#their real personality may be entirely better or worse
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I don't understand why people have an opinion about the inner workings of a couples relationship/divorce
#celebrities are selling you an image and a story#their real personality may be entirely better or worse#but taking a stance in their marriages is especially weird my friends#like you don't know anything (esp if it was mutual) that went into their decisions#ANYWAYYYY#maybe calm your parasocial by a few degrees
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y'all sleeping on Astarion/Lae'zel bc this moment is so...the way the flippant demeanor drops and he doesn't hesitate to call her out for sticking with her version of Cazador like their relationship is so underrated fr...
sitting down writing this bullshit like let me peel it like an onion a bit and elaborate why this pairing is fascinating to me
It's really interesting how during the most cathartic, life-altering moment in Astarion's questline, the reactions of the other companions are more about the moral wrongness/guilt of sacrificing innocent lives. Lae'zel doesn't do that and instead relates to his hurt.
She knows what's he's feeling, the lack of control, the unfairness of being powerless for too long. This is a woman who just found out her entire life purpose was built on lies, discarded and hunted by her own people after outliving her usefulness, and groomed to basically die for an insane power-hungry lich queen. She knows all too well that power isn't always real freedom. Her first instinct is to empathize with Astarion to steer him away from his hate and resentment.
Astarion/Lae'zel is so interesting to me because they're such a classic "can we make each other worse or make a better person out of the other?".
They both have genuine appreciation for violence and respect each other's ruthlessness. Astarion was used as a weapon of seduction while Lae'zel was of warfare. Sex with people is meaningless and not real intimacy for them, and while both have little understanding/experience of interpersonal relationships beyond the physical, they still feel and love very deeply. They have no frame of reference for things like friendship and warmth, but they badly want all of that and more, even if they don't know it yet.
In-game they can sleep with each other, which is basically the foundation of the normal Tav/Astarion romance. Lae'zel saw him during combat and got horny, who knows. Astarion who's used to luring people with his charms, takes up Lae'zel's blunt offer because she's a strong hardened warrior that can provide protection and be a worthy ally, and he doesn't know how to say no. Navigating the complications between one who wants to be seen beyond as a sex object, and one who comes from a totally alien culture with no concept of love/family/connections and only sex is honestly really compelling to me. It's a transactional, mutually beneficial thing with no emotional expectations. Once you get past the skeevy rockiness of their early relationship, I really like the idea of them slowly seeing something past the exterior and realizing they may have harshly misjudged the other, an unspoken friendship blooms, and in comes the realization that they are essentially loners longing for kindness and a comforting touch in the most desperate of situations.
Lae'zel is prideful, direct, has no sense of courtship talk, and doesn't hold back her thoughts the slightest--she's not sweet/agreeable and what you see is really what you get, which I imagine would be disarming for Astarion who's used to vacuous flattery and has difficulty trusting others. But she's also insanely protective, passionate, loyal, and an initiator-- every romance scene is triggered by her first and she's always showing effort towards her relationships, which would mesh well with Astarion who does need someone to nudge him.
She doesn't purposely suppress her feelings, she's just simply at loss at how to express them sometimes due to her wildly different upbringing. She stops the sparring match you agree to and an easy vulnerability slips instantly out of her: "I don't want to hurt you. I want to protect you, and for you to protect me." and "Thus far I've taunted you, devoured you, battled you. Now I want more than anything to soothe you." are romantic as fuck and Astarion of all people really needs to hear that tbh.
Astarion is also someone who struggles with reinforcing his boundaries, and a key theme in Lae'zel's romance is that she encourages and wants you to challenge her and learn to stand your ground. It's not gentlest method, but hey, relationships are about having to make an effort to learn each other's language.
I think he also would take pleasure "educating her on the matters of Fay-run" (I believe there's a whole banter with him teasing her and teaching her pet names) and would get a kick out of coaxing Lae'zel out of her shell with her shyness at showing public affection, and making her blush. Also it simply would be fucking funny to see Astarion who's used to easy seduction, trying to pass a persuasion check just to get a smooch and generally having to work to earn regular kisses from Lae'zel lmfaooo
Lae'zel also initially struggles to see her chains as chains. When she learns about Vlaakith's betrayal, she copes instantly through denial and shuts it down. Astarion is NOT having it and calls her out, he knows her well enough to recognize that she would value blunt honesty above all.
I imagine he also despises her lack of self-preservation, the way her entire identity is tied to duty and being in service of others, and doesn't understand her desire to still help/liberate the people that want her dead and are hunting her down. He wants to make this duty-bound soldier realize that looking out for herself, and putting herself first may not be the worst thing in the world.
They're so similar to each other but are also polar opposites in some ways that make a more equal, balanced romance I think. It's not a simple, one-sided, feel-good "she/he can fix her/him" fantasy because both of them have to earn each other's love, actually cut through the other's flaws, and actively motivate each other to be better versions of themselves.
They're not at all the other's ideal guiding hand. It's rough, jagged, and imperfect, but that's how healing goes. It's so far from being the healthiest relationship -- but even if their belief systems differ, their moral compass does often align. I imagine it's a slight relief for them to have a partner where there would be less shame and judgment when they expectedly, occasionally slip up and fall into their bad habits.
Also, man, the "You showed me the betweens and beyonds. Beyond war and peace, beyond passion and obsession, most importantly, you showed me freedom.", "First you were my wound, now you were my cure.", "But you saw something else in me - someone else I could be. Someone who could break the cycle of power and terror that started centuries ago.." lines really hit hard when applied to them.
Of course, they can also make each other worse, feed into the other's negative traits that will bring out the worst part of themselves. It's this duality of their pairing that is very interesting to explore, the way it can steer in either direction because it's an intense, fraught relationship at its core.
#when he gets called by omeluum “child of the dark” and her “child of the stars” like yeah..the squid man is being literal but he Gets It fr.#lae'zel#astarion#bg3#baldur's gate 3#bg3 meta#astarion ancunin#astarion x lae'zel#lae'zel x astarion#the rarest of rarepairs they dont even got a ship name...this is so tragique we need to discuss the pathos and potential of this pairing#bg3 lae'zel#bg3 astarion#also im a sucker for stoic knight/court darling trope and whatever variations of it yeah#bloodbruise
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dome sweet dome
As some of you may know, I have been going to language school for the last few months in order to learn the world's most widely spoken and useful language: Slovenian. At this point, my Slovenian is about as coherent as, well, a McMansion. In order to feel better about myself, I have sought out a McMansion that is worse than my cases and word-order. This house (in Naperville, IL, of course) does, in fact, make me feel better, but will probably make you feel worse:
This Cheescake Factory house, built in 2005, boasts 5 bedrooms, 8.5 bathrooms and can be yours for the entirely reasonable sum of $3.5 million dollars. Also for some reason all the photos look like they are retouched with 2012-era Instagram filters.
First of all, trying to visualize the floor plan of this house is like trying to rotate seven cubes individually in my mind's eye. Second, if you stand right beneath the hole in the ceiling you can get the approximate sensation of being a cartoon character who has just instantaneously fallen in love.
Even if this was a relatively mundane McMansion it still would have made it into the rotation because of the creepy life-sized butler and maid. Would not want to run into them in the middle of the night.
The mural is giving 1986 Laura Ashley or perhaps maybe the background they use for Cabbage Patch Kids packaging but the floor? The floor is giving Runescape texture.
Have you ever seen so many real plants in your life? A veritable Eden.
The overwhelming desire to push one of the chairs into the haunted jacuzzi...but in reality they probably put those chairs there to keep from accidentally falling into the tub at night.
(elevator music starts playing)
This is one of the all time [adjective] rooms of McMansion Hell. I personally am in love with it, though I don't think I understand it. Perhaps it is not meant to be understood.....,
Continuing with the baseball theme, the guy in the painting looks how I feel after it's been raining in Ljubljana for two straight weeks. (Not ideal!!)
And finally:
We love a house that has four unused balconies and also a sporting grounds that is large enough to build a whole second McMansion on top of. Everyone should so value their health.
Thank you for tuning into another edition of McMansion Hell. Be sure to check out the Patreon for the two bonus posts (a McMansion and the Good House) which both also go out today!
If you like this post and want more like it, support McMansion Hell on Patreon for as little as $1/month for access to great bonus content including a discord server, extra posts, and livestreams.
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#architecture#design#mcmansion#mcmansions#interior design#2000s design#illinois#2005#bad architecture#ugly houses#2000s core
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Of All Things, I Became an Aranara
You always imagined that if you woke up in the world of Genshin, the possibilities of being a Visionless wielder of elements and a slew of romantic shenanigans would lie in your wake. But when you instead find yourself in the body of an Aranara with romance likely out of the question, your only conclusion is that the gods of reincarnation isekai hate your guts.
cw. you're an aranara
pairing. scaramouche/wanderer x reader, cyno x reader, kaveh x reader, candace x reader (separate)
notes. don't feel like being an aranara today? well go ahead and go to the series masterlist and see what your life could be if you were something else in genshin.
While you would have preferred being human, you have to admit there are few things better than turning into an Aranara. You've most assuredly been given Genshin non-humanoid pretty privilege with beautiful powers concerning plants and dreams to boot.
An even bigger benefit is that you can talk, so communicating with humans in this world will be a cinch.
The only thing you can really complain about now is that you aren't really able to handle salt and spices the way you used to. But to be honest, if that's the only thing you have to complain about, you'll gladly settle with being one of the musically-inclined leaf children of the rainforest.
All of whom are your friends despite the predicament you've found yourself in. You may have technically lost the isekai 50/50 but you feel like you've won in a lot of ways too.
Scaramouche
Ironically enough he was one of the easiest individuals on the list to befriend. Why? You met him when his memories were completely reset to zero and he had a much more sweet and calm demeanor
Considering the sharp-tongue Scaramouche you're used to, it honestly gave you whiplash
Still, you couldn't bring yourself to leave the guy, bright eyed and full of wonder. It was the constant abandonments and perceived abandonments that turned Scara into the person he came
You accompany him when he regains his memories, after which he assumes that now you know the extent of his true character and the things he's done that you'll leave him now. he even encourages you to do so, shooing you away
you plopping your small self across his shoulder and telling him he's your best friend means a lot to him, even if he tells you in response that you're an idiot but you can do as you wish
Before and after regaining his memories, Scara is very clingy. Before regaining them, he slept with you nestled to his chest much like a child would a teddy bear. Afterwards, he considers it too soft and embarrassing to do so but if you snuggle up against him well, he won't stop you
Once you got lost while exploring and when you didn't come back within the time he expected you to, he grew quite panicked and nearly turned the entire forest upside down trying to find you
When he did, you were promptly scolded for making him have to look for you. What's the matter with you? Don't go traveling somewhere unfamiliar or you'll just make him have to waste time backtracking to look for you
(He was scared that you had gotten eaten or hurt or worse, that you decided to no longer travel with him, leaving him to be alone all over again)
Whenever he has nightmares, you turn his dreams into ones much happier. He tells you to stay out of his head but he appreciates the fanciful worlds you craft for him
You're also quite handy when he needs to avoid his new fanbase from the Akademiya. Taking him to the dream world to avoid talking to people is quite a useful trick of yours
But as it turns out, Scaramouche is quite popular with the Aranara and they all love to indulge him. So you kinda have some competition
You can't believe you're actually getting jealous of Aranaras. Wow, how the mighty have fallen
Cyno
A son of the desert who grew up in the rainforest, Cyno heard of stories regarding the Aranara but he never thought they'd be real. But as far as he is concerned, you're as much a citizen of Sumeru as he is
So Cyno quickly rolls with the punches and treats you accordingly with respect. Talk about a win!
But as far as you being a travel companion? Cyno isn't entirely sure since his work concerns apprehending wayward scholars and their affiliates. It's dangerous, so unless you can prove yourself to be sturdy enough to protect yourself, he'll tell discourage you from following him
Of course, he can't rightly force a creature of Dendro and dreams from doing that anyway if you stubbornly continue on with him
Thankfully, you can set his worries aside when you show not only are you adorable, but resourceful, using your powers of Dendro to apprehend criminals attempting to flee the scene when Cyno arrives (all while staying hidden in the realm of dreams. You're not trying to put a target on the back of every Aranara after all)
That aside, you don't really have any troubles with Cyno. When he rests by campfire, he will make sure you stay a comfortable distance from the flames and will teach you about GI TCG and will even tell you a joke or two (or three)
Cyno is a reliable companion. He'll protect you if you are under his protection but he doesn't make you feel less than because you're not human either
But when he isn't in work mode, he is very sweet and even let's you wear his headdress from time to time as long as you are careful with it. In return you place flower crowns atop his head
Is another protective companion. As one brought from the desert to the rainforest for the sake of experiments, Cyno knows what could happen should those at the Akademiya find out that Aranaras are more than just a tale for children
So he always makes sure you aren't sighted by those he cannot trust
Kaveh
Meeting Kaveh was a bit of an accident as you had to help disentangle from a mess of vines
For someone blessed with the power of Dendro, he isn't really one who naturally has an affinity for plants
As such, he is embarrassed when you find him in this situation. Embarrassed and quite amazed to find out that Aranara aren't just stories. One getting him out of a mess like this isn't really how Kaveh ever imagined meeting one back when he was a child
That aside, Kaveh straightens himself out, thanks you and honestly he tries to be polite about it but he has plenty of questions about your being an Aranara that you can't really answer outside of lore you got from the game
You tell him that you'll look out for him when he is prancing about the rainforest so he can avoid these sorts of mishaps in the future which he insists is unnecessary
But you're not trying to be stuck living in nature forever, you want to make sure you have guaranteed safety. It also helps that if you're going to attach yourself to a human in the game, they aren't just some random NPC. A player character comes with a certain level of stability you appreciate
Kaveh's too good an opportunity to pass up and Mehrak is quite cute too. Win-win situation
Out of everyone here though sadly, Kaveh treats you most like a pet. Something no one wants to get from a hot guy even if you understand why he treats you so
At least he gives you plenty of sweets to eat?
You become a surprising point of comfort for Kaveh when he grows frustrated with his roommate. You tend to use your powers of Dendro to weave flowers through his hair during those moments and listen when he vents
You think his kindness does him more harm than good and that he tends to be his worst critic, so you tell Kaveh to be kinder to himself
Candace
A desert really isn't the place for an Aranara but you stubbornly decided to try your luck at it anyway against your better judgement (and the advice of your fellow Aranara)
But a couple of near death experiences aside, you think you made a good decision when you get to Aaru Village. The children there are very sweet and fascinated by you, having never seen an Aranara themselves
So you become quite popular among them, making them all sweet dreams and becoming a sort of... Guardian, one might say
You also help maintain the few plantlife of Aaru Village from Sabbah's flowers to the ajilenakh trees
It isn't much work but it's honest work
Candace thought nothing of it, thinking it was cute for the children of the village to have something to talk about
Then she ran into you trying (and failing) to get some food from the storage and that is how you were discovered by the actual Guardian of Aaru Village
Despite that little mishap, Candace is sweet to you and presents to you the same rules she gives all guests of Aaru. She also appreciates you helping with the children
So she doesn't disagree when you label yourselves as a sort of duo protecting everyone in different ways
Candace seldom has time to rest or enjoy any sort of personal time, so you try to be her invisible company in the day and you pester her to take breaks
You'd threaten to keep her contained in vines to make her take a break but you know she is infinitely stronger than your own abilities
How else can she fight monsters for hours at a time without tiring?
Still if you're at that level of desperate to make her rest, Candace promises to take more breaks along the day and rely more on her fellow guards
#look she's writing#genshin impact x reader#genshin x reader#scaramouche x reader#wanderer x reader#kaveh x reader#candace x reader#cyno x reader
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Why do autistic people like stuffies/plushies so much?🧸❤️
Support: Taking a stuffie/plushie with us when we go out in public (especially to potentially scary places like doctor’s offices or places with lots of sensory input like grocery stores and public transport) can help us feel safer. Basically, in any situation that could make us feel anxious, a stuffie/plushie can make us feel less anxious and more comfortable.
2. Collections: Autistic people often like to collect objects. A lot of us also love organizing, cataloging/categorizing our collection. (For example, I have an excel spreadsheet for my personal Jellycat collection and another one for Jellycats in general that has over 1700 Jellycats cataloged and organized in detail) Lining up our stuffies/plushies, for example lining them up neatly on shelves or reorganizing our shelves can bring us joy as well.
3. Sensory Joy/Stimming: Stuffies/plushies can bring us what’s called “sensory joy” as opposed to “sensory pain” caused by stimuli that feel overwhelming or painful to us. A lot of autistic people love soft things, whether it’s a soft blanket, a soft sweater or a soft and cuddly stuffie/plushie! We can stim with them in many ways, for example by petting them or brushing their fur. The way we stim with our stuffies/plushies can vary from person to person. Please don’t stop us from stimming with them. We are just trying to soothe ourselves and not harming anyone.
4. Social comfort/ A friend to talk to: Autistic people are often extremely lonely and fail to connect with people. A stuffie/plushie can be a real friend for us. We give them names, we create entire personalities for them, we ascribe them specific character traits. All of these things bring us comfort and joy and talking to and caring for our stuffie/plushie friends can ultimately help us feel less lonely. In a world where autistic people face rejection on a daily basis, it is a great comfort that they will never reject us and will always be there to listen to us no matter what.
5. Our inner child: A lot of autistic people have an inner child/ a child-like personality and stuffies/plushies appeal to them because of that. (and to anyone who has ever tried to steer an autistic person towards “more age-appropriate interests and behaviors”, you actually make things worse for us not better, please don’t do that)
Finally, this should go without saying, but if you see any of the above-mentioned behaviors especially in public, please be respectful. These things are part of what helps us cope with everyday life and may prevent sensory overload, shutdowns or meltdowns.
Note: This specifically refers to autistic adults who love stuffies/plushies, not autistic children!
In autistic children loving stuffies/plushies is seen as “normal” and “unproblematic” in most cases. In fact, autistic children that don’t like stuffies/plushies or don’t show an interest in them like their neurotypical peers are often perceived as odd.
Let me know in the comments or tags how your stuffies/plushies/whatever your preferred term for them is help you, and why you like them so much!
-Victor
#stuffed animals#stuffies#stuffed animal#jellycat#jellycats#jellycatlondon#jellycatstuffies#jellycatplush#actually autistic#autism#autistic#autistic experiences#autism spectrum#actually autism#asd#autistic community#plush#plushies#plushblr#plushie#plushcore#plushiecore#stuffiecore#plush toy#plush toys#soft toy#soft toys#allplush#toycore#kidcore
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2.1 was so good holy shit (spoilers, obviously)
GOD THEY ATE AND IM SPECIFICALLY GONNA TALK ABOUT HOW WELL THEY WROTE RATIO IN THIS BECAUSE IM FOAMING AT THE GODDAMN MOUTH IT CHANGES HOW YOU VIEW EVERYTHING BUT IN A GOOD WAY.
so, let’s start from the beginning in 2.0 I want to walk you through my experience of it
ratio mean to aventurine, everyone gets mad. I feel weird about it, pre-2.1 I come to the conclusion that he got used as a plot device in that scene, since being racist contradicts his core motivations and the dialogue is awkward and has no real reason behind it, I chalk it up to bad writing but ultimately forgive it because 2.1 seems centered around Aventurine so they need setup for that
2.1 drops, my bsf plays the update throughout the night and we are losing our shit. He gets to the part where Ratio “betrays” Aventurine. I fucking lose it, I try to reconcile this with my preconceived notions of ratio, they don’t match up at all, his behavior that whole time doesn’t in the slightest. I am confused, I wonder if I have been wrong about him this whole time, if his whole speech on the Space Station and his character quests were some kind of fluke. I mean it could be in character? Knowledge of how a stellaron works could save millions if not billions of lives, invaluable information which Ratio would have trouble turning down because of its value. It still feels deeply wrong, Ratio isnt a backstabber, and he wouldn’t so easily bargain with Sunday over information he has no confirmation of (and could likely obtain in some other way).
The story continues, me and Haseeb (aforementioned best friend) are still pissed, I’m losing it because my favorite character just did something so unforgivable and out of character and I feel like a complete and utter idiot for interpreting a character to be a good person when they so clearly weren’t. Well, I (luckily) was so so so so so so so wrong about that, as it was all a setup, a plan devised by Aventurine to distract Sunday and forward their goals. I’ve never been happier, and suddenly every weird behavior, every “this doesn’t make sense” goes from “bad writing” to perhaps one of my favorite retroactive twists in fiction.
Ratio belittling Aventurine for his background doesn’t make any sense, I mean we literally saw the guy give a whole ass speech about how he believes all people deserve access to knowledge and that everyone is capable of being creative and having intellect, but that they just have to try for it, and if they are incapable of it, he DOCTOR Ratio is there to lend a helping hand. To cure the galaxy of stupidity, something which he views as not the lack of knowledge but rather the misuse and misinterpretation of it, how he depises the Genius Society because they mostly do not try and use their intellect from the betterment of other, and actively guide/encourage other scientists (and in Hertas case the researchers at the space station) to view knowledge as some sort of prize or commodity rather than tool. This notion is what causes Screwellum to acknowledge that Ratio is more like a medical doctor than a scholar. And this notion is something Sunday Isn’t Aware Of.
Sunday doesn’t know who Ratio really is, he may have heard of his various exploits, but Ratio has a reputation for arrogance, bluntness and insensitivity, something which Ratio plays up to the nines. The 2.0 scene with Aventurine goes from seemingly massively OOC for Ratio to him actively playing up his negative reputation to play into Sundays perceptions of the pair for their plan. Ratio->
a) makes it seem like Aventurine fucked up and he’s mad at him for losing the cornerstones, something which Sunday would see and go “hmm they don’t like each other
b) this “oh I can drive a wedge between them” notion gets worse (although in their case better) when Ratio brings up Aventurine’s (not entirely accurate) background. Sunday now thinks he has leverage over Aventurine and even more of a chance of getting Ratio to betray him. Ratio also makes it seem like he just learned this information by stating he “did his homework” and this supposed unfamiliarity with one another would give Sunday more confidence to try and drive a wedge between them
c) this makes it seem like the IPC are unaware of the Families constant surveillance, as it looks like they are having an important conversation in a private room, which would make Sunday think they are unaware of his eyes and ears everywhere
Now let me qualify this notion with more evidence because you could still try and argue that the deal Ratio and Aventurine struck was post 2.0 argument
Topaz (my glorious Queen). At the end of the 1.4 (or was it 1.5?) Belabog quest she has a conversation with Aventurine in which he requests for her help in Penacony, and we do not get a confirmation on if she said yes or not. Until 2.1, in which the the Topaz (and Jade) stone in in Aventurines possession, meaning she took him up on that offer prior to 2.0 because how else would he bring multiple cornerstones there, which we know there are many because Ratio says he lost the cornerstones, not just his own. Topaz would not give this item up easily or on a whim in between 2.0 and 2.1, meaning she would have to be let in on his plan prior, meaning the plan was formed prior. Since Ratio was also assigned to this mission keeping him in the dark would make negative sense and actively undermine their collaboration, something which he brings up in their fake argument
2. The Final Victory Lightcone. I originally thought this scene to be after their argument for complicated reasons, the most important of which being the minor snippet of conversation we see between Ratio and Aventurine during the first time we meet Acheron. Aventurine mentions 3 chips, Ratio doubts him, and the lightcone description starts with Aventurine questioning his doubt and firing three shots, a perfect correlation that made me place the order of events in that way. However, we get to see the snippet of conversation between Aventurine and Ratio in game, right before they meet Sunday, not prior to the lightcone events. However, they are still clearly connected for aforementioned reasons, just in a different manner, let me explain. Now we know the three chips reference not bullets but the three cornerstones, and Ratio openly expresses his doubt because the family is always watching (something which I will get into) and because a part of him does doubt this plan will go well. However, Aventurine prior reminds him of the events of the lightcone with the three chips. My interpretation is that Aventurine took that gamble in the lightcone to convince Ratio to go along with his crazy plan since if he can win a game of Russian Roulette with an unwavering smile on his face he an insane gamble means nothing to him (ratio doesn’t buy it because it’s ratio but the sheer audacity or you could say the “charming audacity” makes him go along with it). In my opinion this scene only makes sense pre-penacony, due to the timeline of events, which is why I believe it the reason for the events in it has to be Aventurine trying to convince Ratio to join in.
3) The family is always watching. During the 2.1 story quest it gets brought up several times in many different ways that it seems like the family has eyes on everything and everyone. Sunday’s fuckass bird is everywhere, and the man himself (minus being a goddamn biblically accurate angel) is covered in eye shaped shit and possesses close ties with the Harmony, which lends itself well to a character that knows things considering the Aeon itself is a conglomeration of many different perspectives. He fucking perception checks Aventurine, when the crew goes to look for info on firefly they learn the dream pools monitor people’s vitals and everything, even producing a dialogue option where the trailblazer states they feel like their every move is being watched. Topaz gets stalked by bloodhound members upon arrival, I could go on. TLDR Sunday knows almost everything that’s going on in Penacony, this is what leads him to believe the traitor is within the family, and his access to knowledge is something the IPC 100% knows about. I mean they have been presumably attempting to try and get it back for a while, and they would reasonably extensively try and learn everything about it. The Family notoriously hates negotiating with them so the IPC either learning and/or coming to the conclusion that the Family is watching their every move isn’t a ridiculous notion. If this conversation was genuine, if Ratio truly wanted to discuss this matter with Aventurine, why would he do it in a likely wiretapped, not very soundproof room where any passerby could hear Ratio loudly exclaim that Aventurine lost the very important cornerstones and that he is also one of the most despised groups in the galaxy because that would really do numbers for both their reputations. If you think about it, this not being staged is an incredibly stupid blunder on Ratio’s end (minus the deliberate OOCness) because of all the places Ratio could set up a very important meeting he does it in one of the worst places ever.
4) The dialogue in the scene. It’s awkward, it’s so awkward and the whole “also my family died I didn’t get an education” seemed so tacked on the first time I watched it. Knowing now, it seemed so tacked on because it was, Aventurine had to shove the info in there somewhere and their incredible conversational skills decided that was the best part in there. Ratio fucking leaving before Aventurine is even done talking goes from a “huh weird” to a “wow he is really playing up this arrogant scholar role”. And if Ratio is playing the arrogant scholar, Aventurine is playing the dumb, helpless, blonde to a T. Losing the cornerstones and acting nonchalant about it, letting Ratio insult him so callously and letting the insults slide, talking absolute nonsense at the end about random things that don’t matter, sadly lamenting into the distance that he’s alone again. Bro is playing it up and I live for it. They also and play up these personas in their little adventure prior to meeting Sunday, Aventurine asks stupid questions like wondering about the species of the bird that make up the statues and talking about how he wants to play in the sandpit and even insulting Sunday a bit, behavior that would make Sunday think him unprepared and unserious rather than cold and calculating. If Aventurine does that well, Ratio plays up his arrogant, uncaring scholar persona to the nines. He insults any and every decision or thing Aventurine does, loudly sighing of how happy he is to finally have some peace and quiet when Aventurine leaves his sight for 0.00008 milleseconds, pointing out his sarcasm, beefing with a random Pepeshi bodyguard no reason, pointing out his sarcasm, just the exaggerated way he talks in general, and suggesting he admit Aventurine into the Genius Society (even Ratio wouldn’t stoop so low as to suggest Aventurine was worthy of that).
Moreover, this is really, really tragic because I do think there are several moments of genuine banter and fun the two share “Ratio, you’re huge!” was not added to the script to enhance the plot guys. And obviously Aventurine knows most of Ratios behavior is acting, however he has such severe trust issues, and Ratio is so damn straightforward and blunt that he worries the man was serious about some of it which just breaks my heart. Soft Ratio please add it give me one conversation, the note at the end of 2.1 doesn’t count it’s too short.
Ultimately, knowing what I know now I can’t help but view the 2.0 conversation with Aventurine as being anything but staged, it simply makes no sense otherwise, and it happily obsolescent Ratio of his sins. This was a bit incoherent I honestly just wanted to rant (if you couldn’t tell haha) but I hope you enjoyed it regardless. I need sincere Ratio more then I need oxygen and I’m not afraid to say it.
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Platonic!Yan batfam with young adult reader.
This part focuses on Damien. The POV switches from Reader to Damien part way through.
May or may not get a part two.
Note: Reader is 18-22 years old. Gn reader
Content warning: being treated like a child, being looked down on, stalking, obsessions, soft yandere but still a yandere, reader has memory issues and it's ambiguous as to why, drugging, mentioned abduction, delusional batfam, batfam as a whole basically view you as a child younger then Damien despite you being older
You never expected being saved by Batman and the Robin brood would ever cause worse trouble then what you were saved from. But life never worked how things are supposed to. You looked at the barred window and tried to remember *how* things got to this.
You liked to think you had a pretty good life, you had your own little apartment in a slightly better part of Gotham; you had a job at a local coffee and book shop. Money could be tight at times, and your savings were slim, but you were taken care of and as safe as you could be in Gotham.
You alternated weekends volunteering at the local animal shelter too. You always liked animals and if Karma was real it was always good to put good energy into the world. Your free time was spent recovering from such a busy week and hanging out with friends. You were painfully normal which oddly enough made you weird in Gotham. Everyone in Gotham had something odd about them or their situation in life. You had yet to meet yours.
The first time you were saved by Batman it had been during a bank robbery. You had gone in to pull out some money; the ATMs outside were still busted from some kids breaking into them for a tiktok...well that's what they claimed most knew it *was* for the cash. As you hold your arms up the loaded robber making everyone go to a wall, you couldn't help but feel like you were being put up for execution. A firing line of hostages and you were in the middle.
You blessedly didn't have to think on that too long and Batman and his current Robin busted in taking down a major chunk of the group. You weren't a hero but when it looked like one of the gun men were about to shoot Robin you moved. Tackling the guy to the groud knocking his gun away. A mistake on your part as Robin was aware and ready to move so he didn't *need* saving, and now the pair's eyes were on you.
Later that week you were surprised by Robin on your balcony. Robin...who you would later Learn was Damien Wayne... had come to 'assess' you. For what you didn't know is he already knew everything about you. His entire family did; Damien just wanted to be the first to speak to you.
The conversation was emotionally charged for sure; Robin scolded you for putting yourself in harm's way. Which was fair since you weren't exactly trained for that kind of thing. But the whiplash from scolding to thanking you and you could swear you saw a blush on his face. Apparently, saying thank you to a civilian was embarrassing for him.
Robin...no Damien proceeded to then lecture you about being up so late, and how important sleep was to grow. Bold words coming from a half pint who probably slept once a week. No way this kid wasn't in school, and he spent most his nights on the streets fighting crime so he assumedly didn't have time to sleep. This ended in him bullying you into going to sleep.
Damien didn't like the idea of having been saved by a civilian. To make matters worse his siblings had use it to tease him. Your actions had gotten all of their attention. Tim had poured himself into finding out more about you using your social media, and anything else he could get into digitally. His predecessor was more then happy to share *everything* he'd found.
You were so....so normal. A sparkling clean civilian. You had some issues, nothing he nor the family couldn't help with. You were exactly the type of person he and his family strived to protect, if he didn't act Gotham would ruin you. He made that opinion known very vocally too. For once his father and siblings listened to reason the first time.
He'd originally come to your window to scope your home out. At 3 in the morning he expected you to be in bed, but you were up. You had no cause to be up so late so he made himself and his lecture about your health known. He'd even managed to scold his way into your home.
Your home was...eclectic. *Clearly* you didn't have the funds for frivolous things, your furniture was old and worn. But there was a lot of personality here. All of it a hint to who you were in private. He would have to investigate further once he got you into bed. A task that had been almost too easy. He stayed until you were asleep and began investigating your home.
You loved animals, something he could bond with you later about. There were some games; video and board, which would help the others both with you. But you had lots of books too. Various types but the most common ones being fantasy or romance; Todd would be ecstatic.
You had some medications, nothing he didn't know of from Tim's digging into you. Several people them had more then they should in them, obviously you were forgetting to take them regularly. Which wouldn't do. He'd have to tell father sooner. But oh wouldn't they all be jealous he got to know you first, see how you live, and even tucked you in!
It would all work out, he would see to it himself if need be. Soon they'd bring his new little sibling home, and all of them could protect and care for them like they deserved.
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Fourth floor: Jason Todd x reader
Imagine Jason having a target.
A new gothamite villain pretending to be a regular, common civilian, living in a tenement house, having his little happy famliy that had no idea of his real proffesion.
Real profession being the most bloodthirsty, ruthless crime boss that Gotham has ever seen.
Yes, worse than Black mask, Joker, Bane, Riddler or whoever else.
And being who he wa Jason made it his personal mission to eradicate the rodent.
And since while gathering intel he learnt that his family (his wonderful, clueless wife and his innnocent princess of a daughter) were out of town, the best way of dealing with shit was to get his target alone in his apartment.
After all, in his lair he was always surrounded by his minders. And why bother making it harder than necessary when Jason could have a clean in and out in villain's flat.
Well-
Jason had intel, had preparation, skills and a perfect plan.
But what he didn't have is a little bit more of an orientation.
Becuse by some crazy accident he confused the flats and instead of entering the crime boss's one?
He broke into yours.
Not realising it at first.
At least not until he got hit with a baseball bat and met with a fuming girl that looked a lot like rabid squirrel.
"the fuck!?" she struggled against the grip Jason had on her wrist while holding her arm up, almost making her legs dangle in the air "who the fuck are you?!"
"You're not him." Jason, the-smart-cookie-Todd stated watching her fight against him despite having zero chances.
"Him? The hell! Look I may be a little disheveled but I think it's obvious I'm a woman."
"Yeah... sorry..." he let go off her wrist trying to calm the girl down. The last thing he needed was a hysterical female making a fuss in the entire building and startle his quarry "I was looking for..."
"Oh, yeah, he lives on fifth, this is fourth."
"What? How are you--"
"Common mistake. Unlike many other buildings in the city we have ground story, so-" she shrugged
Jason grunted in some sort of appreciation, but before he could leave she called his name.
Not his real name, obviously, the vigilante one!
"Be careful, Hood."
"I know how to handle myself." he almost hissed in annoyance at those stupid words.
"Yeah I know. Just thought you haven't heard those for a longer while and you look like you need to know someone actually care and appreciate your work. Not just Bats' one."
Good thing she didn't see him blush under the helmet.
And even better thing she didn't know that after dealing with his mission, Jason actually stalked her a little.
Learning her name and profession.
Making it his other personal mission to hear those words from her again.
Maybe not only as a Red Hood.
And he smiled to himself, when in the middle of some other cold, dark Gotham night he subconsciously found himself standing on the rooftop of the opposite building.
Staring right into her window.
Fourth floor.
Noted.
#jason todd x reader#red hood x reader#jason todd x you#red hood x you#jason todd x y/n#red hood x y/n
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Something that frustrates me about the Harry Potter conversation is a lot of people missing the point behind the motivation to boycott it. They seem weirdly focused on the content of HP when it's actually... not that bad? It's not perfect, in fact a lot of aspects are pretty fucking problematic and worthy of discussion, but not uniquely so by the standards of the fantasy genre. Yes, I know the goblins are clearly drawing on anti-semitic tropes. Yes, the house elf situation is fucked. Yes, lots of not-like-other-girls-style misogyny. Yes, Cho Chang was a fucking disaster of racism. I KNOW THIS ALREADY! I'm not an idiot and Harry Potter fans were talking about this for far longer than JKR has been a TERF. But I'm also a fan of the Elder Scrolls and Dragon Age and the Witcher and a shitton of isekai anime and tons of other fantasy medias which are so much worse. Harry Potter is only moderately problematic by the standards of most popular fantasy media, especially for the mainstream standards of the time period it was written. Worthy of criticism, but not dropping it entirely. And actually reading HP and looking back at JKR's behaviour at the time, much of it seems largely unintentional, just that JKR drew on a lot of fantasy tropes that she didn't properly examine as well as her own unexamined biases and she had some flawed understandings of progressivism that were fair for its day but don't fly now, but doesn't seem malicious. The actual authorial intent at least seems to be pretty progressive at least, even if the execution wasn't the best. And sure, it's not a masterwork but there's a reason it connected to so many people, even if a lot of it was luck and timing. We don't have to ignore that and doing so feels dishonest.
I'm just so annoyed when people try to shit on the contents because they're missing the point and confuse the actual problem in a way that weakens their argument. I don't give Harry Potter money anymore because JKR crossed some lines for me in real life, totally separate from Harry Potter as a piece of media, and I don't want to fund her bullshit because she is so influential it is hurting people. The content of her books is utterly irrelevant to this decision. She could have penned a goddamn magnum opus and it wouldn't have mattered. So I'm sick of people bringing up books that are "better" or ragging on the contents of Harry Potter because none of that is the point and never was the point and it comes across as just taking advantage of a shitty situations to dunk on a popular thing or those who enjoyed it. Yeah, it was a mediocre fantasy series. But it hit the right emotional escapist buttons in a lot of kids even if it had the moral nuance and depth of a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles anti-drug PSA. Having to drop it sucked for a lot of people because it can't be replaced and yelling about how bad the writing was doesn't change that because it never was about quality. JKR's TERF transformation was in many ways a betrayal of JKR's intended audience considering how the text preached acceptance and love and starred an abused, unwanted child getting to go to magic school where he's special. Pretending Harry Potter should be dropped because its content has issues obscures the actual problem of a raging transphobic having money and influence and that not everything created by bad people is poor quality so boycotts might require giving up access to things you actually like or are valuable and that's not always an easy decision to make.
JKR was a probably decent person with fairly liberal politics when she wrote Harry Potter. The books, while imperfect, are not more horrible or full of problems a dozen other popular fantasy properties. JKR become a TERF later in life and while she may have had ingrained transphobia prior to this when she wrote Harry Potter, that is not the same as the virulent hate-movement she's part of now and we should recognize how easy it is for people to get drawn into hate-movements. Any argument to boycott should be about how she's using her money and influence to affect real life laws and attitudes unless you want to try and get people to also drop half the fantasy genre.
--
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𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐬
📌 jen's favs 📎 drabbles 🔒angst 🌷fluff 🗯 18+
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
under oath @ugh-supersoldiers
(series) the world needs someone to blame for the deaths that hydra facilitated for decades, and the target is on the back of the former winter soldier. the case is going to trial, and seemingly the guilt ridden bucky barnes can’t care less about the verdict.🌷🔒📌📌
café crema @wonderlandmind4
(series) the first time was an accident. the second time was coincidence. the third time is just unlucky. the fourth time is getting out of hand and the fifth may or may not be with intent. otherwise known as The One Where He Spills Her Coffee. (modern! au) 🌷
guiding light @wkemeup
(series) it was supposed to be a simple mission. get the intel and go home. until everything goes wrong and you’re taken captive by hydra. while you struggle to stay alive and hold your sanity, bucky begins to lose himself to a darkness and gives into the soldier because he doesn’t know how to breathe without you. not until he brings you home. if he even can. 🌷🔒🔒📌📌
two sides of the same coin @anonymityisfunwriter
(series) you've been in hydra isolation your entire life, and sam is tasked to watch over you. bucky can't understand how you came out of hydra so optimistic and decides he hates you because of it. as you integrate into society, the avengers team, and SHIELD politics, bucky ends up being your biggest supporter. (inspired by taylor swift songs) 🌷🔒📌
snow @delaber
(series) tired of your constant bickering, sam sends you and bucky on a mission alone. when the worst possible outcome happens and you’re forced to spend several days together in a small cabin, you finally get to see a different, more pleasurable side to the man whose flesh you’ve always had a thorn in. 🌷🔒🗯📌📌
not happening @notimetoblog
(series) an online dating site clearly makes a mistake when it matches you with the one person you cannot stand. 🌷📌
tell me which one is worse (living or dying first) @nightowlwriting
(11k) you are in love with bucky barnes. for a long time, the both of you were joined at the hip but then your team stops being paired with his on missions. he stops inviting you over for movie nights. when it finally looks like things are looking up, you hear bucky talking with steve and... it's not good. 🌷🔒📌
safe with me @bitsandbobsandstuff
(series) when an unknown threat enters your life, protection is offered at the highest level. as bucky barnes comes into your life, the game changes, and you realize falling for the man tasked with keeping you safe is the last thing you expected. (bodyguard! bucky x journalist! reader) 🔒📌
the lengths i'd go to @real-jane
(3.3k) detective barnes and his partner are the star team at precinct 75. one threat could tear it all apart. 🔒🌷📌
heart of steel @invisibleanonymousmonsters
(series) sir james is known throughout the lands as the most fearsome and honorable warrior. ballads have been written about him. men fear him. he is the most trusted knight of the king henry. so why has he given up the glories of war and pledged his loyalty to princess y/n? 🌷🔒
just one kiss @sarahwroteathing
(series) bucky barnes has been chasing after you since he was ten years old, but you’re determined not to give in. how long can you hold out when all he’s asking for is just one kiss? (40′s happy ending AU) 🌷🔒📌
pin it @buckysbabygorl
(1.6k) reader will fight barnes until she wins. bucky isn’t complaining, problem is he can’t resist pinning her to the floor. 🌷
better @captainscanadian
(series) dr. james barnes has it all: a loving family, caring best friends, and a successful career as one of the best heart surgeons in new york. he has everything he ever wanted his whole life… well, almost everything. one thing he never thought he could ever have was y/n y/l/n. she may have been a lot of things, but he loved her because she made him better. (modern! au) 🌷🔒
looped @softlybarnes
(15.2k) you are inadvertently trapped in a time loop without any memory of the last five years, including your relationship with bucky. but bucky would stay in the loop forever, explain everything again each day, if it meant getting to stay by your side. 🔒📌
the push and the pull @delaber
(9.8k) there’s nothing bucky wants more than to be with you - and for that reason alone, he has to break both your hearts. 🔒📌
in the right hands @loving-bucky-is-easier
(5.5k) bucky couldn’t tear his eyes from her lips, from the frost melting into teardrops on her eyelashes, from her slack face that seemed like the life was being drawn straight out of it with every wavering breath.” 🌷🔒
you’re a what now? @floatingpetals
(1.6k) sometimes bucky’s girl is just a little, tiny tiny oblivious and doesn’t realize who she’s talking to. and sometimes she can say the darndest things. 🌷
i need him like water @pellucid-constellations
(3.1k) you think bucky’s having an affair. he thinks… well you aren’t sure what he thinks. but he must notice the living room light is left on. every night. 🔒📌
perfect @thesnowsoldierwrites
(3.5k) in which you and bucky have slowly become inseparable, and someone mistakes you for a married couple. 🌷
torture @just-dreaming-marvel
(5.6k) a miscommunication happens between you and bucky, and it all comes tumbling down from there. 🌷🔒📌
part ii: (9.1k) you and bucky get captured, and it’s definitely not an easy time. 🔒
i’ll be there for you @aries-writingblog
(4.8k) even though they’re best friends, bucky can’t seem to trust himself enough to move in with y/n. 🌷
to build a home @fanficimagery
(5.7k) imaging being rescued from a djinn and having a hard time readjusting to reality after living a lifetime of an almost perfect life. 🔒
awake my soul @foreverindreamlandd
(series) (78k) it’s been five years since zombies first started walking the earth. when you stumble across two young, scared boys lost and being chased by walkers, you go against your better judgment and help them to safety. little did you know that helping them would lead you to bucky - an angry, grumpy, distrusting member of the camp shield. 🌷🔒📌
goodbye @lovelybarnes
(4k) enemies to lovers 🔒📌
completely @rassvetsky
(1k) being one of the few people bucky barnes trusted meant having to babysit alpine when he's away. 🌷
pt ii: (5.6k) 🌷🗯
oh baby, oh baby @tooearlyforthis
(6.2k) as a new recruit, y/n isn’t allowed to go on all the missions yet. to make matters worse, they left behind another, someone that she had despised ever since she first stepped foot in the compound - james buchanan barnes. 🌷
remember me @starryevermore
(14.5k) they sold you out to hydra. but little did they know, they had been tricked by one of their own. too little too late, or can they get you back before you’re too far gone? 🔒🔒
harmless @shurisneakers
(series) bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. 🌷🌷
cute @buckyalpine
(1.3k) bucky being offended he looks cute. he’s a tough beefy muscly super soldier so how. dare. you. 🌷
my girlfriend, the worm @vivwritesfics
(1.2k) y/n asks bucky the worm question. like the old man he is, he answers wrong. 🌷📎
yours @jadedvibes
(8.7k) you broke up with bucky right before college to pursue your career goals across the country. you didn’t think the first time you’d see him again years later would be in your office after he was arrested for a crime you know he didn’t commit. 🌷🗯
there's been a misunderstanding @touchstarvedirl
(5.3k) you’ve been distant with bucky, and he just wants to fix whatever it is that’s keeping you away from him. little does he know, it has everything to do with your encounter with a nosy red-headed assassin you’ve gotten the wrong idea about. 🌷🔒
through the year @/punani
(10.8k) bucky barnes is a sight for sore eyes and he doesn’t know it. she is a sunflower in a sea of roses. just give it another year, and a flurry of 11 soft moments and 1 heartbreaking one. 🌷🔒📌
sunflower @mollygetssherlockcoffee
(21k) when y/n joins the team, bucky isn’t fond of her but as time goes on, she begins to form bond with the team and with him. 🌷🔒📌
for as long as you need me @whatthetumblfck
(6k+) a recent mission turns out some unexpected results, and you end up a little (a lot) worse for wear.🔒📌
not for me @kinanabinks
(1.6k) your best friend, steve, has good intentions. he's just really bad with words. 🌷📌
who are you trying to fool? @notimetoblog
(1.5k) a perfect chance at messing with new recruits presents itself to bucky. can he pull it off or will you foil his plan? 🌷
all that glitters is gold @printedpeterparker
(4.7k) the one where y/n takes a chance on the mobster.🌷
poppy fields @buckysfaveplum
(3.7k) hiding your feelings for your best friend always seemed like the best idea, until you start coughing up flowers. (hanahaki au) 🔒🌷
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes series#bucky barnes angst#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes fluff#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes x reader series#bucky barnes x reader fluff#jenny's recs
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Nymph Idol
Yan Church + "Incubus" Priest/Cult Reader [18+ Mdni]
Tw/Tags Religious Themes/Slight Trauma, implied underage drinking and dubious activities as a result (All parties are 18/19), Reader is G.N but mentioned to have a penis in some parts and is called "Mister" once. Reader (obviously) has no set features, but they do have a birthmark.
Faith had always been a unwavering staple in your life.
Raised by the people of your procreators' church; you were versed in literature beyond levels for those your age so you had voice to praise your Lord. Head of the youth choir, and the one chosen to begin prayer at dinner as you got older. Early on, the seeds of your influence on others sprouted during the primary years of your innocence. Walking into class that chilly winter morn, a classmate greeted you at the door, declaring their love to you with a letter in hand. They wanted to be the first, as your heart may have been lost somewhere in the clutter on your desk. Valentine's day - the day when those playground crushes could be seen as more and those holding passing stares could finally look you in the eye. A moment before, you never realized you had so many admirers. What could it have been that made so many look your way? You'd never know, not in this school - as once your parents found the notes in your bag you were shipped straight off to a school of the faith. And thus the cycle repeated.
For you, life was pretty much the same after the change. Go to school, study, help out the surrounding community as best you could. Outside of the little bubble you made for yourself, yet another flock of worshippers came to plate. They saw you as the silent, dedicated and hard working type - enamored by every word that came from your mouth. Even rejection fueled their desire as you let each person down with respectful and caring approach. They invited you to parties and hangouts, and while you never touched a drop of whatever they gave you - you agreed every time. Out in the real world, you came to the conclusion you were still that same sheltered child from years back. You'd neither kissed nor felt first love like those around you and in films you saw. You longed for the freedom of you, but the life of a priest was chosen for you before you were even born, and you had taken the vow of celibacy to heart.
You achieved your first taste of freedom at the end of highschool. To celebrate the graduating class, a nature retreat was scheduled. Seated between two of the most determined of your suitors - you could already tell this trip would change you for better or worse. Had the seats not been assigned, it would have been another hour before the bus took off with everyone dragging you around. These two were sure to win you in the end with their records and authority over their peers. One had been arrested and agreed to go to your school if the charges were dropped, the other forced with no benefit on their part - until they met you. Together, the pair grew close over their shared hatred of their environment, and become inseparable from their shared intrigued in you. When no one would look their way, you meet them with a smile whenever your paths crossed. So cute - just like an angel. The entire ride there, neither party removed their hand from your thigh.
"Wow, Y/n - your legs are really nice... You brought shorts with you right?"
"If you didn't, we have something you can put on."
The heat was instantaneous. Alone on a hot bus, your head swam from their gentle touches and praise. Noting the way you squirmed in your seat and squeezed the hem of your shirt over the source of your discomfort, they couldn't ignore you any longer. They were ready to suck you off right then and there under the cover of a blanket and let the whole class hear you sing. Alas, their fun was temporarily delayed by the arrival at your destination. You were the first off the bus with an express trip to the bathroom. Getting away from those two wasn't going to be as easy as you thought as they were your bunkmates.
Your only bunkmates.
Things started off harmlessly enough. Down at the lake, one would splash water at your shirt while the other whined that their bottoms were too lose. They'd complain about you wearing a shirt in the water, but you excused yourself due to the strange birthmark on your chest. They asked you to pick their outfits for the day, and snuck in your bed at night for nothing more than your warmth. As your days decreased, so went their subtlety. They'd stand in front of you in lines with the sole purpose of rubbing their ass against your crotch; their partner getting their share when you finally sat down and they sat in your lap. They'd walk around the cabin in nothing else but their underwear saying something about losing the towel tucked under your bed. When sleeping with you, one moaned so sweetly in your ear as their legs tangled with yours. Of all the nights they haunted your dreams, that was the first you woke with stained shorts.
Overtime you suspected they were finally giving up. They wore modest clothing, and you hardly ever saw them outside of activities or meals. You became alone due to them always sneaking out and in that solitude you committed acts of self pleasure you'd never done before. Your untaught hands felt like they'd been graced by touch of an angel as you chased your long awaited high - shooting ropes into the dainty fabric left under your pillow. The shame you beared for using their underwear mixed so perfectly into the pleasure that your vision went white as you came a second time. It wasn't long till the thing was soaked with so much of your release there wasn't any where for it to go, but your damp things. They left them there for that purpose, so it was okay - right? You'd rinse them and hand them to dry before anyone came back. It was one mistake that you could easily come back from.
"Well, well, well-"
Shit.
"The wait was longer than I'd like, but the results definitely make up for it. Come outside, "Mister Priest". We've been listening to you since you started and you're even cuter than I imagined. We'll treat you right."
You wanted to come up with an excuse or to at least be given the opportunity to clean up, but your mind was anywhere but your head at this point. They helped you fresh up partly by tongue-cleaning your navel and thighs with their tongue before leading you outside into the thick forest where their companion was waiting by the fire they'd built. They had two water bottles in their hands. One clear, and the other filled halfway with a dark liquid. The pair had stopped drinking for a while so your first kiss didn't taste like whiskey, but after both had explored the reigns of your mouth with their tongue it was back to gunning the alcohol. You drank a little too, or rather it was siphoned down your throat as they took turns spitting it in your mouth between kisses.
The rest of the night was a blur after that. You were talking about... something, but soon enough your cock was stuffed down one of their throats and all conversation was lost - your lifelong vows tarnished in one, sin-filled eve. Come morning, you woke with their numbers in your phone and their nude bodies against yours. Your head was killing you. Some water, and some gentle reassurance by your new lovers soothe the ache, and woke you to the world you now lived in. Drinking, having sex- What would they think? The people back home.... None of the people in your church did anything like this in their youth - as far as they'd tell. What were you supposed to do now?
"Baby...Relax. There's no harm in a little indulgence every now and then. You're still that same angel in our eyes. Horns just fit you a little better."
They.. They were right. You did have horns - presented in the lustful urges shunned and magnified by your upbringing. It wasn't you - it was a demon. That mark proved it. An insatiable beast. Your body was sensitive from the night prior yet you wanted more. To taste the flesh of anyone willing to give it to you. Slipping back into the covers - those believes were etched into your heart as you guided their heads down to the heat of your lust, mouths ready to please their new lord.
Life moved on after that. The goodbyes you shared with your lovers were more tearful than the nights you choked them half to unconscious only to lick their tears as they'd instructed. You saw each other on occasion, but moving to different parts of the country with no way to make visits permanent at the time shorted your hours together. When college began, they assured you their hearts would belong to you, and if you decided to seek out others they'd be fine with it. Their permission was not needed, but a nice gesture as you had already been scouting out your new playmate. The believes of the supernatural were strong in the new community, but faith prevailed. Show them a little proof and they'll take it that extra mile. Luckily for you, you had been born with all the evidence you needed.
"I try not to show this to everyone, but I know I can trust you now. I know you probably won't believe me, but it's the only excuse I have."
Taking off your shirt, their eyes always shoot to that birthmark on your chest, nestled on the skin of the cage shielding your heart. Some have described it as charred wings, others a crown of thorns. When you were in that stage of curiosity about the world around you, you always wondered what a hypothetical partner would think of it. Your first thoughts were fear or disgust, but the only thing you've ever seen on their faces is pure awe and need.
"I...was cursed by a demon at birth. My faith will always remain in the hands of God, but the effects of the devil's influence are relentless. I'm not strong enough to take care of it on my own... Will you help me?"
"..y-yes!"
With your charms, more eyes were drawn your way. Your lies kept your image clean. Day by day, it became easier for you to sneak your way in the beds and hearts of your peers. While your end goals were far from the realm of innocence, you still cared for this people and their well-being. It's what kept them crawling back -- following you after you graduated.
In priesthood, dozens came from all counters and backgrounds to see you in your prime. Many were old faces - awaiting the day you'd open your arms to them once more. If we're being honest here you've probably seen some of them during the weeks before. You never lied about your involvement with others, and if someone were to grow more jealous than you'd like them to be... they were taking care of before you had the chance to block them and move on. You still blocked them anyway, and messages from unfamiliar numbers claiming to be their families were deleted before you even knew about them.
In the eyes of your flock, you could do no wrong. An innocent member of the church, and a solider of their lord in need of their aid. Most have already abandoned their loyalty to that figure - use its name to raise your own. They whisper to those in the surrounding area about an idol that can teach them the true freedoms of life and erase loneliness from their hearts for the rest of their days. You're sure to give those brave and willing enough a private sermon they're sure to never forget. You finish every public prayer with a straight face and smile as you're serviced by your most loyal followers beneath the podium and your robes. A quick look underneath and you'll find whoever brought you to climax sharing the fruits of their labor with their neighbor through a sloppy kiss, savouring all you have to give. It took quite a while for you to detach your facial expression and sounds from such pleasure, but you've had years of practice by now. Your faithful pets and servants attempt to break that wall with every stroke and curve of their tongues fingers, or bodies - and you're more than welcome to let them try.
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere scenarios#yandere imagines#yandere headcanons#yandere oc#yandere insert#yandere blurb#yandere smut#yandere harem
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find your way back home | lee donghyuck
pairing: lee donghyuck | haechan x female reader
word count: 22.5k
genre: fluff, some mentions of sex, ANGST and nostalgia lots of it, haechan-centric, slow burn
warnings: mentions of sex, excessive drinking, will talk about insomnia and depression
summary: nct’s haechan gets into a scandal after a night of drinking his ass off in hongdae, which prompts the management to put him in an indefinite hiatus. and it’s not like it’s the first time, because over the past months, haechan’s drinking problem had gone worse. hence, his parents send him back to jeju island for some healing time because his parents and managers think that maybe some time home would help. haechan laughs at the thought. if medication can’t, what can jeju island do? besides, he hasn’t been there in literal years.
author's note: this is my favorite work so far, which is why it took this long. i put my heart in here. please let me know which one is your favorite line/scene. this is also very heachan-centric, so please don't expect a lot of the reader's POV. also, may i recommend you to listen to Moon, Be There For You, Never Goodbye by NCT DREAM, Good Person by Haechan himself, and Black Clouds by NCT 127 as you read this! :) TIP ME HERE.
taglist: @mosviqu @matchahyuck @sirens-dreams @sundamariis @lovingvoidgoatee @anjaenha @thiccfullsun @665321-more @hyuckiesoftie @aliceinwhateverland @tddyhyck @anniebyanto @novawona @gimmehyuck @blxshqueen @blitz-fall @byungbyungbaek @calssunflower @funkygoose @carelessshootanonymous-blog @jungwooforever @budibbly @positionslab @beomyomom @jexizia @4everhyucks
disclaimer: names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of my imagination or used in a fictitious manner. i do not claim to own or to have invented any copyrighted characters or concepts that i write about.
Y/N = your name, Y/C/N = your childhood nickname
Haechan’s dream has always been the spotlight.
His Mother would tell her friends stories of how he would always tell her he’d be a star someday, a grin flashing across his small face on pictures and clips of him taking a stage as small as the podium in his first grade classroom, and would proudly brag that his first-born son made it to the world stage. She was so proud that she’d have his portfolio picture as her display image in her social media accounts. As a musician herself, she’d play NCT’s music out loud and would even go an extra mile by using their b-side songs when teaching their students at their small but proud music academy in the big city of Seoul. Haechan’s pictures are all over the small place they’d rented for their small business, two floors—the vocal lessons facilitated on the second floor and piano and guitar on the ground floor—and the humble husband and wife would proudly say the most successful student they’d ever had was Lee Donghyuck, now better known as Haechan.
Haechan allows her to take credit of it all, his success, because after all, she’d been the one to encourage her to take a chance at SM Entertainment’s infamous Saturday auditions. People tell Haechan he works hard, but nobody really works harder than his Mother. With sheer determination and a passionate heart, his mother would take little Donghyuck to every stage—no matter how small. Young and bright, he remembers being dragged from one contest to another, even when their family still lived in Jeju, and he’d win all of them for her. He’d take the spotlight just to see her happy and proud.
At times, Haechan wonders how much effort his mother had really put into his career. If he thinks about it now, it started with their entire family moving out of Jeju Island, completely uprooting their entire lives from the simple life in the island to give her dream a chance. People say that Haechan was born a star, that SM got lucky to have a child prodigy offer himself—bare and whole and real—who was willing to give up his childhood and education for a shot in the dark. His father had been reluctant about it, saying that they’d have to give up their entire life savings to merely move to Seoul—considering plane tickets and security deposits need to be sent prior to moving—and that taking a loan wouldn’t be ideal when they could barely make ends meet with four children growing up too fast. A shot in the dark, a flip of a coin, the luck of a draw. They say he was meant for this, was meant for the stage and the lights and the applause, but to Haechan, it’s not really fate. It’s just his mother doing all the work, and he’d take the spotlight for her.
Because Haechan likes the attention. He likes the good and the bad. The cheers and the applause. The painful arm slaps from Mark when he’s annoyed him enough. The head pats and hugs Taeil gives him when he’s being cute and when he lives up to his maknae image. The viral videos of him all over the internet for simply walking down the stage.
And his mother couldn’t be prouder to have a reliable son like him. She had always dreamed of the spotlight herself, but the timing was never right for her—hence Haechan living her dream, her spotlight, had been one of, if not the biggest accomplishments of her life.
The night is cold. Haechan feels dizzy when flashes of the lights coming from the small window of the bar’s building hit his face. He hates the lights, he hates being seen, and it makes him throw up when, as soon as he closes his eyes, it’s his mother that he sees.
Would his mother still be so proud when she learns that, after a long weekend of a back to back concert with NCT 127, his son would be getting a blowjob from a stranger at the back of some sleazy bar he had found online?
“Please tell me this isn’t real.”
Mark Lee is only twenty-three, but with how his forehead’s skin is wrinkling, he might as well invest in several sessions of botox shots. He’s holding his phone up to Haechan’s face, as if bringing the device closer to the younger’s eyes would deny the article that Dispatch uploaded at five in the fucking morning.
“I didn’t sleep with her,” Haechan denies, voice bored, tired. “We might have done other things, but I didn’t sleep with her.”
Mark lets out a groan of frustration, throwing his phone behind Haechan, the device landing on the carpeted floor. Haechan doesn’t even flinch even though it almost hit him.
“Haechan, what the fuck is going on, man?” Mark asks, demands to know what really is going on with his best friend, or whoever he’s speaking with now. “You know SM is going to kill you, right?”
Haechan shrugs. “What are they gonna do? Fire me?”
“You know they can!” Mark shouts, walking back and forth while Haechan remains seated on the couch, unbothered. “You’ve seen them do it! To our seniors! To the people you trained with. You think you’re big time, huh? That just because you’re essential in both units, they wouldn’t send you to some dungeon?”
Haechan laughs bitterly. He reckons being placed in a dungeon would be much better than the hell he’s living in now. “Now that,” he mocks. “Would be the ultimate dream.”
“You’re a fucking nightmare,” Mark says, pointing a finger to Haechan, enunciating each syllable so it goes through his skull.
But nothing can really make Lee Haechan budge anymore—not an expensive, hard device laterally thrown to his face, and not even his best friend (if he could still call him that) blatantly showing how disgusted he is with him—and he can’t really blame anyone. It used to he frightening to see Mark angry at something he did. Used to.
Haechan doesn’t really know what to say, so he chuckles bitterly and leans his head back so that it’s against the backrest, pondering whether it’s a good time to drink the bottle of vodka he’s been keeping under his bed.
“It’s funny because I don’t even know what having a nightmare feels like.”
Mark huffs, seemingly had given up on Haechan, then leaves the room alongside the small piece of sanity that the younger had left. Haechan bolts, sitting up real quick, but too slow because Mark is already out of the door. Haechan likes attention, and even though Mark Lee makes his head hurt, he likes the attention. Haechan likes that Mark is angry at him.
His manager calls him next, (as expected) voice angry as if he’s about to explode, and tells him his publicist is doing her very best to answer every god damn call from every magazine and news outlet. But none of those magazine and news outlets who have called had posted something to clear the situation; none of them were buying it. Haechan thinks it’s fucking ridiculous anyway. There were pictures and videos of him sneaking out with Hana or Hari, whatever her name was, and a clip of him zipping his pants up as they try to hide from the flashes of lights. Who the fuck would believe he was just out exploring with his 35-year old, happily-married-with-kids personal assistant?
And it’s too late, anyway, because what was the point of it all when his most loyal and long-time fan sites have all shut down overnight, his Instagram followers reducing down to five million in a matter of hours since Dispatch posted that article, and his best friends blatantly ignoring him with the exception of Mark confronting him, but of course, Haechan had to screw that up, too.
“They’re calling you in for a meeting,” his manager concludes with a sigh after elaborating what had been done to patch up the entire mess. “Be ready for whatever they have to say. Don’t expect me to have your back because I’m over it, Haechan. Whatever they decide to do with you, you fucking deserve it.”
The call ends. Haechan didn’t even get to talk.
He looks at the screen of his phone. There were a million of calls and text messages from his agency, half of it were from his mother, and the last thing he really wants now is to hear her voice. He scrolls through it all, chest tightening when he realizes nobody from Jaemin, Renjun and Jeno had tried to call him. Haechan knows he’s an asshole, deserving to be the receiving end of all the shouting and cussing, and he’s probably made the dumbest mistake of his entire life, but he’d live the stardom’s life long enough, he’d be okay. But a call from his best friends would have been a breather.
Haechan understands, what his manager said, that he shouldn’t really expect anyone to have his back after all that’s transpired in the last few of months.
You see, Haechan developed insomnia. He’d look the symptoms up in the internet, and it’s described as a common sleeping disorder that can make it hard for people to fall asleep, or if one’s attempt to drift off is successful, to stay asleep. Taeyong had said it’s a common disorder for idols, that their seniors from groups like EXO and SHINEE had all gone to psychologists for help, but Haechan didn’t really want to make a big deal out of it. He relied on what Naver offered him one morning when the sun’s already out and his eyes are still wide open.
Stress and anxiety were the major causes. Some resources say it could be from a poor sleeping environment such as an uncomfortable bed or bad lighting or temperature. One claims that it could also be from one’s lifestyle, like jetlag from traveling frequently, or drinking one too many caffeine-infused doses of fluids. It all could be factors why Haechan’s been getting 8-10 hours of sleep a week, and he acknowledges that he doesn’t really have the best lifestyle—and it’s not like he’s ever had the choice since NCT blew up.
So, he’d consulted Taeyong again, through a text, and all he’d gotten was a link to a study that insomnia can be caused by mental health conditions such as depression, followed by his therapist’s phone number.
Among all the causes he’d gathered, Haechan could confidently rule out depression because there’s no fucking way he’s sad. There’s barely any reason to be sad. Sure, he’d miss his siblings most of the time and he hates the feeling of seeing any of them cry whenever he had to leave, but nothing is more gratifying than the relief of seeing them happy whenever he comes home with luxurious gifts or plane tickets to Tokyo for a vacation. Haechan likes making people happy, and Mark tells him he’s always been a people pleaser. At times, he’d think his happiness depends on the happiness of the people he loves and values, and people around him are happy.
Hence, Haechan is happy.
Or at least, was happy.
Because the insomnia got worse—not that Haechan’s dealt with it enough to know whether it’s getting better or worse—but it was bad. He would come home exhausted as fuck after an entire day of dancing and singing, and he knows he’s tired because his body tells him so. Haechan would lie on bed, body drained from all energy, but his eyes would be wide open for an entire night. He’d only fall asleep when the sun’s started to seep through his curtains, a good hour before his manager would wake him for the next schedule. It was manageable, and the tour was a good excuse for the insomnia, but it followed him even on his days off, even in the beginning of the pandemic when there little to zero schedules that would have caused him anxiety or stress.
Therefore, reluctantly, he’d visited a doctor to get a prescription for some meds he could take to help him sleep. He’d lied, though, that it wasn’t that bad and that he would need it only on nights after shows, because he knew they’d only refer him to a therapist. Haechan doesn’t need a therapist. He could just talk to his mother about it, and she’d know what to say to make him feel better. To make him keep going.
It was fine until the melatonin supplements stopped working. Sometime last year, if he remembers right, when he thought he’d gone crazy because everything stopped working for him. There was a bottle of soju, half empty, from the fridge he had in the corner of the room he shared with Johnny, and he reckoned it could help. As soon as the bottle was empty, Haechan felt drowsy; he was out like the light half an hour later.
But just like the prescription from the doctor he can’t even remember the name of, drinking half a bottle worked. Johnny would give him suspicious looks when he would see Haechan stocking up soju inside their room, but he doesn’t ever say anything. Because alcohol made him sleep, until it didn’t. Until half a bottle stopped working. Until an entire bottle is no longer enough. Until Taeyong’s decided that there should be no alcohol inside anyone’s fridge, both fifth and tenth floors.
Hence, the drinking problem.
Haechan wonders what’s next. The sleeping problem, then the drinking problem. It looks like here is it, the next one: the scandal.
When Haechan was a trainee, his greatest fear was getting removed from the agency.
There was an assessment every quarter, and the CEO himself would sit down in a panel alongside other producers and choreographers to identify which of the trainees would move on to another level and which ones would have to go home. Each time they had to go through the assessment, Haechan, alongside other existing members of NCT, would spend long days inside the training room. He would fear that the CEO would ask him to rap all of a sudden because Haechan can’t rap to save his god damn life at that time. He would fear that his mother would receive a call and find out his beloved son, whom she spent so much money on just to get ballet classes, failed and would need to go home.
Today, Haechan fears none of those.
The decision to put him in an indefinite hiatus was quick to make, not that Haechan expected anything less.
The news was out the second they threw him out of the meeting room (but not before the CEO slapping him right across the face, his left cheek throbbing in pain he’s oddly happy he could feel) and his bags were packed before he could even tell his members. The dorms were empty when he arrived, and there was no time to visit Dream’s place; Haechan knew he could just call, or visit. His family lives twenty minutes away, a short ride from downtown. He’d figure it out, like he always would.
What fazes him is what he comes home to.
His father offers him a one-way ticket, says his mother is still too upset to look even at Haechan in the face, that she’s spending the night in her friend’s house. The domestic flight ticket is bound to Jeju Island, and it boards tomorrow morning.
“Your grandmother will be waiting for you,” his father says, eyes everywhere but Haechan’s. “Your mother thinks it would be the best for now. Your agency knows, of course, and they’re helping us ensure you get your privacy in Jeju-do. We just need you to stay there for a bit, Donghyuck. Might help.”
“Dad,” Haechan pleads, Dad sounding foreign to him now. He’s stopped calling him Dad years ago, right before he debuted in NCT, and had been calling him Father. He’s not sure why he’a suddenly calling him that now, perhaps it’s the sinking feeling in his stomach, but Haechan is desperate for another solution. “You can’t send me back in the island. I haven’t lived in grandmother’s house since I was twelve.”
“Don’t act like the place isn’t civilized, Donghyuck,” his father sighs. “You’ll be okay. You can take your expensive gaming laptop with you so you can entertain yourself while you’re on vacation. It’s only going to be a few months.”
“A few months?” Haechan cries. “I can’t live there anymore!”
“The agency decided not to terminate their contract with you,” his father reveals. “Apparently, you’re too talented to let go of. Your mother and I are very grateful they didn’t. All they want in return is for you to go back in six months—sober and full of life again. Your therapist suggests you go to a vacation.”
“I don’t have a therapist?”
“The doctor who prescribed you sleeping pills? You didn’t tell us you had insomnia.”
“Fuck you,” Haechan spits before he could even think about it. “Neither you nor mother thought of asking me what’s been going on. Dad, I wanted you to scold me. To punch me in the fucking gut and tell me I’ve ruined everything. I wanted mother to yell at me until my ear bleeds, so I can find the motivation to work hard and make her happy again.”
“Donghyuck, we–”
“Don’t call me that!” He yells. “The first thing that came to your mind was how grateful you are that I’m not fired from my job? I’m not some retirement plan! I’m your son!”
“Keep it down. Your siblings are–”
”Donghyuck-hyung?” Haechan turns. Gyeom stands at the end of the hallway, seemingly woken up from his slumber, and Dongmin hides behind the younger one to see what’s going on. Haechan doesn’t even see Seungyeon come out of her room. He just hears her door shut loudly, the lock clicking, and realize he fucked up big time.
He takes a look at the ticket from his father’s hand.
It’s ridiculous. If the melatonin pills he’s taking are not helping with his stupid insomnia, and drinking a bottle of soju works as equally as useless, what the fuck could work? They think a recreational vacation to fucking Jeju Island would do shit?
Fuck his parents, honestly.
Fuck his siblings for not even giving him a hug as soon as he entered their home.
Fuck his members for not checking up on him.
Fuck the entire god damn world.
He rips the ticket from his father’s hand and turns to leave, taking the same bags he’d brought in a few minutes ago. The flight is tomorrow morning, but Haechan calls a taxi to take him to the airport.
Sleeping (or at least, trying to) in the uncomfortable airport seats is a fucking pain in the ass, literally. But nothing more hurts than the look on his family’s face: the blankness in his father’s and the fright from his siblings.
Jeju fucking Island. Way to end the day.
When Haechan was younger, his grandmother would take him to the Camellia Hills on the weekends. While kids his age would be taken in Aqua Planet to see thousands of animals and plant species to ease their shoulders from studies, Haechan would be running around fields of camellia and hydrangea flowers. They would spend hours just walking around trees of over five hundred different kinds of wildflowers. His grandmother would take pictures of him and let him eat whatever he wanted at a nearby restaurant, and his siblings would always cry and complain why Nana only wanted to bring Haechan. There wasn’t a particular reason, of course, it was only because the younger ones were too difficult for their grandmother to look after on a trip to Camellia Hill. Little Donghyuckie was well-behaved albeit his bold and obnoxious nature. He would do whatever his Nana would ask him.
Haechan’s always claimed that he’s the favorite despite his grandmother repeatedly saying she doesn’t do favorites, and he knows deep in his heart that he is. He is, after all, the first grandchild, and he spent a lot of time with his Nana alone for many years while they were in Jeju.
His grandmother used to sing him to sleep at night. When his younger sister was born, Nana stayed with them in Seoul for a while to help his parents adjust to having two kids, considering Haechan’s age gap with Seungyeon is only a year. Nana made sure Haechan slept well every night, in a separate room from his parents because newborn Seungyeon who wouldn’t let anyone sleep past one in the morning. She’d sing him songs from The Beatles in broken English, and Haechan likes to think that even though both his parents were musicians, the reason why he could sing well was his Nana.
She eventually had to move back to Jeju Island as soon as the family had settled, but years later, at the age of seven, his grandfather died and Nana was left all alone to tend to their land and business, hence the Lee family packed their bags to stay at Nana’s supposedly for the summer, but ended up with the decision of staying for her.
Nana had problems sleeping when his grandfather died. Haechan used to find her awake when he’d need a glass of water or to go to the toilet at two in the morning. She’d be watching television, a nighttime talk show she used to like, or reading a book from his grandfather’s shelf. The lights in her home were always on.
So, Haechan started singing her to sleep just like how she did when he was a child.
She’d tell him, “Oh, my Donghyuckie, you have such a nice voice. Why don’t you sing more?”
Then she’d fall asleep while Haechan wondered why lovers die at different times, why one has to go first and the other is left on Earth trying to sleep well every night.
Upon his arrival in Jeju-do, his grandmother doesn’t pick him up from the airport like he’d expected, so he takes a taxi from the airport to her house. Haechan knows what their home looks like despite not visiting since his training days. They own a small hectare of land filled with tangerine trees, and his grandmother had been the sole operator of it all for many years until she had to start hiring people here and there to manage things for her when her age caught up with her. His father used to travel back and forth to see how things are here and there, but eventually stopped when Nana had found people she can rely on—which Haechan is very glad about.
He must be an asshole, or a prick, or a hypocrite to even say this but he’s been thinking about her more often than he calls. If he recalls right, the last time he’d called was three months ago, on her birthday, but it was two-minute exchange of generic how are yous and please stay healthys. She would call, of course, but Haechan would always have something as an excuse: a dance practice, a trip to Japan for a show, a photoshoot, something. Something to cover up the fact that he hasn’t been the best grandson to her in a long time.
He arrives and the first thing he notices is a hammock hanging in between the posts of her patio. A kick of nostalgia hits him because grandfather put up a hammock at the back of their home once, when Haechan was around five years old and they were visiting the couple for the summer. Her grandmother used to tell Haechan that the hammock is the best place to take his afternoon naps, hence little Donghyuck would spend most of his afternoons lying on a hammock made of strong nylon.
Shaking off the nostalgia, Haechan clears his throat. “Nana! I’m home!”
“Donghyuckie, is that you?” she calls from somewhere. Haechan walks over to the patio and drops his bags.
Nana comes out from the side of the house, her favorite pink apron on, grey hair hidden by a hair cap. “Oh, sweetheart.”
Haechan sees her age simply by the way she stands. Her back is hunched more than it was the last time he saw her during Chuseok last year. The wrinkles in the edges of her eyes and around her mouth are much more evident. The skin on her neck is loose, and so is the skin on her arms and everywhere.
For a second, Haechan feels like he’s seven again, seeing her for the first time since summer, her eyes not as happy as they were from the last time they’d been in Jeju-do, when grandfather was still alive. Haechan suddenly is taken back to when she’d hug him so, so tightly, crying to his shoulder, telling him harabeoji had left her while she was asleep. He remembers his heart dropping down to the ground when he saw her breaking down, his loving grandmother—who was always bright and happy, whom people would say he got his personality from—at her lowest. It’s the same wave of sadness Haechan feels looking at her now—looking at the years painted in her skin. Her memories blurring out the color of her eyes. Decades of hard work and labor tainted on the callouses on her fingers. Glints of loneliness spread throughout the wrinkles on her face.
Haechan has been all over the world for years now. Years of training and sleepless nights perfecting a performance had led him to where he is now. People who speak different languages love him and cheer for him even with countries and continents in between. He’s made millions happy by simply singing songs or saying hi in a fan call. And while he’s done of all of these, what had he done for his grandmother? People have been watching him grow up, who was watching Nana all this time?
Haechan chokes on his own tears. His grandmother, his Nana, opens her arms like Haechan is not the person the world hates right now. She hugs him like Haechan is not the person who had potentially ruined the group his best friend Mark had worked hard on. She holds him in her arms like Haechan is not the person who scared his siblings and cursed his own father. Nana takes him inside her home like he’s her Donghyuck again.
Haechan feels like he’s her Donghyuckie again.
Contrary to popular belief, Donghyuck doesn’t like affection as much as Haechan does.
He believes that being offered tenderness is the very proof that you’ve been ruined, and Haechan likes to think that with the life he has now, he’s not really in the position to talk about his life’s struggles. Because there are more people in the world who deserves to talk about their pain. Donghyuck doesn’t deserve as much.
Hence, the nostalgia goes away as quickly as it arrives. Haechan spends the rest of the day trying to sleep in his grandmother’s spare room and doesn’t even bother answering when his grandmother knocked on his door to invite him for lunch despite him being wide awake.
Haechan gets up at five in the afternoon, just when the sun is about to set, eyes heavy. The sky looks a lot like the color of his own skin, he notices, and he thinks about how beautiful the sky would be in Han River and recalls how him and Mark (and sometimes Doyoung) would lie on the ground, letting their skin soak in the sun slowly sinking down to its rest.
But none of that is close to happening because he’s here. In Jeju-do. Stuck like some twelve-year old sent to camp for an entire summer because his parents can’t stand him.
Haechan’s train of (bitter) thoughts is interrupted with a loud plonk from the wooden patio, which is right outside his window. He pulls his curtains slightly to peek, and he finds you on the floor on your side, groaning like a kid and massaging your back. It looks like you’d just fallen out of the hammock.
Curious, Haechan gets up and quickly slips out of his room to see you on their front porch.
“And Nana says it’s the most comfortable place to sleep on,” he hears you mumble as you get up, eyes meeting his as soon as you see him. Your eyes widen in shock, probably recognizing him, but you quickly catch yourself and look down.
“You are?” Haechan asks, towering over you.
You clear your throat. “Y/N.”
“I don’t mean your name, pumpkin,” he replies. “What do you do here?”
Haechan smirks at the way one of your eyebrows raised, clearly already infuriated at his attitude. You’re wearing a white shirt that’s too big for you underneath your denim overalls. The pair of boots sitting under the hammock is a clear sign that you’re a farmer tending to the tangerine trees on the land right beside the house, separated by a fence and his grandmother’s home garden.
“I manage your grandmother’s land,” you answer, stance defensive. “And it looks like you’re the delinquent grandson they sent away for the summer?”
Haechan chuckles, liking how you’re bark and bite, wondering how far he can push you, because the last thing he really wants is someone staying at his grandmother’s house. Too close. Too easy to see everything. You’d make millions selling him to the tabloids. He’d honestly rather hear people saying how much of an asshole he is, than have people invading his grandmother’s privacy while he’s here.
“You mean the world star, right?” he brags, licking his upper lip. “And you manage the land we own? Sounds a lot like a farmer to me.”
You stifle a laugh. You’re not at all intimidated. “Oh, pumpkin, I think the last thing you’d want to do in Jeju-do is insult a farmer for their job. The agricultural structure of Jeju Island has done more than you thrusting your hips up on the air for young, easily-manipulated teenage girls, Donghyuck.”
“So, you know my name?”
You click your tongue and turn around, proceeding to slip your boots back on. “How could I not know?”
“Because I’m a world star, right. How could you not know?”
Haechan watches you tie the laces up of your boots. You don’t give him another glance and leave, stomping your feet down the stairs to the ground until you’re out of his sight.
“Hey, you’re awake,” Nana says from inside. The door is wide open. “Where’s Y/N?”
She walks towards where Haechan stands, looking around for you. “That girl. I told her to stay for dinner. What’d you do, Donghyuck-ah?”
“Nothing,” he mumbles, annoyed at how Nana is more concerned about you leaving than ensuring his privacy. He’s a star, for god’s sake. “Why’d you let her sleep here, anyway? And have her stay for dinner? Aren’t you scared she might sell me off to some magazine for, I don’t know, one million won?”
“Why would Y/N sell you—“ his grandmother sighs. “Not everyone is out to get you, Donghyuck-ah.”
“Why does she even know my birth name?” he questions. “That’s like, too much, Nana. Don’t share things like that.”
His grandmother slaps his arm. “Ow! What’d you do that for?”
“You’re a moron!” she screeches. “That was Y/N! She waited for you to wake up all day!”
“That’s creepy!”
“Y/C/N,” Nana enunciates. Haechan remembers. “Her childhood nickname. Does it ring a bell?”
“Y/N—” he breathes out. Frozen. “—is Y/C/N?”
Haechan has always had an affinity with flowers, long before he named his fans sunflowers.
His grandparents had a larger flower garden as compared to how it is now. They’d planted tangerine trees in place of the fields of beautiful red azalea and rhododendron blossoms. On spring days, the cherry blossoms were infinite, and little Donghyuck used to spend a lot of time looking at the flowers and making necklaces out of them.
You used to (still do, perhaps) live down the street, and your parents used to help out in the farm when your grandparents needed another pair of hands to harvest the tangerines. Little Donghyuck met you when he was six.
If he recalls it right, it was the second day of summer, a hundred something days before they had to return back to Seoul. He found you lying under a cherry blossom tree, eyes closed, allowing hundreds of pink petals to drown you in their beauty. Little Donghyuck lied down beside you, upside-down but his head is right beside yours. He’s always been a curious kid, so he wanted to know why you were letting the pink petals rain on you. There was nothing special about it. Just petals falling when the wind blows a certain direction.
When he opened his eyes, you turn to look at him, your eyebrows were furrowed the way they were when Haechan found you on the floor of his patio earlier, right after you’d fallen from the hammock.
“Hey,” you had said. “You’re the kid from Nana’s house, right?”
“She’s my Nana,” he corrected, closing his eyes once again. “And yes, I’m the kid from Nana’s house. You are?”
“My mom calls me Y/C/N,” you answered. “Are you staying for the summer?”
He nodded. “Only for the summer. We’re leaving before school starts.”
“Do you like flowers?” you asked.
“We don’t have a lot of flowers in Seoul,” Little Donghyuck mumbled. “But I love flowers. Last summer, Nana took me to Camellia Hills to see the flowers bloom in May.”
“Then you should stay,” you trailed off. “If you love flowers and Seoul doesn’t offer much, then you should stay.”
“What about school?” Donghyuck had asked, opening his eyes to look at you. You’re looking at him, upside-down and all. Donghyuck’s never seen someone more beautiful. “You’re pretty.”
Your eyes widened. You immediately hide your face from him using your hands. “We’re only five. I can’t have a boyfriend at five years old.”
“Maybe when we’re older.”
Haechan doesn’t remember much from the day you met, but he got close to you during that summer in 2006, even more when his family moved back to Jeju-do in 2007. Your friendship blossomed from walking together in first grade throughout primary school until he’d graduated and eventually moved back to Seoul.
He can’t believe that he’d forgotten your name, and a part of him knows it’s because he’s always called you by your childhood nickname, but a larger part of him likes to think that it’s because he’s almost twenty-three now—it’s been almost ten years. He’s met probably thousands of people at this point, and with the lifestyle he has, he really can’t afford to remember each person he spends time with. Not even the girl he spent his entire childhood in Jeju-do with.
So, Haechan forgives himself before he could ask for yours. He reckons you’d understand. You know him, somehow. You kept in touch until Haechan got into SM in 2013 and high school and training got the best of him. He changed his number and lost contact with almost everyone in Jeju-do, even his closest friends, and you were one them.
Life as a singer means Haechan had to sacrifice a lot of things.
Most people know an idol sacrifices having a normal life—playing in the streets, trying out to be a part of the basketball team, dating at fifteen years old, prom, staying at one classmate’s house for a group project—and it includes forgetting the people you used to be close with.
One of the rules in SM when he was a trainee was to not get in touch with the people from their past. One of their managers used to tell them that their lives are divided into two parts: before training and after training; and to be successful in the industry means to forget who you were before training. They’d deleted all of his social media, which means he disconnected from the people he knew before he was Haechan. They’d deleted who he was before Haechan.
Many sacrifices, indeed. The list goes on, and at the end of it was your name.
“She never left Jeju-do?” Haechan asks, curious, as he ate the dinner Nana made for him. “Like not even for college?”
“She didn’t go to college at all,” Nana answers. “And she likes it here. Why do you make staying in Jeju-do sound like a living hell?”
Haechan shrugs. “It’s not like that, Nana. I mean, God knows what I’d do to get a normal life and go to college in Seoul and do what normal people in their early twenties do.”
Nana smiles at him. “This is probably what normal is for her. Not everyone has big dreams like you.”
“Why wouldn’t they?” Haechan asks. “Dreams are free. It doesn’t cost anything to dream. Why wouldn’t people want to have big dreams?”
“Aren’t you the lucky one to have a dream and to be able to live your dream?” Nana says. She finishes up her meal and watches Haechan eat. “How are you, Donghyuck-ah?”
Haechan stops chewing and braces himself. Nobody’s asked him how he is. He continues chewing like it’s not a question that’s been weighing him under.
“I’m okay,” he answers, mouth full of food. “They didn’t fire me. So, I guess I should be grateful. I’m okay.”
“You know that you don’t have to lie to Nana, right?” She asks, smile kind and warm.
And Haechan wants to say it all. Out loud. Maybe even cry.
But he is not about to let his grandmother carry his burdens with her. Burdens that shouldn’t even matter because he’s so lucky to have the life he has now. Burdens that are nothing compared to other people’s.
“Come on, Donghyuck-ah,” she urges. “Talk to Nana. Tell me what’s wrong, my dear.”
“Halmeoni,” he firmly says. “I said I’m okay. I’m tired. Thank you for the meal.” He bows and stands to leave.
Life has a singer means Haechan had to sacrifice a lot, indeed.
Nana leaves a box of things Haechan would need while he’s in Jeju-do before her trusted chauffeur takes her to the town’s market for some business.
Haechan finds himself wearing the same fit as you the day before: a pair of overalls, an old, non-branded shirt that looks like it’s been worn and washed 300 times. Nana left a list of chores to do, and there’s no way Haechan is doing all of those. He’s taking a walk around the fields, supervise like how the owner’s grandson should, bask on the sunlight for a bit, then go back to his room and play some games with strangers online.
You’re waiting by the patio, sitting and looking at the opposite direction so he only sees your back, when Haechan comes out, dressed up for the role but not ready for whatever today brings him.
“Took you long enough,” you grumble as he steps out of the house. You stand and turn to look at him. “Lock the door and let’s get going. You’re late on your first day.”
“Chill out, sweet cheeks,” he scoffs, reaching behind the door and locking it before slamming it shut. “You’re not the boss of me.”
You nod, chuckling. “I’m not. But your grandmother is. And she added your list to the name of workers joining us to harvest today. You will be paid by the hour.”
Haechan gasps lightly in disbelief. “I don’t need to work. We own this place.”
“Hmm,” you hum, feigning curiosity as you tap your index finger to your chin as if you’re thinking hard. “You know I manage this whole place, right? Which means I also manage its taxes and permits annually. I’ve never seen your name in any of the papers I play with every day.”
“Same fucking thing,” he mumbles, walking past you to reach the gate. Haechan finds two horses waiting for him outside. He turns, ready to ask you what kind of joke you’re pulling on him, but he finds you going around the house, perhaps to make sure everything’s locked and all. You catch up on him, eyebrows raised when he points to the horses.
“Don’t tell me you can’t ride a horse,” you ask, seemingly in disbelief that someone like him isn’t capable of riding a horse. “You can’t work in the fields just walking. You’ll tire yourself out and will waste most of your working hours just walking.”
“I—I’m really not—” Haechan falters for a second, but comes back as quickly as he goes. “It’s been years since the last time I rode a horse. I’m not certain if I can do that now.” You give him a questioning look. “Besides. I’m a celebrity if you haven’t noticed it already. What if I break a bone?”
“You’ll live.”
“What if I fall and break my face?”
“Seoul has the best plastic surgeons.”
“My legs! They were injured before. I can’t afford to get another injury!”
“You’ll be fine. You’re such a drama queen.”
“I’m a star!”
At that, you burst out into a fit of laughter, the kind that Haechan would normally join in, because what he just said is truly ridiculous. He can’t believe he said that himself. But, of course, he can’t just laugh with, basically, a stranger.
“Oh my God, Lee Donghyuck,” you say in between laughter.
Something ignites something in him, the way you just said his name.
Haechan is a name he loves, an alter-ego he adores, a character he lives. Full sun, because that’s what he wants to be. He wants to bring light to everyone looking up to him, and he wants to be remembered by the way his voice warms the entire planet. He loves hearing cheers and applause when he introduces himself as Haechan. Because Haechan is talented. Haechan is an ace, an all-rounder who can do anything an idol is expected to do, perhaps even more. Haechan is bright and positive, and he likes making people laugh and at the same time uncomfortable of the influx of skinship he offers. Haechan loves the lights and cameras on stage, and he adores the way his name is in every city he goes to.
Meanwhile, Lee Donghyuck, he’s heard in a million times. Mark still calls him Donghyuck like they never aged since 2013, even Doyoung and Jeno. His parents seldom call him Haechan, never for Nana. His fans also have been calling him Donghyuck since they learned his birth name is Donghyuck, sometimes Hyuck or Hyuckie, which he finds really endearing.
Yet no one’s ever called him his name like he’s nothing but just Lee Donghyuck. Not for a long time. Not from someone before Haechan.
Donghyuck suddenly feels like he’s twelve again, the year he left Jeju-do and had to say goodbye to all of his friends with a promise to keep in touch and to never forget. Donghyuck finds himself looking at the way you’re laughing, how you have your eyes closed, mouth agape and melodies of your amusement coming out like a song he thought he’d forgotten but know all the words to, and he finds himself thinking, maybe being Lee Donghyuck isn’t so bad.
His first day at the farm didn’t go as quick as expected and if Donghyuck could say so himself, it’s the longest fucking day in his entire life.
Evidently, he couldn’t ride a horse to save his life. He doesn’t even know why he’d told you it’s been a long time when the only time he ever rode a horse was when he was eleven for a field trip and only to take a god damn picture to make his mother smile. You and him were only a couple of horse steps or whatever away from Nana’s home and his horse was already squirming and more like threatening to throw him ten meters away, hence, you begrudgingly offered to have him ride with you. Donghyuck didn’t decline, of course, because it was either walk around the place under the hot sun or die at the hands of a stupid horse. You had let him sit behind you, skillfully and impressively holding the other horse by its rope, Donghyuck’s arms reluctantly wrapped around your waist because he didn’t want to fall, and if you were uncomfortable, you didn’t say anything about it.
You had taken him to a tour within his grandparents’ land, and Donghyuck is already twenty-three when he realized his grandparents are big time, like for real. The land isn’t as big as the others, ones that are owned by a big corporation, people who aren’t even from Jeju-do but like to play agricultural monopoly, but it’s bigger than most. Nana was too humbled when she’d told him the night before that he would need to help out in their “small” business.
The business is nowhere near small, with hundreds of tangerine trees scattered around, blooming in the famous Jeju-do delicacy, and she had forty to fifty employees working for her.
“Not really like full-time employees,” you had explained when Donghyuck verbalized his surprise with the number of people working for the farm. “Normally, it’s just me and Nana and a few other people who handle the delivery, quality assurance, and sales in the farmer’s market, which I’d need to take you to tomorrow, and also some folks from Seoul who handle the cargo shipping to the cities. But when it’s harvest season, we really would need more than ten pairs of hands to help out.”
“So, like, all year, there’s only around ten people are here,” Donghyuck confirmed, hands still on your waist as the horse came to a stop. “And on harvest season, Nana hires more people to help out. That’s really nice. Could be a good summer job for students and all.”
You hummed in agreement, patting the horse that Donghyuck learned you named as Daisy. “But normally, you’d find older people working here instead of the younger ones.”
“Oh?” Donghyuck’s curious. “That’s a little odd. I mean, isn’t the job physically tiring?”
You shrugged. “The elderly, well, they don’t really have a lot of opportunities to work here, you know, considering that Jeju-do has become more of like a tourist island than a self-sufficient, thriving agricultural place. You’ve probably heard of the water park they’d built nearby the airport and other big corporations taking over and building their stores here and there. And of course, they’d most likely hire younger people who can relate to the Korean Wave your group caused, right?”
“Keeping tabs?”
You scoffed at that. “As if! Now, get down before I ask Daisy to wiggle her ass and throw you off.”
After the supposed short tour that took an hour because, well, their land is enormous, you take him where some of the elderly people are harvesting.
“This is Donghyuck,” you’d introduced. “Nana’s grandson from Seoul. He’ll be helping us today. So, halmeoni, don’t even think about getting him off the hook because he’s Nana’s grandson. He will be paid for the day like everyone else. You wouldn’t want someone to get paid the same, only to work half of what you do, right?”
The older women laughed at the way you’d introduced him, and he feels his heart swell with the way you’re laughing with them and how they looked at him with so much tenderness. And normally, Donghyuck doesn’t like the look of tenderness, especially when directed to him, but today, it felt warm. Warmth like never before.
“You grew up so handsome, Donghyuck-ah,” one of the women said. “But I thought you’d be taller, you know. You had such long limbs when you were younger.”
Donghyuck feigned offense, clutching his chest. “Ahjumma, you should’ve stopped at the word handsome.”
“Tangerines ripen earlier than other citruses, so they can escape damage from freezes that will harm midseason varieties such as grapefruit and sweet oranges. Most varieties will be ready for picking during the winter and early spring, although the exact tangerine harvest time depends on the cultivar and region,” you explain, following the lead while Donghyuck and two other guys around yours and his age trail behind you. He apparently needs some training before he can start working.
“How do we know if they’re ready to be picked?” Joohyuk, one of the part-timers, ask.
You will know it’s about harvest time for tangerines when the fruit is a good shade of orange and begins to soften a bit. This is your chance to do a taste test,” you answer, stopping to show an abundant tangerine tree. You pick one out and show it to Donghyuck and the rest. “Cut the fruit from the tree at the stem with hand pruners. If after your taste test the fruit has reached its ideal juicy sweetness, proceed to snip other fruit from the tree with the hand pruners.”
You proceed to show them how it’s cut and hand them a piece each. Donghyuck likes that the fruit is sweet, not sour.
The ahjummas find your group and start handing baskets to Donghyuck and the guys, telling them they’d guide them all throughout.
He found himself spending the rest of the morning getting to know the people harvesting tangerines and making them laugh like it’s his job. He learned all their names one by one, their families briefly, and what they used to do before they retired. By the time it’s lunch, Donghyuck was about to say goodbye and perhaps ask you to take him back to his house, the group from the other side of the farm joined their area, all packed with bags of lunch.
They asked him to join, of course, but Donghyuck refused, in respect of their time to relax and take a break, and asked if you could take him home instead. You agreed, of course, mumbling that you would also need to go home to feed your dog.
“I’ll pick you up at 1:15,” you say as soon as Donghyuck lands on his feet. “Don’t sleep, please. The ahjummas will be expecting you. It’ll be a lot hotter, so drench your celebrity skin with twice the amount of sunscreen you’d normally use.”
“Yeah,” Donghyuck responds, itching to say thank you, but not enough to actually say it. He rubs Daisy’s neck instead. “You—I, okay.”
“O-kay,” you nod and whistle to signal Daisy to turn and walk the other way.
Nana waits for him by the patio. “How was your first day?”
“It’s not even over yet,” he sighs, slumping his butt on one of the patio’s stairs. “Nana, I can’t believe you’re making me work while I’m on vacation.”
“Your father never said anything about a vacation,” she responds, smiling as she struggles to sit beside him. Donghyuck helps her. “You’re here for some time away from work, right?”
“Yeah, a vacation,” he emphasizes.
Nana reaches to move the fringe covering a part of his eyes. “Let’s call this your healing time. But I wouldn’t call it a vacation because a vacation for you only means playing computer games until the sun rises then sleeping all day.”
“You should stop talking to Seungyeon about me,” he mumbles, looking sideways to find his grandmother looking at him lovingly. “And I don’t only play computer games. I also listen to a lot of music.”
“Try not to think about the limelight while you’re here,” she says. “The farm needs some help now. And it’s the best time for you to learn about the family business in case you don’t make it back in Seoul.” Donghyuck groans, burying his face in his hands, and Nana laughs at him. “That’s a possibility you should be considering, Donghyuck-ah.”
“Nana, you’re making me feel worse,” he whines. “You just told me not to think about the limelight, how can I not when you just said what you said!”
“I’m only joking,” she admits. “No one is ever going to take the limelight away from you, Donghyuck-ah, even if they try. You were born for the stage, and I know it’s everything you’ve ever wanted.”
Donghyuck looks up at her. “Is it bad that it’s all I want?”
Nana shakes her head and offers a kind smile. “Having a dream like yours is never bad, Donghyuck-ah. I know that eventually you’d have to leave and go back to where you really belong: the limelight. But all I’m saying is, stepping out of the light isn’t as bad as you think it is.”
“Right.”
“Tell me how it was in the farm.”
“The ladies love me,” he chuckles. “I’m quite popular even in the small villages of Jeju-do, aren’t I?”
“You sure are,” she agrees. “They’ve been asking about you for a long time. Looks like your Nana isn’t the only one who missed you.”
“How come they still remember me?” he asks before he can think about it. “I mean, I’m sorry, but I’ve forgotten about most people here. They still remember how I used to play around and sing for small events.”
It’s true. It caught him by surprise that the workers still remembered him—and not only because he’s a celebrity now, but they remember him by the small, insignificant happenstances when he was younger. Like for example, one of them mentioned how he was once was injured, his pinky finger to be exact, because he was running like a madman when his mother had given him permission to go play computer games with his cousin. He doesn’t remember that person being there, but he knows his grandmother talked about it like it was a news about a hurricane hitting Seoul at that time it happened.
It makes Donghyuck wonder how many people remember him, and how many people he’d forgotten and left behind for his dreams.
“Our world here in Jeju-do is small,” Nana explains. “People like you, who left, well, while ours remain humble and small, while we fade into the background and slowly become insignificant, yours become bigger. So, while we remember, you forget, slowly, one by one—and nobody blames you for forgetting, Donghyuck-ah.”
Oh, look. Another burden, another truth that Donghyuck has to carry for the rest of his life. Another reason not to fall asleep tonight.
There is a small, local store located down the road from his grandmother’s house. They don’t sell nearly half the number the ones local convenience stores in Seoul would, but Donghyuck likes to think it’ll do. Soju and beer taste the same anyway, regardless of where he buys it.
With the faint, beaten yellow paint from its exterior, the store has been around even before Donghyuck was born. It’s the village’s very own convenience store, after all. There weren’t any rival stores like how it would look like in Seoul where every corner of every street one would find a convenience store. From where Donghyuck stands, the store doesn’t like look like it’s changed much in a decade.
For some reason, Donghyuck remembers how much Renjun likes reading neuroscience studies for fun. He doesn’t know anyone else who would read neuroscience studies. For fun. But anyway, back to his point, there was a neuroscience study that Renjun has been blabbing about during their US tour. It was something about when someone recalls an old memory, a representation of the entire event is instantaneously reactivated in the brain that often includes the people, location, smells, music, and other trivia. Recalling old memories can have a cinematic quality. Memories often seem to play out in the mind's eye like an old Super 8 home movie or vintage Technicolor film. Neuroscientists discovered that when someone tries to remember a singular aspect of an event from his or her past—such as a recent birthday party—that a complete representation of the entire scene is reactivated in the brain like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle coming together to create a vivid recollection. The new research reveals that humans remember life events using individual threads, that are coupled together into a tapestry of associations.
Donghyuck’s never really understood what Renjun meant at that time, except now.
He stands there, a good ten-meter distance from where you’re sitting. The pavement on the sidewalk isn’t the most comfortable place to sit in, but Donghyuck thinks it might just be, with how comfortable and at peace you look: legs stretched out to the street, headphones covering your ears, a book (or a journal perhaps, Donghyuck can’t see well from here) in one of your hands while the other is twirling a pen.
The scene takes him back to ten years ago, in the exact same place where you’re sitting, and if Donghyuck thinks about it now, it seems like nothing’s really change—except he’s almost twenty-three now, and despite him standing a few meters away from you, it feels like you and him are worlds away. And from what it looks like, you still love writing as much as Donghyuck loves singing.
It was a warm evening in May 2013, a couple of weeks before school ended and summer would officially start, counting down the nights when Donghyuck would have to move back to Seoul, and it was way too hot for Donghyuck’s liking. Nana didn’t have an air-conditioning system yet; his father was working hard to get her one before they leave for Seoul because summers can be crazy hot in Jeju-do. And Donghyuck needed a popsicle so bad, otherwise, he’d probably explode.
He found you the same place where you are now. Donghyuck thought your SHINEE shirt looked cute because while girls your age liked the newly debuted EXO, you still listened to SHINEE like a religion. You were sitting with your legs sprawled on the street, right under the streetlight, a pen in one hand and your old, beaten up journal on the other. Your eyebrows were furrowed, and Donghyuck caught himself before he could start thinking about how pretty you looked like that: focused and doing what you loved.
Donghyuck decided not to disrupt your focus and opted to go straight inside the small store, spending the last of his money on yours and his favorite: lime and cherry twin popsicle—the kind that’s packaged in one, two flavors in one, lime green and cherry red colors separated in the middle between popsicle sticks. Lime for you, cherry for him. You didn’t look up when he sat beside you, but took the lime-flavored popsicle from his hand when he handed it to you after peeling off the plastic cover and breaking it into two.
“Thanks,” you mumbled, taking the ice-cold treat in your mouth. Donghyuck couldn’t help but think his cherry-flavored popsicle resembled the color of your lips.
Donghyuck nodded his thoughts away, leaning in to peak at the page you’re working on. “What are you working on?” he asked it while the popsicle rested on one side of his mouth, his left cheek protruding.
You shrugged, taking the popsicle off your mouth, showing your work to him. Donghyuck found it endearing that you write all over the pages of your journals, it was as though he could see your train of thoughts: some smudged, some erased under ink but not really because he could still read through it, some clear as day, some to never see daylight again.
“I was in Science class today,” you started.
“We’re in the same homeroom, dumbass. I was there.”
“I’m talking,” you whined. “And I doubt you were even listening. You hate Science more than anything.”
“Fair point,” he hummed. “Okay, what about Science class? Please don’t tell me you’ll start writing about Science. Because I’m so sorry. I’ll never read any of your work ever again if you decide to do that.”
You laughed, the melody of your fondness of his jokes creating its own room inside the crevices of Donghyuck’s brain. “Teacher Kim was talking about symbiosis.”
“I’m not even going to pretend I know what that means.”
“Symbiosis is a term describing any relationship or interaction between two dissimilar organisms. The specific kind of symbiosis depends on whether either or both organisms benefit from the relationship,” you continued. “Butterflies and flowers, they are the best examples of symbiosis.”
Donghyuck nodded, savoring the sweetness of his cherry-flavored treat.
“Hence I did some research and read more about butterflies and flowers, and I read something a little sad,” you trailed off. “I learned that certain flowers bloom when butterflies hatch and depends on how they match each other. Butterflies, they prefer light-colored flowers they can perch on. So, when the timing is off, the flower misses the butterfly. The butterfly, therefore, finds another flower.”
“Then what happens to the flower?” Donghyuck asked, watching as you try to catch the melting piece off your popsicle, taking it back to your mouth. Your lips looked really pretty. “If it misses all the timing?”
“Well,” you shrugged, looking up to the night sky. The stars in Jeju-do that night were much prettier than it is in Seoul. “They bloom again next year, and hope that maybe next time, the timing is better. That the butterfly arrives just in time for the flowers to bloom.
“That is a little sad,” Donghyuck acknowledged. He watched you look back down, grimacing a little as you take the popsicle off your mouth. “Wanna try mine?” he asked before he could think about it.
You looked back at him. The stars in Jeju-do turned out to be nothing compared to your eyes. “Yeah?”
Donghyuck pulled the sweet treat from his mouth just as you hand him your lime-flavored one. He took it in his mouth, and Donghyuck had never been the biggest fan of anything sour, but for some reason, the lime flavor tasted sweeter than ever. You took his cherry-flavored ones, groaning in delight as you taste the treat’s sweetness.
“Cherry has always been my favorite,” you’d confessed, and Donghyuck was surprised because you’d always gotten the lime-flavored ones. The twin pops were your thing since you met summer of 2006—it was cheap, practical for two kids, two-in-one; you’d always choose the lime ones. “God, this is good.”
“You literally always take the lime ones,” he argued. “My whole life has been a lie. I’ve always thought lime was your favorite because you always take it whenever we get this!”
You shrugged. “You never liked anything sour,” you said like it’s the easiest thing to say, like it didn’t make Donghyuck’s heart somersault. “And I can take a little bit of sourness if it means you enjoy your cherry-flavored popsicle.”
Donghyuck was only twelve. He didn’t know anything about falling in love, but that night might just be the closest thing.
“So, you drink alcohol to help you fall asleep?” you ask as if it’s the most interesting solution to insomnia. Donghyuck thinks it isn’t; he’s read somewhere online that alcohol really helps. “That’s stupid.”
Donghyuck shrugs. “It’s not really working great right now. But it helps.”
He sits beside you on the sidewalk, legs sprawled out just like yours, a can of cold beer one hand while the other holds him up, flat on the rough pavement. There’s no particular reason why Donghyuck’s talking to you now. You and him got off the wrong foot, and it’s not like you can really blame Donghyuck for seeing a (supposed) stranger sleeping at his grandmother’s patio. And you were friends. Even though it’s been years, Donghyuck reckons talking to you would do no harm. Besides, if he’s staying here for a few months, a companion would probably make it less miserable.
“And your father thinks coming to Jeju-do would help, too?” you ask.
Donghyuck chuckles. “I guess you could say that. What else have you heard about me?”
You look at him, away from the street and right into his eyes. Donghyuck wonders why he didn’t recognize you the first time he saw you. Your face looks the same from the day he bid you goodbye a decade ago—lips colored in cherry, eyes bright as the stars, cheeks soft all over.
“A lot,” you answer. “But I’ve never been one to believe in rumors anyway.”
Donghyuck licks his lips. “The rumors are true.”
“Not about the sleeping around and getting drunk, pabo,” you mutter. “That, I believe.”
“Which ones?” he asks.
“People are saying you no longer like being on stage,” you say. It’s not the first time Donghyuck’s heard it. “That you’ve been burnt out from working all these years. And that you don’t care about music anymore.”
Donghyuck snickers. “That’s true, too.” He throws his head back, chugging on the cold beer. “I’m so over it. I don’t even care what happens after this.”
“Oh, Donghyuckie,” you whisper softly, eyes still glued to his face. “What has the limelight done to you?”
Donghyuck only shrugs, finishing off the rest of the cold beer, helping himself up and taking the plastic bag full of iced cold beer from the store.
“I don’t think that’s something you should be worried about,” Donghyuck says. You keep your eyes on him, so you’re looking up from where you’re seated and Donghyuck looks down on you. “It’s getting late. Wanna go drink at Nana’s?”
“Nana would kill you if she finds alcohol inside her house,” you say.
“I’ve snuck in about twenty bottles since I arrived last week and she hasn’t noticed,” he confesses.
“You’re a fucking nightmare,” you laugh.
Donghyuck freezes for a moment, watching you stand in between giggles. Mark said the same think a couple of weeks ago, but it doesn’t sting when you say it. You say it in laughter. Like it’s okay. Like it doesn’t scare you.
“My house is down the street,” you say, helping yourself up and standing in front of him. Donghyuck remembers. “I’ll call Nana and let her know you’re with me.”
A bark startles Donghyuck for a second. You and him turn to find a golden Labrador running towards where you stand.
“Aw, my baby’s here to pick me up,” you announce with the softest voice. The lab runs, almost dashes towards you, and Donghyuck is taken aback when it tackles him—not you—knocking the plastic bag off his hands and resulting to him landing his butt back to the pavement. “Pororo!” you shriek, not in surprise but with a tone of betrayal. “I’m your mother!”
Donghyuck hears you shriek, but laughs through it because the golden lab is hogging him, licking him all over as if he’d miss him all these years. “Oh, baby, you’re so cute,” he coos, cradling the dog by its face, looking up at you as the dog licks his face. “This is yours?”
You fight back a smile, but you lose immediately because your face breaks with a grin. “What has the limelight done to you?” you ask, the same question from earlier, but a different tone—teasing, nostalgic, like years ago.
The dog sniffs him all over and you stand there watching them.
“Can’t even recognize your own dog now?” you tease, walking so you could pet the dog and have him follow you. “It’s the puppy Nana got you a month before you left Seoul. You couldn’t bring him with you, and Nana couldn’t take care of him when you left, so I adopted him, pabo.”
“Pororo?” Donghyuck finally, finally recognizes. Pororo looks like he’s nodding, like saying thank God, you remembered me! The dog goes back to tackle him. “Oh, Pororo! My baby!”
You lead the way to your house, Pororo following after you. He watches you take several steps ahead of him. He feels dizzy watching the scene in front of him. Donghyuck understands what Renjun is talking about now.
Humans remember a singular aspect of an event from his or her past that a complete representation of the entire scene is reactivated in the brain like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle coming together to create a vivid recollection. You’re the representation of his entire life in Jeju-do, a clear image before Haechan, and he’s fucking sorry he forgot about you all these years.
But that’s an apology you’d never hear from him. Instead, he watches you, taking a small step towards you, and decides he’ll allow his unsaid apology to be added on the long list of reasons why he can’t sleep at night.
Nostalgia comes in waves, they say, but why do you bring it to him like a hurricane?
Donghyuck could say that Nana is impressed with the drastic change of character in the span of six weeks.
She’s been treating him better these days; by “better”, Donghyuck means she’s been cutting off a few hours from work so he could spend more time at her home, guarding the hens and roosters that serve at her alarm clock and watering her plants from her small vegetable garden. She’s also been paying him, giving him a small envelope with cash and a small paper that resembled a payslip showing the number of hours he’d work for the week, and Donghyuck ignores the quick jump from his heart when he sees your signature at the end of it, affirming that the hours listed are accurate. Donghyuck takes the money, of course, after Nana threatened to beat him up because she’d be breaking Korea’s labor laws if he doesn’t accept it, and he keeps it all in a small box in his room, planning to show it to his members when he goes back to Seoul and brag about working like a normal civilian at the age of 23.
There is a pinch in his heart when he remembers his members. While Donghyuck has been working on (and failing to) sober up for an entire month, his members have not called nor texted him. He’d been reaching out, of course. Some of his members have been assigned solo projects and activities in the last month, and he ensures to congratulate them. All he’s gotten so far are the receipts that his messages have been read.
Donghyuck convinces himself that it’s probably SM that advised everyone not to give him a time of their day, that they probably think being away from work means disconnecting from everyone, too, that his members love him and also believe that he needs some time off from everything.
But the convincing can only do much. The convincing distracts him while he’s at work, or while he’s watering Nana’s plants, but it doesn’t do much at night. Still, after six weeks, Donghyuck is nowhere near clean.
He wakes up with a terrible headache every day (from lack of sleep or hangover, he’s not really certain), and his Nana has been oddly making hangover soup for breakfast. Donghyuck wonders whether you’d ratted him out or his mother had called her about it. Either way, she probably knows something’s up.
His mother had called him a few times now, Seungyeon, too, and it’s been casual. His mother’s voice always sounded like she’s walking on eggshells whenever she’d call, blurting a half-assed apology for not seeing him before he left and telling him she’d forgiven him and that she’s looking forward to seeing her in a few months. Seungyeon talks to him the most, almost every day, in short text messages and 10-minute calls on the weekends when she doesn’t have to worry about waking up early the next day. And she talks to him about the most random thing, nothing ever related to his obsession with drinking or the scandal, which makes Donghyuck feel better somehow.
Six weeks didn’t make much of a difference, not that Donghyuck was expecting any. The only thing that’s changed so far is that, he’s not as exhausted as he was in Seoul despite his shitty sleeping schedule continuously fucking up his already deteriorated mental health. He hasn’t been listening to songs for quite a while, and he’s been drinking every night. And if it means anything to him, you’ve been hanging out with him while he drinks.
In six weeks, he learns that you’re not much of a drinker. You don’t have many friends that you could really invite for a drink in a nearby pub or in a samgyeopsal restaurant. You’d mentioned that most people your age have all moved on to different places, spewing names that were once familiar to Donghyuck and telling him where they are now. Donghyuck is yet to learn why you had stayed in Jeju-do, not once stepping in Seoul, when the world off this island’s shores are much, much bigger than you think.
It’s two in the morning. You’d taken him home because he could barely keep his head up with the number of soju bottles he had downed, and he appreciates that you try to stay quiet when you put him to bed and leave, keeping the blinds closed because he’d told you once that the morning sunlight seeping through spaces between the curtains hurt his eyes. You’d left when Donghyuck’s barely awake.
His phone dings a notification. Donghyuck probably won’t remember so he reaches over, checking it and recognizing his mother’s name.
She sends him an article about the upcoming debut of NCT DoJaeJung, and Donghyuck’s seen it in the groupchat for some time now. Donghyuck isn’t even halfway down the article when she sends another one: Mark’s solo song.
She doesn’t add another message, and he sees her status change from online to offline in a split second, but she doesn’t really have to say anything else for him to understand.
Donghyuck’s dream has always been the spotlight.
Or at least, as he recognizes now, his mother’s dream for him has always been the spotlight.
Donghyuck always thought he loved making people happy and singing equally.
While people called him kind and a ray of sunshine, Mark’s always called him out for being a people-pleaser, reminding him that he doesn’t have to make sure everyone is happy with the choices he’d make, telling him he doesn’t have to feel the strong urge to please everyone. And Donghyuck never understood it until now, now that he’s wide awake and looking at his mother’s messages. She’s probably expecting a solo project for him, too, and she sends these things that make her happy, and she’s already expecting him he’d do it no matter what. Donghyuck’s mother is a good person; he’d look up at her and think to himself that when he grows up, he’d want to be as supportive as his mother, and don’t get him wrong when he says she expects him to do anything that’d make her happy. Because this is all Donghyuck’s fault, anyway.
With his desire to make her the happiest, he’s done everything he could to make her happy, even at his own expense.
The infamous Saturday audition at SM was something Donghyuck never thought about—not at the age of 13 when he had just gotten back in Seoul after five years of staying in Jeju-do. His accent has changed and he reckons he could have a good relationship with boys his age who grew up in the city. And as much as he loved performing, Donghyuck doesn’t like being criticized. He doesn’t like rejection, and he can’t bare the thought of adults telling him he couldn’t sing.
Hence, his initial answer to his mother’s proposal to visit SM Entertainment and give it a try was no. The only thing that had made him go, knees shaking and palms sweaty, was his mother’s words: “It’ll truly make me happy if you give it a try.”
She’d said it in many occasions, and Donghyuck’s given everything that’d make her happy a try. She’d never said a bad thing and even told him a few times that it’s okay if he doesn’t want to, but he does it anyway.
Donghyuck was afraid that she’d love him less if he didn’t make her happy. He was only thirteen, and his twenty-three now, and his biggest fear hasn’t changed: to be loved less because he didn’t make them happy enough.
So, Haechan blurts out the most random jokes when the cameras are on and initiates skinship with the member even if they abhor him for it and style his hair a different way, because it makes the fans happy. Haechan stays up learning the tune of the new song and recording himself in his phone for hours even after an entire day of physical activities, because it makes the producers happy. Haechan takes his friends and the younger members to dinner after a 16-hour flight from the west on the night of his birthday—his eyes barely open the entire time—because it makes them happy. Haechan plays the maknae role perfectly, even when at times he’s tired of it, because it makes the older members happy. Haechan continues to be a sunny and bright character even on days when he’s exhausted, because it makes his managers happy.
But the truth is, Donghyuck doesn’t like dyeing his hair. His hair’s gotten so unhealthy from dyeing it different colors last year.
Donghyuck feels awful sometimes, when his friends do not return his affection, but he plays it off, feigning hurt even when it actually does.
Donghyuck wants to sleep after a 16-hour flight.
Donghyuck wants to drink with his hyungs, too.
Donghyuck just wants to sing and write songs when he’s learned enough.
Donghyuck doesn’t want to be like Mark, or Doyoung, or anyone else.
Donghyuck wants Haechan to be… Donghyuck.
Donghyuck wants to be happy—in his own terms, by his own choices.
But how can he be happy when he’s always depended his happiness on the people he loves?
Donghyuck feels like a dead man walking.
You and Donghyuck are tasked to bring the harvested fruits at the farmer’s market in the early hours of Sunday.
It’s barely five in the morning, and the sun’s not even out yet, but you had forced him to sleep early the night before to make sure he’d accompany you to the market. (He didn’t sleep though; he lied awake until his phone rang and you’re calling from outside.) You’d driven the farm’s truck to get here, and Donghyuck can’t help but admire the way you hold the steering wheel with one hand.
Donghyuck helps you carry the boxes out of the truck, arranging them in front of his grandmother’s store. You had walked in while he carries the rest inside and Donghyuck hears you talk to Eunseuk, his Nana’s sales person who handles and manages their place in the public market.
“That’s awful,” Donghyuck hears you say as soon as he places the last of the boxes in a corner. “Can’t the mayor do anything about it?
Eunseuk sighs, shaking her head. “Unfortunately, it looks like the donation project Nana’s driven wasn’t enough. She barely made enough profit last quarter because she’d donated most of it to the project.”
“What is awful and what project are we talking about?” Donghyuck interrupts.
Eunseuk smiles sadly at him. “The clinic that Nana’s been proposing to the mayor for years now. The town’s mayor thinks it’s not going to be built this year.” Donghyuck’s never heard of it.
“The community has a lot of elderly people who live alone in Jeju-do,” you explain when you notice his curiosity. “Especially in here in the island, even more here in our town. Most people leave Jeju-do at the age of eighteen to find a better life in Seoul, which is ridiculous because there’s no place better than Jeju-do, and Nana thought it’d be great if she built a small clinic for the elderly nearby, that way they wouldn’t have to travel fifty kilometers to visit the nearest hospital. It’d be great if the elderly can have themselves checked for free and to have, if not all, most equipment they’d need.”
“How is that possible?” Donghyuck asks.
“Well,” Eunseuk starts. “First, we need the funds to actually build the clinic itself. Nana is halfway through the amount needed. The mayor’s children are doctors, and if he wants to keep winning the next elections, I’m sure he’d be happy to have them volunteer.”
“What about maintenance?” he asks.
“Good question,” you say. “And good thinking. I like it, you’re already thinking ahead, Donghyuck-ah. Anyway, the elderly is very much willing to do community service in exchange of the maintenance of the small clinic. And don’t worry, it’s not like Nana’s going to make them work like horses.”
“Services like crocheting products for the local market,” Eunseuk adds. “Food manufacturing—the kind that would allow them to make while sitting down, local farming, jewelry-making, and the like. Things we can sell in the market. You know how tourists are so keen on buying anything hand-made.”
“So, a clinic for the elderly built and maintained by the elderly?” Donghyuck sums up.
“Exactly!”
“How much are we looking at in terms of money?” He asks.
You chuckle. “If you’re grandmother wanted to ask money from you, she would have already. She has some kind of pride, you know.”
“Well, I’ll give it you and you tell her it’s an anonymous donation.”
“As if she’d believe that bullshit,” you answer. “Anyway, Eunseuk-eonnie, what do we do now?”
The older woman shrugs. “We’ll keep selling tangerines until we reach the goal, I guess.”
Donghyuck talks before he could think about it. “I can do something.”
You and Eunseuk look at him like you’d just seen a ghost.
“I don’t know what I can offer,” he says right away. “But I’ll… I think I can do something.”
“Donghyuck,” you say. “You can sing.”
“I am aware,” he jokes.
“No, you can sing,” you repeat. Donghyuck looks back at you. “You can sing, so I’m sure you can teach people how to sing.”
“And?” He doesn’t get it.
“It’s summer,” you answer. “Most kids are bored and are probably looking for something meaningful to do while they wait for school to start again. Teach kids how to sing and have their parents pay for it!”
Donghyuck thinks it’s a good idea. “And you can write.”
You freeze. “No.”
“Teach kids how to write and have their parents pay for it.”
“Over my dead body!”
“I will do it only if you do it.”
Eunseuk laughs, “Oh, this is good.”
“No, Donghyuck. I’m not a professional writer. I didn’t even go to college. I don’t have the credentials for it.”
“You don’t have to go college to be a writer,” he snorts. “Scott Fitzgerald didn’t even finish college.”
“Where’d you even learn that?”
“You told me when we were kids!” he answers, laughing. “Come on, Y/N. I’m sure Nana can find someone to do your job in the farm while we teach kids.”
“I don’t know, Donghyuck,” you sigh.
Eunseuk lightly slaps your arm. “Come on, young lady. Do it for the elderly.”
“Yeah, Y/N, do it for the elderly.”
The sparkle in your eyes and the smile on your lips tell Donghyuck you agree.
And so, the plan goes accordingly.
Donghyuck could say that Nana is more than delighted to learn that his delinquent and embarrassing grandson, who’s spent all this time pretending he doesn’t care, had decided to help out. You’d done the most part, of course— obtaining the permit from the mayor’s office and settling all the paperwork needed. All Donghyuck had to do was to help clean up and renovate his grandfather’s old office in the farm. Everyone else who had some free time helped because apparently, that’s what this community does. Donghyuck could probably get used to receiving help without him asking for it.
So, in more or less five days, his grandfather’s old office, which is about forty square meters, had turned into the community’s summer class headquarters. You and Donghyuck decided to call it Nana’s Music and Literature Classes. And with the help of Eunseuk and some of the workers, the word spread like news from the radio. In a week’s time, you and Donghyuck have over twenty student each. Mondays and Wednesdays were his schedule; yours were Tuesdays and Thursdays. Fridays were called Hyuckie and Y/C/N’s day—which means you and him would dedicate an entire day brainstorming and talking about your class’ progress.
The summer courses would take eight weeks to complete, and at the end of it would be a competition, in which the Mayor promised he’d give a very big reward for. Those who enrolled in Donghyuck’s classes would have a recital at the end of summer where the kids will hold a small concert for the town—tickets to be sold as part of the drive, of course—and the judges will be identified to select three winners. As for your classes, it will be a short story competition, and the winners will be announced on the night of the small concert, which Donghyuck is the best ending any summer could have.
The place is cramped, and Donghyuck’s never been more excited his entire life.
He’s gone to many places and met with many prominent people in this lifetime. But he’s decided that this is the most exhilarating day of his life.
The parents leave as soon as Donghyuck assures them that the kids will be safe and will be all set for pick up by 3 in the afternoon. You’re talking to the kids while he ensures that the room is cool enough for everybody. The room is filled with excitement that Donghyuck could feel inside him. He learned from the parents he’d met just a few minutes ago that the town doesn’t really offer things like this for children and that they’d have to send their kids to summer camp in the mainland if they wanted them to experience this, and the fact that you and him are doing this for a cause makes it even better.
Donghyuck views this like it’s not as big as the drives NCT had been doing, or the charity concerts he takes part in, or the money he donates to various causes, but to the people of the town, it’s bigger than anything they had ever known.
“Aigoo,” one of the parents cooed when she’d seen Donghyuck greet everybody outside. “Your grandparents have always been kind. They’d been the pillar of this small town for quite some time now. I’m glad you’re growing up a good man.”
You’d smiled at him when you heard that, and Donghyuck wonders if you also think he’s growing up a good man, because he thinks you grew up to be such an amazing, compassionate person.
“Hello, kids!” Donghyuck greets. Everybody says it back with the same enthusiasm, and despite having been in hundreds of shows with thousands of people in the audience, he can’t remember the last time a crowd made him feel alive.
Donghyuck hates being recognized.
When his career had just started, he thought that the greatest compliment was to be recognized. He thought that he’d measure his success with the number of people from the general public who could recognize him under a hat and with a face mask covering half his face. But in the latter years of his career, he’d learned the hard way that he hated being seen and being recognized.
There had been many happenstances in his job in which he’d just wish he was invisible for a moment. Anytime he’s in an airport, regardless it was for an event or concert overseas, or worst of it all, a vacation with his family, all Donghyuck wants is for people not to know who he is. In afternoon runs by himself, all he needs is a time alone and not girls following him and taking pictures of him. On days when he’s out with friends and family, all he hopes is peace. This comes with the job, Johnny would tell him whenever he’d get frisky and annoyed, but Donghyuck never really understood why his privacy is anyone’s business. Never really understood why he had to go through this when all he’s ever really wanted was sing.
Donghyuck hates being seen.
More than anything. Especially when he’s trying hard to hide. And he wishes he’s only talking about his physical appearance being seen. He hates that his grandmother sees through him but doesn’t say anything about it unless he opens up first. He hates that Mark, his best friend in the entire world, sees right through his walls and that all Donghyuck’s done is push him away and make him hate him even more. He hates that his father sees his pain, but doesn’t talk about it for some reason. He hates that you see him—all of him—but you don’t look at him with disgust or pity or anything of that sort.
It’s Friday, yours and his day, the second one since summer school’s started, and he’d started calling you by your childhood nickname again. You’d grimaced the first time and told him nobody’s called you that in a long time, but allowed him nonetheless.
The clock strikes six in the afternoon and the dusk had just settled in the horizon. You and him are sitting on the floor of his room, facing each other, separated by a small table, notepads scattered, ideas running a hundred miles per second.
“This is perfect,” you comment when you and him had finished planning out next week’s daily agenda. “The kids are going to love it!”
Donghyuck stays silent, eyes on you as you finally set your pen down.
“What should we have for dinner?” you ask, eyes still on the notepad. “Nana’s probably heating up some leftover galbi, but I think we should make some kimchi stew, too.”
Donghyuck hums. You look up at him. “What’s wrong?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing. I just had something in mind.”
You tilt your head. “Tell me.”
“It’s a question,” he says. “And if I say it, you’d have to answer.”
You think about it for a moment. Donghyuck almost takes it back. “Sure.”
“Really?”
You nod. “As long as you answer a question from me, too.”
Donghyuck pretends to think about it. “Can we set some rules?”
“It’s literally one question,” you snort. “Come on. Ask me.”
“No, ask me first,” he insists.
“You asked first.”
“No. Ask me first,” he repeats.
You scoff. “Fine. You have to tell me the truth, yeah?” A nod. “Ready?” Another.
Donghyuck holds his breath for a moment and you don’t say anything for about a minute, probably thinking the same as him: this is the only chance both of you are honest and open, might as well ask a question one wouldn’t answer on a normal day.
“How are you?”
He exhales the breath he’s been holding and nearly breaks down in tears when he hears the question you’d decided to ask. He’s sure you’ve heard of it all. Everything’s been all over the internet for the past two months he’d been in hiding in Jeju-do: the drinking, the nights in clubs and bars, the fights with the members, the cherry on top which is the scandal. It’d all spiraled into everything he was initially afraid of. The girl he’d met at the back of the club had sold him to reporters and had made up a story of how they’ve been in a sexual relationship for quite some time. The media had dug up stories of him being out of control in the streets when he’s shitfaced from all the soju he had and had posted tales of him asking multiple women to sleep with him whenever he’s drunk.
The agency sued everyone for making shit up, of course, but Donghyuck knows half of those are the truth. He has not been the best group member in a long time: always late in practices, grumpy and hangover during fan signs, lethargic during concerts, and fucking up performances. He’s lost himself, and he’s losing everyone in the process of it.
People ask him if he’d really had sex with someone at the back of a bar. They’d ask him why he never asked for help with his drinking problem. Comments from his Instagram would tell him to back off and just leave the group. Fans from calls and fan signs would ask him why he’d stop making covers of the songs he loved and why he hasn’t been on Bubble in a long period of time.
But nobody else had really asked him how he’s been aside from Nana, who he doesn’t have the heart to open up to.
“I—” He starts but swallows, breathing in. You wait for him. “I’m—I don’t really—I’m not sure if I can.”
You nod. “Take your time, Donghyuck.”
Donghyuck reminds himself to breathe.
How is he? How has been holding up after everything that’s happened?
He’s lost his spark. He’s lost his love for music, his passion for the stage, the sparkle in his eyes. He’s losing the people he loves. He’s losing his friends. And he’s losing a battle with himself.
He’s—
“I’m, ” he tries again. “Y/N, I’m not okay.”
It pours like rain, his tears. He shakes when he cries and his chest is tight and it’s hard to breathe, but he keeps crying because it’s the only time he ever will. He sobs in pain and holds himself when his entire body shakes from the ache of it all.
He’s grieving, weeping, like how one would in a funeral, because how does he ask for forgiveness? How does he ask forgiveness from his parents and siblings? From his members? From his fans? From the staff and the people who’d brought him to where he is? How does he ask forgiveness from little Donghyuck when all he’d wanted was for him to grow up a good man?
You let him cry, and only reach out to hand him a handkerchief when he’s done. You don’t say anything. Instead you kneel and reach over to hug him from the other side. Donghyuck accepts your tenderness.
“I don’t have anything else to ask,” you murmur against his hair. “But I do want to say that you’re loved in ways you probably have forgotten already. You’ve probably been used to love that’s loud—screaming and flamboyant and beautiful and everything anyone would want—but you’re also loved quietly. In a small, serene room. In a way you’ve forgotten.”
“Thank you,” he says, sniffling, a little embarrassed now. “I’m sorry. I probably ruined the moment.”
You chuckle, pulling away, and Donghyuck’s heart does flips when you kiss the top of his head like you always did when you were younger. He doesn’t know why he remembers all of a sudden.
“Stop apologizing,” you reply. “There’s nothing to apologize about.”
“There’s a lot,” he admits. “I didn’t recognize you the first time I saw you. We did everything when we were kids, and I didn’t recognize you.”
“And it’s okay,” you assure, holding the top of his hand that’s resting on the small table. “I didn’t expect you to recognize me right away. You were worlds away from me. We forget people and that’s okay.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not. I promised to keep in touch, and I never did. I’m sorry.”
You nod. “You’re forgiven.”
Donghyuck sighs in relief. “I doubt, but okay.”
“Trust me.” He does. “Anyway, you were going to ask me something. You’re not allowed to ask the same thing because I’d just answer that I’m tired and I want to sleep. Nothing big happens in my life.”
Donghyuck smiles again. “Ready?” A nod. “Why’d you never leave Jeju-do?”
It seems like you didn’t expect the question because your face tells Donghyuck you’re surprised by what he just asked. You lick your lip and exhale largely, looking everywhere but his eyes. Donghyuck allows you to take your time, and you’re not running away so he’s assuming you’re thinking of an answer for him.
“I don’t have a dream,” is your answer. “My parents think it’s not normal. Because even they had already left the town and moved to a bigger place off the island. People think it’s impossible that I don’t have a dream, that I must want something in life, I just haven’t discovered it yet. And I’m twenty-three, I’m still waiting for my awakening, for dreams to find me, but it hasn’t. I don’t want to do anything in life but just… survive.”
Donghyuck only listens. “In high school, when we were deciding what to take up in college and which college we’d go to, I had nothing in mind. I didn’t want a career—not an engineer, not a teacher, not a doctor, none of those. I couldn’t think of anything. Writing is something that I love doing, but I really can’t see myself pursuing it as a career. I don’t want to end up hating it. I’ve always been convinced that I wasn’t specifically good at anything apart from that. I’m okay with all subjects at school, average grades and all, but nothing ever stood out for me. I never stood out. And I was okay with it for a reason I still don’t know. I was okay with not having dreams. College was the only reason for me to leave Jeju-do. There’s nothing else, therefore I’m still here. At twenty-three, I haven’t accomplished much, and if you want me to be all out and honest,” you sigh. “It’s… it’s starting to scare me.”
“What scares you?”
“That I haven’t accomplished anything yet,” you admit. “I’m not one to, you know, force myself to people and make them remember me. I wasn’t scared of oblivion. Until… these days, I’ve been asking myself, how are people going to remember me?”
Donghyuck nods, urges you to continue.
“Are they going to remember me as someone who helps out in your Nana’s farm because I had nothing to do?” you voice out. “Are they going to remember me as someone who brings all the deliveries to the farmer’s market when the staff is unavailable? Are they going to remember be as Eunseuk’s co-worker? Are they going to remember me at all?”
“Can I tell you something?” he asks but doesn’t wait for you to answer. “I know I’m not in the position to say anything about remembering you when I couldn’t recognize you the first time we met after a decade, but I remember you by the way I see cherry blossoms.”
You tilt your head to the side. “Is that a good thing?”
“We met in a puddle of fallen cherry blossoms in summer of 2006,” he explains. “I remember you by the way you admired flowers that fall off from its stem, by the way you loved fallen and broken things equally when they were perfect and when they stood still. I may have awfully forgotten you all these years, but the way I see cherry blossoms is the exact same way you see them.”
Donghyuck continues, “You know how they say we’re a manifestation of all the people we met, right? That we’re a mosaic of everything we’ve ever learned from them. To me, I remember you as the clear image of who I was before… before everything that’s happened. I remember you as someone helping me find my way back home.”
“Donghyuck,” you trail off. “That’s the… best thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
Donghyuck smiles. “And so, what if you don’t have big dreams? Dreams are just dreams anyway. You don’t have to have one if you don’t want to. You shouldn’t have to struggle so much in order to live.”
“Do people know you’re this kind and profound?” you chuckle. “People should see this side of Lee Donghyuck.”
“Call yourself lucky you’re the only one,” he answers.
“What’s wrong with people seeing this side?”
Donghyuck shrugs. “I don’t think they’d want the boring kind. I think they like me better when I’m funny and over the top and a sucker for attention.”
“Well,” you click your tongue. “I like you either way.”
Donghyuck is barely twenty-three. And if he knows anything about falling in love, this might just be the moment he truly learns it.
You and him end up falling asleep on his bed. Donghyuck likes to think he doesn’t really remember how it happened. You’d told him you’d sleep in the hammock at his house’s patio, but he’d insisted to sleep in his room, of course. Reason? Mosquitoes, of course. Donghyuck said he’d sleep on the floor, taking an extra pillow, but you were already half asleep, moving so your body is right by the wall, safe and sound. You’d save the extra space for him to sleep beside you. Donghyuck likes to think he’d fallen asleep because he was exhausted and not because he felt safe around you.
It’s the longest sleep he’s had in a long time.
He wakes up at eight in the morning, the room already warm despite the air-conditioning system still switched on. You are no longer beside him, but he clearly hears your voice from outside.
Donghyuck gets up, going straight outside and finds everyone from the farm gathered around for breakfast outside his grandmother’s house. He’d forgotten that his Nana invited everybody for a scrumptious breakfast today, Saturday, and he wonders why neither you nor Nana herself had woken him up to help out.
Farmers and harvesters pass a plate to one another. A long table is set up in the middle of Nana’s driveway space, various of dishes laid out, and Donghyuck finds you holding two pitchers of tangerine juice, walking around to fill up the workers’ cups.
It’s Eunseuk who sees Donghyuck standing by the patio watching everybody move around.
“There’s our Donghyuckie!” she announces.
Everyone looks at him and greets him a good morning. Nana shouts his name and asks him to come over and eat some breakfast. You squint when you look at him, the sun blinding your eyes, but you smile as soon as he waves hi.
Donghyuck can’t help but think being recognized is not so bad after all.
Donghyuck spends the rest of summer like a kid.
Except he goes to work at Nana’s Music and Literature Classes on Mondays and Wednesdays, goes to the farm on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and spends his Fridays with you. He learns many things over the summer, especially about the community and the town itself. He meets more people as Donghyuck, Nana’s grandson who teaches children how to sing and who helps out in the farm two days a week. They accept him as he is, and he feels like seven again, meeting new people every day until they all remember him by his name.
Among the things he’s learned, he likes learning how your lips taste the most.
It was sudden, unplanned, the kind where he didn’t know he was doing it until he’s done it. You and him were ending a Friday session at your place that time, the place where he used to hide his drinks, and he was so elated that he wasn’t going home drunk for the first time since he arrived in Jeju-do. And he was bidding you goodbye. He’d leaned it like it was the most natural thing to do and caught your lips in his. You shrieked in surprise, unable to say anything, but tipped on your toes and gave him a second kiss before turning and running inside your house.
You didn’t talk about it, and Donghyuck felt like it was not something to talk about. You had voiced out you liked him in many occasions, and Donghyuck’s been relentlessly flirting with you since the night you fell asleep in his room. The signs were never mixed and the lines were never blurred. Donghyuck’s grown much closer to you more than anyone else in the world, and he’s been falling asleep in the safety of your arms these days. It was safe to say the kisses weren’t meaningless.
The night of his class’ recital comes quickly.
Donghyuck spend the entire two days practicing with each of his students while you were busy reading all of your students’ works and giving them feedback before they submit it to the Mayor’s office. You find him getting ready in his room, dressed in the only button-down shirt he brought from Seoul and a pair of slacks. Meanwhile, it’s the first time he’s seeing you in a dress that somehow matches the colors of his outfit.
“Looking great, handsome,” you say.
Donghyuck pulls you for a kiss. “Could say the same to you, beautiful.”
“Why are you so touchy these days?” you whine but lean back to kiss him again anyway. “Ready? One of the parents called and said his kid is already in the venue. They’re excited.”
Donghyuck nods, grabbing a jacket just in case it gets cold later tonight, and leads the way out. Nana is dressed in a pretty dress Donghyuck gave her for Christmas last year. Donghyuck drives to the venue and finds himself nervous for the first time in a long time.
You’d managed to convince him to sing tonight despite his persistent refusal.
“Come on, Donghyuck,” you begged, pulling him by the end of his shirt as he harvests tangerines. “The audience will love you!”
“They paid their tickets to watch the kids of the community sing, not me,” he argued. “And besides, I haven’t sung in like, four months. Who knows? I may have forgotten to sing already.”
“Bullshit,” you said. “Your Nana would want to hear you sing live.”
“She’s already heard me sing live many times,” he replied. “She’s been to many concerts.”
You tilt you head, a habit he’s grown to really like. “But I haven’t.”
Donghyuck had wanted to kiss the pout off your lips at that time. “Watch it from Youtube.”
“You don’t get many lines!” you said.
“So, you do watch my performances in Youtube, huh?” he teased. “Only in NCT 127 I don’t get so much lines because there are more members. Try to listen to NCT Dream.”
“Donghyuck!” you bellowed in frustration as you follow him around the farm. “Please!”
He stopped and turned, a little too late for you to step back because you’re already pressed up against his chest. “Okay.”
“Really?” you asked, voice lower because your faces were just inches apart—one wrong move and you’d be kissing in the middle of tangerine trees.
He nodded, purposely moving his face closer. “Only if you start reviewing for the SAT again and start sending your drafted college applications from your laptop.”
“Who told you to sneak in and open my files!” you gasped.
“I was checking if you’ve ever watched porn in your life and I found something better: your college applications.”
“I hate you, you know?”
Donghyuck chuckled, moving even closer to intimidate you but he hoped you couldn’t his heart hammering against his chest. “I know. Now. Do we have a deal? I’ll sing at recital night and you start reviewing for the upcoming SAT and send out your college applications when it’s time.”
“I’m—I’m not sure.”
Donghyuck let you go, you almost falling back but he held your hand before you could. “Then I’m not singing.”
“But Donghyuck!” He turned to leave while you scream behind him, pleading.
Ten steps forward and he finally got what he wanted: “Okay! I’ll do it! I’ll start reviewing and will send all the drafted college applications! I’ll do it!”
Hence, the singing stunt for tonight.
The event goes as planned.
The night starts with Donghyuck’s entire class singing their own rendition of a famous traditional song that the crowd truly loved. One by one, the kids would sing, with intermission numbers in groups in between, and by the end of it, it was Donghyuck’s turn.
The minus one track is ready and Donghyuck takes a deep breath as he walks up the stage. It’s smaller than any of the stages he’s been on—perhaps the smallest—and the lights aren’t as bright than the ones he’s used to. Big stages mean big lights, and if he’s being completely honest, he doesn’t see a single face when he’s on stage. The illuminations to ensure the fans would see them are blinding, beyond what people think. While his mother thinks his eyesight has gotten worse due to the long hours of playing APEX on his days off, Donghyuck believes it’s because of the blinding lights from the stage and everywhere he goes.
However, this stage has the gentlest lights he’s ever seen. The crowd is small, about two hundred people including their students, and from here, he can see their faces clearly. He stands not too far away, not to high, and he smiles when the crowd cheers when he reaches the middle of the stage.
“Hello, I’m Donghyuck,” he says on the mic. “I’m the teacher of the talented kids we watched this evening, and I can’t be prouder with how they sang their hearts out tonight. To show my gratitude, I also prepared a song for you.”
The crowd cheers again, your voice standing out as you stand right beside the stage, your phone already up probably recording him.
“I sang this song some time last year,” he continues. “This is Good Person.”
The instrumental plays and the crowd claps before he even starts. Donghyuck breathes, closing his eyes, and sings: “What’s going on today? Your face looks like it’s been crying. Did he break your heart? You’re the most precious person in the world to me.”
He hasn’t sung in a long time, and he barely practiced this song yesterday. Donghyuck, for some time before everything went to crumbles, felt scared going on stage. He felt as though he wouldn’t do well enough to deserve the applause and cheers, and he spent a lot of time doubting his own capabilities.
Whoever he is now, Donghyuck truly worked hard for it. At first, he only knew how to sing and it was the only thing he ever loved. And then he learned how to dance, how to stand like an idol, how to answer like a celebrity, how to have his “candid” photos taken, how to be a proper artist—even when he only wants to sing.
Standing here, now, in a small crowd, singing a song he wished was his own, he wished he had written, Donghyuck feels safe.
In Jeju-do, he feels safe. Donghyuck feels like he’s found his way home. The people he’s spent all these months with brought him comfort he’s never known—like coming home after a whole day of being pestered in the real world—and he knows that he’ll never find ease and serenity the same way Jeju-do had given him. The town took him in with open arms, like he’s not some idol who ruined their career for fleeting pleasure, like he’s not some person who’d forgotten about all of them. His Nana embraced him like he was seven again, like making mistakes is normal and that forgiving is easy when you love the person. You accepted him and taught him what falling in love means as though he was deserving of love and comfort.
The song ends with his voice dragging out the last words, his eyes closed: “I can only comfort you.”
When Donghyuck opens his eyes, the lights don’t blind him and the people he knows and love clap, cheering for him. It comes to him like pouring rain. And he allows himself to drench in it—the tenderness, the warmth, the love.
Because he deserves it. He deserves the love, therefore he takes, takes, takes, until he’s full of it.
Like many times in Donghyuck’s life, the ease and serenity end as quickly as it arrives.
You’d spent the night in his home, Donghyuck for the first time learned how to make love in bed. He’s had sex before, of course, but never like how you and him connected in his bed—moans and music of pleasure hushed by each other’s mouth, his honey-colored skin’s warmth pressed against yours, his lips and tongue tasting every inch of you. He’d said he loves you, and you’d said it back as you and him take each other.
This morning he wakes up without a headache, and he’s been waking up without one for a few weeks now. He usually wakes up with the sound of roosters from his grandmother’s backyard, or the sound of you and his Nana talking over your morning coffee. But today, he wakes up with the sound of his grandmother knocking profusely, seemingly frightened by the sound of her voice calling his name.
“Donghyuck-ah,” she shouts. “Please wake up. I don’t know what to do.”
You and Donghyuck get up startled, scrambling to put some clothes on and hurrying to open the door—only to find Nana on the verge of tears. Nana never falters, she’d only shown strength but Donghyuck finds her shaking. Nana doesn’t get the chance to answer because Joohyuk barges in, sweaty and catching his breath.
“The mayor’s security team is here,” he announces. “Let’s get going.”
“Go where?” Donghyuck asks, but Joohyuk is already pulling him.
The door opens, and Donghyuck finally realizes what’s going on.
They’d found him. Men and women with cameras shout his name—he recognizes a few from the conferences he’d attended—and flashes of lights and the stuttering sound of shutters devour him. He looks around and he can’t see you and he hears his Nana cry, and Donghyuck doesn’t understand what the fuck is going on, but he feels his legs give out. Joohyuk practically carries him to the SUV waiting outside their home.
Inside the car, Donghyuck catches a glimpse of the crowd—a crowd that looks like twice the amount of the people from the recital last night. He hears them screaming his name and he sees glints of neon green and posters as they pass by. His Nana, who sits beside him, cries and says she doesn’t understand why they’d found him. The mayor had specifically ensured that the town’s residents do not say a word about his visit way before he’d arrived and she’d done her best to protect him from the lights. He doesn’t say anything and only hugs her tight.
On the other side of Nana is you. You’re staring off the window, the fields far more interesting than what just happened, and you’re biting off the nails of your fingers and your legs wouldn’t stop bouncing. And you’re silent, and Donghyuck wonders why all of a—
Donghyuck doesn’t have to ask you to know.
You’d sold him off.
“I’m sorry,” is all you had to say when you and him are left inside the mayor’s office’s lounge. Donghyuck asked everybody to leave.
You’re sitting on the couch, eyes on the floor, while Donghyuck walks back and forth, angry. “I didn’t mean to.”
He stops walking right in front of you. “What do you mean you didn’t mean to post me on your Instagram? How could you possibly accidentally do that?!”
You keep your head low. “I—I forgot that it wasn’t on private and I didn’t have that many of followers to even be bothered by it. And one of our old friends commented and asked me if it was you—”
“And you said yes?” he enunciated. “You consciously, deliberately said yes?”
You start crying at this point. “Yes, and I’m sorry!”
“That’s a little too late now, isn’t it?”
“I just—”
“You just what? You want to play the girlfriend role so fucking bad?”
“Donghyuck, please, listen—” You get up and hold him by his arms but he backs off and rips his body from yours. “I just—I wanted the world to know that you can be kind and warm and you’re nothing like what the tabloids say—”
“So, you admit you purposely posted it!” he shouts. “What a fucking—”
“Yes!” you admit, still crying. “Because I can’t live knowing the world sees you differently when you’re generous and loving and amazing!”
Donghyuck takes a deep breath, hands on his waist, head tilted up so he can focus on the ceiling instead of the image of you crying. “You have no idea how the world fucking works, do you?”
“You always loved singing,” you reason out. “And the world shouldn’t take that away from you because of one mistake. I’m so sorry for what I’ve done. I didn’t think it through, but please understand my purpose.”
“You really have no fucking idea,” he concludes, looking down at you, right in your eyes and says: “How would you have any knowledge of what goes on outside of Jeju-do, anyway? You have never left this god damn place in your entire life and you know nothing aside from stringing words beautifully to get what you want. And you think you’re fucking cool for not having a dream and staying in an island, living your small-town girl fantasy, when in fact you’ve done nothing in life and people won’t even remember you. Why would you think you can make this decision for me? You’re just some girl who didn’t even go to college!”
“That’s enough, Donghyuck!” Nana interrupts.
Donghyuck turns and finds his Nana, Joohyuk, some of the Mayor’s security staff, his manager, and his Mother standing right outside the now opened door.
He looks back at you and you’re no longer crying. Your expression is just empty, like a light bulb burnt out.
Indeed, like many times in Donghyuck’s life, the ease and serenity end as quickly as it arrives.
They take the first flight to Seoul after successfully shooing the media and fans away. Nana travels with them, his mother deciding that it’s the best for now until everything calms down.
Donghyuck finds out during the flight that yours and his old friend from middle school had reposted the video of him singing from last night and it went viral in multiple social media platforms. Overnight, people had found out his location and the media had started interviewing people in the town. Despite the mayor instructing everyone not to say a thing, some had answered questions, even submitted entries on some forums about Haechan online.
His manager talks about how their PR team sort of thinks this might just be what he needed, says something about the locals of the town had said so many good things about him. He confirms that the post originated from your Instagram account and you had deactivated at this point and that they’re in the process of contacting your old schoolmate because the agency wants to press charges for invading his grandmother’s privacy and for bothering him on an unofficial schedule.
His mother holds his hand all through, and she offers a kind smile and kisses the top of his head.
Donghyuck cries like baby, and his mother only holds him, and perhaps that’s all he truly needs.
The crowd is just as bad when his plane lands. Donghyuck can barely see and hear considering the lights and people shouting his name. They take him to a separate SUV, away from his mother and Nana to keep them off the radar, and he sits in the car beside his manager.
“Here,” his manager hands him a phone as soon as the car starts moving. Donghyuck had forgotten his phone. It’s probably still in his room back in Nana’s house. People are still screaming his name. Donghyuck stares at his manager’s phone blankly. The screen shows he’s in a call with Mark.
Donghyuck’s hand shakes when he takes it. He puts the device over his ear and doesn’t wait for Mark to say anything.
“Mark-hyung,” he cries.
And cries. And cries. And cries. Until he arrives in SM’s headquarters and the manager has to take the phone away from him. Mark tells him he’s on the way to the headquarters with Renjun and Doyoung and that the others should be on their way after their individual schedules.
They arrive and immediately their staff take care of him like a baby, and he realizes that he’s back. He’s back. Right where he’s supposed to belong.
They take him to the PR teams office, and none of them ask how he’s doing and he’s spiraling again—already starting to think how he could please the staff and make them happy, not even an entire day of landing in Seoul and he’s already thinking about other people at his own expense.
Hence, Donghyuck makes a decision he’s never considered before.
While one of the PR associates discuss how he’s ranked number one in Naver’s most searched term, Donghyuck raises his hand.
They all look at him.
And finally, Donghyuck says: “Please get me a therapist. Please get someone who can help me.”
The room is clean and if Donghyuck’s being honest, a little too perfect for a therapist’s office. A tiny part of his fucked-up brain tries to convince him that they’d probably set him up for a documentary he’s not aware of to clean his image, so he looks around and tries to check if there are any cameras setup.
“Truly a celebrity,” Dr. Yoon says, which makes Donghyuck jump a little. The doctor stands from the door way, closing it as he steps inside. “Please, feel comfortable.”
Donghyuck thinks that’s a little impossible, but he takes a seat one of the single couches.
“The first thing that celebrities do in my office is look around for cameras,” the doctor comments, sitting on a similar chair across Donghyuck. “And I assure you that no amount of money can buy my integrity as a psychologist.”
“I’m relieved,” Donghyuck mumbles. “Hello, I’m Donghyuck.”
“Hello, Donghyuck,” the doctor greets; Donghyuck bows. “I had a quick glimpse of your situation from the form you filled out online. Are you feeling better today?”
“I guess,” Donghyuck shrugs. Dr. Yoon smiles.
“How about I ask questions and if you don’t want to answer, stay silent instead of lying to me?” He asks. Donghyuck sighs but nods. “And if you want to answer, answer as truthfully as you can, yes?” Donghyuck agrees. “Let’s start with simple questions.”
“Do you have any siblings?”
Dr. Yoon asks him many close-ended questions, to which Donghyuck had given him all the answers to, then proceeds to ask him what’s on his mind. The doctor’s notepad sits on the table between them, left open and blank even after asking so many questions.
Donghyuck is not really sure whether he’d done the right thing by seeking help, but he can’t keep hurting people just because he’s fucked up in the head. And he can’t keep hurting himself just because he can’t make the entire fucking world happy. He can’t keep drinking his insomnia away because he’s scared a doctor may tell him he’s fucked up in the head, which he knows already, he just doesn’t want it written in his medical records. He can’t keep fucking up his group’s image just because the alcohol doesn’t help his insomnia anymore. He can’t keep drowning himself in his sadness and the thought of disappointing so many people in his life—the people he left behind in Jeju-do, the members, his fans, the staff, his parents and siblings, his Nana, you.
If melatonin didn’t work, if the alcohol didn’t work, and if Jeju-do didn’t work, then perhaps a therapist is his best shot at getting better.
Donghyuck takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and begins.
“I keep thinking about how I can make everyone happy without sacrificing anything.”
The doctor finally picks up the pen and starts scribbling down.
Donghyuck keeps talking.
Donghyuck goes to therapy on Tuesdays and Fridays, and SM keeps his hiatus status active until Donghyuck decides to come back himself. It’s an agreement his parents, Donghyuck, and the agency settled while things are still chaotic.
The members are supportive of this, especially Mark and Taeyong. They’d send him cheerful messages every Tuesday and Friday, when they know that his session would begin. Sometimes, Jeno, Jisung, and Jaemin would pick him up and take him to a barbecue restaurant after. Donghyuck can’t remember how many times Renjun and Chenle had driven him to therapy and had waited for a couple of hours, only to take him to his favorite Chinese restaurant that serves the best hotpot. The older members have also driven him to therapy once or twice, with Jungwoo even signing up for therapy one time, and they’ve all given him love and tenderness—which Donghyuck accepted.
Donghyuck learns many things from Dr. Yoon. He learns that people pleasing isn't a mental illness, but it can be an issue that adversely affects how many people, with or without mental illness, relate to others. Most of all, people pleasers try to nourish other people without adequately nourishing themselves. Dr. Yoon called it Sociotrophy. He described it as the tendency to place an inordinate value on relationships over personal independence in response to the loss of relationships or conflict.
Those with sociotropic tendencies, wish to make other people happy, often at the sake of their own needs or values. While being warm, kind, and helpful are positive traits, they can result in strong feelings of resentment, anxiety, stress, and emotional depletion when they come at your expense.
People-pleasing, apparently, falls at the opposite end of the scale from autonomy. Autonomy places emphasis on independence whereas people-pleasers prioritize interpersonal relationships above all else. People-pleasers are often extremely empathic and attuned to others’ needs. A people-pleaser therefore tends to pursue intimate, affectionate, and confiding relationships. These people have a strong desire for external validation and avoid, or are sensitive to, situations where conflict may arise. They will go above and beyond to avoid displeasing others out of fear of diminished social acceptance.
This behavior can have detrimental effects on a person’s self-worth and self-esteem. A never-ending pursuit of approval, a desire for acceptance, and a sense of validation that arise from others happiness often result in a negative self-image. The person is likely to feel unworthy, powerless, or resentful, which may result in a lack of self-care.
The way Dr. Yoon had described it basically sums up Donghyuck as a human being.
He also learns that Sociotropic tendencies are often associated with mental health disorders such as anxiety or depression, which finally gave them Donghyuck’s diagnosis: clinical depression, also known as major depressive disorder abbreviated as MDD.
Clinical depression is a chronic condition, but it usually occurs in episodes, which can last several weeks or months. Dr. Yoon says one would likely have more than one episode in a lifetime. Donghyuck had asked him what was the difference between MDD and depression as it is.
Dr. Yoon explained that it’s normal to feel sad when you’re faced with difficult life situations, such as losing your job or a relationship. Some people may say they feel depressed during these situations. MDD is different in that it persists practically every day for at least two weeks and involves other symptoms than just sadness alone. It can be confusing because many people call clinical depression or major depressive disorder just “depression.”
Dr. Yoon also blabbered about chemicals in his brain that, well, Donghyuck really doesn’t understand much. All he knows at this point is that the treatment involves some medication and most specially psychotherapy. Apparently, studies show that the combination of these treatments is more effective than either of them alone.
Donghyuck has been investing a lot of his time in psychotherapy. His normal sessions were every Friday, thirty minutes to a maximum of an hour each. Like how his prescription doses went up, he also requested his psychotherapy sessions to be more frequent, hence Tuesdays and Fridays, minimum of one hour a session, maximum of an hour and a half.
Donghyuck likes to think that over the course of eight weeks, he’d gotten a little better. It turns out that being honest with your doctor means you’d get prescribed the right pills to take to help you fall asleep. No wonder the melatonin pills he’d taken didn’t work in the long run; he was taking the wrong ones and the wrong dosage—just like how he’d been looking for happiness in the wrong places.
From today’s session, Dr. Yoon asked him if he could talk to his mother about how he’d felt for so many years—the pressure, the urge to do whatever pleases her, the comparisons with other members, everything. Hence, Donghyuck finds himself knocking on his parents’ room.
He’s staying at their home during his hiatus. He reckons it’s the best time to speak with her as his father and the kids are out for work and school.
“Come in, Donghyuck-ah,” she says softly from the other side. He opens the door and finds his mother writing something in her journal. “You need anything, baby? Do you want to eat?”
He shakes his head and walks towards their bed, sitting on its edge. His mother puts the pen down and sits beside him. “Something wrong?”
“Eomma,” he says in the softest voice. “Can I sleep here?”
The question brings tears to his mother’s eyes. She nods and leads him to bed, Donghyuck lying on his side and his mother cradling him from behind. He looks like he’s thirteen again, the day before the audition at SM, young and anxious about what the next day would bring, and his mother seems like she’s never aged a day, still determined and only wants the best for her children.
Donghyuck can feel her crying.
“I’m sorry, Donghyuck-ah,” is all she says.
And Donghyuck knows deep in his heart that even before she’d uttered her apology, he’s already forgiven her.
Haechan comes back right before Chuseok.
NCT Dream is invited to perform at a music festival held in the Seoul Olympic Stadium alongside many other artists. When news broke that this would be Haechan’s come back stage, the ticket sites went crazy—crashing every second because everybody wanted to get tickets to see the most-awaited comeback.
Over the course of seven months of Donghyuck’s hiatus, many things have changed. He gained more fans in the latter parts of the hiatus after the world learned his life in Jeju-do. He’d gotten a new piercing in his cartilage, which the fans love, but only Donghyuck probably understands what it means. Old videos of him going on stage went viral years later, the world seeing how talented and passionate he truly is. Clips of him randomly singing without autotune circulated for quite some time, and his fondness of children and respect for the elder have been the talk of the KPop industry for the last months or so, calling him the most well-mannered idol. The scandal had not been erased from history, of course; some people still hate him for it. Some of his old fan sites did not return to support him, and if we’re talking about old Donghyuck, he’d probably be pretty bummed about it. He’d probably start compromising his privacy to give them a glimpse of his life off the stage to get them back.
But the sessions with Dr. Yoon have been working well, because Donghyuck doesn’t really care about pleasing the entire world anymore. Donghyuck thinks that as long as there’s a good number of people supporting him and loving him for who he is—as a person and as a singer—then he’d be okay. He didn’t have to make the entire planet roar his name.
The dress rehearsals are done by the time the clock hit four in the afternoon. The members argue where to go eat. Jisung announces he’s going shopping for a new pair of wired headphones because he lost his on the way to the stadium, to which Renjun says he’d go with him. The others decide to go eat with the staff, some opt to go home and rest so they’d be ready for the next day.
Donghyuck decides to go buy the book that Johnny recommended him: The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. He’s told that the book is about a boy growing up, and that it might strike his thoughts if he’s up to reading a children’s book meant for adults.
Hence, Donghyuck finds himself going through shelves and sections of children’s book after picking up The Little Prince and wondering if Gyeom would want to read any of these.
You see, Lee Donghyuck is not much of a believer of fate. As he’d say before, his career didn’t happen by fate because it was all his mother doing all the hard work. But what are the odds of him choosing to visit this exact book store at this exact moment over elsewhere and another time?
And what are the odds of him finding you leaning against the wall in the corner of the store, hair longer than the last time, nose red and body bundled up in layers of clothes, a book in your hand as you read through it?
Donghyuck stops, stares at you, as if he’s waiting for you to look up from the book, and thinks about how much he’d missed you all this time and how much he’d regretted ending things with foul, unacceptable words. He thinks about remembering you anytime he sees tangerines and flowers around the city. He thinks about the odds of finding you again and again in this lifetime. He thinks about the flowers only blooming as soon as the butterflies have left, missing their timing, and how they bloom again next spring, hoping that this time, the timing is right.
He thinks about you in silence. He thinks about love hiding in the corners of his chest, convincing him he’ll get over it—he’ll get over you. He thinks about his dreams.
A few people pass by the space between you and him. The distance is about three meters. It’s silent for the most part.
Donghyuck is not much of a believer of fate, and you look up to prove him otherwise.
It’s only then that Donghyuck takes a really good look on you: new hairstyle, backpack slung in one arm, a student ID badge hanging right below your chest.
“Y/N!” A girl whisper-shouts from behind fDonghyuck. “Have you found the book?”
You don’t tear your glance away from him, but you nod and say, “Yeah. I’ll go check it out and I’ll meet you outside.”
The other girl doesn’t notice him and proceeds to leave. You take two, three, five, seven steps, and you’re right in front of him.
“Hi, Donghyuck-ah,” you say in the softest voice as soon as you’re close enough.
Donghyuck wonders whether this is just a dream or if he’d started hallucinating you because of the medicines he’s been taking, but then he catches a whiff of your scent, and Donghyuck believes.
Donghyuck believes in fate. In forgiveness. In healing. In love. In finding one’s way back home.
END
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#nct dream fic#haechan fic#haechan canon#haechan fluff#haechan angst#haechn au#haechan x reader#nct fic#lee donghyuck#lee haechan#lee donghyuck fix#lee donghyuck au#donghyuck au#donghyuck fic#donghyuck angst#donghyuck smut#haechan smut#nct smut#haechan#faye's moving castle
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Ghost Stories
cw: oral sex, vaginal penetration, size difference, non-human genetalia, deceased partner mentioned
male specter x afab reader
Word count: 7k
When he heard the door of the house creak open he groaned and went to surveil his newest target. Usually it was teens snooping around, looking for a secluded spot to make out. Or dumb kids, trying to scare each other in the abandoned house in the middle of the woods. Not this time though. It wasn’t even people trying to evaluate the property, see what was worth salvaging, at least he understood why those people were there.
This one was different. You were alone, already an anomaly. People didn’t tend to come here alone, stomping through haunted houses appeared to be a group activity more often than not. You had more stuff than was typical too, with a small machine in your hand and a backpack that looked quite heavy strapped to your back.
Then he heard the noise coming through your little machine. At first he thought it must be a walkie talkie or a phone. So you weren’t here alone, not really, you were talking to someone else. The longer he observed from the shadows the more he realized that that wasn’t the case. Whatever the machine was was more akin to a radio, switching through radio stations nonstop, spitting out mostly static and the occasional word that he’d mistaken for another person.
He’d seen enough of your little shenanigans, he wanted you gone. So, he did what he always did, he prepared himself to scare you off. It was really all he knew, some instinctual urge he never really questioned.
He’d been watching you for a while, but from your perspective he appeared out of nowhere. You might have caught a glimpse of him before, out of the corner of your eye, he never fully disappeared, but now you could most certainly see him. He was vaguely humanoid, in the staticy, abstract shape of a human, though something about it was decidedly not right. Parts of his form would occasionally flicker in and out of view, he wasn’t perfect at staying tangible but his towering form seemed to do the job nonetheless. The easiest part to maintain and the clearest part of him was his mouth, which was good because it was the most frightening part of him. While the rest may be a little flickery his gaping maw and the sharp teeth inside were clear and distinct and decidedly threatening.
Your eyes widened the second you saw him, but not with the same face that most had. There was no fear there. If he didn’t know better he would’ve called it excitement.
You spent a few moments just taking him in, tracing his form with your gaze. He could feel the flickering in and out of reality get worse. He wasn’t used to being stared at like this, usually one glimpse and people went running but you couldn’t seem to pull your eyes away.
He tried to stay menacing in the face of this unusual response.
“I’m not scared of you,” you said, clearly figuring out his intent. That taunting, excited smile was still plastered across your face as if wanting to rub salt in the wound. He had half a mind to show you that he wasn’t messing around, that his daunting appearance wasn’t just for show but that was a last resort. He didn’t really want to hurt you, at least not unless absolutely necessary.
He scowled down, unsure with how to proceed. He’d never spoken to one of them before, he wasn’t quite sure how to get you to leave when plan A failed. “You should be,” he hissed.
You squeaked, letting out a little yelp of excitement, your hands flapping a little by your sides as you stood.
Many of the signs here were the same as when people were afraid, the arms movement, the squeaks and yelps and wide eyes, but for entirely opposite reasons. Maybe humans just didn’t have that many reactions for things, cycling through the same few regardless of the emotion.
As your investigation of his form concluded and you seemed content with whatever you’d been looking for, you seemed unable to contain your excitement. “You’re a ghost! A real, live ghost! Well, maybe not live, but still!”
Is that what they called him? Ghost? He didn’t have a name for what they were so he supposed it would have to do.
“Why aren’t you scared?” He supposed if he couldn’t get rid of you, he might as well figure out why. Then maybe if someone else came along with a broken radio he could shoo them away faster.
“I was prepared, I guess, although I was totally wrong about what you’d look like. I came here looking for you.”
For him? Noone had ever come looking for him before. He didn’t really know how to respond. Had one of the people he’d scared off told you about him? “How did you even know I was here?”
“Everyone says this place is haunted, you have quite the reputation.”
Although you not being scared off by him had certainly hurt his pride, that boosted his ego a little. “Do I?”
You gave him a little nod, your eyes still raking over him. “Can I ask you some questions?” you asked, and he couldn’t think of any other way forwards.
“Will that make you leave?”
The little human nodded eagerly and he supposed that sealed his fate for the afternoon. He’d prefer answering a few questions to having to deal with a dead body anyways.
You settled in pretty quickly, pulling out a notebook and clicking a pen as you sat cross legged on the floor.
He faded out of his physical form as you sat. It was more comfortable to set himself adrift anyways, and he could still talk that way. At least then you wouldn’t be able to stare at him endlessly anymore. You could still see glimmers of him, moments of movement out of the corner of your eye, but nothing substantial.
“When did you die?”
He reeled back. “When did I what?” Maybe you were mad, running around, accusing people of being dead. Perhaps that was why you weren’t scared by him.
“When did you die? Do you not remember that, is that insensitive to ask?”
You sounded absolutely genuine and he couldn't make any sense of what you were getting at. “Do you think I’m dead?”
“That’s what ghosts are, right? Dead people.”
Is that what humans thought of them? Of course he wasn’t dead, did he seem dead? He hoped not, although he wasn’t entirely sure why he cared what you thought.
“No, dead people are dead people, how could one be here?”
“Oh.” Now you looked upset. Why couldn’t he have gotten this reaction before, when he was trying to scare you?
“You seem very personally invested in me being dead,” he prompted, hoping to get more information out of you.
“No, it’s not that, it’s just… someone close to me died and… and I’ve been convinced he was still out there somewhere, I’ve been looking for proof all year.” He could see your eyes welling up and some quiet sniffles coming from you. “It’s not your fault, I’m sorry.”
Oh. Well now he felt like an ass. “Hey, I don’t really know what happens to dead people. Maybe he’s still around.”
This did not appear to stop your sniffling. If you started crying he didn’t know what he was going to do, this was so far from what he was good at. He could scare people off, could protect his home and could keep the insufferable creatures away from him, he could not comfort people.
You tried to wipe your eyes before any tears got the chance to fall, although he wasn’t sure why. He could clearly see the state you were in, you weren’t going to hide anything that way.
Still, you tried to push past it, putting on a strained smile for him before pushing on. “So what are you then?”
What was he? Not dead, that much he was certain of, but beyond that he wasn’t sure he had answers for you. “I don’t know, for a long time I wasn’t and then one day I just… was. And I was here and I knew I had to scare people off.”
“What happens when you can’t scare them off?”
“Then they ask me a bunch of silly questions.”
He hadn’t meant it as a joke but it spurred some giggling from you anyways. You couldn’t see it but his head cocked to the side, the noise curious to him. That was the noise the kids made when they went running through the halls of his house trying to spook one another or the teens made as they talked about sneaking about and doing things they weren’t supposed to.
Noone had ever made it for him before, he wasn’t certain if he should be pleased or upset.
“My questions aren’t silly!” You defended yourself with a smile, a genuine one this time.
Of course they were silly. “You asked if I was dead,” he reminded you, hoping that would spur your memory on the subject. Humans seemed to have some difficulty grasping rather simple ideas, he noted quietly, although he didn’t say it aloud for fear of upsetting you again.
“How was I supposed to know? Basically everyone thinks that the specters that haunt old houses are dead people.”
He didn’t want to keep pushing the issue, to tell you how silly the idea really was, even if it was held by all of your kind. You were clearly clinging to the idea that dead people were just lost and all you had to do was find them again and he didn’t know how to broach the issue without upsetting you so instead he just let out what he hoped was an ambiguous noise.
You filled the silence he left pretty quickly with more of your endless questions. “So you just stay here, all on your own? Who do you talk to?”
“You.”
“No, I mean who else?” you asked, clearly thinking he didn’t understand the question when it was you who wasn’t getting it.
“There is no one else.”
He watched a look of realization cross your face, your eyes widening and your hand whipping up over your mouth in surprise. “Am I the first person you’ve ever spoken to?”
Of course not, that was ridiculous. “Sometimes I speak when I scare people off and make them leave,” he clarified, something he thought you would have assumed.
“That doesn’t count.”
Well, if you were going to impose a bunch of silly, nonsensical little rules on him then of course he couldn’t meet your standards. “Then yes, you are.”
Your eyebrows were furrowed in concern and he could see your eyes shift, trying to locate his currently transparent form, latching onto the little shifts in the air whenever you could find them. “Don’t you get lonely?” you asked, doing your best to look up at him but ending up staring at his chest. Close enough.
Lonely? He understood a lot of things, they seemed almost implanted in him. Not that one though. He logically understood it, it meant a longing for companionship, but he didn’t really understand it. Alone was how things should be, how could one fear it.
“No,” he said, the spite clear in his tone, “I don’t get lonely.”
You didn’t look like you believed him. He wasn’t sure what more he could do to convince you. He supposed it didn’t really matter, you’d leave soon anyways and then he wouldn’t have to worry about what you did or didn’t believe about him.
Speaking of, he was eager to get rid of you. He’d heard enough of your questioning and he clearly did not have the answers you were looking for anyways. “Are we done here?” The spite in his voice seemed to carry over because the question came out sharper than he’d intended it to.
You nodded, looking even more upset at his frustration. “Yeah, I can go. Sorry to bother you.”
You stood up, clearly a little shaky on your feet and for a moment he worried he’d somehow caused it. You turned to look at him but just like before, there was nothing to see. Likewise, you couldn’t see him trail behind you, following you all the way to the door, watching you through the doorway as you entered the woods just outside.
You looked back at the house, clearly uncertain of if he was watching you leave or not, unaware of his transparent form hovering in the doorway. You gave a hesitant little wave and for reasons he didn’t really understand, despite the fact that you absolutely could not see him, he waved back.
After you left, he assumed you’d just be gone. You’d seemed dejected by your conversation, of course you had, he’d destroyed your hope and made you cry despite your initial chipper attitude. But a few days later, you returned, just as bright eyed as the first time.
He made himself tangible immediately, still half convinced you’d go running at his monstrous form, despite all the evidence he’d received on the contrary. “Why are you here?” he hissed out as you jerked back at his sudden appearance.
The jolt back gave him hope that maybe the prior incident had been a fluke but you quickly settled from the start he’d given you. “What do you mean why am I here?
“You’re back. Why?” He wasn’t sure he could make his question any clearer, hoping you’d understood it this time.
“I met a supernatural creature, that’s crazy, you think I’m just going to go home?”
“You were looking for dead people. I’m not dead people.” You really did need things spelled out for you it seemed.
You just shrugged. “Maybe you weren’t what I was looking for but you’re still incredible.”
Was he? He did think he was incredible but he supposed he didn’t have much of a frame of reference.
As he pondered the issue you settled back onto the floor, clearly here to stay for a while once more. Your backpack seemed lighter this time and you reached in and pulled out a bag of orange crackers as you made yourself comfortable.
“So you really don’t know what you are?” You spoke through a mouthful of your little crackers, studying him as you snacked from your spot on the floor.
Once more he found himself humoring you, providing answers to all of your endless questions, unsure what other options he had. “Not really. The universe doesn’t like emptiness, that’s my theory. We fill in the cracks, the places where no one else is. We’re built to be solitary creatures, that’s why we’re, you know, used to scaring people off. And why we’re not usually tangible, just the wind in abandoned spaces.”
“Does it hurt? Being tangible like this? You seem to flicker in and out a lot, if it’s uncomfortable you don’t have to do it.”
He shook his head, solidifying even more firmly for a moment so you could see him. “It just takes focus. I’m getting better at it after last time, normally I don’t do it for more than a second or two so I’m not really used to conversations.”
He was trying to stay tangible so you could see him this time. Whenever he stopped your eyes would drift, searching for signs of him to latch onto, and he wanted to make things a little easier on you.
Your face immediately broke out into a smile at his words. “Glad I could help you learn then!” Your pride at being helpful to him was obvious, sitting up a little straighter as a gleam entered your eyes. “So me and my questions aren’t a complete nuisance, good to know.”
He wasn’t sure he’d say that, you were a little bit of a nuisance, even if you did seem to be inexplicably growing on him. Not that he’d ever tell you that.
He didn’t need to worry about his little secret though because you’d already moved on to yet another question.
“So the ghost hunting gear I brought, it doesn’t do jack shit, does it?”
Considering he’d sensed literally nothing that first time he’d seen you, that was probably a no. “Absolutely not. Was that what that radio was?”
You nodded. “Yup. It’s supposed to help ghosts communicate, but I guess you don’t really seem to have a problem with the whole talking thing.”
“I can talk just fine on my own.” The insinuation was insulting, why wouldn’t he be able to talk? Humans really did just assume the worst of them.
“Well I know that now. Wait, do you have a name? Shit, I should have asked earlier, sorry, I got caught up in the whole talking to a ghost thing. I really should start writing down my questions, prioritizing.”
“No. Like I said, we’re solitary creatures, had no one to give me a name and I’ve got no one to call me one so really it would be useless.”
You didn’t seem to like that answer. “I should call you something.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, I just feel like I should. Do you have any names that you like?”
He thought on it for a moment, trying to appease you, but nothing came to mind. “Not really.”
“I can help you come up with one then!” You fished your phone out of your pocket, something he recognized from the many visitors he’d promptly scared off. “God, the service out here is abysmal,” you said as you poked at the scream.
“Apparently it’s better if you hold it up.” Not that he knew from personal experience but that’s what he’d heard as he’d watched from the shadows as people held their phones to the sky and complained about the service.
You stuck your arms straight up from where you were sitting on the ground, your head craning to still see the screen. A small victory cry escaped you and he assumed he’d helped fix the problem. That shouldn’t make him as pleased as it did.
“I could just go through a list of names, how’s that sound?”
“Fine.”
The human names you kept proposing to him were absurd. None of them could capture him at all, not in any way. ‘Ghost’ was already pushing it but Charlie? Peter? Absolutely not, the thought was absurd.
At the hundredth rejection you scrunched up your nose, falling silent for a moment before vocalizing your decision. “Fuck this, it clearly isn’t working, I’m googling ghost names.”
He sneered at the idea. Humans had no idea about his kind, if they thought he was dead he could only imagine how awful their names might be.
His suspicion was proven correct as he heard a giggle escape you. “I could call you Casper.”
He could tell from your tone that it was a bad choice, even if he had no idea why. “Am I being mocked?”
“I’ll take that as a no. There’s things that are less names and more…categories, I guess, maybe that’s more your speed? Like, there’s wraiths…”
“No.”
“What about Salem?” you asked.
“No.”
“Why not? Can I get some direction here?” You were basically pleading with him and he refused to throw you a bone.
“It’s stupid,” he explained, as he’d done several times before.
“They can’t all be stupid.”
He would beg to differ. “Clearly they can.”
You spent a while going through countless lists, proposing idea after idea as he shot each one down until finally you threw your hands in the air. “I give up, nameless it is, you’ve beaten me. For now at least, I’ll keep thinking about it, I’m sure we’ll figure it out eventually.”
He’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel a little smug about outlasting you. “Eventually? How long do you plan on staying?”
“Well, probably a bit longer but I’ll be back.”
“Again?”
“Yeah! You’re not getting rid of me that easily buddy, we’re friends now.”
That couldn’t be. He didn’t have friends, he was meant to be alone, not to have some little human kicking around his home. “That’s not how things work,” he said, it coming out a little poutier than he’d intended.
“Too bad, we’re friends now, nameless ghost buddy.”
He couldn’t find it within himself to be mad as you gave him a self-satisfied grin from the floor. If you wanted the two of you to be friends, who was he to stop you. However, that was the only reason he didn’t protest, placating you, he was sure of it.
You hadn’t lied that day, you did keep coming back. A few days rarely passed without you poking your head in every now and again. The questions never ended but they did slow, the two of you entering into an odd sort of rhythm.
When you entered the abandoned house once more, settled on the floor, and pulled a snack out of your bag, he was already used to the routine.
As you began to eat, you studied him, as you often did. He tried to stay corporeal for you as often as possible, you liked when you could see him. He could tell your eyes were tracing over his sharp teeth when your eyes suddenly widened and he looked at you, worried something was wrong.
Before he could ask if you were already, you had already begun speaking. “Shit, I should have offered you some food. Wait, can you eat?”
Oh, was that all? He wondered if you knew how badly your reaction had spooked him. He shrugged at your question, trying to move on quickly. “Not really, don’t need to.”
“Okay, you don’t need to, but can you?”
“I guess so.” What odd questions you asked him, how did you even come up with these?
You fished a handful of the crackers out of your bag and looked down at his hand expectantly, waiting until he held it out for you. Your hand was much smaller and softer than his, his hand long and spindly in comparison. You dropped the crackers into his palm and then stared.
He wasn’t used to eating. It was messier than it should have been. His mouth was made for self defense, for attacking nosy little humans if he needed to, not for little crackers shaped like fish. And yet, as soon as the taste hit his tongue he understood why his little human was seemingly so obsessed with these things.
They were incredible. Who knew humans could make something like this.
You gleaned his enjoyment as he took the little bag out of your hand. His reaction pulled little giggles from you as he inspected the food, eating all that you’d let him eat.
The next time you returned, your backpack was stuffed full once more. He watched you curiously as you settled down on the floor and began pulling things from inside and setting them in front of you.
“I brought more food for you to try!” you said, grinning up at him.
He learned a lot of things.
There were more types of food than he could have ever imagined. He had no idea how people came up with all these things. A few were natural, fruits grown on trees, but most were invented by your crafty little species.
Spicy foods overwhelmed him. He flickered in and out of existence for far too long after eating them, the burn almost inescapable. You couldn’t stop laughing at the sight and at the drama he brought to the situation. When you finally managed to cull the fits of laughter you’d given yourself hiccups.
He watched the small sounds escape you, seemingly against your will, as he paused his taste test. “What’s wrong with you?”
You snorted, at what he wasn’t sure. “They’re just hiccups, nothings wrong with me. There’s a bunch of wives tales about how to make them stop. I usually try drinking water upside down but there’s no couches in here to hang off of. You know,” you said between hiccups, “It’s kind of ironic, the most common cure for hiccups is being scared. Anyone else and you could probably fix them.”
In the past, the reminder that he’d been unable to scare you would have soured his mood but those days had long since passed. Not being able to scare you off had led to too many good memories for him to continue to be bitter about it.
He tries to fade out and then suddenly pop out at you, at least hoping to startle the hiccups out of you but that just induced another bout of giggles. He didn’t mind it, from you that was the reaction he’d come to prefer.
Chocolate was his favorite thing he’d tasted by far, he couldn’t get enough of the stuff, eating up all the candy bars you’d brough with you faster than you seemed to think was possible. You promised you’d bring him more next time you came.
As the taste test concluded and all the food had long since been eaten, you just laid on the floor next to him, putting off leaving. This was what your visits had become lately, tests of how long you could stay and putting off heading home until you had no other option than to head out to wherever it was you went when you weren’t with him.
“When you leave, where do you go?” he asked. He knew so little about your life outside of this room, you always managed to shift the subject away or mention shockingly little. For someone so fond of questions, you didn’t seem particularly keen on answering them.
However, lately you were a little more open with him, sharing a bit more each time. “Just the hotel I’m staying at. I was only supposed to be here a few days, just wanted to check this place out, see if I could find any ghosts. I got more than I bargained for, I guess.”
“You don’t have a home?” That seemed sad, even he had a home and he didn’t have much.
“I do, I just don’t go back there often. I can’t bring myself to sell it, keep telling myself some part of him must still be there.”
The sadness in your voice told him all he needed to know. “This person you lost, who were they?”
“My fiance. We’d been together five years and we were going to get married this last spring. And then… and then we weren’t anymore. Funny, how fast a wedding can get called off after you spend so long planning it.”
“I’m sorry.” He had no clue what to say. It was in moments like these that he wished that he had a little more experience with conversations, something he could pull from to actually help you.
“It’s alright, I’ve had a long time to come to terms with it. Haven’t been doing a great job of it, actually, both of our families think I’m nuts with the whole ghost thing but hey,” you gestured at him vaguely. “Seems like I wasn’t that far off base after all.”
“Yeah, you had the right idea.” He didn’t really think you did, you had thought he was dead after all, but it seemed to make you feel better and he didn’t want to ruin that.
Every time you showed up from that day forward you brought him chocolate. It was the first thing you did, you both ate as much of it as you could, although admittedly he could eat significantly more than you. You kept telling him that the gesture wasn’t entirely altruistic, that you loved the way he lit up when he ate it and that’s why you kept bringing it for him. He couldn’t help but fawn over you when you came, time and time again, with a bag full of chocolate to just sit there with him in the abandoned house.
Even the faux complaining, the kind he had done just for show, had faded out. You both knew it was pointless, that he wanted you here just as much as you wanted to keep coming.
Chocolates weren’t the only things you’d started bringing. At first it was just a blanket. Something to sit on, you’d said. However, the number of items you’d brought kept growing and soon there was evidence of your visits covering the house, top to bottom.
In your absence, he found himself nestling into some of the blankets you’d left behind,
This time you brought more pillows, some to sit on in the little nest of blankets he’d built up in your absence.
As soon as you got yourself situated you beckoned him over. “Come on, we both should be comfortable, there’s room in here for you too. I know you sleep in here when I’m not around, you don’t need to leave it just because I’m here.”
He didn’t know how to tell you the truth, that his little obsession with all the stuff you’d brought wasn’t for comfort, it was because it reminded him of you.
He settled down next to you, careful to maintain your personal space. As he sat cautiously next to you, you added, “Oh, by the way, I sold my house.”
You said it so casually but he felt like everything had stopped. “What?”
“I just, ghosts aren’t real, at least not my kind, and it was about time for me to move on and stop believing in ghost stories, you know? It’s scary, I have to find a new home now.”
He knew what he wanted to say, he wanted to beg you to stay, to tell you that he wanted you here.
Instead, he learned forwards and kissed you. He wasn’t sure what came over him, just some overwhelming urge and by then he couldn’t stop himself, forcing himself to solidify fully and leaning forwards before he could think.
You tasted like the chocolate you’d both been eating. He didn’t think it was possible to like the taste even more but here you were, just as sweet as he knew you’d be. His kind little human who kept coming back, who was too sweet to leave, of course he had to kiss you, how could he not?
It was messy. He was bigger than you and inexperienced and his form wasn’t exactly built for gentleness, or for kissing, with his big teeth and long tongue getting in the way and making it messier than it probably should have been. He wished he was built like you were, made to be sweet and gentle but he wasn’t, he was made to be frightening. That didn’t stop you from kissing him back, your soft little hands coming up to rest on the sides of his face.
Maybe he was dead because surely this was heaven.
And then, as quickly as you’d embraced him, you pulled back, drawing in a shaky breath. “I’m sorry, I should leave.”
No. Anything but that. That last thing he wanted was to scare you off now. “Wait, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”
“No, no, you didn’t do anything wrong,” you reassured him as you picked your bag up off the floor already rushing out. “I just… I just need to leave.”
And then he was alone again. He didn’t know how he’d managed this before, how he’d reveled in the quietness in this god forsaken house. With every hour that passed, he was more and more sure that you were never coming back, that he’d scared you off for good.
You’d asked him if he was lonely. Maybe he had been and he just hadn’t realized it. Maybe that’s what this absence you’d left was, he’d just never felt anything else before.
A full day later, when he’d already begun mourning you, his little human that he was sure he’d never hear from again, the door creaked. He was up in a second, praying it was you. If it was anyone else they were about to get the fright of their life, that was for sure.
But it wasn’t anybody else he came barrelling up to, it was his favorite little human. You came back and he was next to you instantly, apologizing in barely coherent strings of words while you struggled to calm him down. “Hey, you’re okay, I’m sorry I left, it isn’t your fault, I just kind of… panicked.”
Panicked? Had he made you panic? The idea filled him with dread, that was the last thing he ever wanted. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he managed.
You let out a little coo and he gathered that you thought what he’d said was sweet. “You didn’t scare me, I just needed time to think.”
You both seem uncertain how to proceed, a silence falling over the two of you. In the silence, he let his thoughts escape them. “I want you to stay here.”
“What?”
His instinct was to take it back, not to push and risk scaring you off again but couldn’t contain it anymore. “I want you to stay. You could live here with me and I could fix it up for you and that way you’re already here and you don’t have to travel all the way here all the time and you said you needed to find somewhere new to stay…”
“Hey, slow down,” you said with a laugh. “I’ve been looking at places near here so I could still visit so either way you’re not getting rid of me but are you sure you’d be okay with me staying here? If I stay, there’s going to be other people, it can’t just be me and you forever, I do want to have other friends.”
His heart dropped. “Oh. I might scare them off.”
“Please don’t.”
“Not on purpose,” he clarified.
“Oh. Well, if they’re scared of you just for existing then fuck them, as long as you play nice it’s fine.” Had he heard you right? You’d choose him over other humans, side with him in all this? You were still going on, already making plans. “We have to sort this place out, make it livable. And there will probably be people here to sort that all out..”
He nodded eagerly. Anything to keep you here with him. “But you’ll stay?”
You giggled and he felt like he was about to melt. “Yeah, I’ll stay. If I can, who even owns this place?”
“Some people come by sometimes talking about owning it and renovating it.”
“They do? Who?”
“I don’t know, we don’t normally chat.”
“Shit, okay, I just have to find them and buy it then! This place is a mess in the middle of nowhere, shouldn’t be too pricey, then we can fix it up together! God, getting electricity to this place is going to be a nightmare. And there’s no service, Jesus, how are we gonna figure that out…”
“Are you really going to stay?” The reality of the situation was washing over him, you were making plans to stay here, with him, permanently. He hadn’t scared you off, he was going to get to keep you.
His voice was soft and it pulled you right out of your little plans. “Yeah, of course I am.”
“I thought I ruined it, that you’d never come back.”
You got on the tips of your toes, reaching up towards his face and he leaned down to match you. The second he was in arms reach your hands rose to cup his face. “Listen to me, you did nothing wrong. I just needed some time to think, to sort through my emotions. The problem wasn’t that it was wrong, it was that it felt right and I didn’t know how to deal with that.”
It felt right? Did that mean… “So you liked it.”
You nodded and leaned forwards to give him a quick peck on the cheek. “Yeah, I did.”
It took a beat to process it all, for him to make sure he’d absolutely understood what you’d said. The second he was sure, he lurched forwards and crashed your mouth into his once more, your arms immediately wrapping around his neck, pulling him tighter towards you.
His kisses drifted away from your mouth, the sloppy desperate kisses moving down to your neck. He kept pulling back, to check if you were okay with this but you repeatedly pulled him back in, not wanting to lose this newfound closeness. His teeth ghosted over your skin and he pulled back once more, terrified of harming you, wanting to prove you weren’t in any danger, not with him. You didn’t seem to need the reassurance, your back arching up towards him.
As he dipped back down towards you he let his teeth brush against you again and a soft moan escaped your lips. That was interesting.
As he observed you, he could see you squeezing your thighs together, searching for any kind of stimulus and he just stared for a moment. He never thought someone’s thighs could be so hypnotizing but he could have stared at them all day, could have stared at any part of you all day. His inaction caused a whine to escape you, pleading for more of him.
He didn’t take much convincing, immediately pulling your pants down. You did your best to help kick them off, doing so as quickly as you could.
He could tell just from looking at your cunt that you were soaking wet for him. You seemed hesitant to be looked at there but all he could feel was awe, he couldn’t understand your apprehension, this was the best sight he’d ever seen.
His tongue lapped experimentally through your folds and your thrusted your hips up into his face. Chocolate was nothing compared to this, you were heaven. He wanted to taste you every day for the rest of his life, he felt like he could get drunk off of this.
His tongue snaked deeper, wanting more. Your pleasure was almost an unintended side effect at first, he just wanted more of you. But as your little whines escaped you, he grew more and more intent on inspiring more of them.
His tongue dove repeatedly into your cunt, desperate to taste more of you, pushing it as deep as it could get. He wanted to taste every inch of you. His gaping maw covered a significant portion of you, his teeth occasionally pushing into your lower stomach as he devoured you, pushing further and further, wanting to be as far inside of you as was possible.
He could feel you clench around him and he humped into the ground, desperate for the friction but refusing to leave you, his mouth glued to your cunt.
Eventually, you were the one to pull him away, although he couldn’t understand why. It had seemed like you were getting close.
“Want more,” you said, pulling him up towards you.
He obliged you almost reluctantly, not wanting to leave the taste of your cunt behind just yet. But there would be more time for that later, right now you needed him.
The size difference worried him a little, his fear of hurting you crossing his mind once more. You did not seem as concerned, pulling him towards you and gawking at his cock which you could finally see, now that he was no longer humping the ground.
“Holy shit.” You seemed taken aback by the size of him.
“Listen, if you don’t want to or think you can’t manage it, that's totally fine, we can…”
You looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “There is nothing I want more, I promise I can handle it just… please, I need you.”
He pushed inside you as gently as he could but still, the second his cock entered you, you let out a hiss. He stilled, letting you adjust, wanting to make sure he wasn’t pushing you too far. Eventually you settled and he pushed in further, managing little by little until he was fully seated inside you. You were clinging to him desperately like he was your lifeline.
The second he was inside you he felt like he might come. You were perfect, hugging tight around him. You pressed kisses into his chest as he did, and occasionally, when things got overwhelming, you bit him. You couldn’t hurt him, your small mouth filled with blunt teeth was no threat to the monster, but he loved how possessive it felt. He hoped it would leave a mark on him, that it would be proof he was yours.
He tried a small experimental thrust inside, a cry immediately leaving you as he did. It felt like you were strangling him and he knew you were already close, his hand snaking down to play with your clit as he thrusted inside, harder this time.
It didn’t take long for you to come, already brought to the edge by his tongue, but your orgasm didn’t stop his steadily increasing pace, chasing his own orgasm. You were clenching desperately around him, trying to milk him for all he was worth but he kept pushing.
“Too much,” you whined, grabbing at him.
He pulled you into his chest, one arm coming up to stroke your hair as he rutted into you. “You can take it, I know you can. You feel so good.”
You bit his shoulder hard as his thrusts increased in power, nearing his orgasm. That bite was what pushed him over the edge, pumping into you.
You winced as he pulled out. He imagined the sudden emptiness caused it the same way the lack of you around him made him let out a quiet hiss.
He watched his cum drip out of you and poked at it, pushing some back into you, earning an oversensitive whine from you that probably would have been more effective if it weren’t so cute.
He licked a long stripe up your cunt, tasting both of you together and he was ready to eat you out once more before you pulled him up.
Now it was his turn to whine but you quickly shushed him with a smile. “You gotta give me a little time first, okay? I’m exhausted.”
He understood immediately, pulling you into his side protectively as you relaxed. You curled up next to him in the makeshift nest he’d made in your absence and added, “The first thing we are getting for this place is a bed, okay?”
He nodded along. He would’ve agreed to anything you’d said right about now. Besides, he’d never slept in a bed before, it sounded exciting.
A sharp, toothy grin that he couldn’t suppress covered his face, imagingng it all. It was so different from everything he’d ever experienced but he didn’t mind it.
He’d had his fill of being alone.
#terato#teratophillia#terato writing#monster boyfriend#monster bf#monster x human#monster x reader#exophilia#monster pov#me: makes a bunch of lore for this monster species#also me: makes it so the monster has no clue what he is so the story can't contain any of it lol
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April 30th is the Day of the Homeschooled Child
I was one of the 1.7 million children homeschooled in the USA.
I am also one of Homeschool's Invisible Children.
I was heavily restricted at home - I was barred from nearly everything that my peers were connecting with. I had incredibly limited access to movies and TV, even more restricted internet access, and was even barred from many of the same toys my peers played with. This on top of my academic isolation made socializing very hard.
I didn't relate to my peers socially.
Children younger than me were more academically advanced than me.
I was socially unaware, and frequently missed jokes or made faux pas comments because I didn't understand how to interact with peers.
My ADHD went untreated my entire childhood.
And the issues were not only social. Despite living in a state that boasted some of the most rigorous checks for homeschooled students, I was missed. My portfolios every year were falsified - much of what they claimed I had learned I had little to no understanding of.
By the time I graduated high school "with honors" (that I did not earn and were entirely false), this is a brief list of some of my academic failings:
I had never written an essay, and did not know how
I did not know how to do a critical analysis of a piece of text or media
I was incapable of math above a 4th/5th grade level
I could not tell time on an analog clock
I could not identify more than ~5 states on a map of the United States
I could not identify more than ~5 countries on a map of the world/globe
I could not spell above a ~6th grade level
I did not know that there was proof of life on earth prior to dinosaurs
I did not know that the lymphatic system was real
And so much more.
I entered college woefully unequipped for both the academic and socal demands that were placed on me. At 18, I was closer to as 14 year old, social/emotionally. Academically I was much worse.
I had to work three times as hard as my peers to achieve the same results, battled my still-undiagnosed ADHD as well as my academic and social neglect.
I didn't fully know who I even was as a person, due to spending so many years being expected to fit a specific ideal that was enforced upon me 24/7 through the isolation of homeschooling.
This April 30th, I'm wearing green for Homeschool's Invisible Children - for children like me.
If you are a child experiencing homeschool neglect, please know that you are not alone. There are resources available to you, and your future is not doomed just because your guardians failed to educate you. I'm listing some resources below that may be of help to you.
Homeschool alumni/survivors who resonate with this story: we deserved better. We deserved education. We deserved freedom. It's okay if you're angry at your past. It's okay if you're grieving the life you might have had without homeschooling. It's okay if you're conflicted. I hope you're able to find closure and healing in whatever form that means for you.
And, because I know it unfortunately needs to be said, if you're an ex-homeschooler or a homeschool parent who feels the need to jump on this post and defend yourself, I need you to step back, sit down, delete your comment, and sit with why you feel so attacked by our truth.
This is not a personal attack on you - this is abuse survivors speaking up to prevent further abuse. It is not your place to tell us we should be silent.
"But homeschoolers test better and are more successful!" I'm sure you're dying to say. To wave your statistics at me.
And you would be wrong. Because here's the problem with those statistics.
Let's pretend we have ten homeschooled children and ten public schooled children.
All ten of the public schooled children take a school assessment. Because some excel at different things than others, the public school students average out to an 85.
Only four of the homeschooled children take the assessment. Of the other six, one is traveling with their family during the assessment, two are not permitted because their parents know they aren't up to grade level and fear backlash or judgement, two are mentally or physically disabled and so their parents don't feel the test will adequately display their knowledge, and the last hasn't received any kind of education in years because their parents keep them at home either doing chores, working a job, caring for siblings, or they are simply neglected and spend all day hungry and scared.
Of the four homeschooled children that do take the assessment, they do quite well, as their parents knew/suspected they would. Their average score is a 98.
A 98 is better than an 85, yes. But just because 4 out of 6 homeschooled children were above the public school average does not mean homeschooling is automatically better. If you tested the top four public school students, they might very well score a 98 as well.
However, if you included those other six homeschooled students, the average homeschool score would very likely be something closer to a 45.
So when we talk about Homeschool's Invisible Children, we're talking about those six that never got the chance to take an assessment. Those six who never had a chance to tell a teacher "I'm ten and I don't know how to read". Those six who may not even realize how far behind their peers they are. Those six who deserved to have access to supports so that they could learn in ways that actually met their needs.
So while your statistics look good on paper, they are not honest. They do not present the full picture of homeschooling. Listen to the homeschool survivors who were one of those six kids who never got to make their voices heard. We have a voice now - don't try and take it from us.
Resources for current homeschool students and alumni:
Khan Academy - basically free online self paced K-12 classes. They have fantastic explanation videos for the lessons, you can review them whenever you want, and you don't have to stay in the same grade level for every subject - great if you're trying to catch up and you're in 6th grad for English but 2nd for math. They have courses besides just core classes (math/english/science/etc), too! They run on donations, but it's completely free to use. Also, this site is used in my local public school system to supplement the existing curriculum, so it's not just for homeschoolers!
Coalition for Responsible Home Education - actively fighting for more oversight and restrictions on homeschooling in the USA. They mostly do awareness and advocacy, but they also have resources on their site for things like what to do if you don't have a high school transcript. They run on donations, but the information is freely available.
Probably the most famous resource on this list. Videos that give you a "crash course" (aka a condensed overview) of a wide variety of topics. These are best used as supplement to more structured lessons like Khan Academy, but they have a lot of merit on their own if they're all you can manage. Knowing a bit about something is better than knowing nothing about it!
#homeschool survivor#homeschool abuse#homeschool alumni#homeschooling#homeschool#day of the homeschooled child#homeschool's invisible children#coalition for responsible home education#crhe#make homeschool safe
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I can't stop thinking about how well they portrayed Louis in the show. I think the change in race also really helped solidify the "vampire with a human soul" part of his character. Bare with me for what I mean by this; a lot of readers of the book tend to "not get Louis" and this was especially true of the movie, even AR said where it just seems like Louis is being annoying and whiny, go be a fun vampire. But Louis main conflict is that becoming a vampire changed nothing about him internally. The issues he has, primarily a concern with consumption and damnation don't go away. Louis is afraid of sin and also his own desires for indulgence. To some readers this may seem abstract, but they are often clear metaphors for being gay or alcoholism, Louis is very concerned with regulation, and not because he has any issues with drinking blood but more with how he is judged. He is very concerned about being seen as a monster (see Babette and portrait painter scenes). His big fight with Paul is also about Paul telling Louis that their family wasn't being holy enough. You can quickly see how Paul saying that they need to change their entire lifestyle is a judgement on Louis, the head of the household. Louis also said that he didn't want to believe his brother could have been visited by saints, bc it would be proof his brother is somehow a better person than him. Louis's internal conflict is often easily summarized by his Catholic guilt, which again can be abstract to audiences who have never experienced internalized homophobia or just a large sense of shame/feeling you are being watched
Anyways, why is the change in race smart, it's another way we can see Louis continues to be human governed by human rules, despite being a vampire. We can see it very clearly in how he is treated by society in the show, he is still treated as "lesser". Lestat thinks Louis should be above such things because he is a vampire, and while being gay and being an alcoholic are to some degree things you can hide, Louis's race is not. The opera being the last scene in Ep 2 where the schism between Louis and Lestat begins to get worse, is also where Louis has to act like Lestat's valet in public. If they were both gay white men they could at least act as equals, friends business partners, whatever. But even Lestat "we are above society" has to go through with this act but is notably not upset by it while Louis is. So to audiences that didn't get his issues, Louis desire to basically just be "normal", not an alcoholic, not of a sexuality that would be remarked upon, (while both real these two in the books are not shown overtly and exist in Louis's fear of damnation, which is still fear of judgement by others, but it isn't something that has a scene of a random accosting him in the street, it's more a persistent fear in his head, in the show they showed both these more overtly in the confession scene and the police officers in their home) not of a race treated as inferior, not having to act up his masculinity, by mixing all of those together at least one should make you GET it. I think even Jacob Anderson said it in the podcast that Louis really just wants to have a domestic family life like anyone else, and in the book while it is glossed over Louis says the time he spent being happy was that domestic family life. He just wants to be loved and not judged
In a lot of ways vampirism should suit Louis, and the book IWTV often romanticizes Louis pouncing on his prey from dark corners of the street. And that is what fits Louis the best, the desire to be left alone to be himself
#vc#vampire chronicles#iwtv#amc interview with the vampire#interview with the vampire#amc iwtv#louis de pointe du lac#i love him so much chewing on him like a piece of gum#a lot and i mean a LOT of readers don't get Louis bc he is kind of shrouded in metaphor#the stupidest analysis ive seen that lives in my head rent free is someone saying that louis doesn't hate lestat bc he's gay#but bc he kills ppl#what not paying attention in literature class does to a mfer
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yikes i feel sorry for the villain who tried to hit on the aroace hero but just got rejected. could you make a sequel where the villain gets back at the hero for being such a heartbreaker, or maybe where they find someone who loves them back?
This genuinely isn't anything against you personally, anon, but...you hit on a pet peeve of mine or something. Dun dun dun!!! Now I'm going to talk about it. Sorry, so not sorry.
The hero in that story isn't being a heartbreaker (at least in my opinion). What they did was communicate very clearly that they were not interested because of their identity, also thus not leading the villain on. They did not do so in a cruel way. They are aromatic and asexual. That's just a fact.
If the villain punished them for that, they would absolutely be in the wrong. And yes, I know, they're a villain...but if they were that kind of villain, that whole story would have gone very differently in the first place.
Even if the villain's feelings were hurt (the feeling of hurt is in and of itself valid) that doesn't make the hero a bad person for rejecting them or not feeling the same way, and it doesn't make them responsible for the villain's feelings. If they'd been mean about it, sure, not cool. But they weren't.
People are allowed to not return feelings. Love or lust is not owed.
People are allowed to set boundaries and say no to relationships or experiences that they don't want. More than allowed, this should be encouraged. There is no consent if no is not an option.
Like, seriously, what's the alternative?
Because, as a queer asexual woman, every option I come up with is horrifying to me in some way. It's living in a world where I'm either forced to do things and be with someone I'm not interested in or...what? Have someone retaliate against me because I'm not interested in them in that way? Possibly violently?
Like, at the best case scenario end of the scale, maybe the hero is just in a relationship that never feels quite right but they grow to care about each other in their own way, and the villain is very nice and charming in their way too, and nothing bad happens. That's still not a happy ending. There will always be the secret-kept, and the lingering question of 'well, what would they do if they ever learned the truth about me?'
Being rejected hurts, but the dread that comes with always weighing up on if it is safe to say no, or to tell someone something as basic as your identity or who you are attracted/not attracted to, is so much worse. Because, you know, on the bad scale at best they reject your identity and tell you that you are not what you think you are, are not valid or real, and they know you better than you. At worst, they kill you.
The story was fiction, and in that story the hero did not stop to worry about what the villain's response was, other than that they might not know what aromantism or asexuality is. They didn't have to, either because (unlike me!) they're a fictional superhero who could drop kick anyone who tried to hurt them, or because I liked the thought of writing a story where people may fight and threaten murder, but not over that. Not in a way that feels entirely too real and close to the bone.
Does the villain deserve someone who loves them back? Sure.
Do they get to take it out on the hero for not returning their feelings? Absolutely not, and I don't think you'd enjoy or find any vindication/satisfaction in any story I wrote covering that.
#also I like didn't view the villain as being in love or anything personally#they were totally trying their luck#as demonstrated by the fact that pivoted no problem to romantic cruises and then ah new plan#idk#felt I should say something
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