He's a coward. Or at least, he thinks is. For all his self-awareness, Eddie is always too hard on himself. Always assuming the worst. Cannot see all the ways he's already brave. Brave for being himself. Brave for refusing to be hardened and cruel despite the mistreatment he experiences at the hands of others.
So yes, He leaves her and he runs. He hates himself as he's doing it. It cements the idea that he is a coward. He is well aware of his reputation. The reputation he's leaned into for years as a coping mechanism. Because it fucking hurts less when he embraces the title freak. When he throws devil horns at basketball players and makes a scene at lunch. He falls back on his dramatic nature and leans into the whispers that he worships satan. He has always known how to put on a show and force himself into the center of attention, be it good or bad.
He's actually an atheist which is just hilarious to him. Satan, he doesn't even believe in the dude. What a joke. It's not until he is cowering in a canoe while he hides from the basketball team that he starts to think maybe he leaned too far into the satanic panic.
Eddie Munson also knows that he is prone to self-sabotage. If something is good, he's better off ruining it in a way that he can control. There is a sadness that lurks under his biting remarks and subtle anger. It's always lurked in him and he knows his life is over. It's barely perceptible underneath the big smiles and easy laughter.
The whole town is hunting him. Hunt the freak. He's depending on the weirdest combination of freaking teenagers to save the world, but even still, it won't save Eddie. He's wanted for the murder Chrissy. Jason wants to kill him. The entire town hates him.
He cannot envision any way that this ends without him in jail or torn apart by the close-minded citizens of Hawkins. He will now always be known as the freak who killed the sweetest girl in Hawkins High. So, even though every single cell in his body his pressing him to run, he stays. Makes a quip about following Dustin and the others into Mordor.
Deflect with humor so others don't see how afraid he is.
What does he have to lose? He can at least help kill this Vecna fucker. Steve Harrington of all people tells him not to be a hero. This makes Eddie laugh. He's no hero.
He is no hero even as he cuts the rope that night and leads the demo-bats away from Dustin. He's not doing it to be a hero. He's done running away from danger, true. But, Eddie is painfull self-aware that he finds the most peculiar ways to run from things.
Sometimes running away is hidden by a heroic act of self-sacrifice. Because what's left for him after all of this? He chose this. He has the control of how this ends and how it hurts. At least now he made some kind of impact. He helped save the world. He hopes the other succeeded. He regrets leaving Wayne. Regrets leaving Hellfire and Corroded Coffin, but those things were already gone.
So he goes out fighting and his last words show that maybe he's not as aware as he thinks. He was never a coward, not until the moment He uses heroism to avoid dealing with what was waiting for him back in the real word.
I didn't run away this time
This is, sadly, both true and untrue.
#some thoughts about eddie#i think eddie and i are both adhd as hell#eddie munson#angst#is this angst...?
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Headcanons for Yvonne Cryos
Yvonne is a girl who enthusiasm for books and knowledge. So she befriend to Sophia, Rozebelle and Claire. Except for them, Yvonne also make friends with Erika as they are live in same country, Sakura Imperial. Also Erika's creative poems impressed her.
Though she care about to studying, Yvonne knowing to take a break and hang out with friends or spare time to her family.
Yvonne is a shy and smart girl who less to talking with face-to-face and most of chat by using technology gadgets. She is even seemingly cowardly at times.
She is serious when the situation calls for it and takes her tasks and duties seriously, regardless of what people may think of her.
According to Techneige students, Yvonne can be scary sometimes, that shown her fast ice summoning abilities.
Her stepfather is a retired coach. Thanks to him, Yvonne is very good at archery and fencing. She has a silver rapier she oftens take around.
Yvonne owns a white bear named Snow. He become a gate guardian of Techneige, since he stick around Yvonne entered in the school on the day of the enrollment.
According to Sophia, Yvonne oftens shown as a big sister to people if it is a victim.
She also mentioned that Yvonne wakes up with bad waking day every morning, and has a bad temper.
Yvonne likes preppy style despite of her family traditional only allowed for classic and Chinese tradition.
Depending on fashion style, Yvonne strongly refused to wear exotic clothing whatever it is asked by one of the prevert fans, she flatly refused. Due to, she didn't want ruining the reputation of herself and her family by wearing these.
For her room, Yvonne opted for a modern aesthetic rather than retro-futurism. She mentioned herself because her room should be comfortable and more homely.
She has less interested with boys and doesn't like to interact with. Rumored she has a deep trauma about how boys do to her at the past. But it actually because of her biological father who was cheated on her mother with his lover, a prostitute who currently is Yvonne's step-mother.
For the reason, Yvonne ignored the boys, even never listened their words. She is also believe all of them are dating cheaters, instead of loyal boyfriends.
#twisted wonderland#twst#rfa#regal fairytale academy#twst oc#twisted wonderland oc#techneige#yvonne cryos
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Who to Trust? 19
(Hedgy) “Time for the result of the votes.....looks like a unanimous decision, congratulations you all guessed the correct culprit!”. (Ein) “Why did you kill him Maria? Aurel may of been distant but he was trying to find a solution to our predicament. Plus if we were all executed....Annabelle would of died holding a grudge against him!”. It hit me....the longer this goes on the more connected we may become making each death sting more. (Maria) “Simple our intertwined secrets, you see he caused an explosion in our school’s lab in the past. That explosion killed....Rosa Lanchelle who was a far more talented Fencer than I ever was! All of my accomplishments were gained because she wasn’t there to face me.....I...refused to lose my reputation”. (Tetsuya) “And you put the rest of our lives on the line in the process!” (Ellie) “Tetsuya...please show her a little bit of respect”.
(Hedgy) “So you thought Aurel was responsible, hehehe you are wrong he just simply witnessed it”. (Maria) “No....I refuse to believe you...” I could of told her it was true but I decided to let her keep her last bit of piece before whatever was about to happen. “I used the sword to mess with the locks...it’s blade was thin enough to manipulate them”. (Ein) “Thank you Maria” I guess this was another thing we had to be careful about from now on. She walked into a room to the left of the trial room we were in, (Hedgy) “Begin the strike of 100 swords”. -Gulp- suddenly a bunch of mechanical hands started going for sword thrusts. It was horrifying to see....M...Maria, (Hedgy) “The second trial is now closed, see you all at the next one hehehehe”. It made my blood boil how he has the nerve to laugh about us potentially having to go through this any more times!
(Naruma) “Come on Ein it’s time we leave!” I walked over to her and we left the room together! None of use felt like talking afterwards, we decided to all go back to our rooms but one thing was bugging me. Aurel mentioned a poison....but where was it? If someone else knew were to find it they could use it and none of us would be able to catch them out. (Hedgy) “Deep in thought huh? it’s nice to see the distrust is kicking in!” (Ein) “Why are you here?”. (Hedgy) “Simple I know you have the antidote thus know about Aurel’s poison. I can tell you where it is and you can take out whoever you want” (Ein) “I will pass, after all what if I was to use it on whoever is controlling you?”. If he panics it will prove the host is hiding within our group! (Hedgy) “Hehehe I don’t think so I am safely hidden away” I see not going to slip up as easily this time, “Well good night and rest well”. He left, if he saw where the poison is it means it’s on either of the first two floors so I can look for it while the others explore the third one!
I got a bit less sleep this time around....I couldn’t stop thinking about the poison being hidden somewhere. (Sora) “I guess we can now visit the third floor” we took our updated maps, the more stand out rooms were a Gym Hall, a Second Shop, a Bathhouse and a Councillor's room! (Yuri) “A new place to relax sweet” huh? (Enrique) “Yes it should be fun to hang out there!”. (Ein) “Okay Hedgy how does the second shop work, can we borrow a second item or do we have to return our previous ones?” I waited a few secs, (Hedgy) “Good question, you can borrow a second so you don’t have to move your sneaky camera”. Part of me thinks he is bluffing and doesn’t know where I put it, as per usual every one split up and decided to check out the rooms, I wanted to check the new shop in case it has something useful!
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you’ve been served.
featuring delilah deare and tristan tramp.
While Carrera Law was the biggest and best law firm on Echo Isle, it certainly wasn’t the only one. And Lilah Deare and her coworkers certainly weren’t the only ones who knew how to bend a contract or the law to fit their needs. It was something that Lilah was well aware of, considering it was those other lawyers that she went up against in court on a regular basis, but she had never quite thought that they would one day be coming for her personally. But here she was, standing at her kitchen island, staring at the letter that had just been handed to her with a smirk and a sharp you’ve been served. Without having even opened it, she knew what it was. Or at least, who it was that was coming after her. The actual contents of the letter itself and what she was being sued for could be a multitude of things, really. There wasn’t much she would put past her ex-husband, but as she read the words on the page, Lilah couldn’t help the sinking of her heart.
Contempt of court. Breaking of their custody agreement contract. Request for full custody.
Of course there was more fluff and legal jargon throughout the letter, but that was the gist of it. That was what it really all boiled down to. Tristan was suing her.
It shouldn’t be a surprise, considering he did have legal grounds for all of this, since Colette hadn’t spent a single night with him over the past month or so. But still, Lilah finds herself in shock for a moment or two as she processes it all. It may seem ridiculous, but this was almost worse than anything he could have done to her physically. A part of her would almost rather deal with the violence all over again than have to face this. Because this could ruin her. It could tarnish her career, ruin her reputation, or break her family if she lost…
And there was one way she knew she could win. Regardless of who may testify on Tristan’s behalf, even if her parents did follow through with their promise to stand on his side if it ever came down to this… Lilah had the evidence that could put him completely out of the picture. It was for this exact moment that she had taken such care in documenting every single bruise or marking he had left on her since the night her parents refused to help her leave. But busting it out and admitting to everything in front of an entire court, in front of her peers and anyone else who might attend, was the last thing she wanted to do.
Without thinking she tucked the paper into her pocket and snatched up her keys, storming out of the door and into her car. The entire drive to the casino, she knew this was a bad idea. She knew that it likely wasn’t going to end well. The car following behind her with one of Colin’s men was the only thing that made her feel even somewhat confident in this spark of the moment decision. Though, she knew that would have its consequences too when they likely reported back to their boss just where she was heading and what she was about to do. But she would deal with that later.
After parking the car, she didn’t hesitate in jumping out and heading right into the casino, brushing by the bouncer at the front door with a quick hello to the semi-familiar face she remembers having worked with Tristan. It only takes a moment for her to spot him, leaning against one of the walls as he watches over a game of poker being played by the few sad souls that spend their time in the middle of a weekday gambling. “We need to talk,” she states firmly as she heads his way, not even bothering to stop as she simply continues on towards the back office she knows is shared by himself and Oryan’s other henchmen. Once they're both inside and the door is closed, Lilah shoves the piece of paper that she’d received less than an hour ago into his chest, putting a bit more pressure than needed but certainly nothing close to anything he’d done to her. “What the hell is this?”
For all he had hoped that this move Lilah would get her to finally seek him out, Tristan hadn’t expected it to be so soon. He’d known that it was happening today, but he thought it would take at least a few hours before he heard from her. And even then he’d only really thought he’d get a phone call. But this was good, this was better than anything he had let himself hope for. “It’s called a subpoena. Didn’t they teach you all about that in your fancy little law school?” His words were mocking, not the best start to all of this considering they only sparked a further anger inside of his ex-wife. His smile that she once long, long ago used to consider to be charming now only made her want to punch him in the face.
“What do you think you’re doing? Fighting for custody? Suing me? What is this going to achieve, Tristan? Do you really want me to air out all our dirty laundry to a courthouse?” she asks, questions flying one after the other. In truth Lilah couldn’t understand what angle he was playing at right now. What did he have to gain from doing this? When so much was already going on - why make an even bigger scene and cause even more trouble? As he takes a step closer towards her, on instinct she backs away - though it doesn’t help much, considering she had already placed herself so close to him when they first arrived and now her step backwards has her bumping into the desk in the center of the room, trapping her in. A rush of fear and adrenaline kick in as she knows just what being in the position might lead to, but Lilah refuses to back down or show any of her worries.
The smile that hadn’t left his face even as she questioned his motives remained, a smugness growing in it as he sees just how worked up Lilah was over this. He’d known it was going to get to her, but he hadn’t realized just how great of a move it was. For a moment he almost wants to keep it up, to let her continue thinking that she was at risk of losing Colette - just to see what she might do next. But there was a risk that came with that and he wasn’t quite willing to take that. “You know, I think Sally may need to reconsider that offer she extended to make you partner. Because what kind of a lawyer can’t even recognize a fake subpoena when it’s presented at her own front door?” he reveals, watching as his ex-wife’s entire face falls as the realization that this had all been staged hits her. “You really didn’t recognize Hank? I’ll have to let him know his acting classes must be paying off. Or you’re just far more gullible than I’ve ever thought.”
“Why?” The one worded question is all she asks as Lilah’s head spins even further, the confusion only growing. Though it shouldn’t, not really. Because why would he need any motivation to mess with her? What was this if not just another form of abuse - fucking with her emotions and playing games just like he always had before.
Rather than responding right away, Tristan reached down to wrap his arms around her waist, pulling her gently into his embrace. The tug isn’t met with any resistance. Though Lilah’s body is tense as she stands within his arms, she knows pushing away or fighting him off would only piss him off. And from the smell of alcohol on his breath and with their last encounters fresh in her mind, pissing him off was the last thing she wanted to do. “Why?” she asks again, voice quieter this time as she plays up the innocent act. It was a move that had a fifty-fifty shot of working: always either angering him more or actually making him feel somewhat sorry for her.
“Because I needed to talk to you. How else was I supposed to get you to reach out to me? With Scamp and those assholes at the house all the time, I had no other choice but to make you come to me,” he answers, as if it should have been obvious. He doesn’t dwell on it though, instead leaning forward to press a gentle kiss on her lips. A kiss that was met with no response, Lilah not returning it nor pulling away, instead simply remaining completely still. Like a deer frozen in headlights and waiting for the collision that was bound to come. “I’ve missed you. Can’t we just put all of this behind us and move on? I’m sorry, you know I’m sorry. Do we really have to keep playing all these games? Bodyguards and endless bullshit… I’m tired of it, Lilah. We don’t need to do any of this.”
Though she doesn’t move from her spot in his arms at that moment, she can feel the fight starting to build inside of her. Those were some of the exact words he always used to use before - the ones that came with gentle kisses, showerings of affection, and endless apologies and promises of getting better. She had fallen for it before, far too many times. She had accepted it all over and over, even when she knew things would likely never change. And she wasn’t about to do it again.
“No,” she states, the one singular word coming out firm as she tries to get out of his embrace. Only the moment she starts to move, his hold tightens and his arms are locking her in place. It’s what she had expected and she stops her movement, staring instead in his eyes and half pleading for this to just end. “Tristan, this is over. There’s nothing for us to talk about anymore. You need to let me, and the kids, go. Please - not just for our sake, but for your own as well.” Her words aren’t meant to hold any secret message within them, but Tristan reads further into it than what Lilah actually meant, just like he always does.
“What the fuck does that mean? For my own sake?” he snaps, his holding tightening once more as he pulls her closer against him. The smile is gone and an anger flashes in his eyes that Lilah is all too familiar with. “You know something, don’t you? Let me guess - it’s him, isn’t it? Fucking Hopper. Scamp already told me he’s going to kill me. But you know more than that, don’t you? What the fuck is he going to d–” With each word his hands had dug deeper and deeper into her waist, until she felt as if she were going to burst if he applied any more pressure. It wasn’t often that Lilah found the strength in herself to fight back against Tristan - usually too concerned with the repercussions that came from that or worried that the kids would hear or see. But as they stood in the casino office, neither of those things mattered. The kids already knew. He was already hurting her. What did she actually have to lose anymore? So she cut him off mid sentence, her knee lifting in a way she had seen and practiced so many times from self-defense videos online. It was with all of her strength that she collided her leg with his groin and then pushed her hands into his chest, throwing him off balance and onto the floor.
There was no hesitation as she ran to the door, not once bothering to look back or even leave with the final word. She didn’t care about that. All she wanted was to get the hell out of that office and as far away from him as she could. The moment she was out the door, Lilah was met with Colin’s man but she sped right past him, leaving the building at a brisk jog before anyone could actually stop her. Her entire body was shaking and she knew driving wasn’t an option, so even though she hated having to do it, she waited on the sidewalk until the gang member came out just a moment after her. No words were exchanged between them, Lilah too shaken to even know what she could possibly say to explain herself or the situation to them. Instead she simply nodded her head and started off towards the car he had followed her in, waiting until she heard the click of the back door unlocking before she opened it and slid inside, eyes glued to the window where they would remain for the entire drive to the familiar warehouse she knew he would end up taking her to.
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5 Mistakes You Are Probably Making With Your Family Lawyer
If you're in the middle of family law proceedings and feeling overwhelmed, it's completely understandable. You probably have a million questions running through your mind and you don't know where to turn. If you're considering hiring a family law attorney, then let me offer some advice: don't make these common mistakes when doing so!
Not Looking At All Of The Options
You should not just go with the first lawyer you see. You need to look for a lawyer who has experience in your area of law, as well as a positive reputation in that area. This will help ensure that they are able to handle your case properly and get you the best results possible. In addition, it's important that any lawyer you choose knows all about your case so they can be ready for anything that comes up during the legal process.
Not Talking With Other People About It
You've probably heard the saying, "You get what you pay for." This is especially true when it comes to hiring a family law lawyer. The more expensive lawyers have better training and experience, and they are more likely to be able to handle your case in court effectively.
However, there are less expensive options out there as well! There are many lawyers who will take on cases even if they don't think they can win them because they want their clients' business. These types of lawyers may not give the best service or provide high-quality advice--and if something goes wrong with your case, these lawyers might not have any experience dealing with this issue before so they won't know how best to fix it.
The best place for finding good information about different types of family law cases is online forums where people discuss their experiences working with different attorneys in different situations . Many times people will share positive or negative things about certain lawyers so that others can learn from their mistakes instead of making them themselves!
Choosing The Wrong Lawyer
You have to be careful when choosing the right lawyer. There are several mistakes that you might be making, and this can cost you in the long run:
Choosing a lawyer based on price - The cheapest or most affordable attorneys aren't always the best choice. You need to make sure that they are qualified and experienced enough for your case before hiring them. If they seem inexperienced or unprofessional, then it's probably not worth going with them at all!
Selecting one who is too busy - If an attorney has too many cases on his/her plate already, then there may not be enough time left over for yours as well! Plus there's no guarantee that he/she will actually get around doing anything productive with regard to helping out with yours either...
Doing Nothing To Help Them Out
The first thing you can do is educate yourself. Family law is complex and confusing, so it's important to understand the process and know what to expect. The more you know about family law, the more helpful you can be in helping your attorney represent your interests.
If there's anything specific that has come up as an issue during negotiations or mediation sessions with the other side, bring it up with your lawyer so they can have an informed discussion with them about how best to deal with it (for example: if one party refuses to cooperate by providing financial information or documents).
Not Realizing They're Making A Mistake
You may not know what to say, or how to say it. You might feel like your lawyer doesn't understand you, or that they don't care about what's important to you and your family. That's why it's so important that you talk with them about the issues of your case: they are there to help you!
Your lawyer has spent years in school learning how the law works; but he or she isn't an expert on every single case out there (and neither are we). Your job is to tell us exactly what outcome would make sense for everyone involved in this situation--and let us do our jobs by researching all possible options based on those facts and determining which ones will work best under these circumstances.
So next time someone tells me they want sole custody because "my ex is an alcoholic" or "she cheated on me," I ask them why this information matters when making decisions about child support payments? And then I listen carefully as they explain themselves before responding with my own opinion based upon facts rather than assumptions (or worse yet stereotypes).
When you're looking for a family lawyer, it's important to make sure that they are the right fit for you and your case. The last thing you want is for your lawyer to make a mistake that could cost you time or money--or even worse! So take these tips into consideration before making any decisions about hiring an attorney.
At Gordon Law, P.C, we are committed to providing you with an effective and affordable attorney who is well-versed in the law and dedicated to working with you on your case. Our team has a track record of success for all types of family lawyer brooklyn matters, including divorce lawyer brooklyn, child custody and support, adoption, prenuptial agreements, domestic violence and abuse claims.
Gordon Law, P.C. - Brooklyn Family and Divorce Lawyer
32 Court St #404, Brooklyn, NY 11201, United States
347-378-9090
https://www.nylawyersteam.com/family-law-attorney/locations/brooklyn
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@yuuzhan
TRUTH BE TOLD, anakin didn’t know what to think about paul. he knew, at an extremely baseline level, that he was far from fond of the other ⎯ a phantom indifference mottled by rogue irritation seeming to constantly linger in his presence. those, those he could attribute to his own personal misgivings, ones that, not dissimilar to his brother, he was more than a little stubborn to let go of. but there was something else there, too: the force may not have written out in detail the true nature of paul’s visit ( the perceived sarcasm of that comment making anakin’s stomach turn cold; he avoids answering it, or humoring it in any way ), though it was kind enough to keep the boy on edge around this otherwise stranger. it certainly helped that, while he may not have held the talent or inclination towards politics that his mother and uncle did, he knew better than to trust blindly, especially when it came to someone like paul.
when paul smiles at him, he does not return the gesture, expression remaining one of barely - restrained scrutiny. if there is no other comfort, there is at least the fact that anakin seems to be on the fence, settled between uncertainty.
“ would it make you feel more comfortable if i did believe you? ” anakin asks, and though his tone is careful, the words are, perhaps, more bold than he realizes. as it were, anakin has no issue with confirming any concerns paul might have about him. as his family could attest ⎯ he was never short of questions, which more often felt like a detriment than not. it is a wonder that anakin might stop there, considering how fiercely the want to keep prodding is in his chest: for as brightly as his curiosity burns, tahiri hasn’t rubbed off on him quite so brazenly yet.
He was utterly aware of everything the boy thought about him — if he wanted to or not. The force simply layed it all bare before his eyes and he was FORCED to look. It was helpful in situations like this, proved annoying in others. He was one of the few who perceived the force in any way that allowed him to see like this and he was by far the most connected out of anyone in his empire ( the only one who might rival him was his sister and the less said about her the better ) he only wondered how much his COMPANION perceived through it. If his gut feeling was any indication then the Solo children were far more capable and aware than people might believe due to their age.
Taking note of the lack of even a hint of faked friendliness on the boy's face, he wondered if he had already FAILED some kind of test in Anakin's mind, if the kid had already decided that he was not trustworthy, that he was not someone to be believed or relied on. He couldn't do much to argue against that, given his refusal to offer much of anything to Anakin's people but he had hoped to at least stand a bit of a chance of escaping IMMEDIATE biased scrutiny.
" More comfortable? No, because clearly, you'd be lying. I'd rather hear the truth. " House Atreides was known for its sincerity, and he had worked hard to keep that reputation ALIVE despite the hardship he and his people had faced in the last years. He knew his mother would certainly have a few things to say about his honesty, a conversation that would likely involve the words ' manipulation ' and ' deception ' but that was neither here nor there. " To tell you the truth I am here to observe, to perhaps LEARN from your people. We have very different views on the force and I'd like to know why. "
#yuuzhan#we could play a game of 'how much of this could come straight from jacen' lmao#VERSE: all the answers fall short of the truth ( SW )
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Where is my Bridgerton/regency era Vox Machina fanfiction?
It is time for the ladies, whom have never met, to be presented to society and in front of Queen Allura who will decide who is the Diamond of the season. And for the suitors to find their future brides.
Vex’ahlia and Vax’ildan are the “bastards” of Lord Vessar but because he has given them his name, they are expected to up hold it and become parts of high society. That includes marriage. While Vex wants no part of it, if she is going to be forced into this she is at least going to make sure she has the best options. Which means being the Diamond of the season.
Vax has no desire to appease his father, or inherit the family holdings. But has the only son with two sisters he loves, he knows he must eventually settle down. And he refuses to settle for anything less than true love. He thinks it may be impossible until he sees her.
Keyleth has always done what she could to make her family proud, to her best abilities. She isn’t the perfect wife for a lord, she talks too much, is clumsy and hates the attention that comes with nobility. But she knows she must find the best match, for her family as she is the only child. She doesn’t see love being in the cards for her.
And the biggest news of the season, Duke Percival De Rolo is finally looking for a wife. After losing most of his family in a tragedy all except his sister Cassandra who is a couple years off from marriage, Percy locked himself away to commit to his studies. Now he has finally decided to take a wife, for the family legacy in Whitestone. He doesn’t think much will come of it, until he meets a woman who challenges him at every turn.
Also making her debut is Pike, a petite lady who doesn’t take the whole thing very serious. She is more than happy to live out her days with her best friend and grandfather’s ward Grog, just having fun. Grog, a man who stands above all the rest, only agreed to it all so he can make sure Pike doesn’t end up with anyone undeserving. Which is everyone in his mind.
Then there is the original rake, Scanlan. Who’s reputation has made him fairly unwelcome, especially to those who have daughters.
Edit: oh Vex and Percy will end up being a marriage of convenience at first. They like each other enough, she gets a grand title and he gets someone that will care for Whitestone as he does. And then of course they fall in love but with either admit it? Of course not!
And during the stay in Emon, Percy is staying at the Ashari house because his family and hers goes way back. The two are good friends and when someone comments about it being improper for him to stay at the same home as Keyleth he basically threatens them if they try to disparage his friend’s reputation again.
Vax falls hard and fast for Keyleth, and tries every way to woo her. Keyleth, while her feelings grow for him, knows she has to marry for her family’s status and that having feelings involved will only make it more complicated. She sees marriage as a job, not something out of love, much like Percy does. She also has another suitor Kashaw Vesh trying to win her hand, though against her better judgement she can’t take her eyes off Vax.
AND PIKE IS LADY SARENRAE ! Aka lady whistledown lmao
EDIT:
https://ashleyinwondrland.tumblr.com/post/681373237310029824/i-wrote-more-of-the-bridgerton-vox-machina-ideaof
EDIT 2:
https://ashleyinwondrland.tumblr.com/post/682603174768623616/just-another-vox-machina-bridgertonregancy
A Perc’ahlia and Vaxleth excerpt
I enjoy the drabbles, I should do more of them
#I’ve already said I’m trash but I want this !!#please don’t make me attempt to write it myself#critical role#cr fanfic#Bridgerton#the legend of vox machina#Vaxleth#perc’ahlia#Keyleth#vax’ildan#vex’ahlia#percy de rolo#pike Trickfoot#grog strongjaw#scanlan shorthalt
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Pet (Karl Heisenberg x Reader)
[Summary: After being gifted to Heisenberg, you manage to survive his games. From there you start to develop an interesting relationship. And as you start to play the role of his pet, things get a bit interesting. (She/Her pronouns)
Warnings: SMUT, unhealthy relationship dynamics, Author belongs in horny jail, Reader has “female” anatomy, themes of pet play, swearing, biting (Blood), reader is losing her sanity a bit, spanking, oral (both receiving), hair pulling, unprotected penetrative (vaginal) sex
Request: Literally, not a single person asked for this. You only have me to blame.]
You felt a bit foolish, being in the situation you were in. You had been one of the people gifted to the “Lords” of the village to do with as they pleased by Mother Miranda. You had to admit, when you were frightened, even more so when you were handed over to the infamous “mad wolf-man”. He had quite the reputation. But unlike the others, you had proven yourself useful enough for him to keep you around, instead of experimenting on you or feeding you to his lycans.
You survived at first by staying out of his way. It was like a game to him. Heisenberg liked games, and you adapted to them rather quickly. At first, the game was to be the perfect assistant. You’d clean, cook, do minor repairs, and stay out of his way as needed. You were there when he needed you to do something, you’d do it perfectly, and then you’d be out of his sight. And he’d try to catch you slipping up, making you nervous with whispered promises of the punishments that awaited you if you did.
It was an odd dance, having to learn the ins and outs of Heisenberg’s moods. Learning how to tell when he was in a bad mood, and when he was in the mood to joke. And as time went on, it seemed that there were more days when he was in the mood to sit and banter with you. And you started to bond a bit, less as captor and captive, and more as something close to friends, though you wouldn’t necessarily call it friendship.
Eventually, he started to grow a bit fond of you, occasionally joking with you that he had started to see you as a pet. He’d grin a bit as he called you pet names, names that were somewhere between affectionate and demeaning. He’d pat your head, like he was praising a dog, when you did something right. He had even joked about making you a collar to show the rest of the Lords that you were his pet.
You knew you probably should’ve hated it. You should’ve gagged at the idea of a collar, and you should’ve hated his pet names. But you didn’t. You found yourself grinning when he called you a “good girl”. You leaned into his touch when he’d pat your head. You could feel yourself losing your sanity. You had to be insane to feel this way, but as you got to know Heisenberg, you found yourself feeling as though it was worth it.
Karl Heisenberg was an interesting man, and one you had to admit that you were fascinated by. He had a biting form of humor that had become much funnier as you realized you weren’t in the danger that you thought you were, and you could hear the intelligence behind it. His jokes were always at least a little clever, as long as he could keep his head. He was complex, with motivations and actions that didn’t always match. And his emotions were so complicated that you were pretty sure he hadn’t even started sorting through them, choosing to instead deny their existence.
He was a mess of a man. He got mad enough to throw metal scraps of rusted metal around the room when an experiment went wrong. He’d rant for hours about the issues he had with his “family”, having to hold himself back from breaking things when he got to Alcina. He felt as trapped as you did. He thought of letting his appearance go as an act of rebellion. Because of that, he’d go a full week without washing his clothes, letting the blood and oil stain the fabric until it might as well be dye. And he didn’t sleep for days sometimes, choosing instead to stay up all night in his workshop, only leaving when he starts to border on collapsing.
But between his anger issues and dysfunction, you saw something in him that you weren’t sure that even he saw. You saw it in the sparkle in his eyes when he figured out an issue that had been bothering him. You saw it in his sleepy groans when he woke up in the middle of the day after staying up all night before. You saw it in his smirks and smiles as he thought of something clever to say.
He was charming in his own way. Not in the way you thought of charming. He wasn’t elegant like Alcina, but he was warm. He was like a fire. Volatile. Deadly. Beautiful. And warm. And perhaps you were a bit of a pyromaniac, as you found yourself staring into a fire pit, longing to see the damage it could do if you let it free. You wanted to see what Heisenberg could do to you. You wanted to let him.
- - - - -
You were a bit suspicious that you weren’t hiding your feelings very well. Heisenberg was clever, and he was incredibly observant. He needed to be. His “family” didn’t exactly get along with him very well, and knowing what you knew about his “siblings”, they would’ve taken any opportunity possible to kill him and take his place as a favored lord. So he was constantly on his toes. And that meant that you were sure that he had noticed you were acting a bit off recently.
And you were sure that he had figured out exactly what was causing you to act that way, by the way that he teased. There was a glint in his eyes when you started to get flustered that was new to you. The way he smirked at you as he praised you, his hand resting casually on your arm for a few more seconds than before. He had even gone through with his collar joke, though he hadn’t given it to you to wear.
He’d wink at you as he held it in front of you, though. It was a silver chain that was about an inch thick, made into an easily adjusted necklace by the extra bit of chain that hung through the loop. The extra bit of chain that also worked as a built-in leash. He’d hold the collar in front of you, dangling it casually from one of his fingers when you started to get sarcastic with him, making comments about how his “pet” needed to be put in her place. And you’d try your best not to show how much you truly wanted that.
It had become another one of Heisenberg’s games. You could tell that he knew. And he knew that you knew that. So the game became how long you could go without breaking.
“So, kitten,” you jumped a bit as Heisenberg appeared behind you. You were making dinner, and had thought that Heisenberg was still working in his shop. He usually didn’t leave for dinner until you came to get him if he ate dinner with you at all, “You seem a bit spaced out. Care to tell me what you’ve got on your mind?”
You could say what you really wanted to. You could say that you wanted him to rail you until you couldn’t walk. But that would end the game. And Heisenberg only liked to end games if he could win them in a satisfying way.
“Nothing you need to worry about, sir,” You muttered, finishing the food you were cooking and pulling it off of the stove, “Just lost in thought.”
He hummed a bit, noticing how you refused to make eye contact. That wasn’t new, but you weren’t usually so awkward about it, “Come on, pet. I’d like to know if you’re planning your escape or something,” A bit of metal began to dangle in front of your face and you knew exactly what it was, “Honestly, (y/n), I really might have to put this collar on you if you’re going to be keeping secrets.”
“It sounds like you’re just looking for an excuse to put a collar on me, Karl,” You had gotten a bit bold, knowing that the line of how much you could get away with was quite a bit further back, “You can just admit that you’re into that.”
He chuckled a bit, resting the arm that he was holding the collar with on your shoulder and leaning into you just a little bit. You could feel his body heat radiating off of him. You always wondered how he was always so warm, living in this factory, surrounded by the cold metal walls, “I don’t know, pet, you haven’t been protesting quite as much. It seems like you may be coming around to the idea. Maybe you’re projecting a bit.”
He had set his chin on your shoulder by the end of his statement, his breath brushing against the shell of your ear. It had sent a shiver down your spine, and you could tell he felt it by the satisfied hum that passed his lips.
“You’re not arguing with me, kitten,” he purred as you failed to muster up a rebuttal, “Is that what you want? You want me to put the collar on you? Do I need to put my needy little pet in place?”
Fuck. You shifted a little, trying not to make the throbbing between your legs obviously. You were trying so hard to think of a comeback, but the teasing had been going on for so long that you were reaching your breaking point. You wanted him to fuck you so badly that it made you look stupid.
He grabbed your shoulder and turned you around to face him. It was so much harder to keep a poker face when you were looking into his eyes, when you could see that glint in them. The kind of glint that made you think he wanted to eat you alive. And you wanted him to.
“If you ask like a good girl, maybe I’ll give you what you want,” his voice came out so much smoother than usual. It intimidated you a bit, knowing that he was holding himself together so well. You knew that there was no way your voice was going to come out nearly as smooth.
“I’m not going to beg, Karl,” Your voice was shaking, but you tried to hold your cool. He always had fun when you talked back a little, and you were hoping that translated to this situation as well. And the wolf-like grin that grew on his face told you that you were right.
“We’ll see about that, kitten.”
- - - - -
You weren’t quite sure when the collar had appeared around your neck. Somewhere between the kitchen and Karl’s bedroom, though, it had snaked its way around your neck, even though his hands never seemed to leave your hips. You were a bit too occupied trying to keep up with his ravenous kisses.
His lips were latched onto your neck as he pushed you through the door to his room. You landed on his bed soon after with a slight bounce. You had been in his room before to clean, but the context was different now. The actual room itself was entirely irrelevant, as Karl climbed on top of you, throwing his hat and glasses to the side, not caring where they landed. All you could look at were his eyes, glowing bright yellow as he looked down at you.
“Don’t think I’ve forgotten how much of a fucking brat you’re being,” he growled, looking down at you, “You’ve earned yourself quite the punishment.”
He sunk his teeth into your shoulder, biting just below the hickey that was already forming on your neck. He growled a bit as you squeaked in surprise, biting down a bit harder. You both felt when he broke the skin, and something told you that the mark he was leaving was entirely on purpose. He didn’t want anyone to doubt who you belonged to. His fingers dug into your skin, one hand holding your wrist above your head and the other digging into your side just above your hip. You had a feeling you would be covered in marks and bruises in the morning, and you were alright with that.
He pulled your clothes off quickly, throwing them to the side of the room. He wasn’t wasting any time, so you were pretty sure he had ripped through a seam or two on your dress. And he didn’t hesitate to rip your underwear completely in half.
He threw you around so much easier than you had expected. You knew that he was strong, you had just expected it to take at least a little bit of effort. You supposed that you shouldn’t have underestimated his inhuman strength, because in seconds he had flipped you, moving you so that you were on your hands and knees in front of him. You were entirely vulnerable in front of him, entirely bare as he remained fully clothed behind you.
It was weirdly hot, being at his mercy. He wasn’t a good person, and you knew that. In fact, there was still a feeling in your chest reminding you that he could kill you whenever he wanted. But that didn’t matter at that moment. The fear just made it better in some sick way. You knew you were insane, you had to be, but if insanity felt this good, you were going to accept it.
“Now, kitten, be good and stay quiet through your punishment, and maybe you’ll get a reward,” he stated, sliding his hands from the place they were resting on your waist to rest on your ass instead, “Do I make myself clear?”
You nodded in response, not trusting your voice as his hands slid further down, reaching the back of your thighs, one of his thumbs dangerously close to your pussy. His hands were callused, so as they slid across your skin, it created an interesting sensation. Your eyes almost rolled back into your head as his thumb brushed lightly against your clit, and you heard him chuckle a bit at your reaction. However, before you could enjoy yourself too much, he pulled his thumb away, sliding his hands back up to your ass.
There was a pause for a few moments, and you felt his eyes scanning your body. They always seemed to feel so much more intense than anyone else’s gaze ever could. Before you could get self-conscious, though, one of his hands raised from its place, only to come back down hard. The smacking sound echoed through the entire room, and you couldn’t hold back your yelp.
“Now, now, pet, I thought I said to keep quiet. I’ll let this slide once because you’re cute, but any more, and I’ll have to add some more punishment,” he cooed, grabbing the leash of the collar around your neck and pulling it towards him. He leaned forward until he could actually look at your face, seeing the tears prick at the corners of your eyes already, “I’d hate to break my toy right away, so try to behave.”
He didn’t give you a chance to respond before shoving your head down into the bed and resuming your punishment. You bit your lip, trying your best not to actually break the skin, as you did your best to stay quiet. You were a bit surprised by how much you enjoyed it. After the first few, the pain started to melt away, hidden behind a numb tingling that sent electricity shooting through your whole body. And it was pretty obvious to Heisenberg as well, when slick started to drip down the inside of your thighs.
You lost count before he stopped, but it couldn’t have been more than fifteen. He let out a satisfied hum as he looked at the handprints that were already starting to form, rubbing his hands gently over the forming bruises. You almost started purring as his hands continued to slide across your body.
“You’ve been such a good girl, kitten,” he praises as he moves your body, eventually making you stand in front of him as he sat on the edge of the bed, “Do you want your reward now?”
You nod, far too gone to even try to not look like a desperate fool. He looked proud of himself, seeing you so needy and bare in front of him. It was like a work of art. You had never seen so much admiration and need in his eyes. It wasn’t love. But it was need, and want, and possession.
“Ask nicely.”
You were too desperate to argue. You needed him more than you could remember needing anything, “Please, sir.”
You swore you saw the bulge in his pants twitch at the word “sir” and the glint in his eyes confirmed your suspicions. The grin he gave you showed his teeth, highlighting his fangs like a predatory animal about to lunge.
“Good girl,” He drew it out, shifting his body so that his legs were spread as far as they could be comfortably, before commanding, “Kneel.”
You do as you’re told almost by instinct. It was almost as though your body moved without your brain giving it permission. You had been entirely possessed by your lust. And it only got worse as his hands moved to unzip his pants, only removing enough of his clothing to free his cock.
“You want this, don’t you?” He looked almost amused as your eyes locked onto his cock. You were practically drooling over it. He almost laughed as you nodded, “Enjoy your treat, pet.”
He leaned back a bit, his weight being put on one of his hands, positioned a bit behind him on the bed. He looked so casual as you moved your hands to timidly take the place of his own, which had previously been holding his cock in place. He had to admit you looked adorable, needy and desperate as you kneeled between his legs. You were practically drooling for him.
You started out a bit slow, which surprised him a little. The little kitten licks and kisses felt good enough for him to close his eyes to savor it. However, from the smirk that had formed on your face by the time that he opened his eyes, he realized that you were planning on teasing. He wasn’t about to let that slide.
The hand that he had rested on the top of your head tightened its grip on your hair. “Watch it, kitten. Don’t be a tease,” He growled, pushing your head down a bit until about half of his cock was in your mouth.
With that, your willpower to hold back faded, and you took the rest of him into your mouth. The tip hit the back of your throat just a bit, making you hold back a gag. And as you looked up at him through your lashes and found him smirking down at you, you could tell that he saw it. You reveled in the soft groans that slipped past his lips when you finally got to work, swirling your tongue around as you bobbed your head. You moaned as he pulled your hair, the vibrations causing him to curse and pull your hair even more, “Fuck, kitten, you’re pretty good at that.”
You continued like that for a few more minutes, his grip on your hair getting tighter and tighter. The salty, bitter taste of precum started to hit the back of your throat, making it a bit harder not to gag. But the sounds that slipped from his mouth fueled you even more. You felt proud, hearing how much he was enjoying himself. You almost felt a bit disappointed as he pulled you off of him by your hair, causing you to whine loudly.
“Aw, don’t worry, kitten,” He says, patting your head, “We aren’t done yet. Why don’t you lay down and let me take care of you? You’ve been such a good girl.”
You do as you're told, without saying anything. As you had gotten into the mode you were in, playing the role of Heisenberg’s pet, talking seemed unnatural. It felt right to listen to his commands, obeying him like a dog. So you laid on your back, spread out and completely bare. And you couldn’t hold back the yelp as he grabbed your hips and yanked you roughly to the edge of the bed, so that as he kneeled in front of you, his face was entirely level with your pussy.
You saw that glint in his eyes again as his warm breath hit your already dripping core. You were getting reckless, trying to inch your way closer to speed up the process, only for his grip to tighten on your waist, holding you in place. He had an iron grip on you, and you were thankful for that as he licked a broad stripe up across your pussy before diving in, focusing almost all of his attention on your clit.
You were practically screaming his name as swirled his tongue around your clit with dexterity you didn’t think was even possible to possess. His hands were definitely leaving fingerprint-shaped bruises on your hips, but at least they were holding you in place as you involuntarily started to buck your hips and arch your back. You could feel the knot tightening in your abdomen, your hands ripping the sheets so hard you were a bit worried that you were going to tear them. He slid a finger into you, hitting at just the right angle to make you squeal. You honestly couldn’t think of a time that someone had made you come undone quite so fast, but you certainly weren’t complaining as the tangled nerves in the pit of your stomach finally seemed to snap.
Karl had to admire you as you came, your head thrown back and your legs shaking. Your skin was practically glimmering from the thin layer of sweat that was already clinging to it. He couldn’t help the pride that flooded into his chest as you started to come down from your high looking absolutely destroyed. He wasn’t done yet, but he was glad to see he had it in him to affect you this much.
He slowly stepped back, his eyes never leaving you as you laid on the bed, trying to catch your breath. He made sure to lock eyes with you as he slowly stripped the rest of his clothes off, layer by layer. By the time you recovered, he was finally taking off his necklaces, dropping them onto the pile he had made with the rest of his clothing. Despite his strength, he wasn’t exactly ripped. His arms were fairly muscular and defined, but he had a bit of squish around his stomach. His body was coated in a layer of body hair, the bits of silver shining in the dim light of the room you were in.
He was attractive in the rugged way that made it make sense that he smelled like metal and cigar smoke as he crawled on top of you, keeping pace as you inch yourself further up the bed. It was only once you had settled into place that he leaned down, kissing you feverishly. It escalated with every second, the hand that he wasn’t using to support his body weight roamed your body. It wasn’t long until his hand was moving your legs, angling your hips to make it easier for him to line himself up with your entrance.
He pulled away from the kiss just long enough to slowly push himself into you, watching your reaction as you slowly adjusted to his width and length. It didn’t take you long to adjust, though, and he could tell when you did. He started off slow. It surprised you how gentle he was being, but you didn’t mind at first. Before long, though, you were craving more. You wanted him to use your body.
“Please,” You whined, “Harder.”
He grinned a bit at your begging, recalling your declaration that you wouldn’t beg. He honestly couldn’t tell what part he enjoyed more, the win he had earned or seeing you beneath him, begging for him. Either way, he wasn’t going to deny you what you wanted.
So he leaned back, shifting his weight to his knees so that he could grab your ankles. He pinned your legs to your chest. As he slammed into you, much harder than before, you could tell just how much the angle had changed. Your eyes nearly rolled back into your head as he continued to thrust into you. Your moans got louder, and he started to groan a bit too, cursing under his breath as his thrusts got a bit uneven.
“Fuck, kitten,” he breathed into your ear as he leaned down, your legs on his shoulders. You could feel him twitching inside of you, getting close to his own ending, “You’re such a good girl.”
You couldn’t help yourself as your hands moved to scratch down his back, digging your nails in as deeply as you could. He responded by biting into the same place he had earlier, a bit of blood from before sticking to the corners of his mouth. With a few more rough thrusts, his teeth sinking a little bit deeper into your shoulder, he finished. And the two of you both started to relax.
After a few seconds of you both catching your breath, he pulled away, rolling to the side so that he could comfortably lay on his back next to you. It was an awkward few moments, both of you laying there in near silence, only for him to break it with, “We should probably get that bite cleaned up, huh? My bad, pet. I forget how fragile you are sometimes.”
And with that he got up, moving to gently take care of you. He cleaned up your bite mark, and helped you clean between your shaky legs with a damp washcloth. It was a whole new side of him as he helped clean you off, making sure that he hadn’t been hurt too badly. And after a few minutes, when you had been cleaned enough that you weren’t actively uncomfortable, he climbed back into bed and wordlessly pulled you into his chest.
(A/N: So... um. I'm sorry for this. This is my second smut ever and I needed to get a bit... self-indulgent so my brain would stfu.)
#karl heisenberg#lord heisenberg#heisenberg smut#re8 heisenberg#resident evil heisenberg#heisenberg x reader#karl heisenburg x reader#resident evil 8 village#resident evil village 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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