#putting all my color theory lessons into use

[neowinestainedress]

wave | lee donghyuck

pairing: lee donghyuck x fem reader genre: college au, academics rivals to lovers, kinda fake dating, forced to work together on a project, smut, fluff, humor (idk), music major!haechan, music major!mc | not really requested but thank you 💌 anon for the inspo summary: your indifference toward Lee Donghyuck, also known as Haechan, becomes rivalry when he decides to sabotage you. The battle turns into a war, the war turns into a plan, and the plan, well, the plan fails miserably... or succeeds wonderfully. After all, it’s all about points of view. Or, Haechan thinks he found a way to distract you and be better than you, but doesn’t think it thoroughly and screws it up. warnings: smut, mentioned weed consumption, alcohol use, fingering, oral (receiving), unprotected sex, public sex, jealous sex, bickering, teasing, etc | inclusivity notes: reader wears different hairstyles (no mention of texture, type and color), no mention of body type (but haechan lifts her a few times), no mention of skin color, no use of y/n wc: 22.4k (out of 42k)

a/n: finally i’m back! i started this fic more than a year ago so seeing it finally come to life means everything to me. i had so much fun writing it, so i hope you’ll love it too. please, let me know with comments, reblogs (that also help reach more people), or anon. i love knowing what you think. enjoy! also if there are formatting mistakes please let me know cause i’ve been having problems posting this and i copied it without editing it once again.

masterpost (with visuals and playlist) (i can’t post the link or else the post doesn’t show up in the tags, but you can find it on my profile)

Being number one in your academy isn’t a want, but a need.

You didn’t spend your entire life crafting your skills and splitting yourself between the books and the training room for all of that to be swept under the rug when you finally made it to your dream university; Neo Arts Academy.

Surely, with the prizes promised to those on top, you aren’t the only one with that racing passion to drive you through each day. Tons of people try their best, and even put their health at risk to reach the biggest success, but you manage to focus on yourself and keep your life in a pretty healthy balance.

You managed to focus on you… until something, well, somebody, started to come into your way.

Lee Donghyuck, also known as Haechan, his stage name —if he ever made it big in the industry he wanted to be already known.

You never paid him much attention. Honestly, you never paid attention to anybody, your only goal was to take care of your small garden and top everybody else, but when his competitiveness got the best of him, you just couldn’t push him in the back of your mind.

Apparently, his goals are the same as yours, and that isn’t a nice thing considering how competitive your world is. You first truly glanced at him during a songwriting lesson, when he huffed a bit too loudly behind you while he announced to his friend, probably named Mark, that he sucked at writing songs. However, you only chuckled mindlessly that time and went on with your day.

That was your first year there and everything went fine. Then the second year arrived and you applied for your minor degree in dance and that was when Donghyuck’s presence started to be louder. You had nothing against him, but you quickly learned he couldn’t stand you for some reason. Rumours were quick at flying around, being passed from mouth to ear and you knew them.

You simply couldn’t care.

Yet.

Haechan doesn’t hate you. He could never do that. After all, he doesn’t even know you. But he does know something about you. He knows your name, and how it is always on top of his in any ranking. He knows you will always win the contests he wants to win so badly. He knows you are good at theory and practice. He knows he just can’t win with you.

He also knows nothing can touch you. Not because you are unreachable and believe you’re superior to others. Actually, you are very modest about all your academic success, but you always walk straight on your road with the goal perfectly in the line of view.

Haechan doesn’t hate you. Though, lately, he has a strange feeling in his body every time he sits at his desk to study and his only motivation is to surpass you. Nothing different than the first months there, he got pretty soon you were going to be a tough but nice competitor, but fuck he never imagined you would be so hard to beat. Now that after a year he never won or got the top grade and always came second after you, you aren’t motivating him, you are driving him insane.

He doesn’t have many distractions, but he has friends, some hobbies outside of university, and even a part-time job. But you? Is there something that is distracting you? Is there anything that could distract you? He has no idea, not now that he is watching you walk into the room, ready for the classical ballet history class —yes, of course out of all the minors, you had to choose his— and sit a few rows in front of him, all alone as always, taking out your lilac book note and your pen.

Haechan has no idea, but he is going to find out something that can easily distract you and push out of your path.

You know people think of university as a moment to socialise, but being on your own has never been a problem for you. You have contacts with some of your hometown friends, and most importantly, you don’t mind doing things alone; you can go to the cinema when you want, you can pick whatever restaurant you like, you can take a walk, or stay at home.

You’ve always been comfortable in your bubble, and you’d like to keep it that way, but life has strange plans.

“Damn, always on a rush.” You recognize Haechan’s voice, but you don’t bother turning around because you’re sure he’s not addressing you. You think it’s weird he’s sitting next to you, but you blink the surprise away and grab your tablet from your bag. “Whoever put music theory at 8:30 in the morning on a Monday needs to go to jail.”

You chuckle at his comment, subtly rolling your eyes before opening the note app to go where you left it in the previous lesson.

“You write a lot.” This time you’re quite sure he’s talking to you, so your neck turns to look at him and you find him closer than you’d like him to be.

“I annotate, it’s just the essentials.”

He scans the notes quickly before scoffing. “The essentials? I don’t write as half as that.”

“Well, I think this is essential, but we all work differently,” while you’re answering him, you don’t even notice that his friend is not beside him, and you get lost in him for a second, mostly in the scent that’s filling your nostrils now that his brown jacket is so close to you.

“The professor talks too fast, how the fu— how do you get everything?” He stops himself from cursing and backs away, finally making you breathe some air that is not filled with his intoxicating perfume.

“I rewrite phrases. And, to be sure, I record the lessons, so I can re-listen to them in case something doesn’t make sense when I study them. And then I also re-write the not—”

“You record the lessons?” He almost snarls with his eyes bulging out of his skull as he, once again, stands too close to you.

“Is it illegal?” Your head tilts to the side as genuine curiosity blooms on your face.

“No, it’s… it’s…” he sighs, throwing his head back and cursing something under his breath in a tight dialect you don’t recognize. “I never thought about it.”

“Oh, well, it helps me a lot. Sometimes when I’m too tired to read I just play the lessons and memorize stuff while I do other things,” you smile, moving your hair to one side of your neck before grabbing the pen when the professor walks in. “You should try.”

“Oh, you can be sure I will.”

Haechan can’t be so stupid. He can’t believe he can be so stupid. Why didn’t he ever, ever, think about that? That’s a smart idea, better than crying and cursing when he tries to understand what he wrote down on paper when he revisits the notes, or asking Mark if he wrote some phrases he had marked down with several question marks or dots to fill —dots that he never fills.

But he’s still sure he can’t be a terrible student, he had always been on top of his classes, always aced them and his study method worked… but what if yours worked better? Given the results of the past year, and the start of this one, the answer is clear: yours do work better.

But he doesn’t think that it’s the only reason you are beating him in everything. What if you have other tricks?

Haechan is going to find out.

You always believed your only competition was yourself. You never liked to engage with other people and fight them or fear them. But Haechan had given you no choice.

It was an open threat at you when he purposefully told you a different day to turn in an assignment when you were sick, you had no choice but to fight back.

That was when Haechan truly became your rival. He had always been, you two were always at the top, fighting for the first place and the big prizes, but now it was a matter of pride.

Haechan had officially made it on top of your blacklist, at least he could arrive number one in something, not like there was a big competition to be in there, in fact, you didn’t even have one before he pushed your last nerve.

Fucking it up with you wasn’t Haechan’s plan, he wanted to befriend you and trick you into giving him some magic tricks, but things went… wrong. With Mark by his side, it was impossible to sit next to you. During songwriting you got up and sat on another seat in the middle of the lesson with the excuse of ‘not seeing from afar’, and he couldn’t approach you in any other circumstances. So, when you got sick for three days, he thought he could, for once, steal your spotlight.

He wasn’t sure you were sick, but he was sure enough you weren’t going to miss lessons days to study or work on projects; you never needed extra time, unfortunately, he knew it well. So the only thing that could lock you in your place was an illness of some kind. He did feel bad when you came back four days later and asked him if you missed something, he could see you still weren’t at your best, and he could’ve tried his luck by telling you the truth, hoping that the precarious state you were in was going to make you come up with a terrible essay on an instrument of the 18th century, but his eagerness got the best of him, and he lied.

So he had officially screwed his plan of getting closer to you.

“You are an asshole,” you scream, slamming the books in front of him on the table in the garden, not caring about his friends staring at you in shock. “And don’t look at me with that face of ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’ because you know what I’m referring to.”

“I don’t, though…” he whispers, trying to keep a distance between you because you look scary —half bent on the table, furrowed forehead, pointing finger— and he thinks you are very motivated to reach over his neckline and strangle him.

You roll your eyes, groaning in annoyance. “You told me Professor Kim left an essay for Monday, I thought I could use the weekend to do an amazing job and he called me to his office because I was three days late.”

Haechan gulps, and the table goes silent, you feel his friends’ gazes on you but they are the last thing in your mind.

“Mind to explain?”

“I… I didn’t do it on purpose?”

“You have to ask me if you are an asshole because your mother didn’t put a brain in your skull?”

“Hey, take it back!” He warns with a pointing finger, glaring at you.  

“No,” you retort, crossing your arms on your chest and standing up straight. “You sabotaged me.”

“You are making things up. Maybe you should be in the creative writing major,” Haechan taunts, a shit-eating grin on his face.  

You gasp offended, clenching your fists to avoid wrapping your hands around his neck. “You — you — ugh,” you huff. “This paper was graded! And you knew it, it’s part of the mid-course work he adds to our final grade. Why would you do that to me?”

“You think I did that on purpose?”

“When did you turn it in?” You ask and when his eyes widen you scream at his face. “See! You turned it on time. I fucking hate you!”

“I didn’t answer,” he tries to defend, a challenging edge in his voice, getting to your nerves more than the look on his face.

“First of all, I can see it in your face. You’re trying to look surprised and even scared, but you’re having the time of your life because, guess what, you can’t surpass me if you don’t play your stupid games.”

He snorts offended, gulping before leaning closer. “You think I can’t beat you?”

“It’s not what I think, it’s what the rankings say, it’s what our professors say, and it’s what all the external opportunities I’ve got say. But if you want to try to prove facts wrong, bring it on,” you shrug, grabbing your things and taking a step back. “No more dirty games from now on, Lee Donghyuck. Trust me, you don’t want me to start playing them too, you might not even see the top three if I do.”

The months to come are fire. You should keep minding your business but as soon as he opens his mouth in class you can’t press your lips together and fake it. You try, every time, but you fail.

“I just mean that the melody is what attracts people,” he argues during a discussion in the songwriting class.

You huff, shaking your head. “People care about the lyrics more.”

He scoffs loudly and the professor glares at him for the reaction but he still goes on. “People won’t listen to a song if the production sucks.”

You turn around, eyebrows pressed in a furrow. “And they won’t listen to a song if the lyrics are dumb, or tell a bad message.”

“Really? Catchy pop music is a thing even if you want so badly to maintain the purity of the art of music with only lyrical depth.”

“I love catchy pop songs, but there’s something objective in music and something subjective, if you paid attention to any of our classes you should know, right?”

The class holds back a laugh and the professor coughs, making you utter an apologize, more addressed to her than your enemy.

“Oh, trust me, I paid attention to class,” he retorts, mockingly smiling at you. “And we’re not talking about the quality but the appeal. People remember the rhythm of the song or the tune more than they remember the words.”

“And words can hold so much meaning for someone they will stick to them forever. Also, lyrics can have different interpretations and if you’re a good writer you can make one song fit for more occasions.”

“That’s dumb,” he says, looking at you up and down after scoffing. “Notes can transfer different emotions, what you said just doesn’t make sense, please.”

“Can we tone it down?” Professor Park warns, glaring at the both of you.

You nod and mutter another apology before speaking up again, “I believe that a good melody can easily attract people at first listen, but if we talk about the long run, a memorable song also needs good lyrics. And Mariah Carey herself said how being a songwriter makes your career last more, so I think it’s telling coming from one of the best voices ever.”

“I think you both make a great point,” the professor cuts the conversation off before you can jump at each other’s throat again. “It would be interesting to make a deeper analysis and maybe break down songs and compare data over time. If it was possible to keep the decorum…” she whispers the last word and you want to disappear because you hate the scene you gave. “But we need to move on with our lesson, so, as I was saying…”

Out of all the heated discussions you had in class, the one about the importance of production and lyrics, led to your worst nightmare, working on a project with him. Professor Park was so nice to pair you together because she wanted to see how your different points of view would’ve worked in the song you had to write and produce and even if you smiled and said, ‘it will be really motivating,’ to avoid yelling at her face, now you want to die.

You’re sure the first two knocks on the door don’t even reach the other side; your hits are too weak and the small apartment in that complex is too loud for anyone to hear. Is this the environment you have to work in today?

You roll your eyes and knock again, this time making sure it’s impossible for them not to hear you. You wait there only for a few seconds and then the door opens, revealing a boy your age you can’t remember.

“Oh, hi,” he cheers, big toothy smile beaming at you. “You must be here for Hyuck, right?”

You hum, nodding and murmuring, “Yes, I have to work on a project with Haechan.”

“Come in.”

You step inside the house and look around briefly before your eyes fall on the table in the small living room; there are books everywhere, headphones on the ground, boxes of food and empty water bottles, and most importantly talks too loud for four boys that were supposedly studying.

“Mark, can you lower the music?”

“Music is what I’m studying, I can’t,” the man you know well replies. “Why don’t you keep your pencil close to you? Jesus, there’s graphite everywhere.”

“You’re so annoying, I can’t go in my room, Jeno still didn’t take down the light boxes,” the brown-haired replies, sending a death glare to the boy at his side who quickly replies to his defence.  

“Hey, I finished shooting half an hour ago and now I have an essay to write, leave me alone.”

“They’re entertaining, aren’t they?” Haechan’s voice brings you out of the haze of his bickering friends, their conversation fades in the background while your anger level rises just seeing his face when you turn around.

“Surely more entertaining than you,” you retort before taking a step forward, pretending to know where to go in that house.

Haechan rolls his eyes, thanking his friend who opened the door —Jaemin— and coming next to you. “You don’t know where my room is yet, so if you’d like to follow me.”

You trail behind him, waving at the men around the table but it’s clear that none of them even noticed your presence. Luckily for you, Donghyuck’s room is at the end of the corridor and the mess that goes down in the other room is not hearable enough to make your day a living hell.

“So, do you have anything in mind?” He asks after you sit at one of the chairs at his desk.

You shake your head, fixing your skirt and pulling out some things you might need from your bag. “Wanted to hear from you first. Since the melody is so crucial, we should start from that,” you mock in a fake-sweet tone, and you feel his glare on your skin.

“You truly are a pain in the ass, you know?” He scoffs, moving his hair out of his face, gaze fixed on you.

“And for what? Because I agreed with your theory?”

“If you have a melody in mind it’s easier to make the words flow.”

“If the melody has nothing to do with the idea, you only have some notes and not a song.”

Now that there aren’t rows of chairs dividing you, the heated argument has led you face to face, literally. And you feel your heart pound in your chest from the anger and, also because it’s weird to be this close to a stranger you can’t stand.

“Okay, Miss Taylor Swift, why don’t you enlighten me and show me what you got?”

You glare at him but he’s unfazed, holding the eye contact proudly. “My lyrics will be better than your production.”

“And are those lyrics in the room with us?”

“God,” you groan, throwing your hands in the air and your head back. “You drive me insane.”

“And you are pretentious and still never prove all the things that that little, bratty, annoying mouth of yours says.”

Deep creases show on your forehead, and you have to turn around because if you see his face for a second more you will slap him. But you want this project done, you have four weeks to turn it in, but you want this torture to be over as soon as possible, so you know you have to put the pettiness aside.

“If we want a great result and good grades, we need good lyrics and a good melody,” you say, calmly facing him again, slowly watching as his face softens. “My words and your production. I don’t care what comes to us first, if you think it can be useful, we could even brainstorm some tunes and catchphrases and then build it around it.”

“Now you’re making some sense,” he exclaims, smiling widely before patting the top of your head. “So that head is not empty.”

“Oh, seriously? I’m trying to have a truce, and you fuck it all up again?”

“No, sorry, I just think you’re really smart when it comes to college but a bit annoying when it comes to life.”

“You’re just mad you can’t beat me.”

“I can,” he retorts smugly.  

“Then why don’t you do it?” You tease, cocking your head to the side.

Haechan scoffs, lips twitching in a quick smirk before he wets them. “I didn’t yet, but are you so sure I won’t?” He whispers, breath colliding with your lips and nose brushing yours, your brain doesn’t even register his hands on your legs right away, only when his fingers caress your bare skin right above the hem you wake up from the haze of having him so close.

“Time will — time will prove us,” you say, turning to the desk and scratching your neck. “Time will tell us, not prove us.”

Haechan snickers, moving closer to see on your tablet where you opened the notes, and smiles smugly. He thinks he found a way to distract you.

The project isn’t done in the first week, and to put a cherry on top, Professor Park decides to make it the big project for the end of the class, adding a cover for the single, a plan to sponsor it, and, if someone feels brave enough, even to record it. Even if you wanted to, a thing this big, and now with so much weight on the final grade, can’t be done in one week.

Yet, you think you’ll have to deal with Haechan only on your weekly meet-ups for that project and during lessons, you never imagined you would have to deal with him even during your library study on Wednesday.

“Why are you studying in the middle of the week?”

“You know, if I had to replicate a sound every time we start a conversation it would be ‘and now, I just want to sit back and relax and enjoy my evening, when all of a sudden I hear this agitating grating voice,’ and that is the sound that plays in my mind, actually.”

“Grating? Really?”

“Well, it’s the quote but it fits,” you reply sternly, bringing your attention back to the book. “Also, the question is not, why am I studying, but why aren’t you? How will you beat me if you don’t?” You wink, laughing under your breath. You don’t even need to see his reaction; you know his jaw tenses and his nostrils flare for a brief second every time you tease him.

You hear the chair in front of you scratch on the floor, and deeply hope he’s not sitting on it. But Haechan is sitting on it, staring at you as if he could steal the information from your brain and pass it to his.

“I am studying.”

“No, you’re not,” you reply, eyes widening when he rips a page from your notebook and a pen from your case. “So, what have you learned since now?”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes to the sky and instead run a hand on your face while sighing deeply. There’s just no way to get rid of him, right?

“You don’t even know what I’m studying.”

“Sound design,” he replies promptly, and you look down to see if he could’ve gotten a grasp from your books but there’s a paper on it and there’s not much written on it. Haechan smiles and moves to the chair next to you. “It’s because I started it too, there are too many notions, it would be a suicide to wait for the finals.”

“Oh, so you do something else other than think about me,” you tease, nudging him with your leg.

“Hey! I don’t think about you,” he replies firmly, frowning.

“Sure,” you huff, waving him off. “So, what do you know?”

“Well, all the basis we learnt last year, so the definition of sound, the path it follows, how it’s perceived based on the medium and how fast it travels through them, slowest through gases, faster through liquids, and fastest through solids, and that temperature effects it as well.”

You smile, content with the reply but you want to test him more. “What about the five characteristics of sound?”

“You think that’s a difficult one?” He asks, almost disappointed at the easiness of your question.

“Well, if you want to impress me so bad, I could ask you to list all the types of compressors?”

“You already know that?” He questions, quirking a brow, trying to think why he doesn’t remember them. “Wait, we didn’t do that in class.”

You laugh. “See, you’re witty. No, we haven’t done that yet, but since you love producing so much, I thought you knew it as personal knowledge.”

“Why do you talk as if you don’t want to do the same job as mine?” There’s a bit of annoyance in his tone, but there’s genuine curiosity in his eyes.

You shrug, pressing your lips together before diverting your gaze.

Haechan gasps. “Don’t tell me you don’t know what you want to do, yet, because I won’t believe it.”

“It’s not that I don’t know,” you reply, a low huff leaving your lips. “I’d like to try different things out, being a PR manager sounds interesting too. And I’m also pretty good at dancing, so that could be a career path.”

“It’s a shame we didn’t start practical courses, I would love to see you dance.”

“Yeah, sure, so you can mock me some more,” you groan.

He shakes his head. “No, you wouldn’t enroll in a program if you weren’t absolutely perfect at it, so I can’t come at your skills.”

“You’re so kind, I think I might love you,” you mock, moving closer to him and pouting before pushing him away with a light push on his chest and focusing on your papers again.

“And by the way, I know the characteristics of sound,” he says, right next to your face.  

You smile and think to yourself that this might be fun. “Good, go on and tell me.”

You don’t get why Haechan’s roommate bicker so much. Not that you could lecture them when, as soon as you walk inside his room, your talks won’t be much different than theirs (worse, probably). But you think you and Haechan, at least, have a reason to fight so much. His roommates are… weird. They are close. They all are, in an annoying way almost, always moving in packs and breaking their back to meet up even if their institutes are scattered around in the Academy. Yet, they get heated pretty easily when they sit in the living room, and you can only blame it on stress as you chuckle, standing against the countertop with a glass of water in hand.

“Donghyuck left you all alone?” Jeno enters the kitchen, distracting you from Renjun screaming at his painting and Mark cursing while he tries to come up with a melody for a small assignment you decided to not worry about —you have Haechan to worry about now.

“Yep, told me to be here at 2 pm just to be in the shower instead,” you reply with a tight smile on your face that makes him laugh and scroll the black hair out of his face.

“My fault,” he explains while pouring himself a glass. “I convinced him to stay at the basketball field when we finished and he couldn’t meet up with you smelling like rotten leftovers forgotten under the august sun.”

“Creative writing?” You ask after you chuckle at his description.

“Nope, photography, Renjun’s worst nightmare.”

You laugh. “It’s because you leave all those big things around his room, right?”

“Our room,” he says, empathising on the first word.

“Okay, communism king, your room but I don’t think your comrade is happy about it.”

Jeno laughs, and hums before gulping down a sip of water. “I’m not rich yet to afford a studio so he’ll have to deal with his bestie working, sweating, and crying his way to the top.”

“You could’ve been a nepo baby and have everything handed to you.”

“Sucks not to be one. I wouldn’t even bother being in Uni, just leaving my best life with my camera and daddy’s money.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Haechan says entering the kitchen, hair still damp and casual housewear on.

“None of your business,” you reply, placing the glass in the sink and walking to the door. “Come on, we have a song to create. It could be our first Billboard number one.”

Haechan sighs, snatching the bottle of water from Jeno’s hand, briefly confused at his grinning face, and then follows you quickly.

“Are you trying to hit on my friends?” He asks, closing the door behind.

“Would you mind?”

“Yes, I’d hate having to deal with you in our group hangouts.”

“You already deal with me. More than you should since you always come to me even when we could not be together,” you say, tilting your head to the side, and sitting on your assigned chair. “Are you perhaps jealous? Do you want me all to yourself?”

“Nah, you can go and fuck all of them right no—”

“Okay,” you don’t even let him finish and you’re at the door, but he springs after you and stops you.

“What are you doing? I was kidding!”

“Why? Since when you can tell me what to do?”

Haechan groans and drags you back to your place, but he doesn’t sit just yet, he’s bent over to be close to you. “I need you here with me to work on this goddam song, and then you can go and have a gangbang in the living room, I don’t care.”

“You’d be mad you won’t be part of it,” you joke, having the time of your life watching his pissed-off expression as he stomps loudly back at his place. “Accept that you will never win with me, and maybe you won’t be so triggered every time we talk.”

“Shit, it’s late,” you murmur, lifting your head from the lyrics you’re trying to write down. Now you got the theme —it’s a love song that you hope won’t turn lame— and even a faint idea of a tune, and while Haechan tried to get inspired by other songs and tried instruments he wants to add to the track, you worked on the words.

“Don’t you think we’re trying too hard?” He whispers, placing the guitar on his bed before standing up and stretching.

“What do you mean?” You ask, lifting your neck so you can look at him after you turn around on the rotating chair.

“Music should come to you, it should be… spontaneous.”

You’d want to roll your eyes, mostly for the spontaneous part, but he’s right. Most artists don’t think about the songs they make, the song comes to their mind when they’re not thinking about it.

“Yes, but do you think we’re doing such a shitty job with this?”

He shakes his head, walking closer to you. “Not totally, I just think that if we want to be on top, we have to work around it differently.”

You gulp when he hovers over you and grips the side of the chair tightly. “Like?”

“We should… relax. Take our mind off of it and just wait for it to come,” he glances at the desk, studying the crumpled tries you gave up on and the only three phrases you were happy with written on the tablet. “We should get inspired,” he whispers, and you’re once again so focused on his face that you don’t feel his hand on your thigh, under the long black skirt you’re wearing, it surely must’ve been on you for a while if the fabric was already crumpled up and his fingers teased the hem of your panties between your hips and stomach.

“Is — is this how you inspire people?” You ask, glancing down with a rising chest but for some reason not pulling away.

“Don’t know, I’ve never done it before,” he chuckles, slowly moving closer to your core, observing the small signs of your body. “Should we see if it works?”

You hate him. You should be working on that lyric for the last half hour you have left. You hate him. He’s making it impossible for you to stick to your ‘minding my business’ plan that had worked through all your school years. You hate him, you do, and yet you nod, humming a feeble ‘yes,’ in response.

“Good,” rolls out of his lips, and it sounds so different from his usual tone, you can’t help but feel hot.

Your nails sink in the chair when his fingers slip right against your clit after he had your consent and starts teasing it.

“So, it’s a love song…” he says, and you frown, heart pumping louder as for a second you think he led you on and you looked like a pathetic horny loser, but his hand is still playing with your pussy and his face is still close to yours. “Chose that because you have somebody in mind?”

“We literally picked it for a reason last week, you —”

“God,” he shushes you up, pushing the panties to the side and teasing your entrance, it’s already damp, but not enough how he wants it. “Can you stop being so rational for once? I know why we picked it; remember I’m trying to inspire you.”

“Wait, you really think some fingering can inspire me to write a love so—” your words shut down when he places a hand on your mouth, eyes widening but pussy leaking an embarrassing amount of cum.

He quirks a brow in surprise and, shortly after, a smug smirk curls his lips. “Oh, so you’re into that?”

You can’t reply, but even if you could’ve, you’re not sure you would’ve said anything.

“So, anybody in mind?”

You shake your head. Your love life has been anything but exciting, and after a few tries, you were sure it wasn’t what you needed to focus on, especially because nobody sparked your interest. Nobody was worth moving your focus from your studies.

“Great, so I guess that’ll have to be me.”

“What?” You mutter muffled, closing your legs and moving on the chair.

Haechan rolls his eyes in his skull, keeping you in place. “Oh, come on, you can fake it for a few minutes. Don’t act disgusted, I’m knuckle-deep inside you,” he says.

“Not yet.”

“I’m knuckle-deep inside you,” he retorts after he pushes into you with two fingers, staring right into your eyes.

You bite back a moan and a curse under your breath. “Fine, but I don’t want to think,” you say. “Just, prove it to me. If you’re good, I’ll be inspired and I’ll come up with the lyrics, if you suck, we’ll go back to our original method.”

Haechan hates that he constantly has to prove things to you, and he hates even more that he does it, almost as if he’s your dog and he has to follow your orders while you keep him on a leash. But if this will work to come up with a great song, and in his outer-songwriting-course-plan to distract you, he won’t complain.

Honestly, he couldn’t complain even if it only meant to finger you. He might want to fight you every time he sees your face but, damn, what a face.

“Shit,” you moan. You don’t want to give him too much satisfaction, but he knows what he’s doing and it’s been way too long since someone touched you like that. Damn, even since you touched yourself like that. Maybe the whole ‘staring at your goals’ was taking some funny things away from you.

“Do you want to turn the song into a Hozier song?”

You huff, you just asked him one thing and his mouth is running again doing the opposite. “You wish you were this good to inspire a Hozier type of song.”

“Really?” He taunts, pressing his thumb on your clit, starting to tease the throbbing nub in circles.

“Yes,” your voice trembles, but your face shows confidence.

Haechan snickers, quickening the pace of his fingers, watching you fight against yourself to not show how much you’re loving it. “One second of this mouth on your pussy and I’d make you change your mind,” he whispers right against your ears, hot breath fanning your skin. “It’s a shame you don’t deserve it.”

You groan, head rolling back in disappointment, and that makes him laugh.

“You have to think twice before running that mouth, babe. Especially with me.”

“Never,” you talk back, opening your eyes and regretting as soon as they meet his. His gaze is too intense, and your brain is too far gone to keep it up.

Haechan only grins, enjoying your wrecked face and the sounds your pussy is making as his fingers keep working on you. You might try to deny him, but your body is speaking to him, and deeply so are you. It’s in your eyes, and your lips trembling, and in the beautiful moans that are rolling out of your tongue.

“Are you close, brat?”

You don’t have it in you to complain, or retort, the orgasm is right around the corner and you fear he would ruin the experience if you said something out of line.

“Answer me,” he orders, lightly slapping your thigh.

“Yes,” you breathe out, biting your lower lip to prevent the whole house from hearing you.

“Good,” he replies, smiling proudly and starting to move faster in and out of you, hitting your sweet spot every time he reaches the base, and torturing your clit with his thumb. And when it’s too much for you, you come. Body trembling against the chair, and legs pushing up as the shocks of pleasure run through you.

“Acid when you talk but sweet to taste,” he hums after pulling out his fingers from his mouth and you only glare at him as you quickly try to get yourself together again. 

“It’s late,” he says, staring at the clock. “Go home and let me know if this was useful somehow. And not by replaying it in your mind at night wishing I was there with you.” He winks and you slap his shoulder hard. “What the hell!”

“I won’t come up with anything on purpose, and I swear if you keep being so annoying, I’ll be terrible at this.”

“You would never, this makes up like 80% of our final grade.” He challenges you with a glare.  

“If I go down, you go down with me,” you retort, face to face, fiercely looking into his eyes.  

“It’s not smart of you.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” you smile sweetly before it drops from your face. “It’s a threat.”

It’s not like you’re trying to avoid him after what happened, but that’s exactly what’s going on. You don’t regret the act per se, you just can’t believe it was so easy for you to agree to do that with him. And you know he will use it against you for eternity.

A very dumb move from your side to give him the possibility to tease you even more and about something you couldn’t defend yourself from.

But if you try your best to change corridors when you see him from afar, walk quickly back to your dorm room, and sit on the opposite side in class (you fail at keeping your mouth quiet, but you need to discuss with him during lessons), it seems like he’s doing everything he can to be on your path.

“I’m starting to believe you’re a stalker,” you huff, clearly scaring him when you stop abruptly in the middle of the library and make him stop in his tracks.

“I’m not.”

You raise a brow, staring at him until he huffs and throws his hands up in the air. “Fine, fine, I was following you but only because I wanted to know what you will study.”

“Why do you care so much about what I study?”

“So I know how to beat you?”

“Isn’t it more exciting if you beat me only using your brain by putting some knowledge in it without seeing my cards?” You say, pushing a finger on his chest and making him walk backwards until his back hits the bookshelf behind him.

“I think sneaky games are funnier, though,” he whispers, hand moving to rest on your side. “Especially with you.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, and taking a step back, freeing yourself from his hold. “The games you’re playing are not sneaky. Why are you always in my business?”

He shrugs. “Why not? So, what are we studying today?”

“We are not studying together.”

“Why? Isn’t it funny? The same study method, same hours, but one of us will be better than the other. That’s a truly equal comparison.”

You run a hand on your face and keep walking to find what you need. “If you didn’t distract me every two seconds, I would’ve already been like five pages into my studying session.”

“Oh, please, you are wondering around the library anyway. I’m just keeping you company.” His body follows yours like a shadow, his heat radiating so close to your skin that you think you might go insane.

“I don’t want your company,” you say, moving your eyes swiftly over the books in front of you as you try to find what you are looking for in the sociology section. When you finally find it, reminding yourself you have to buy it so you can annotate directly on yours, you walk back to your table, but Haechan is still beside you like a puppy on a string. “Can’t you just leave me alone?”

“I could, and I’d want to, but I can’t,” he says, sitting at your side, smiling widely when you glare at him.

“This is a useless lesson for you,” you try to dismiss him.

“Is it? Because we have the same ones.”

“Jesus, okay, fine,” you give up, throwing your head back and raising your voice enough to make some heads turn in your direction. His biggest talent is to exasperate you. “But we give ourselves a timing, and then when we’re done, we’ll have to answer five questions.”

“And who answers to them all?” He asks, there’s a taunting edge in his voice, and a grin on his face.

“Is the best,” you reply as if it’s obvious.

“Yeah, but there should be a prize.”

“Being better than you is the prize.”

Haechan scoffs, and he hates to admit in his mind that he finds your snarky remarks so fucking hot, if you weren’t in a public library and if his job on earth wasn’t to detest you, he would’ve already had you bent on the table.

“I love how you’re always so sure of being better than me.”

You snicker and send him a flying kiss. “Honey, I am better than you.”

“Wait, I just left out a detail!” You almost scream when you compare your answers for the nth time because you can’t believe he has done slightly better than you.

“That detail is important,” Haechan replies unfazed by your indignation.

“No, it’s not. We would have the same score if this was graded,” you insist, feeling more angered than you should. It’s nothing serious, it shouldn’t be serious, but with him, there’s your pride on the line.

“But this is between me and you, so I win. Also, my phrasing in the second answer is better than yours.”

“Shut up, it’s not.”

“It is, and you just have to admit you lost,” he insists, leaning over, staring at you with a challenging raised brow.  

You swallow, eyebrows furrowing, and then you sigh. “Your advantage is minimal. And you only won a battle, because I’m winning a war.”

“Fine, Napoleon, I still won and you’re coming to my place even Saturday so we can do this some more.”

“Hey, Napoleon sucked! He lost the most important battles, the only ones he should’ve won.”

“That’s why I called you that,” he winks, clicking his tongue mockingly.  

“Oh, you think you will win the war? You’re wrong, honey, Waterloo is yours.”

Haechan laughs, standing up after putting his things in his bag. “I’m waiting for you on Saturday…” he says and before you can complain he starts singing, “Waterloo, I was defeated, you won the war…”

“Oh, shut up!” You say, hitting his arm as you push him away, but he giggles and walks away continuing with the tune.

“Waterloo, promise to love you forevermore. Waterloo, couldn’t escape if I wanted to…”

And you think that if only he didn’t try to sabotage your final grades in Music History, you might even find him funny.

Haechan hates you.

If he was sure he didn’t before, he is sure that he does now.

He can’t wrap his head around the fact that you, Miss zero social skills, and negative 100 friends, can be so good at debating. On every fucking topic. You’re well-spoken, witty, smart, somehow it looks like you know everything about everything. And even when you don’t know (and you always specify it — which he shouldn’t find so hot, but he does) you always come up with perfectly thought theories and analyses coming from the small knowledge you have on the topic. The thing he also hates is that you never sound like you’re showing off your skills, it’s just really nice to listen to you and —when he’s not the one intervening against you— you’re the sweetest person ever and everybody in every class absolutely adores you.

He wonders if you’re a robot. Maybe you’re some sort of artificial intelligence sent there to conduct studies on humans’ stupidity, and he was unlucky enough to start a fight with you. You just don’t seem real. And he’d love to dig deeper but he doubts he will find anything relevant.

You might be smart, but you also look incredibly boring. He tried to find out if you had interests, or anything that could distract you, but his research led nowhere. The biggest problem is that he hates you, but not to the point that he wants to get you suspended from University, so he has to find another way to make you slip.

Apparently, you’re playing the same game, but even at this, you are thinking faster and smarter.

“Where the fuck are all my anthropology notes?” Haechan mutters as he looks through his library, moving books and notebooks around, thinking he has gone insane. “Mark!” He screams, rushing to the desk to search again but he knows where he left everything; on the second shelf of the small library in his room, on top of the music theory book that hasn’t moved since a week.

“Yes?” His housemate peaks from the door only with his head.

“Did you mistake our notes?”

“What notes?” Mark furrows, backing away from his friend who looks out of his mind.

“The anthropology notes,” he says, voice full of annoyance because, why does Mark never know anything? He’s in the same course and, yet, he’s always somewhere else with his head. 

“Man, I don’t even take notes during that lesson.”

“What do you mean you don’t? Ugh, never mind,” Haechan groans, rolling his eyes because he can’t believe he can’t count on anybody. “Have you seen them somewhere?”

“Nope,” Mark replies, entering the room. “I mean, I don’t know what they look like.”

“You know right we have a test tomorrow? The winter break is close, and some courses have it. You are studying, right?”

“Yeah, just not every…thing…”

Haechan rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “Why don’t you like it? I mean, I know it’s not really music related but it teaches you so much about other cultures and there’s a whole part about how music is different from culture to culture.”

“Next semester, we didn’t get there, yet. It’s a bunch of complicated terminology and theories I just don’t get,” Mark defends. He never understood why Haechan loved studying so much. He is only there for the music, and a few other theoretical lessons, but some courses don’t make any sense to him.  

“So you plan on being terrible tomorrow?”

“I just want a decent result; I don’t strive for perfection like you and your girlie.”

Haechan almost chokes on his saliva. “My girlie? Who’s my girlie?”

“That girl in class you always get into heated arguments with, and then she comes here and I’m pretty sure you make out when no one’s watching,” Mark says so calmly it infuriates Haechan more than if he was teasing him.  

“Shut the hell up! She’s my mortal enemy and while you have been paired with Yangyang for the song project, Professor Park thought it was nice putting her and me together.”

“Yeah, you can still make out with your mortal enemy,” he snorts, hitting his friend with a playful elbow hit.  

“Mark, shut up and leave, I have to study,” he tries to cut short, pushing his friend out of the room.  

“With what notes?”

“I don’t know. I left them on the shelf, and nobody entered my room since Saturday when she — Oh, my God.”

When your name resonates in the empty classroom after you’ve taken the anthropology test, your blood freezes for a second.

“Haechannie,” you cheer cheekily, turning around and pushing your tote bag far up your shoulders.

“Don’t,” he warns, lifting a finger to stop you from starting anything. “I have to talk to you.”

“Sure, the test was easy, right? You might have beaten me this time,” you say but you have to hold back a laugh when you scan his furious, pissed-off expression.

“Yeah, if you studied, it was,” he retorts venously.  

“And you surely studied,” you say, faking innocence.  

“You can study when you have something to study on,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Yes, and you do,” you still play dumb, but when he calls your surname, you know he’s not joking anymore. “Yes?”

“Do you, perhaps, know where the fuck my notes are?”

You look around, shrugging. “Where are your notes, Donghyuck?”

“I don’t know, I’m asking you for a reason,” he retorts, plastering a fake smile that doesn’t reflect in the darkness of his pupils.

“They might’ve mixed up with my stuff when you invited me over Saturday?” You sing-song, tilting your head to the side and shrugging.

“Might’ve,” he repeats, a hint of bitterness in his tone. “It was just a coincidence.”

You shrug again, pushing your lower lip in a pout. “Sometimes… things happen.”

“And if it wasn’t on purpose, why couldn’t you just text me?”

“Because I didn’t notice,” you reply innocently, batting your lashes, knowing it will get on his nerves even more.  

He groans, closing his eyes to calm himself down before he speaks again, “then how do you know?”

“Don’t know, just making assumptions,” you say. “It turns out I’m really good at it.”

“I swear, I — I want to… I want to —”

“To what? Choke me because I got my revenge? Oh, it turns out it’s really not that funny when someone plays with you?” You mock, and in doing so you get closer to him.

“Goddamn,” he groans before your back meets the hard wall of the room and his lips meet yours in a heated kiss, his hands on your body and yours limp at your side as you’re too shocked to react. “I want to — I want to kill you, actually.”

You smirk, chuckling straight at his face. “Filled the space with the wrong letter, ‘cause you’re kissing me.”

“Maybe my kiss is lethal, maybe there’s poison on my lips.”

“Oh, you’re so romantic you’d die for me?” You coo, placing a hand on your heart.

Haechan groans, throwing his head back. “Why are you always so, so, so, God,” he curses, running his fingers in his hair. “I want my notes back, now.”

“I don’t have them,” you say, grinning because he looks wrecked. You know it wasn’t very morally mature for you, but it was only fair. Also, you know he doesn’t arrive last minute with anything, he had already studied everything and you’re sure he had answered everything on that paper, he just couldn’t revisit.

“My notes back when you pass by for the project or it’s war.”

“It’s already war,” you retort when he walks past you to leave.  

Haechan turns around, locking his gaze with yours. “Oh, honey, it can get so much worse than this.”

You felt like testing your luck when his notes weren’t back on his desk, but you had no idea it could get worse than that, until it got.

When he deleted an essay from your computer and you had to remake and finish the work of five days in five hours, so you cancelled a project he was working on for another assignment you had. And then he erased the recording of a course from your phone, so you ripped his notebook in front of his eyes (and his roommates too). The list of petty things is long, and you’re not really proud (you’re sure not even Haechan is) of what you did, especially when things started becoming personal. You two want to destroy each other, but you are honestly just killing yourselves in the meantime.

Your book slams closed so hard that you almost zip your hands in it, and by protecting your fingers you lose track of where you’ve been. “Get lost,” you whisper bitterly as soon as you recognize the hand that did that.

“No thanks,” he replies, sitting next to you.

“I’m trying to read a book in the quiet of the library, so can you leave me alone?”

“It’s a public space, I can sit wherever I want,” he replies, leaning back into the chair, and widening his legs under the table. You know ‘cause you feel his knee push against yours and you have to retract your leg to avoid the contact.  

You glare at him, breathing deeply through your nose because you can’t make a scene here. You two almost got kicked out of a class two days ago, and that was humiliating enough. So, you think that ignoring him is the best thing you can do.

“Wow, so you have a bit of self-control and don’t talk back. Never thought I’d see that day,” he replies sarcastically to your silence with an amused grin that curls his lips.

You hold back a scream and huff loudly, “I truly need you to get fucked right now.”

“Nevermind,” he jokes, pulling a tight forced smile and you close the book again, now too annoyed to even focus on the words on the paper. “I came here in peace, by the way.”

“Yeah, your peace is war in my country,” you reply bitterly, trying to shift away but those damn chairs make the loudest sounds at the smallest movements.  

“That’s because you’re full of prejudices.”

You inhale deeply, rubbing your temple to soothe the headache you know is about to arrive. “Haechan, tell me what you want and then leave me alone.”

He smiles, happy you are finally willing to listen, before he clears his throat. “Okay so, I have to say that some of this is funny. I mean, only the debates and these random talks, but I’m not the biggest fan of all the other stuff we’re doing, so why don’t we bring it back?”

“Bring it back? As in?” You question, raising a brow in confusion.

“I liked it better when we would just compete without tearing ourselves down. If you cancel, ruin, or save one of my projects with the word boobs in it before sending it to the professor another time, I will go insane.”

You hold back a chuckle. You have to admit it was your lowest move, but it was quite funny when Professor Choi had a whole talk in class about being careful before sending out finished projects and exposed him in front of the class.

“No, it wasn’t funny,” he mutters sternly, watching you fight with all the muscles of your face to don’t break into a laugh.

“No, sorry, it was,” you defend, voice trembling, threatening a chuckle to come out. “Like Iloveboobsdemo1 is the best thing I’ve ever come up with. That could be the title of our song.”

“If you want to get expelled from all the academies in the world that would be a perfect idea,” he says, trying to be serious because seriously it wasn’t funny, but when you stare into each other’s eyes for too long none of you two can hold back the laughter anymore. “Okay, fine. It was funny, but I don’t want that to happen again.”

“So? Do you give up?” You taunt, tilting your head after placing it on your palms.

“I’m not giving up, we are changing strategies of our combat.”

“Oh, okay. You will lose anyway in the end, so if this can be more beneficial for me in the meantime, it’s fine.”

He sighs, rubbing his temples, and you chuckle. “Don’t laugh,” he whispers distraught. “I… could you sometimes at least pretend to give me some kind of chance of winning with you and not feeling like you’ll always have the last laugh?”

“I just replied.”

“No, a reply would’ve been ‘Yes, Haechan, don’t worry, we can change it.”

“Too wordy,” you comment, waving him off with a movement of hand.

“You said like ten words more,” he replies, voice breaking in his throat in a whine, but you decide to act as if you don’t notice.  

“It still flowed better. See, that’s why the lyrics are in my hands. You’re really not good with words.”

“You keep doing that,” he groans, slamming a hand on the table, attracting some curious eyes on you before you glare them away. “But it’s fine, okay, so… no more dirty games? No more sabotaging?”

“Yes, no more. Well, not like this, but we can still play a bit, right?” You ask, retracting your hand right when you’re about to hold his to seal the deal.

“Yes, but nothing weird, or you know what I mean.”

You hum, reaching out again and shaking his hand. “It’s a deal, then?”

“It’s a deal.”

The deal somehow turns into Haechan always being next to you. He’s like a shadow, sitting next to you in class, studying with you in the library, and so on. You don’t mind him when he minds his business, but he rarely does. Especially during lessons when you need to focus on what the professors are saying.

You roll your eyes when Haechan sneaks a paper next to your notebook and you read ‘how would a dog wear pants’ with two badly drawn different options on it.

“Does it look like the right moment?” You whisper under your breath, side-eyeing him, and trying to keep your focus on the lesson. You see him nod and decide to mark the second option, thinking that he’d be happy with it, but he has the urge to hear a whole dissertation on something that will never happen, right now.

“Why?” He asks as if you’re not in the middle of a lecture.

“Not now.”

“But this lesson is boring,” he whines, poking your side with his elbow.  

You huff, covering it with a cough when you realize it is too loud, and then take a sip from your bottle of water.

“You didn’t answer,” Haechan insists, this time poking your arm with the cap of the pencil. 

“I picked one,” you mutter, pointing at the paper with your head.  

“Elaborate and change my mind.”

“You think it’s the first one?” You say in disbelief, the utter shock causing the tone of your voice to be louder than you expected.

“Any problems there?” The Professor asks, and you feel your blood freeze.

“Mh, no, nothing, my pen has no more ink, I was asking for another one,” you lie, thanking God you two are sitting far in the back of the class and the Professor can’t hear and can’t see that your pen isn’t dead at all. So, with a suspicious nod, the middle-aged man goes on with the lecture while Haechan giggles beside you.

You glare at him, and he shrugs raising his hands. “If you kept quiet, it wouldn’t have happened.”

“If you let me concentrate on the lesson instead of asking dumb questions, it wouldn’t have happened,” you retort, and he laughs under his breath again, but doesn’t ask more questions. He still ruins your notes with ugly flowers and other drabbles and you let him be because at least he’s being silent and paying attention.

“So, you really are giving up,” you say when the bell rings and the class starts emptying.

“What makes you think that?” He asks, putting his things in his bag, just like you.

“You didn’t write anything down.”

Haechan shrugs. “Why would I? I have your notes.”

“No, you don’t,” you say but before you can realize he rips the notebook from your hands and snaps a picture of the two pages you wrote. “Hey! That’s not fair. That’s my work.”

“Your amazing summarizing skills and my artistic skills. I don’t gift beautiful sunflowers to just anybody.”

“Beautiful sunflowers?” You snicker, starting to walk down the stairs, pushing the notebook into your bag as Haechan follows at your side. “If Renjun saw them he would have a heart attack.”

“Can’t compare Vang Gogh to Picasso.”

“Keep Picasso out of your mouth,” you say threateningly.

“Still, aren’t you happy you will think of me while studying?” He bats his lashes, and you hold back an entertained grin.

“Can’t wait to go through the absolute most painful ulcers every time I glance down on those things.”

He gasps offended, bringing a hand on his chest. “See, this is what happens when you spend all your days on socials and your brain doesn’t know how to appreciate real art anymore.”

“You are so annoying, and distracting. Next time if you sit next to me, I’ll push you off the chair,” you warn, and only when a colder blow of wind hits you, you realize you’re walking back to your places together.

“Right!” He says and you think it’s the good time he leaves you alone, but no, he’s not done. “You didn’t explain why the dog would wear it only on its hind legs.”

“Is it really that serious? Why do you want to know so badly?”

“It’s funny. I’m sick and tired of hearing you only discuss music, sociology, and the media and other stuff.”

You sigh. But you still have a bit to walk, so you might as well have to deal with him and his hypothesis about dogs. “Because pants have to cover your lower body, so legs, and ass and everything else. If you wear them like the first option, half of the ass is out. And also, the back limbs correspond to our legs, we’re divided in half horizontally, not vertically.”

He doesn’t reply right away, processing your answer. And you think you broke him.

“Oh!” You exclaim. “Zootopia, animals wear clothes like the second picture.”

“Really? You had a whole statement that made perfect sense and then you added a cartoon to your thesis?”

“But it still makes sense,” you argue back. “And, most importantly, I made you agree with me,” you wink before stopping when you reach your complex.

“Fine, fine, you’re right,” he gives up before looking behind you. “You live here?”

You nod, searching for the keys in the tote bag, and you think it’s time to stop pretending that’s Mary Poppins’ bag and throw away some useless stuff.

“I thought there were only rooms here,” he states, looking at the big complex a few meters away from the university.  

“There are common dormitories, and then there are some one-room flats. I got one with a scholarship when I graduated. It’s less expensive than an apartment and I get a small place all to myself.”

“Oh,” he whispers. He doesn’t know why he thought you had roommates. “So, you’re alone, alone?”

“No, you can’t come in,” you say.

“I didn’t ask that,” he frowns, offended you would even imply that. “I thought you… well, oh, never mind.”

“Yes, I’m alone, so I can do whatever the hell I want. If I want to cook, I cook. If I want to stay up all night to study, I do that. If I want to dry the clothes in the middle of the living room, that is also the bedroom and the kitchen, I do that.”

“Is it really that small?”

“It’s decent, I guess. It’s spacious enough to live in it comfortably but not big to the point I have to waste days cleaning it.”

“Maybe we could study there, no loud roommates screaming in the living room.”

“I like the mess of your place, and I’ll be there Friday.”

Haechan rolls his eyes. “Come on, I hate the library. Can’t we for once study at your place?”

“I never invited you to my studying sessions,” you groan.

“But you love it.”

“No.”

“Yes, you have an orgasm every time you know something better than me.”

“Please, shut up,” you wave him off, starting to walk away.

“I don’t care, I’ll be here tomorrow,” he screams when you’re too far, clearly running away from him.  

“And I’ll be at the library!”

You never go to the library, to be honest, you were just unlucky enough that the washing machine thought it was the right moment to leak all over the floor and Haechan found you at home with your coat on the couch, the tote bag next to the door and your jeans half soaked as you tried to fix the mess on the pavement.

From that moment, your meet-ups become more and more periodic, whether it’s at your place, his or at the library. You hate to admit it, but the competition drives you forward, and you love seeing his face every time you defeat him somehow.

“Are you busy this Saturday?” He asks while he strums with the guitar to come up with a chord progression for your song.

“Yeah, why?” You reply, poking the cap of the pen to your cheeks, drifting your eyes on him.

“Want to go out with me?”

“What? Saturday is my day to study and do my things like I want to,” you say. It was the only day, along with Sunday, you had to fix all your notes without being wrecked from the lessons of the day, or listen to lessons while cleaning the house, and so on. You tried to squeeze everything there so Sunday could be your free day and you could dedicate it to your hobbies and to write for the magazine you worked for, nothing too serious, just some money to add to the survival costs that your parents would send you, and the monthly entrance you had when you would get called to help a dance studio downtown.

“Great, we’re going out tomorrow.”

You huff, slumping back on the chair. “No, we’re not. I’m busy.”

“You can take one afternoon for me,” he replies, placing the instrument next to him. “Come on, it will be fun.”

“Where would you even take me?”

Haechan smirks. “It’s a surprise.”

When Saturday afternoon arrives, you don’t know how to feel. You spent the whole night trying to find a positive thing about it, and the good thing is that for once you are leaving the house to do something funny —you hoped so— not all by yourself. The bad thing is that the person you are going to do this thing with is Haechan.

You try not to worry about it too much, he’s not that bad when he wants to, and he’s funnier than you’d like to admit, so maybe taking a small break from the obsessive studying and tidying, will do you some good.

When you hear the knocks on the door, you grab your coat and your bag and head to open it.

“Hi,” he says. “Anything to fix before we leave?”

“Don’t say that, they will hear you and break all together.”

Haechan laughs, briefly looking at your body, mostly covered because it’s still cold outside and you have way too many layers on you. “Toy Story for home appliances?”

“Yeah, that would be my life,” you reply, closing the door behind you and walking outside of the complex. “So, where are you taking me?”

“I told you, it’s a surprise,” he says. “Don’t expect anything big, I just don’t want to hear you nag about it.”

“Hey, I appreciate almost everything.”

“Yeah, it’s the almost that worries me,” he says. “Hop in the car.”

“You have a car?”

“Yeah, it’s right in front of your eyes,” he answers, gesturing to the space next to you.  

You turn around, holding back a laugh when you see the old blue car, it’s surely a Hyundai, you have no idea about the model, but you know for sure it’s falling apart. “This is the car?”

“Yes, I’m sorry I’m poor.”

“It will get us killed,” you say opening the door, letting out a breath of relief when the handle doesn’t stay in your hold.

Haechan rolls his eyes and sits in. “Can you don’t be overdramatic for one second?”

“I’m stating facts. Are the airbags still working? Is the oil level high enough? The battery? And the water for —” Your eyes widen when his lips crash on yours. At first, it’s a harsh attempt to shut you up, but then his lips shily go for more, moving along yours with a small flame of need.

“I won’t kill you, but please shut up,” he begs when he pulls away, sooner than you want to, later than he should’ve.  

You gulp, trying to shake the dizziness and the way his kiss made you feel lightweight. You might occasionally still want to wrap your hand around his neck but he’s quite good at being a charmer.

“I’m giving you the privilege to pick the music,” he says once you’re on the open road, the lights of the city shine against the windows and the other cars pass beside you.

“Yeah, can I connect my Spotify to the car? Oh, wait, this model from the future directly brings the singers into your backseats so you can have a live concert,” you joke after seeing the car radio.  

“Wanted to take the metro?”

You laugh. “No, I’m just… why did you say that as if I could connect the aux or the Bluetooth? It was funny.”

“Fine, you’re forgiven,” he says. “Just play it through your phone.”

You hum, already deep into the scrolling of your music catalogue. “Can I put my driving playlist?”

“You have a car?”

“No, I have a driving playlist.”

“Why would you have a driving playlist if you don’t have a car?”

“Because right now it comes useful,” you wink, pressing play without waiting for his answer.

Haechan smiles, quickly glancing at you before his attention is fully on the road. “Baekhyun?” He asks with surprise when the second song starts. “You listen to Baekhyun?”

“Everybody should listen to him,” you reply, already getting defensive because his next words could be the last straw of your ‘relationship.’

“Oh God,” he whispers.

“If you tell me you’re a hater I’m jumping out of the running car and changing the trajectory of your life forever,” you warn, turning to the side to have a better view of him.

“Me? A Baekhyun hater? He’s my father! I just can’t believe you have some sort of sense and taste.”

You slap his shoulder, making the both of you break into a light-hearted laugh.

“You scared me for a second,” you say, placing your hand on your beating heart.  

“Sorry. So, it turns out we have one thing in common,” he jokes, creases creating at the corner of his eyes as his features soften and a genuine smile blooms on his face.

You shrug. “I mean, we have many things in common, actually. That’s why we get along so badly. Maybe it’s true, opposite attracts and that’s why we don’t attract.”

“I think we do attract… proved it a few times.”

“Once,” you reply immediately.

“Twice, with the kiss…”

“You did that to shut me up.”

“I don’t shut up just…” anybody… “I felt like kissing you.”

You smirk, loving watching him struggle. “Nothing wrong to admit you find me attractive,” you tease.

“Unfortunately, your mouth ruins everything.”

“My mouth is the thing that attracts you the most about me, or else you wouldn’t keep lingering around me like bees on honey.”

“Bees make honey, they’re not attracted to it. Bears are.”

“Yeah, you look like a bear, you know?”

He glares at you, and you laugh. “Bears are cute.”

“And attracted to honey.”

“And do I look like honey?” You ask teasingly. “Wait! You always call me honey!”

“It’s a mockery honey, not a sweet honey. You’re not my honey.”

You think about it. “You’re not my honey… could be a line of our song.”

“No academy talking today. It’s forbidden. You have to forget about uni.”

“Fine, I’ll forget about it just for today.”

The dates with Haechan, you can call them dates, right? Well, anyway, whatever they are, they become more common. At first, you tried to reject his weird, most of the time, last minute, proposal, because they would throw in the air all of your plans, but after a while, you somehow still found a way to go back on track without screwing up your academic goals.

“Why don’t you stay?” Haechan asks. It’s another Friday afternoon, and you two met up to go on with the song’s project. Much to your dismay, you have to admit you are the one who’s holding you two back. It’s like words can’t come out of you, not like you want to, at least. But Haechan’s not mad at you. Actually, you like the atmosphere around you when you lock in his room for those sessions. One time, he even made you try edibles to see if you could come up with something, but you ended up making out on the floor instead, so you stopped going for that path.

“I don’t know,” you say, huffing when you glance at the words in front of you and remind yourself that they don’t make sense. “I was thinking of going home and maybe listening to your tracks and…”

“Come up with something?” He drags the chair closer to you and steals your papers to read them. “It’s not as bad as you made it to be.”

“Yeah, it’s a good song, but it’s basic. And I feel like it’s a bit… cliché.”

“You do know that everything has already been written?” He jokes, but it’s not a teasing remark, it’s the truth, and he’s genuinely trying to lift your spirit.  

“I know, but it’s not my style, this is not how I usually write, I —”

“You write?” He stops you and only then you realize what you said. “Like, you have written songs before?”

You nod, shame pervading you when he stares at you with an expression you can’t comprehend. “Are you going to make fun of me?”

“No, I just thought you preferred lyrics over production, but I had no idea you were a lyricist.”

“Now, lyricist… I try, sometimes…”

Haechan smirks, poking your tummy making you cover it with your arms. “So there is something you’re insecure about.”

“Oh, I knew you were going to have a ball about this,” you groan, rolling your head back.

“No, hey, it’s just… I’ve never seen you like this about something you do. You are confident, usually,” he explains with no hint of mockery in his voice.

You sigh, looking at your feet tapping the ground and then look back at him. “It’s just… very personal,” you confess. “I think it’s clear I don’t have lots of friends. I used to, back at home, but here I’m alone. But even back then I’ve always felt like there was something I couldn’t completely let out. That’s why I love dancing, I can express myself in a different way, but I found out it still wasn’t enough and when I started playing the piano again I… started writing. It started almost as a joke, and it was a cheesy break-up song when my ex cheated on me, like the cheap version of drivers license,” you joke and he laughs with you.

“But it was still better than this, I guess?”

You hum, shaking your head. “Nah, my first song was a mess, but then it was like I just couldn’t stop writing, so my songs became my diary. Every time something happens, I write about it.”

He hums, moving the chair closer until your legs intertwine. “So, to write a love song you would need to fall in love?”

You’re taken aback by his question, and don’t reply right away. “No, I just need to be inspired. I’ll watch some movies, and it will come to me.”

His face twists in mild disgust as he shakes his head. “Movies are fake, it’s better to live things on your skin.”

“I don’t have time to date, and I can’t just find someone that easily,” you say laughing. “But don’t worry, I won’t make us fail. I’ll try to edit this and make it work if I really can’t come up with anything else.”

Haechan is not convinced, it’s clear in his face and the way his leg is bouncing nervously, but he doesn’t get back on the conversation. “Are you staying?”

“I have some notes to edit and —”

“You have tomorrow,” he cuts you off. “Come on, I have to do it too.”

You groan, hating the way you can’t say no to his big eyes staring at you. “Fine, but not too much.”

It’s useless to say that none of you get those notes written better.

“God, are you fucking Professor Kim?” Haechan growls, grabbing your wrist and stopping you in the college corridors right out of Music History class, the last lesson of Tuesday.

“What?” You babble out, surprised by his angry tone and his speculation.

“No cause you’re his favourite and it’s driving me insane,” he utters under his breath, glaring at you.

“I’m his favourite?” You tease, tilting your head to the side, loving the fire that turned on between you two. It had been three calm months, the bickerings were too intellectual and you missed this.

“Yeah, I gave him the exact same answer and he found the tiniest thing to say I wasn’t right, just so he could hear yours instead and praise you.”

“Oh, poor baby boy, Professor Kim didn’t give you head pats and now you’re mad?” You pout, patting his head in a mockery gesture. 

Haechan groans, throwing his head back, and pushing you into the nearest empty class, closing the door behind.

“Haechan, what are y—”

“Shh,” he says, shushing you with a stern gaze and a squeeze of your wrist. “You passed by his office the other day, didn’t you? Needed extracurricular help ‘cause you didn’t understand something,” he mocks with a high-pitched voice. “Taught you how to play his flute in a historically accurate way?”

You’d love to laugh at his terrible blowjob-music reference but when his gaze darkens, you only chuckle, and that’s enough to drive him mad.

“God, for you is just a game, isn’t it?”

“You really think I fucked Professor Kim?”

“No, but I’m pretty sure he fantasizes about having you bent over his desk and, fuck, it drives me mad.”

“You wish he fantasized about having you bent on his desk?” You joke, smirking.

He groans. “No, I hate the way he looks at you, and talks to you, the last thing he had to do today was to call you a good girl in front of the whole class.”

Your lips curl in an amused grin, but your heart —and something else— flutter at the way he says ‘good girl,’ you try not to show it and go on with your teasing. “Not my fault I’m good, and I’m interested in his subject.”

“Your fault you lick his boots,” he groans, pushing you flat against the door, standing so close to your nose. “I know you’re smart and you don’t need to ride a dick to be first in class but…” he stops, inhaling your scent, and leaning against your forehead.

You lift his head with two fingers under his chin, and lean in, whispering, “you still want to see me bent over a desk, and you want to be the one railing me, isn’t it?”

He doesn’t reply, not verbally at least. The only answer is a guttural moan and two arms lifting you, making your legs wrap around his waist as he kisses you roughly.

“Hyuck,” you moan into the kiss when he starts walking toward the desk, sitting you on the edge.

“Yeah?”

“We can’t — we — this is, we can get expelled…”

He snickers. “Be quiet and nobody will even hear us.”

“What if they lock us inside?”

“Shut up,” he groans again, kissing you another time as his bag drops on the floor. “You drive me so fucking mad, you have no idea.”

You snicker under your breath, but your heart loses a beat when his hands roam on your thighs, moving closer and closer to your heat. “Wait,” you whisper.

“Wait, what?” He hums, cupping your chin and lowering your head, staring straight into your eyes. Haechan scoffs when your thighs squeeze against each other and he can see you gulping. “Don’t act like you don’t want this,” he whispers, leaning closer to your lips, making you believe he’ll kiss you, but you only get a taste of his thumb rubbing over your full lips, “don’t act like you don’t want me.”

“Haechan!” You scream when he rips off your tights, the tear of the fabric resonating in the room as you look down in shock. “I’m gonna kill you,” you groan but he’s not bothered in the slightest.

“They were getting in the way, and I get rid of everything that gets in my way,” he says with a smirk.

You laugh mockingly. “Then why am I still here?”

His brows furrow and a small pout forms on his face but he shrugs it off. “I’m taking care of you, I told you,” he groans, kissing you harshly. “You’re not winning the war.”

“Oh, and your military strategy is to fuck me?”

“Yeah, until you forget everything.”

You huff loudly when he finishes ripping the tights from your legs, the only pieces left the ones trapped in your shoes, and you’re glad the skirt is long enough to don’t make you freeze on the way back home.

“So much better,” he says proudly, staring at his work of art, letting his hands wander on your now bare skin. “And, now, let’s find out if there’s a way to shut you up.”

You look at him in anticipation, waiting for his next move as if your life depends on it. And you hate to be so eager, you hate you fantasized on it more than you should’ve, but you want to know what his lips feel like. And it’s almost as if Haechan hears your secret thoughts.

“What do you want, sweetheart?” He taunts, kneading his fingers on your flesh.

“Nothing,” you mutter, trying to sound more confident than what you are.

Haechan laughs at you, shaking his head as he slowly gets on his knees, looking up at you. “You are always so fucking proud and annoying.” His hands rest on your knees before he pushes them far apart, forcing you in place as you uselessly try to close your legs. He tsk, shaking his head. “Don’t act ashamed, I’ve already felt you, and tasted you.”

You don’t reply. It’s hard to keep eye contact but this is bigger than sex, this is a game between you two and, he might not beat you in class, but he’s beating you right now.

His laugh brings you back to earth and you hate the smug smirk that’s sitting on his face. “So you do get quiet, thought I needed to give you a taste of my mouth to shut you up.”

You open your mouth to retort but the stern glare that flashes on his face is enough to put you back in your place.

“Good girl,” he says and your body trembles before you can even try to hide it. “Should I get a better taste of you?” He stares at you, waiting for an answer that doesn’t come, not like he wants to at least. “Use your words, babe. You know how to run that mouth when you want to, so, beg for it.”

“Fuck, no,” you retort, trying to move away but his hold on you doesn’t give any signs of loosening up.

“Okay, then,” he says, slowly standing up, and grabbing his bag. “See you around.”

“What?” You squeal, grabbing his wrist. “What are you doing?”

“Leaving,” he replies, shrugging.

“That’s not fair,” you reply, and he snickers.

“What? Are you wet? Do you want me?”

You don’t expect that reply and struggle to find the words, even more now that he’s standing between your open legs, keeping them apart, and his eyes are staring down at you, pinning you down in place. “I don’t want you,” you lie, swallowing the gulp in your throat when his right hand sits on your waist. “I just… I want to fuck.”

“Oh, do you? Well, there are plenty of people here, I’m sure many of them would want you. You know, even if you don’t pay attention to anybody, people look at you,” he whispers, caressing your jaw with his other hand. “First on the list is Professor Kim. Don’t you want to feel the thrill? Come on, go to his office now, so I can have something to hold against you forever.”

You chuckle. “Yeah? Want to blackmail me so I can do all the essays for you? Maybe you’ll get the best grades like this,” you tease, pulling him closer by the collar of his shirt and making him groan.

He licks his lips, staring at yours, and you smirk. “I don’t need you to be first, and you know it.”  

“Do I?” you tease. “Want to be first at something?”

“Don’t,” Haechan warns, eyes darkening even more while the tent in his tight pants becomes even more evident.

“What? You can be the first one who fucks me on a desk if you quit playing hard to get.”

“I’m not playing hard to get,” he replies, leaning even closer, your bodies are pressed together and you can feel his hard dick press against you. “I won’t be the one begging, especially to eat you out,” he groans, cupping your chin unexpectedly. “Don’t act as if you didn’t think of this before. I’ve seen the way you get lost in my fingers when we study together. You see me twirl a pen in my hand and you wish I was inside you, don’t you? And when we argue? There’s always a small fragment where you lose focus and stare at my lips. Where do you want them, honey?”

Your brows furrow but your entire body reacts differently, a small shake, while wetness pools down your panties, soaking them even more, and your eyes close because you can’t bear his smug glare.

“I said,” he urges, giving a quick squeeze to your chin, “where do you want my lips?”

“On — on me,” you breathe out, voice muffled by the firm hold on your face.

His lips twitch as he leans closer and kisses your cheek. “Here,” he says, holding back a laugh when your eyes widen. “That was where you wanted them, right?”

“Oh, fuck off, you know what I meant,” you huff.

“No, I’m the dumb one, remember? You are smarter than me, you know everything. I’m always a step behind, I need you to guide me step by step,” he mocks in a condescending tone, pouting.

You take a deep breath. “I hate you.”

“Oh, I know,” he laughs. “But if you use just three magic words I’m sure you’re going to love me for a while.”

You don’t want to give up but you’re on fire, and you fear that the more time passes by the more someone could find you out.

“I’ll ask nicely one last time,” he whispers against your lips. “Then I’ll ask you to do something for me and you’ll lose my lips for the second time. Where do you want them?”

“On my pussy,” you whisper, not meeting his eyes.

“Fucking finally,” he laughs. “Was it so hard Miss big brain?”

“Stop mocking me!”

“Mocking you?” He asks, getting on his knees again before grabbing your panties to pull them down. “I might hate you but it would be dumb to not recognize your qualities, right?”

You don’t reply, you have other things to worry about. For example, your mortal enemies kneeled between your legs in an empty class of your Academy, staring into your soul, ready to eat you out.

“So, since you’re so good with words, here we go again. Beg.” Haechan craves putting his lips on you just as you do, but this is the only moment he can have some power over you. And after the humiliation of today’s class, he has to make you pay for it a bit. Or maybe he just wants to hear that even if you’d choke him and slap him, you still want him.

“Please, Donghyuck, please,” you plead, looking into his eyes.

He’d love to hear you beg for him more, but the way your cunt is dripping on the desk is already enough to tell him how much you want him, and for now, it’s enough.

When his lips come in contact with your skin your legs immediately hook around his shoulders and you can feel the chuckle on your wet folds.

“Eager, honey?”

“Just, please, eat me out already,” you barely have time to finish that he stops playing around and starts moving his mouth on you. Your head falls behind while your thighs squeeze tighter around his face. Your hands clench on the edge of the desk as you try to keep your balance, but it gets harder with every lick of his tongue.

“Keep quiet, the door is closed not locked,” he reminds you, pulling away from you just to pick up again.

You try to don’t be too loud, but he’s better than you expected and maybe this was the wrong time to try this out. You should’ve simply begged him to fuck you, but now that you’re in the middle of this, the last thing you want is to stop him.

One of your hands is brave enough to let go of the hold on the desk and reach his hair to push him closer to your body, surprising him.

Haechan always thought you were much more shy than this, honestly, he didn’t even hope much for this to happen. But you surprise him, not only you let him have you in a random class at your university but you are also pushing him closer.

“You are eager,” he muffles against you, he can’t pull away when you’re pressing him down with so much force, but the way you’re acting is setting him on fire. He loves hearing you moan and whimper, not a word coming out of your pretty lips to confront him, just bliss on your face and voice. And that pushes him to give you even more, putting his entire self into eating you out until he almost drags screams out of you, making both of you forget where you are.

You’re not sure how many minutes pass by but when the orgasm rushes in your body you feel it’s too close. You’d probably force him down for another round if you were in any other place but you don’t feel brave enough.

“So? Disappointed?” He asks, cleaning his chin as he stands up, reaching you again. “Don’t lie, you’re still dripping down the desk, you’re even more turned on than last time.”

“I’m not,” you lie. You know you are, and Haechan knows it too.

“What is it? The thrill of being caught? My skills? Just me, or something else?”

You don’t know why you reply with what you reply, but you do. “Maybe someone else,” you tease, not even sure he’ll take the bait, but he’s too caught up in you to see the games you’re playing.

“Yeah? And who’s that?”

“See, I always believed you were perspicacious and could catch details, I can’t believe you didn’t get it. You’re so sure Professor Kim wants to fuck me, ever thought I want him too?” You bat your lashes and Haechan tries to silence a groan, but you feel his fists clench at your sides.

“Don’t play with me, I’m not falling for this.”

You shrug. “Fine, I’ll still think about him while you fuck m—” he shuts you up with a rough kiss, pushing you down the desk with a quick movement that makes your heart jump to your throat.

“He’s not even that hot,” he groans, turning you around before bending you on the desk, and pulling your skirt up around your waist. “And he’s not even that old, there’s not even the charm of the dilf.”

“He’s smart,” you talk back, not sure how much you can pull your luck.

Haechan scoffs, slapping your ass. “Not smarter than me.”

“You’re not the professor so…”

“A degree means nothing,” he says, his chest pressing against your back. “What’s that you like so much about him?”

You chuckle. You’re not sure if he’s playing into your game or is just so easy to fool, but either way, you decide to keep going. “Everything. Don’t you see him?”

Haechan groans. Out of all the people, out of all the professors, he has a very personal beef with him that started at the start of the year and the way you just praise him so much —even outside of this specific situation where he got you’re messing up with him— drives him insane.

“Because he’s the best at everything? Isn’t he?”

You nod, expecting him to talk back but the only answer you get is the sharp sound of his belt being pulled away from his pants and smacked against your ass. “Fuck,” you curse, hating the way your body buzzes with pleasure at the impact.

Haechan chuckles. “I wonder what he would think of you if he saw you like this.”

“He wouldn’t think,” you say. “He’d act, fucking me like I deserve instead of wasting time like you.”

When his cock fills you up with no warning you almost scream but his hand is quicker at reaching your mouth.

“Yeah, would he fuck you better?”

You groan in his hand, but your brain goes blank with each thrust into you, pulling his hips back before he snaps them forward, so forcefully that you slide upward on the desk and he has to pull you down so that your hips don’t hit the wood.

“Answer me,” he urges, making a makeshift ponytail with your hair to force you up. “Would he?”

“I… I don’t know,” you cry out, feeling him deep inside of you, filling you perfectly.  

“You just have to test me until I snap, don’t you?”

“He seems —fuck— fitter than you.”

Haechan snickers mockingly. “Yes? You want to be thrown around? Like you’re worth nothing? Do I have to do that to make you feel good?”

You shake your head, ass perking up, your feet on their tips as you try to keep balance.

“No? Is being fucked in a class enough for you? Does it satisfy your needs?” He hisses, eyes rolling back when he focuses them where your bodies meet, your cum dripping down his length and balls. He can’t believe how turned on you are. “Thought you were innocent but look at you.”

“Not my fault you don’t catch details,” you retort with a small bit of sanity —not really— you have in you.

“Details? Or maybe you’re just an actress. Making everyone believe you only think about grades and studies and here you are, drooling while I fuck you over a desk. Begging for my dick.”

You don’t even realize you are drooling down the desk and when you’re about to clean your chin, Haechan grabs your hands and pins them in place behind your back.

“No,” you whimper, falling flat with your chest pressing down the wooden table.  

“Yes, honey,” he mocks. “I want to see you become a mess for me. Should I take a snap of you like this? Send it to Professor Kim so he can see he will never have you like this?” He whispers against your ear. “Think I don’t know it was all a play? Not only you don’t like him, but you wouldn’t risk your reputation for a terrible fuck when you have a brain like yours.”

Your pussy clenches. It’s the way his voice sounds like velvet, it’s how deep it’s hitting you, it’s in his words, and the way it turns you on that your number one rival, the one that despises you, still knows your value.

“Still, I’m pretty sure he wishes he could see you like this,” he adds, biting your earlobe. “A shame he can’t, right?”

“Y-yes,” you mumble in a pathetic wail.   

“But maybe I could still keep it to myself,” his hips start moving with more force and you can’t hold back your moans as you clench around him. “Yeah? Want me to take a photo of you like this?”

You wish you could reply but words just don’t come out of your lips, brain emptying and eyes rolled back in your skull.

“Maybe another time,” he says, breath getting ragged as he keeps fucking into you with determination. “Don’t really want to pull away to take a pic of us.”

“There — there won’t be —fuck— another time,” you reply, forcing yourself to speak.   

Haechan snickers. “The mess between your legs tells me otherwise,” he mocks, reaching in front of you to play with your clit, making you shake. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, you deserve good things, even a good fuck from me.”

“Too much,” you cry out, feeling your eyes getting wetter as the orgasm starts choking you.

“No, you just haven’t had a decent orgasm in ages,” he retorts.

“Shut up! You know —shit— you know nothing.”

“Honey, I can only imagine you playing with yourself, but your hands or toys don’t come close to me,” he says, so smugly you can feel the smirk on his face.  And you can’t even retort because —as much as you hate it— he’s right.

“Come here,” he says, putting a hand over your shoulders to pull you closer to him. “Are you close?”

You nod, biting your lower lip until it bleeds because you’re sure the sound of your ass slamming against his hips is already a giveaway of what’s going on inside this room. You clench around him when he bites down your shoulder to muffle a louder groan as his hips start moving faster as he chases his climax.

You feel your legs give up as the second orgasm hits you and you hold against the desk again because you don’t know where else to hold on to. Haechan tries to keep his curses low, sticking his face in the crook of your neck and you feel you could come again just by his voice alone; his moans the pretties sounds you’ve ever heard.

“Oh god,” you breathe out when he gently lets go of your body and you can relax on the hard surface again, squirming in discomfort when he pulls out of you.

“I hope you didn’t tear my panties apart, too,” you say, rolling on your back, making him laugh.

“Don’t move, you’ll stain the skirt, it’s the only clean thing on the table,” he says, grabbing a napkin to prevent you from making even more of a mess.

“And who’s fault is that?” You ask, glaring at him.

“You should just thank me for the orgasm, better, two orgasms, I gave you.”

You huff, rolling your eyes, but still letting him clean you up, after all, the cum was his, so it’s his place to clean it. After you’re sure you won’t ruin the last untouched piece of clothes you have, you sit up, taking your —uncomfortably— wet panties to put them on.

“So…” he whispers as he cleans up the rest of the mess on the table and shoves your broken tights in his bag, “it was just for fun, right? You have no intentions with Mr…”

You break down laughing. “You’re so easy to fool. You seriously think I’ll ever let him see me like this?”

Haechan scoffs, finishing fixing his clothes before walking to the door. “It’s not about what you would do, is if you think of him.”

“I don’t,” you reply, following him even if you feel like your legs could give up any second. “I wonder if your jealousy was also a play,” you tease, nudging him as you two walk down the corridor to leave.

“It wasn’t jealousy, you would just have terrible taste if you truly liked him, and I have beef with him.”

You chuckle, deciding to believe him.

“Wait,” he says, stopping to search for something in his bag.

“I’ll go for the door, reach me,” you say, starting to head on, you’re not even sure you two could be there at that time. “Lee Donghyuck,” you curse when you try to push open the front door. “What did I say?”

He walks toward you nonchalantly and shrugs. “Yeah?”

“They locked us in!”

He smiles, shaking his head, and grabbing your hand. “Can you run?”

“What?” You blink a few times, trying to understand how his question fits the situation.

“After I fucked you like that, can you run?”

“Shush,” you scold, fearful someone might hear, you’re not sure who since you seem to be completely alone, but better safe than sorry. “And no, I don’t know, I… why would we run?”

“Do you trust me?” He asks, reaching out his hand for you to take.

“No,” you say resolutely.  

“Good,” he smirks before he starts running into the corridors, giving you no chance but to follow him, cursing and damming every life decision that led you here, with cum threatening to leak out of you after you finished having sex in the class of your Academy and are now running to go God knows where, locked inside the institute.

“Hyuck!” You scream when he runs up the stairs and you swear you never felt so much adrenaline rush in your blood but when he looks back for a second and shows you his big bright smile with his hair falling in his face perfectly, you swear the world stops and all your worries are lifted from your shoulders. Maybe you trust him. Maybe you need to be this carefree sometimes.

Your heart jumps in your throat when he pushes open an emergency door and the mild breeze of March runs over you. You breathe in deeply, pushing into your lungs the air and the first early spring scent, letting the wind play with your hair and your clothes while your hand never lets go of his.

And then you both start laughing. Never looking back, and terribly looking forward, watching your steps as you run down the emergency stairs. You laugh, and you’re happy and you can’t believe your fingers are still intertwined with the ones of your mortal enemy.

When you reach the ground floor, hidden in the back of the palace where the sun doesn’t shine, there are still some tears spilling out of your eyes. You two pant, trying to catch your breath, and look at each other before you have to look away or else you will start laughing again.

You can’t believe you followed him blindly.

Your hands are still intertwined.

With each passing day, Haechan is convinced he has a perfect plan. It’s all part of the original plan, but if he gets you to try out romantic things, not only will he distract you from your perfect grades but he will also make you come up with a song that will give him a perfect score.

There are some small details that Haechan didn’t even consider. Detail number 1: where this could lead you two and your relationship. Detail number 2: that while distracting you, he will inevitably distract himself. But he doesn’t get it until it’s too late.

Haechan can’t remember when you started to dress up so much every time you hang out. You always dress well, or maybe he is biased for thinking that even the most basic white turtleneck shirt and cargo pants when you are too done with life to put up your skirts, dresses, or cutely styled other types of outfits, look amazing on you. Yet, during these last few dates, you started doing more, playing more with your hairstyles, trying different make-up, and always looking perfect in whatever clothes you put on your body.

Haechan hates you. Now more than ever because this was supposed to be your silly little race to the top of your second academic year and yet here he is, feeling his heart pound in his throat as you walk toward him. With your hair in a slicked-back ponytail, a freaking heart-shaped side part, your short red dress, while the white cardigan covers your arms and shields you from the light breeze, and your red short heels tap on the asphalt and bring his attention to the white socks that reach you right below your knees, while your hand clench around a heart-shaped bag.

He hates you because he wants you too badly and he’s terrified this is crossing the lines of bland and stupid physical attraction.

You smile, calling him Hyuck and he’d love to scream because he can’t be so smart and yet so dumb at the same time. But he tries to ignore it, and smiles back at you, addressing you with your surname so he can put some distance between you. You don’t even get mad anymore, it makes you smile tenderly as you lower your face to the ground and tangle your arm with his to walk to the car. Now he hopes that the old sardine can will make you two blow up, not to kill you, but to don’t make you accept a date from him anymore.

But that old car struggles but doesn’t crash, and drives you to the restaurant safely.

“This place is so pretty,” your voice rings in his ears, bringing him out of the thought he’s struggling with since you walked out of your apartment.

“Yeah, it’s musically themed, thought it was a good idea.”

“And the dishes also have song names? That’s the best thing I’ve ever seen,” your face lightens up when you scan the menu and in reflection, he does too.

What the fuck are you doing? He curses when he catches himself lost on you, too focused giggling like a child as you catch the references between the songs and the plates. You look like a cliché embodiment of love, and he thinks you’ve done it on purpose. It’s way past Valentine’s Day, but he feels that Cupid is flying right above you, ready to play him a dirty trick.

“So? You picked?” You ask, bringing him out of his thoughts, and he shakes his head, coughing while glueing his eyes on the menu.

“Nope, I’m a bit uncertain,” he says, pretending he wasn’t just too busy staring at you a few moments ago.

You laugh, humming. “Oh, I know.”

“What did you get?” He asks, meeting your eyes above the paper in his hand.

“I wanted to get the Summer 69’ appetizer first,” you reply and he smirks.

“Are you hinting at something?”

“Oh, shut up, you perv! It just looks tasty, there are different appetizers from different parts of the world and it’s a cold start.”

“Then we can take the big one so we can share?”

“Sure,” you reply, smiling at him. “Oh, and then ‘I wanna dance with somebody’ as the main dish.”

“Do you?” He winks.

“I’m not sending you signals, I’m just starving,” you reply, rolling your eyes, but he hears the low giggle that you try to hold back.

“Fine,” he smiles. “I’ll take ‘Maneater’ in your honour.”

“I’m a maneater? Oh, thanks, the best compliment ever actually,” you say playfully.

He smiles, stopping for a second after he hands you his menu. “You look beautiful tonight, by the way.” And when your mouth parts and no sound come out of it, he thinks he screwed it up. It’s not the first time he compliments you but well, the other times didn’t sound so serious.

But then your face breaks in a smile, and your eyes light up, shily diverting the gaze as you thank him before the waitress saves you both from the embarrassment that’s tangible in the air.

“Karaoke? Are you being extremely nice, borderline perfect, tonight so you can show me the biggest twist ever?” You gasp when the karaoke downtown enters your line of view. You’ve been walking for a while now since he couldn’t find a spot nearby, but he never mentioned where your next stop would be.

“I’m always nice to you when we go out on da— like this,” Haechan replies, opening the door of the place for you to get in first. “Also, since we’ll have to record the song soon, I think it’s time to test our vocal abilities.”

You giggle, waiting for him before you start walking to the desk to book a room.

“Karaoke is for fun, never to show off you’re like Celine Dion.”

Haechan chuckles, nodding in agreement while you reach the booth that the lady at the counter assigned you.

“Right, I’m more like Ailee, actually,” he jokes, closing the door behind you.

“Prove it to me, I always hear your mouth run to talk shit but never to sing melodies, so…”

“Should we go for a duet?” He asks, starting the TV to scroll down the songs listed.

“Nope,” you say, sitting on the couch. “A solo song first.”

“Fine,” he says, humming as the titles pass in front of your vision. “Mhh, what about Dean?”

“Love him, would love him more if he came back from the death and dropped another album of the year,” you say, sitting back to fully enjoy Haechan’s performance.

He chuckles at your comment. “This one was a painful reminder,” he says before clicking on “Instagram,” making the logo of the place appear before the countdown, signalling the beat was about to start.

You never thought you would find yourself so caught up in him but when he opens his mouth, you feel like you’re being taken to another world.

His voice sounds like honey, so raw yet so lovely. And as he keeps singing, you think that he would be wasted as a producer, a voice like his deserves to be heard by everyone. But when he finishes, you don’t show any of the emotions you felt.

“Your performance was very touching,” you say while standing up to grab your mic, “but I’m a performer, so I’ll go with Queen Britney.”

“Can’t wait to see your Superbowl worth it performance,” he snickers, sitting back against the small couch in the room as he watches you getting ready.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” you start, winking at him and swinging your hips to follow the rhythm of the music.

Haechan would love to find it as funny as he does at the start, but when you start singing for real, and moving around in the small boot, he gulps, feeling the air around him starting to dim. And it only gets worse when you turn around and start to perform for him. Of course, you know the song by heart, you don’t need to read the words, and you don’t need them to change colour to know when each verse, chorus and bridge starts.

“Oops, I did it again, I played with your heart,” you wink, tilting your head to the side, still moving your body to the beat. He can’t tell, not right at the moment, but he thinks you’re replicating the choreography. That’s the last worry in his mind.

I played with your heart.

And Haechan thinks you really did that. This doesn’t feel like a game anymore, and not even like sex. He looks at you, even right now, that you’re sensually singing a Britney Spears song, and he can only fucking smile like an idiot.

“Wow,” you exhale when the song ends, fanning yourself with your hand, “it’s really hot in here.”

“It definitely is,” he whispers, drifting his gaze from you.

“So? How was I?” You ask, head tilted to the side, and a big, bright smile on your face.

“Good,” Haechan mutters, catching himself staring at you for too long again, shaking his head, the red blush on his face is humiliating. “You were good.”

“Yes,” you cheer, clapping your hands. “Should we duet, now?”

He hums, grabbing the remote again and searching ‘duets’ in the search bar. “Sad, sexy or silly?”

You roll your eyes. “Really?”

“What? I’m trying to understand the vibe we want to go with.”

“I’ll let you pick,” you say just to regret it when you see the song choice on the screen. “Seriously? Anything you can do?”

“What? It’s fitting for how relationship,” he says nonchalantly.

“That’s a crazy choice.”

“Worried you can’t actually do better than me?” He winks, passing you the mic as the song loads on the screen.

“You’ll see,” you challenge with a glare.

One minute into the song you regret having agreed to that, not remembering the last time you sang like this, but the look on his face when it’s time for you to hold a long note for 15 seconds is worth it. And it keeps going until the end, as you both surprise each other with all the skills that this song requires.  

“Wow, you’re good,” you both say when the song ends and you break down laughing, a sound that grows bigger when the screen lights up to show a perfect score.

“Maybe we make a great couple together,” you say, laying back on the couch, tired from the singing.

Haechan turns to you, smirking and nodding. “I guess we do.”

You sit up, resting your chin on his arm. “Can you take another one?”

“Oh, don’t test me, baby.”

“So, ice cream is good for vocal cords?” You giggle as you walk to the side of the Han River with the ice cream in hand. It seemed like Haechan didn’t want to end the night anytime soon, but you don’t feel like complaining.

“Yeah,” he hums with conviction, licking another stripe of chocolate.  

“On which book you’ve read this scientific fact?”

“The ice cream ghost came to me one night and whispered the secret to my ear,” he jokes, making you laugh.

“Uhm, yeah, I think that ghosts are much more reliable than old men in white coats in a lab,” you joke, but then you remember something you wanted to talk about since you’ve walked out of the karaoke. “Mhh, you know what I was thinking?”

Haechan shakes his head, waiting for you to talk.

“I think we’re going down the wrong path with our song,” you voice out. “Especially me. A warmer, darker, I dare to say more sensual vibe, fits us better.”

Haechan chuckles and you glare at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” he giggles, but he can’t lose against you so he goes on. “That’s the production, you know?”

You huff, rolling your eyes, and jumping on the handrail to sit. “I never said it wasn’t important.”

“Whatever,” he snickers. “So I have to scrap everything I’m working on?”

You shake your head, cleaning your hands after swallowing the last bite of the cone. “No, I was thinking about the second base you were working on, the one with the guitars and violins, remember?”

He hums, but he’s dangerously close to you, and you don’t understand why his hands wrap around your waist.

“I think we could use that and —” you gulp when he places his feet on the handrail under you and reaches your height, “and then I can change small things of my — my writing to fit more. What do you think?”

He smiles before it turns into his usual smirk. “I still think you’re worrying too much and you’re not letting it come to you,” he whispers, and the air of his breaths puffs on your lips before he erases the space between you and kisses you.

You feel your breath taken away as you feel like you’re falling behind in the river as the wind blows harder and your hands immediately leave the handrail to reach for him.

You’re not sure that wasn’t an attempted murder from him, but you can’t care when you feel your heart flutter and your legs give up as he deepens the kiss.

“Let it flow,” he whispers, kissing you again, whispering against your lips, “and the song will come at you.”

You know it’s not what he’s talking about, but you kiss him again, this time pushing him down so your feet are on the ground again. Your hands are holding tight on his sweatshirt as you pull him even closer and he does the same wrapping his arms around your frame tighter.

You find yourself in the same position in the living room of his apartment, struggling to make it to his bedroom without waking some of the others up. Not that you care much, it would be fair payback for all the chaos they make when you and Haechan are studying together.

The clothes fall on the floor as quickly as he’s on top of you on the bed.

“I hate that I have to ruin your pretty face,” he whispers, fingers deep inside your sopping wet cunt, pumping in and out painfully slowly as he stares at your face, a cute mix between ecstasy and annoyance because he’s giving you something but not enough. “The red eyeshadow looks really good on you, you know?”

You groan, rolling your head back. “It’s not time for compliments.”

“I’ve been complimenting you all night,” he says, teasing your clit with flicks of his thumb but without giving you much. “It is a shame you will look like a mess once I’m done with you.”

“We can’t be loud,” you say, hating that, for one reason or another, you two always have to keep quiet.

“Nah, Jeno has his headphones on playing games with Yangyang. Renjun has headphones on with music to don’t listen to Jeno. Mark’s not home and not even bombs wake Jaemin up.” The explanation is particularly non-sexy now that he has his fingers inside of you and it doesn’t make you relax much, but you hum nonetheless and beg him to keep going.

“Patience, honey. We’ve got all night,” he smirks.

“Yeah but —”

“Ah, ah,” he says, clicking his tongue and silencing you with a finger on your lips. “What did I tell you before? Let it flow.”

“It was different it was —ugh,” you mumble when he covers your mouth with his hand, eyes widening before they narrow to send him a deadly glare, but he only smirks. He has control now. He always does when he has you underneath him, he still has to fight with you a bit, but you both know this is the only time he can ever win against you. And tonight is special, he wants you to let go of the reins completely, he wants you brainless, because even if your brain is the sexiest thing of you —yeah, yeah, and the thing that is making his college years hell on earth— your brain is also the thing that makes you obsess over the smallest thing and doesn’t make you follow your heart so freely.

Yeah, tonight Donghyuck wants you free, but for the sake of the dirty talking later —and to fool himself he doesn’t care about you that much— he’s going to say he wants you dumb.

And he’s starting strong tonight, his beautiful, long fingers reaching deep inside you, hitting right against your sweet spot, causing so much cum to pool around them and drip down while your pussy clenches hard and your hips buck up to ride the pleasure with him. And you don’t have it in you to fight; it feels too good, especially when he starts rubbing your clit and whispers dirty talk about how well you’re taking him.

Your eyes flutter open, just in time to catch the proud smirk on his face as he stares at your body, you dare to say, in awe. It shouldn’t warm your heart, but it does. You don’t even care if he sees you like a prize he won, right now, because even if he does, you know he only fights hard to win the trophies he cares about. He wants you, he likes you, even. Between the hate and the tension, something about what attracts you two together makes this work. And it’s fine.

“Hyuck,” you breathe out, chest panting and toes curling as you feel the familiar knot in your stomach. But you don’t expect the next words that come out of your mouth. “Kiss me.” When you realize what you said, you anticipate him mocking you, your ears already hear the snicker you know, oh so well, but it never arrives. What arrives are his lips on yours as he leans down, pressing his chest against yours while his fingers keep working wonder inside you.

The kiss is passionate, but not rough like the ones you’re so used to sharing. There’s no anger in it, just need and greed, and chemistry. So much chemistry, your hands have to run in his hair and tug them, making him moan and his dick throb against your thigh.

“I want you so bad,” he slurs against your lips. “I will do some dumb shit one day for you.”

You don’t get what he means. You don’t even know what he could mean by that given the nature of your bond, but his words, mixed with the sultry tone of his voice, are enough to make you come. You barely register the orgasm, hitting you like a singular explosion of a firework, leaving you gasping, exploding as quickly as it came yet slowly running through your bones as the feeling tones down.

Haechan snickers softly. “You love it when I get in trouble for you, don’t you? Even when it’s just a promise.”

Your lips part to reply but he shuts you with a kiss. “No talking, not unless I tell you to. I know everything I need to know, your body tells me that,” he says, grinning like an idiot when he shows you his cum coated fingers, tapping them against your lips, silently ordering you to taste yourself. You would never do that, but tonight it’s like he’s commanding you like a puppet on a string, and you obey. Closing your lips around him and sucking hard.

He smirks, feeling his dick get even harder as he stares at your lips. “That’s what I do to you, pretty girl. And I’m not even started.”

Your pussy throbs in anticipation while he pulls his fingers out. You know he’s one to keep promise, and you can’t wait for what’s to come. But he’s taking too long, and you can feel his hard dick against your leg, so your hand creeps down to touch it.

“You’re not in command tonight, angel,” he says, grabbing your wrist to stop you from moving your hand on him.

“But I want you,” you whine, trying to win him with a pouty look on your face.

It doesn’t work as he pushes your hand over your head and leans in. “Patience, princess. Keep quiet, don’t be greedy and just trust me. Can you do that? Or is it too hard for you?” He groans against your ear, making your hips buck up.

“I — I can,” you whisper but he stops with a glare and your brain replays his words ‘quiet, no words from you tonight,’ and he means it. So you nod, breathing in deeply as you feel weak in the knees for the way he looks at you.

“Good girl,” he says, pushing up to stand between your legs, pushing them open.

When he slips inside you, you gasp, dragging your nails on his back. “Are you alright?”

You nod, forcing yourself to look into his eyes.

“Good, and now,” he whispers, kissing your lips, and dragging out of you, “I want you to give into me and completely turn your brain off. You have me, that’s all you need right now.”

When he starts moving in and out, your body succumbs to the pleasure. Your muscles relax as you let him take care of you. His lips trace over your sensitive skin, leaving kisses on your neck and chest. His hands run over your body, touching and squeezing every inch. And he reaches so deep inside of you that you feel you can barely breathe.

“Just like this,” Haechan whispers close to your ear, gently biting the skin on your jaw. “Don’t think about anything,” he groans, hitting you deep after pulling out of you completely. “Not a single worry in that pretty brain of yours.”

You rarely let him win, but you have to admit that the way he makes you feel, the way he can lift all the stress off your shoulders, is a talent. He knows what he’s doing, and the scary thing is that he knows how to get you. So easily wrapped around his fingers, crumbling into nothing at his tiniest touch.

You whimper loudly when his fingers press against your clit, seeing stars at the new stimulation.

“You can take it,” he groans. You’re about to talk but he traps your lips in a messy, wet kiss as he pulls you closer by your waist, hitting even deeper. “You’re a good girl, right? You can take it.”

You’re doubtful, but you do take it, over and over again. You lose track of time and stop counting your orgasms after the third. There’s no need for that. All you need is the pleasure Donghyuck gives you, fucking you until both of you can’t do it anymore.

There’s nothing left once it’s over, no strength to talk or clean up the mess, just the warmth of your bodies cuddled against each other.

“Good morning, I will kill Lee Je — what the hell,” Renjun exclaims, entering the kitchen, making you turn around as if you’ve been caught stealing, holding the mug full of coffee in your hands and giving him a shy smile. “What are you doing here?”

You gulp, pushing your hair out of your face before coming up with a lie. “We studied too late.”

Renjun steps further into the room, staring at you with a raised brow before he tilts his head and studies how you’re dressed. You’re wearing Donghyuck’s sweater and pants.

“Oh, now they call it studying? Last time I checked you’re not med students, didn’t know music had anatomy in the program,” he taunts, grinning at you as he comes to your side.  

You choke on your saliva and don’t have time to come up with a reply because he strikes again.

“Oh, no, maybe you were exercising vocalization, it’s better when it’s done together, right?” He winks and you glare at him.

“It’s not what you think,” you lie, but honestly you feel so embarrassed about everything. You didn’t think anybody else would be up this early on a Sunday, but it’s clear you don’t know Renjun well. You could’ve left, but you didn’t want to. It was slowly starting to sink in that you didn’t like the solitude of your life anymore.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody,” he says, sitting in front of you. “Come here, don’t stay up.”

You do as told, and smile when he offers you a pack of biscuits. “I would’ve cooked something usually, but Jeno kept me up all night.”

You chuckle. “It’s fine, normally I don’t even have breakfast.”

“You don’t?” He gasps, and you nod.

“Yeah, just coffee.”

He looks down at you, shaking his head in disappointment. “It’s not healthy.”

“I know, I know, I’ll try to eat more, okay? For you.” You reach out your hand and he takes it.

A fit of cough brings both of your gazes to the door and you see Haechan stand against the frame. “Once it’s Jeno, another time it’s Renjun. I bring you home to study and you flirt with my friends.”

“Drop the bullshit, Hyuck. He knows,” you say, rolling your eyes.

Haechan’s eyes widen, but he slowly fakes indifference. “Knows what? That you don’t have time for a relationship so you can’t date him?”

“That you two fuck,” Renjun answers instead, making him cough.

“That’s not true,” he defends. “I hate her,” he says, laughing, but when he meets your eyes and sees them sadden, he feels pain in his heart. “No, no, I don’t hate her, but we’re… you know our relationship, why would we fuck?”

“Who’s fucking?”

“Not you, Jeno. Not you for sure,” Renjun says, rolling his eyes.

“Hey! Why do you always gotta be so rude,” Jeno whines.

“I doubt he’s not getting laid,” you chuckle, and Jeno winks playfully.

“See, words of a wise woman,” he brags, walking to the fridge to grab something.

Renjun sighs loudly. “A woman that doesn’t know you.”

“Would you fuck him?” Haechan asks out of nowhere and you glare at him.

“I just said that he’s hot and smart, I don’t see how he can have a hard time finding somebody,”

“’Cause he’s annoying,” Renjun answers, but Haechan’s not listening.

“I didn’t ask that,” Donghyuck says instead, his attention is all on you as if there’s nobody else in the room.  

“I don’t answer stupid questions,” you reply before sipping from your cup and drifting your gaze away.

“Wait, why are you here?” Jeno asks, only now realizing you’re not supposed to be at their place, not in the morning at least… wait… “Wait! Are you two fuck—”

“No,” Haechan answers sternly, glaring at him. “We’re studying. And it got late, so since we were closer to my place, I let her stay the night.”

“I thought you left yesterday saying you had a date, though,” Jeno says confused.

You chuckle under your breath before you feel Haechan’s hand wrap around your writs to pull you out of the room, not even giving you time to finish your coffee. “A studying date, and now drop it.”

When you reach his room, he groans loudly, walking to the closet to pick something to wear. You watch him move for a while, but then you can’t keep your thoughts inside your head anymore.

“Are you ashamed of me?” You ask and he turns around with wide eyes.

“What?”

“Am I something to be ashamed of? Do I don’t fit in the standard of the people you would usually fuck?”

He sighs, shaking his head. “No, I don’t want them to get invasive, they don’t let me live once they know something. And with you, it’s more embarrassing because of our history…”

You giggle, trying not to show the relief you’re feeling because, for a moment, you thought he was one of those types of men.

“Why can’t you ever make things easy for me?” He asks, annoyance in his voice. You have so much power over him, more than he likes to admit, and he feels like he can’t even be too mad at you about it.

“Sorry, it’s just, it’s funny having a history with you,” you explain. “My mortal enemy, always ready to steal my number ones, and my good grades.”

“You’re so annoying, you’re never sleeping over ever again.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I won’t let you fuck me ever again.”

“Liar,” he says. “And now move, I’ll drop you home.”

you can find part two on my account on the story masterlist or haechan’s masterlist (i can’t link it because if i do the post won’t appear in the tags)

general taglist: @froggyforhyuck, @wingsss45, @tddyhyck, @technologyculturedneo

fic taglist: @hcluvie, @gusgus0517, @multifandomania, @413cl, @odgsuji,

@hey-hey-heybitch, @nctrawberries, @n0hyuck, @haechoshi,

@girlwholoveslpreppyattire, @viciousdarlings, @hyuckmoon,

@jaeymark, @hqech, @xntlax, @milkyway-vxm, @fullsunahceah,

@beomgyusonlywife, @toroufriteh, @yesohhsehun @shxnz

@haecastor, @hyucksaint, @sk8ermark, @midnightrained

@maiteeeeesstuff, @smwhrinthehaze, @yoursyuno

© neowinestaindress ; all rights reserved. do NOT repost, modify, or translate any work from this blog on any other platform and claim it as yours. 

[guiltydiaries]

Dynamic Discussions - Mike Ross/Reader

Implied Mike/Harvey, Harvey/Reader, Mike/Harvey/Reader

One of my headcanons brought to life. Completely inspired by this scene ^ and the fact that there is not enough Mike Ross content. Reader works alongside Mike Ross helping Harvey on cases. There is a polyamorous tension and comfort between you all but nothing has happened. You all want to keep things professional, so you don’t acknowledge the tension. Mike is a brat and goads the reader into flirting (goading Harvey) on a night out.

“You just had to suggest I call the bartender Sir…” I shake my head at my idiot of a coworker.

“It’s a good thing!” Mike declares, leaning on the bar next to me, our elbows touching as we pretend to survey the room. We both know the two of us are only watching one man. “Harvey only ditches celebration cocktails early to teach us a “lesson” and he only leaves with a brunette when you’ve been too sexy for your own good.” The blonde pauses to smirk “I told you, he wants to be the only Sir in our lives. It’s not my fault you thought you could prove me wrong.”

I pretend to ignore Mike and his annoying encyclopedia memory as I watch Harvey kiss the fingertips of the woman he’s seducing. I roll my eyes and turn to glare at my best friend.

“This is why we aren’t supposed to talk about sex, rule breaker… You’re buying my next round.”

Halfway through my next gin and tonic Harvey wanders back over to close out his tab and remind us both of the new case we start tomorrow. His eyes are stern as he gives me a heated once over, and it looks like he might pop a vein when Mike chimes in with “Hope you enjoy the rest of your night, Mr. Specter.”

I can tell that Harvey wants to say more, that he is fighting urge to stay and banter with us. I want to melt into the floor as I watch Harvey stride off to escort the woman out of the bar. I know it’s wrong to want my boss so much, to want Mike and Harvey both as much as I do. The three of us have boundaries for a reason, lines that can’t be crossed. That doesn’t stop me from getting turned on at the thought of Harvey choosing a woman with my hair color because he can’t go home with me. I can’t help but think of calling him Sir now that Mike (the perpetual brat) has put that image in my head. I know my submissive ass would kneel for Harvey in a heartbeat, if I could. I know how hot it would be to see Mike get the punishment he always seems to be asking for. Wistfully, I find myself hoping Mike’s theory is right, that Harvey’s D/s energy is purposeful.

Coming back to the present, I shake my head and remember my reality tonight. Mike and I will heed the reminder of our early morning and go home alone. Again.

When I manage to turn around, the fresh drink waiting for me on the bar is a welcome sight. Mike has one of his own and we spend the next hour laughing and pretending that we aren’t repressed underlings for a man we both love. His hand brushes my thigh as I lean in to laugh at a joke and for a moment we are just two people flirting at a bar. We stay in that bubble as long as we can. I can see my sweet Mike drinking in the attention, he is cherishing the casual affection between us as much as I am. Nights like this always stop here, one drink and one train ride is all we allow ourselves. It doesn’t matter how brief, the release of not having to hide my attraction for a few hours is better than any hookup. As we say goodnight we linger in a hug before parting, we know the pull between us is inevitable but tonight is not the time. Soon.

[painting-warhammer]

Solitaire in the style of Vriska Serket (Homestuck)

Just in time for 4/13! Commentary under cut.

The Lessons Learned

#1: Learn As Much As You Can Before Letting Your Mini Anywhere Near A Brush

As first figures go, this was honestly not as bad as it could have been, but I am an outlier. (and the second figure would be much worse.) Since the proverbial canvas was so expensive, it was a lot of "measure twice, cut once."

This was the main thing I used, and save for the face looking like chewed-up bubblegum, it came out relatively okay for a first try. Overall, this guy's a legend and this would be far from the only video of his I would reference.

#2: It's Okay To Be Inspired

What really hooked me on Warhammer in general is that you can paint things in your style. This is appealing at first, but if you're not an artist, you're going to be exposed quickly in the worst way possible, and that's by the color wheel theory. If you don't understand contrast and coomplements, all the technique in the world won't save your figure from looking like an eyesore.

This is where "established" characters that you are mimicking end up being your saving grace. If canon material is your bag, that works: You certainly won't lack as far as exact guides then! But in my opinion, you learn a bit more by improvising and trying to make something similar to an established character. Chances are they're popular because they have an appealing color scheme. As it happens, Vriska's various blue motifs really complement her orange, which is something I never realized way back when.

Also, reinterpretation was inevitable. I had initially considered freehanding the sun symbol on her lapel, but when everything was smaller than my pinkie, I just settled for making her jewels yellow. The real masterstroke was taking the Harlequin's Kiss weapon and recoloring it as the Warhammer (oh hey) of Vrillyhoo.

I just took the general colors and used Spiritstone Red on the rounded bits, and made something analogous to it. It's still the neatest part, imo.

#3: The Best Way To Start

For every color, I had a swatch. I had one base color, which I then doused in a shade, and then added one layer paint as the main color and one shade lighter for highlights.

#4: How To Make A Shiny Figure

There's a special paint called Ardcoat that puts a glossy texture on, but something that's a little more muted that gives a shine is... shade paint! I didn't shake the paint pot enough and created a fun glossy texture that you can see on her knee. (I learned how I accidentally did this by asking at my local Warhammer shop, lol)

#5: Don't Be Afraid To Make Mistakes

I'm sure there's more than just this wrong with this figure, but the Solitaire is supposed to be leaping off that little rock there. There were glyphs where I was able to put in a glowing line of Baharroth Blue that was watery enough that it filled in the little gaps on its own. It looked fantastic once...

Unfortunately, I overfilled my brush and it sloughed over into the other creases and ruined the whole effect. I also slopped Mordant Earth onto the stones and made it too ugly.

But that's just it. As much prep work as I was going in with, there was always going to be a mistake, and on a personal psychic level it feels bad when you make it. It ruins a whole day of painting lol. And you can't really stop those emotions, but you should at least try.

#6: You're Not Married To Your Army

It's inevitable that getting your first figure leads you to think about a whole army of them, but I had this distaste in my mouth when I thought about making more than one Vriska. For one, I didn't like any of the other Harlequins or Aeldari, or more importantly, I couldn't think of fun color schemes for them. The thought came to mind to make the ships similar to the Batterwitch/Condesce, but they were too similar color-wise (and even in the symbology!) where it just felt redundant. I get a special kick out of making something different from the boxart, because that's the point in my opinion.

I coped for a while: Green stuff or 3D print horns for the other figures to make them trolls? Suck it up and just use Vriska's color scheme for the others? In the end, I just gave up and called this a practice run. This is still my favorite figure. I'm just happy the first one turned out so nicely, relatively speaking, so I don't really have a lump of paint surrounding what was once a figure like a lot of first-time painters.

But no worries. Because I'd definitely fuck up the next one. 😅 That's for a new post.

[dekuscrubbb]

the first working comic ref of many (faints) featuring wild! the newest counselor for camp hyrule. what a loser /aff

text transcription + notes below for those who cannot read my wonky handwriting:

HOH in both ears

due to most of the counselors sharing first names, the campers have given them (the chain) all nicknames.

archery station

cook (for some reason, they find joy in cooking for 45 people every morning for 2 months).

survivalist classes (usually a dual lesson done with hyrule)

has a working theory with four about time's funding for the camp (yes, this is the theory about tax fraud joked about in the test page).

newest counselor (although this is their second year at camp)

helps twilight out with the trail rides sometimes

tablet is only used when without hearing aids and/or with someone who does not use sign.

embroidered shorts are optional, especially in comic pages

all of the embroidery was done by him, although they aren't very fond of the uniform because the fabric is scratchy (undershirts are a must). can be commonly seen out of uniform, even during the camp classes. always wears his id though.

despite being the newest counselor, he made quick friends with the others even though they weren't ever an actual camper. he applied 2 years ago for the position when it was offered (time thought another link was Hilarious).

as said before, he and four have a theory about time and his funding for the camp, this consists of many internet searches and late-night ramblings in the counselor's cabin. they're frequently told off by an exasperated twilight, but a majority of the chain enjoy hearing any new findings about the owner of the camp.

fluent in ASL (or HSL [hylian/hyrulian sign language], which is the equivalent for such in-universe because i am learning and can actually put it to use). a majority of the counselors are at speaking-level in such, barring wind who is very early on in learning.

the ids are made of paper and stuck in a laminated sheet and then stuck on a lanyard. it isn't pictured in his reference sheet, but wild has a teal colored lanyard (very similar to the teal/blue on their bag + shorts).

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Psycho Analysis: Snowflame

(WARNING! This analysis contains C-C-C-COCAINE!)

Imagine this absurd concept: A supervillain cartel boss whose powers are fueled by him getting high off his own supply. Imagine too that this man wears a ridiculous outfit, and exists to be an anti-drug PSA that fails epically because he makes doing drugs look awesome. Now also imagine that everything about him is played completely straight without a single bit of acknowledgment of how absurd and campy the whole thing is.

That, my friends, is Snowflame.

The New Guardians is a comic series that would have been long forgotten as a crusty relic of the late 80s if not for giving the world the absolute coolest villain ever conceived. Snowflame has amassed a cult following the likes of which would make Jim Jones envious, due to the sheer absurdity of his existence and the pure unadulterated action movie villain charm of his dialogue. He’s perhaps one of the most minor villains out there with only a handful of appearances to his name, but he’s loved more than villains who’ve appeared twenty times as much as him.

I’m here to show you why.

Motivation/Goals: Snowflame is a cartel leader, and so he really wants to peddle drugs. Guess which drug is his forte. Go on, guess. And that’s really all there is to him! I need to reiterate that his threat as a cartel leader is played completely and utterly straight even as he spouts off the hammiest dialogue you’ve ever seen and literally gets a power up by snorting coke. This is the very core of his appeal, in that he is something genuinely terrifying and threatening but presented in a way only a comic book can pull off.

Of course, his true motivation is far, far simpler.

Look at this man. That is the face of a man who exists solely to snort illicit substances up his nose. He lives to be high. That is the extent of his desires, and all else is second to that simple goal. As long as he can ignite and continue to be the instrument of cocaine's will, he is satisfied.

Final Fate: Every single time Snowflame shows up, he dies. In his initial appearance, he apparently blows up, but three decades later, he makes his coke-fueled return to do battle with Catwoman, and despite inhaling enough cocaine to kill an elephant, a feat that should theoretically make him nigh invincible, he fucking dies.

...Or does he? Snowflame returns yet again in Peacemaker Tries Hard! Here he does battle with, you guessed it,

...who puts a poison dart frog in his cocaine and kills him.

Maybe. My theory is that Snowflame is the Kenny of the DC universe, and whenever some bastard kills him his coke-fueled powers just respawn him the next day.

Best Scene: While his fight against Catwoman is unfortunately lackluster as ordained by the writers (Selina is not lasting two seconds against Snowflame and his coke-fueled powers under realistic circumstances), it gave us one of the most gorgeous and badass panels ever made:

Really brings a tear to your eye, doesn’t it?

Best Quote: Yeah, there’s no fucking contest here, it’s this:

Final Thoughts & Score: I think I speak for all of us when I say Snowflame is one of the greatest fucking characters ever conceived.

Everything about him is a towering testament to what makes the medium of comic books great. The best villains tend to be the wildest and most out-there concepts, like a giant alien starfish that mind controls people, or a gay gorilla in love with a brain in a jar, or a giant racist communist egg. And don’t even get me started on the villains the Doom Patrol fights! Snowflame is the epitome of that; he is what would happen if Tony Montana was a DC supervillain by way of Captain Planet. He is absurd, over-the-top, and so goddamn cool.

It’s very obvious they were trying to do an anti-drug PSA here given the time the comic was released, but it absolutely falls flat on its face when the strawman constructed to be defeated so that the lesson might be dispersed is an absolute lunatic who dresses in colorful spandex and spouts off the most epic lines to ever come out of a villain’s mouth. Everything about him is absurd, but unlike something like Egg Fu he’s absurd in a tasteful and cool way rather than a shockingly racist way. Snowflame is just a dude who snorts cocaine to gain superpowers, it’s as simple as that and yet it’s also completely bonkers.

It’s genuinely unsurprising that this guy managed to get such a massive cult following that he spawned a fanmade webcomic and then got to pop up in the comics again over three decades after his supposed death. And it’s said cult following that has allowed him to pop up time and time again, even getting an appearance in the fourth season of Harley Quinn. I’m sure you can guess that I’m part of that massive cult fanbase, and I can only dream of writing a villain as incredible and grandiose as this drug-addled madman. Infinity/10 isn’t a real score, so he’ll have to settle for a 10/10 instead.

...Oh yeah, remember in the Egg Fu review when I said I wasn’t going to review Hemo-Goblin?

Psycho Analysis: Hemo-Goblin

This is gonna be really short, because there is so little to this guy. He is a one-shot, but boy what a fucking shot he is. Hemo-Goblin is a racist vampire created by South African white supremacists to give members of the New Guardians AIDS. You read that right. This is a racist AIDS vampire.

Now, unlike Egg Fu, who was a horrible racist caricature created from topical anti-communist sentiments of the time, Hemo-Goblin was seemingly created with better intentions. But you know what they say about intentions; the road to Hell is paved with good ones. I get wanting to do a commentary on the AIDS crisis, and I don’t think it’s out of the question for a superhero book to handle such a thing, but maybe having an AIDS-powered vampire give HIV to a Jamaican woman and a gay man isn’t the most tasteful and nuanced way to do this.

Oh, and by the end of his only appearance, he dies of AIDS in jail.

I’m not gonna lie, guys: I kinda love this stupid fucking creature. His weird design, the absurdity of his concept, and the awful execution of his premise makes him memorable for all the wrong reasons, but he’s memorable nonetheless. I think if Snowflame didn’t exist and wasn’t the coolest villain ever, more people would talk about the insanity that is Hemo-Goblin, though having a single appearance before dying and never appearing again doesn’t help his case much. Still, he’s just cazy enough to earn himself a 3.5/10, so he’s got that going for him.

[freesidexjunkie]

WIP Wednesday but it's Friday

A small snippet of chapter 7 for Din'an All Elgara 💕 rough draft, WIP, etc etc (the chapter is almost entirely typed up now, just need to edit it into a version i can live with). For context, this takes place in Haven in the very early game.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

“No,” he said with a little smirk. “No, I fear I am boring you with my prattle.”

Shit. “No! No, I was…” I was what? Lost in your eyes? Distracted by the warm timbre of your voice, by the shifting glow of the magic as you worked it with ease? “I was just… distracted by the Mark. The way it moves, and all.”

“Ah, of course,” he said, though his tone suggested that my wandering gaze had betrayed me.

I felt my cheeks grow warm as a nervous laugh escaped me. “Oh, shut up,” I said, pulling my hand away as I scooted back. “I was listening, for your information. I don’t get many chances to talk about magic like this back home. It’s just me and the Keeper, and sometimes giving lessons to the Second. Dalish magic is just…”

“Lacking in imagination?” He said.

I swatted him on the arm as I tried to suppress my own grin. He wasn’t far off, but I couldn’t just up and agree with him. “Watch it, you. Dalish magic can get plenty imaginative if you get on our bad side.”

Solas put his hands up in mock surrender. “Of course,” he said, “my apologies. I certainly would not want to be on the wrong end of one of your spells, at least.”

I rolled my eyes again, trying to give the impression that his approval of my spellwork only gave me the normal amount of butterflies. “I was going to say it’s very practical. Healing and day-to-day stuff. A few rituals. There’s less time to explore magical theory when you’re always on the move, trying to keep a clan healthy and safe.”

“Naturally,” he replied, folding his hands behind his back. Even in a war camp, he always managed to look so… regal. Like there was an elegant ease about him. “Well, it is gratifying to know that you aren’t just humoring me, then, by letting me drone on.”

I flashed a coy smirk, the feeling bubbling up in my chest lending me a bit of boldness. “Or maybe I just enjoy listening to you talk,” I said.

“I… ahem.” He looked away to clear his throat, and I almost swore I saw a bit of color rise in his cheeks. “Thank you, lethallan. Though I suspect you may be the first.”

“Besides yourself, you mean?”

That earned a real, honest-to-gods laugh from him as he threw his head back. “I see. You flatter me in one breath and humble me with the next. Like a rose, luring people in with beauty before pricking them with your thorns.”

Beautiful? I tried to calm the flipping in my stomach. He might have just meant beautiful words, after all; but…

“Please,” I responded, “I’m not that prickly.”

His teasing smile softened into something a bit more like fondness. “No, you are not,” he said. “You have a way about you of putting people at ease, I think.”

“Of course,” I replied, affecting a haughty air. “I’m a born diplomat, Solas.”

“Hm. I wonder if Lady Josephine would agree with that?”

Now it was my turn to be affronted as I clutched a hand to my chest. “Ha! Now who’s thorny?”

Before Solas could made any kind of reply, a young human boy ran up to us; one of the Inquisition’s scouts, if I remembered correctly. He bowed a bit awkwardly before addressing us. “Your Worship. Sister Leliana sent me to bring you to the Chantry. There’s been a… situation of sorts with the Chancellor."

Roderick. Of course. According to Cassandra, he was little more than a glorified clerk, but that hadn’t stopped him from calling for my righteous execution near hourly since I woke up. I groaned loudly as I got down from my spot. “Dread Wolf take me… Doesn’t he have anything better to do?”

I heard Solas snicker at my misfortunes from behind. “Would that I could assist, but I am not the ‘natural born diplomat,’ unfortunately.”

“Don’t be so quick to joke,” I warned. “He’s got a stick up his ass about heathen elven mages. I might tell him you’re here just to keep him out of my hair.”

The young scout spoke up again. “Apologies, my Lady, but I do believe it was somewhat urgent.”

“Right, yes. I’m coming,” I said with a sigh. I turned to speak to Solas as I walked back towards the Chantry. “Wish me luck. I’m sure he’s going to argue for wasting all your hard work again.”

“Dareth shiral, lethallan,” he replied with one last smile, picking up his book. “If you need anything further, I’ll be here.”

Feeling a bit emboldened, I threw a little smirk at him over my shoulder as I left. “Oh, I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

Anyways, thank you if you read this far!! Let me know what you think of it, if you have any thoughts? I hope to have the full chapter up by this weekend; if not, fingers crossed for early next week!!

[ultimateinferno]

Something I learned recently as an artist that took me 10 years to settle in is how to balance the different parts of art. I don't mean like composition, value, form, etc. I mean different exercises that are in complete opposition with one another are equally important. Honest to God just learned this right now.

Like, there's taking things slow, really chewing on artistic principles. Doing studies, breaking down reference images and going through the meticulous push and pull of refining your drawing. That's what I personally have basically been doing for a while now.

However, there's also a virtue of throwing all of that to the wind and seeing just how fast you can get stuff done. One of my art professors for a life drawing class told a story about a pottery class. He said that in that class that professor would tell the students at the beginning of the semester they could choose to be graded between two options. The first was quality. They had to make a single pot for the entire semester, and would be graded on how well made that one pot was. The second was quantity. When the semester was over, the professor would take out a scale, put all the pots on it, and if it reached a certain weight they'd pass.

Our professor told us that the students who picked the quantity option ended up producing better pots by the end of the semester than the quality students. Because the cycle of making and completing pieces was invaluable. They were able to bounce back from their mistakes much more quickly because all they cared about was getting stuff done.

This life drawing class ended up being my boon and bane. At this point, I was a "quality" student. I'd take my time with pieces pushing and pulling at the lines to get things just right. When I signed up for the class, my most common subject was people, so I thought it would be easy. However, the thing about life drawings is that there's an actual model before you, and they're not always very good at staying still, especially depending on the pose. So when the 20 or so minutes were up, I would have like a single arm done and nothing else. I had to push myself to achieve something in those 20 minutes. I was the slowest artist in the class. I knew much more theory and fundamentals, but none of that mattered cause I had nothing to show for it. Then poses started getting shorter. 15. 10. 8. 5. 2 minute poses. There was no time to analyze I simply had to draw.

Over the course of that semester I got better of reaching those time limits. By the time it was over, I put down my charcoal and returned to my drawing tablet. Art took me so long that I can only focus so much on an outlet at a time. I could either take classes or draw in my free time. Never both. When I started drawing over the summer, I noticed something: I was faster. My poses were better. I was able to sketch, ink, color and shade a piece in three days. That never happens, it would take me a month to get things just right beforehand. Yet now, even with art pieces where I was allowed to be slow, my speed improved greatly.

And this is because I was put in a class that looked at me and said "I don't want quality. I just need finished pieces. You need to turn in a piece every day." Yet this isn't the "lesson" I'm talking about. I think it's actually very much both. Quality and quantity.

You need to spend long hours breaking down anatomy or values or other fundamentals, to really digest them. You also need to put your feet to the fire and just get shit done. They're both very important skills to learn. Focusing on quality builds up your repertoire and artistic encyclopedia so you can produce artwork from a place of understanding. Focusing on quantity, meanwhile, is all about going through the motions. Learning when to accept "good enough" and apply the knowledge gained from your long-form studies and turn them into instincts. This lets you go back to the studies and build upon your knowledge using the shortcuts gained, continue building up more details to your skills.

Without ever focusing on quality, you will be repeating the same artistic mistakes over and over again with minimal improvement, never actually learning anything.

Without focusing on quantity you'll be so caught up in the details and the studies that you'll be stuck at step 1 indefinitely, breaking down each new part and be cursed to never finish a piece.

Focusing on one is already hard enough, so two would be difficult. However, as a part of the greater process, you don't need to focus on both at once. So long as you keep cycling through taking your time to get things right, and forcing yourself to get things done on dietary occasions, each practice will feed into themselves and each other far more than anything in isolation.

[bauhausdog]

i feel weirdly energetic for some reason, (◕‿◕) so im gonna talk about something in my mind a bit.

basically, i think that "learn the rules before you break then" and both "shape language is real, triangle can indicate danger" and "shape language isn't real, look at all these square characters, they have nothing in common" are kinda flawed and highlights what i think its a deeper problem on how we tackle art theory as a whole. Also, i think appeal is subjective and that, actually ugly or "unappealing" things have value.

skip to the star emoji if you just want to read my main point

I don't like how the drawing fundamentals are treated as a single canon, i personally don't believe in a single canon on, uh... pretty much anything, perception, even though there's quite a lot of objective ideas in it (like how lenses work, ambient occlusion, anatomy, etc.), that doesn't mean the way we make those connections and create theories based on them is objective and silver bullet proof. To make my point a bit clearer, I'm specifically talking when people refer to the "fundamentals" as the rules, to further sharpen my point of view, i rarely, if ever, believe in rules in art. To exemplify of what i mean, let's immerse a bit in the world of... uh.. renaissance era, although it would be delightful to rant about centralizing "art" as "beauty and skill" and those as whatever western society at the time thought it was good, i am not and i dont want to make a comparison of bigoted "beauty" guidelines to "uhmmm, not so objective aesthetics" guidelines, but i do want to use a specific pattern of thought in it.

Ok, so, (at least the art we known) from that era looks kinda the same right, that's because they had a somewhat set of ideas and values of what made "something pretty", and "good art", that is, realism = good. Ok, then let's say you, fellow artist, wake up in bed, and decide to read a hypothetical "art rules" book and decide to compare it to the "good art", you see how you should structure the steps of a drawing, how you should apply anatomy, how you should render shit, and so on. "golly gee, that's a bunch load of rubbish if i ever seen one" You might say, but you take another look at your 1500 deviantart gallery book, all of the popular mainstream artworks seem to have followed these steps, right? But there's something missing,

Here's a question, how do you make something new then? art right now doesnt look like reinassaince that much anymore. You might say "oh break the rules", im gonna get to that part, put that in the back of your head. Ok, so, how do you create something new? how would you create artwork? if you were trained like those famous painters, you would probably just follow their steps and mindset, and create similar artwork, but can you break the pattern while upholding restrict art guidelines? imo you can't

"bauhausdog, what does this have to do with cannons?" shhhhhh... im gonna get to that part.

So, art history taught us that, in a nutshell, people just ducked around and finded out, breaking that rigid art canon piece by piece, although it's worth noting that a lot of it was also ideological, but i want to shine a spotlight on the art part of this phenomenon, "art should have realistic colors" lol no, fauvism, "art represents reality" lol no, surrealism, "art should be realistic" lol no, modernism, "art should not be realistic" lol no, naturalism.

people broke that weird rigid old canon, and people learned that they could make new things bc of this experimentation.

Alright, let's tie evertyhing together so far, in the modern day, we have taken a lot of lessons based on these art movements, we absorved a lot of stuff, we have knowledge of almost everything, our process of drawing, our way of arting, our 'artstlye', is super varied, there is a lot of elements at our disposal, we can be as realistic as we can, as cartoonish as we can, we live in the same timeline as tawog and everything everywhere all at once, shows that mix different methodologies, philoshopies of art in one motion picture.

excuse my "middle-upper class got out of art school trust fund guy" term here, but we do live in a hypermodern reality, this is super, super cheesy, but it is everything, all at once :PPP.

Now, let's wrap the previous question, how do you create new stuff? experimenting, literally thinking outside, inside, and about the box, that box being our conception of art, also, the way we conceptualize art is super importqant, i mean, its literally the way our little heads organize what is a art and how do you art a thing.

"bauhausdog, you said something 30 minutes ago about the back of the head", ok, so, to talk abut how we conceptualize art, let's talk about, well, the thing. Until now, my thesis isn't breaking any new ground, i'm not proposing a solution, or at the very least pinpointing a problem, well, i can kill the rest of the birds with just a single stone, a quote stone.

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

"learn the rules before you break them", it seems reasonable at first, let's break down the phrase, "learn the [rules](...)" what is this "rules"?, well, it's the general notion of art fundamentals, "(...) before you "break" them", what breaking means, exactly? well, if we take fauvism, fauvism was about subverting naturalistic rendering as the "correct pretty" standard, fauvism is basically messing with colors, duck around, find out. This distinction is important to make, in my interpretation, "breaking" is equal to that, experimenting outside a strict set of guidelines.

But wait, did you catch it? the weird connection with these two sentences, "learn this general set of rules, then you can experiment and get to your own conception of what art is", this sounds weirdly similar, where i've heard that before....

this is where it all comes together, follow me on this logic for a bit. Based on what I talked about the art movement argument, i said that previous experimentation (eg: modernism) lead to a better conception about art and its elements in general (eg: learning about abstraction and how to incorporate that on an artwork with modernism), the give-away here is that we build upon to a better and more comprehensive understandment. So, the contradiction to me is, if you need to learn and build upon a certain set of guidelines to then be able to do your own thing, there is something wrong with this set of rules.

To me it is just so weird that these rules just ignore that we live in a world of everything, why a "wrong" color palette is wrong? why airbrushed pillow shading is wrong?

and i'm not crucifying this one phrase, in my opinion, this is part of a wider acceptance of just this general "art guidelines" that you need to learn to improve.

What i am criticizing here is a generalized "art conceptualization canon" that fails to consider the subjectivity of aesthetics and caters to a mainstream type of art, and is tunnel visioned and doesn't teach art beyond the bite sized pieces of information.

I don't have a lot of examples to back this up, but what i do know is, there's no agreed upon, universal opinion on whats appealing or not, what works or what doesn't, what's true or what's not. The only example i will bring up is this. perfect perspective is bullshit, like, persperctive is the least broken rule here, perspective should not always be drawing straight lines converging trhough a point, honestly, freehand it, use your knowledge to distort it. "draw straight lines converging to a point" is a bit shallow

In my opinion, art should be taught in a more hollistic way even down to the little details, actually, i think it would be beneficial to teach a hollistic view in art as a whole, as in, the individual elements don't live in a vacuum. And also, there should be an emphasis on different aesthetic values (eg: naturalistic, western comic book, modernistic, eastern) and be mindful of the subjectfullness of aesthetics.

In conclusion, i think we should start refering to the general "fundamentals" as like, "post-modern western society's theory on illustration aesthetics" or in an actual serious manner something like "objective art theory". that's still a janked mess of a broken, but i would much prefer structuring things as like "perceptual color theory", "emotional color theory", "western color theory", instead of plain "color theory"

tldr: "art fundamentals" are a bit reductive, tunnel visioned and puts a single set of aesthetic values on a pedestal

also, a bit of a tangent, but i dont believe in a universal appeal at all, "dont shade with airbrush", "dont pillow shade" there's at least one human being that really, really likes the look of airbrush with a pillow shading look, just follow your art honestly, even if it is ugly, who cares, ugliness should be celebrated, not in the "not conventional" kind of way, i mean graffiti is beautiful, but i hated graffiti, acne looks pretty, but im still trying to unlearn to hate acne.

extra tangents: i think that color theory reflects certain aesthetic values and is not universal (dont have anything to prove but a suspicion), let people do random ugly shit for fun, "bad" art has value.

sorry if it doesnt sound coherent as much as i try to push my brain power my head feels foggy when i try to talk about something

I will add to this more later

[rueitae]

Season 2, Episode 5: the Boston Tea Party Caper for @csweekly

BACKSTORY DAY BACKSTORY DAY

And not just for Ivy and Zack! They literally meet Carmen on her first caper and Player is so YOUNG. They’re babies all of them and I love them. Honestly it makes it even more special they met each other on caper 1.

“Player can have his own room” I could literally cry at the sweet sentiment but also my conspiracy mind whirls because so many throwaway lines were foreshadowing WHAT IF THIS WOULD HAVE BEEN TOO

“I thought he lived in the cloud” LOL

Zack: maybe it’s a flying race car?

Let your dreams become reality next week, Zack.

LoL Shadowsan did not ask for a flashback but he’s literally getting one. That’s so funny.

These two episodes are so interesting. Zack, up until now, we have only known as a ray of sunshine, a golden retriever. But Trey is about the only person EVER to get under his skin. Even Dash Haber, who actively tried to do so, only succeeded in making him nervous or mildly annoyed and generally clueless in a stressful situation. But as far as I can see, Trey is not insulting Zack. He’s insulting the car, which Ivy built from scratch with her talent and skill. Zack doesn’t get mad over himself. He gets mad over people knocking his family. Only once they do that does Trey get Zack mad by insulting him personally.

Okay counting the cars, Zack comes in fifth, so they DO qualify. They just don’t have a car for the actual money races.

Shark Head Eddie is peak character design.

Urgh the sibling conversation in the car breaks my heart. They are such good kids. They don’t want to do this but they will psych themselves up to do what they have to. Contrast that to when they’re stealing to help Carmen. It’s a mission they can put their hearts into.

Okay this is the best way to tell the backstory. Shadowsan’s even half invested. And Carmens just. Nah I’m not letting you get off the hook for this one. You two started the story I’ll finish. And now we get Carmen’s side!

“A few months” my butt. More like a few months had to be closer to a year to 1. Grow in height 2. Grow the hair

And honestly changing the plan because Zack and Ivy are there and stressing Player out just becomes the norm. Also that’s great Ivy could sneak in specifically because Player cut the security cams. They’re unintentionally helping each other already.

Carmen not used to driving a vehicle. Boats in the middle of the ocean have no traffic.

I DONT EVEN HAVE MY LEARNERS PERMIT.

Please someone write the fic where Zack shows up in Canada to help Player pass his driving exam. PLEASE

I am endeared that Zack and Ivy give the first geography brief. Literally everything about them endeared them to Carmen.

Carmen Sandiego, kidnapped by two siblings from Boston for a history lesson. The comedy That her hat just lingers for a minute in the air.

Reminder for next fic to have Zack attempt to create a baseball rivalry with Player or Carmen over the BlueJays or Padres.

Player literally fact checking them from Canada lol he’s so chill they’re family already.

Also, Player has changed into his regular series outfit. No more white hat. He’s “red hat” with Carmen now. Let me talk about his layers of clothing color theory now, Even if it’s a fashion disaster it has meaning. Blue shorts are for his white hat days, as blue is ACME/the “good guys” so to speak. He wears a red T-shirt to show his loyalty to Carmen, but because he’s a secret he keeps it covered by the grey hoodie. Lastly, the yellow zipper on his hoodie matches the yellow zipper on Carmen’s stealth suit. Usually yellow is for team red Allies. Sonia, comes to mind later. Players outfit is literally inverse of Carmen’s. As she wears black underneath the red, and wears blue gloves.

You can literally see Carmen’s disappointment forming as the sibs start talking about the money.

I FORGOT it was Brunt who called it Beantown lol

I also forget how soft the classmates were on Black Sheep. Le Chevre wants her to get away. He knows how angry the Faculty are and what an egregious move she’s made by running away. He understands what that means. He still cares about her safety right now. It’s such a good scene. Because Carmen might have been fond of them, but she acknowledges they all joined VILE and knew what they were getting into. She’s not holding back and she’s not going to show much emotion over it. She knew this was going to happen one day.

If I had a nickel for every time Le Chevre and El Topo got pushed into the water I’d have like four nickels by now.

The WAY IVY RESPONDS to Carmen needing muscles I’m dying every time.

Ivy and Zack are so chaotic they’re helping Carmen without even realizing it yet. Just solidifies they’re made for each other. Also!!! I love how curious and inquisitive Ivy is!!! They haven’t even joined Carmen but she’s already thinking about making a grappling hook!!!! What a little scientist!! Bellum would love her.

Their team up fits so perfectly. Ivy and Zack need out of town, and Carmen has found out she very much needs some ground assistance. AND FRIENDS MORE FRIENDS. It’s just been her and Player it has to be lonely.

And to round it off, Shadowsan’s pov on the Faculty reaction. That’s so neat that because he’s there we get all of the pov. That was really cool because sometimes we’ll get that insight into the third party reaction for no reason in other shows, but here it’s because Shadowsan remembers and he’s there! So they all participate in reminiscing.

There! Series ending explained. Ivy and Zack love what they do. And they love Carmen. Despite their fear sometimes, they get a huge rise out of being able to thwart the bad guys. They love racing yes, but they still get to do so in a way now. They tried something different and they love it.

I knew this logically, but seeing all four of them get into the car has my mind racing with joy over the many trips to the airport and road trips the four of them have taken.

Also Player is so endeared to them too. He specifically uses the term flying car teasingly. I love. This family.

Next week time for Rue getting massive second hand embarrassment (but still a good episode! Effective!)

[casperghosty]

Puppet History S5E1- Analysis and theories

Everything about The Professor is so very confusing. We know he got eaten and possibly turned into a dinosaur (we see him hatch from an egg in the trailer) but now he is alive and well....

Or is he ??!

The first strange thing about him that I've realized is his color: on the left it's him from the s1e1 on the right it's him in the new episode.

Maybe it's just diffrent lightning, but his furr looks pale and over all weird.

the more prominent things that show he is not the real professor, or that something strange is happening to him is his glitching and demonc voices

I also just realized, DID HE JUST GIGGLE??! at first I thought it was Sara giggling

"The algorithm is better than ever" I've seen theories before this episode that maybe the algorithm is sentient and is making Ryan lose every time. I also saw theories regarding this epsidoe that maybe the physical algorithm took over the professor? But why would it let Ryan win this time....? I will get back to that one to

And of course the misterious Box, that adds to every theory while makes them even more confusing, but before I get to the theories I qanted to point out some of his behaivers that I found unusual:

He didn't flirt with Sara?? The two epsisodes she's been in so far he called her "my moon and stars" or called her the most beautiful guest he had.

In addition, the B- ball bit...?? they never did anything for B boys only for C dogs... which might not be much but if I'm already suspicious of him not being the real professor, I'm gonna criticise all his moves.

At first I didn't realize this but I saw people point it out, his weird obsession with meat, we could say it's because the episode was meat centric... but this moment in particular was creepy

There is something on the PH set, a ghost? maybe the energy if something is disturbing the environment??

Ryan asks a fair question, I mean the last thing he knows is that the professor got eaten (Ryan doesn't know the professor potential got reborn from a dino egg)

R:"You know a lot about ghosts. Are you a ghost?"

P: "what kind of question is that? come one"

P:" I mean I went through some stuff"

The proff ignores the question and doesn't answers, but we can conclude he went through stuff (maybe through a dino??)

Something shocking happens... RYAN WON?! But this win feels weird, Ryan didn't get a cup, the professor said he is out of it which is unusual because the Devil said to Ryan the professor buys them in batches.... instead he got... a Puppet Cream (I do not wanna know what part of the professor this is if jelly beans is his poop....) It was pointed out to me, that he is very insistent that Ryan puts on the lotion

p:"Make sure you use that a lot.You gotta moisturizer that skin of yours"

and the design on the lotion brings up questions

this design of the professor looks weird, his smile is weirdly mischievous, unlike any cartoonis version of him on any merch, and the weirdest THE EYES, WHY IS HIS EYES BLUE WITH WHITE PUPILS?! THE PROFESSOR HAS BROWN EYES?!

Now lets look at the end scene with final-girl Ryan, he is trying to bid on the Genies's lap (we know it's the same because in the item description it says it was sold by the devil and a three-headed demon, and it's surounded by jelly beans) this raises so many questions

Why would they sell the lamp? why does Ryan need it? We can see from his open tabs he was looking at "puppet necromancy" was he trying to bring the professor back?

Another thing that confused me is Ryan using Burgess Montclief as his name when buying the lamp. It's the name he came up with in the epsidoe, so are the events that happen in the office after the ep, play out after his lesson with the professor? why does he want the lamp still if the professor is more or less "back" and if it's after the history class, what does that glowy eyed professor doing there?! If it happens before his class is the professor who's teachen Ryan that creepy one with the glowing eyes? why was he in the Watcher hq?Ryan pointed out watcher and the puppet theater are far away!

To add to my confusion, the article Ryan is reading says they found Prof's glasses and hat, but when he gell to the dino's mout only his satchel fell he was eaten with glasses and hat, but in the episode he had all three with him?!

Who is Connie.M why do they want the Genie lamp? (again? for how long has Ryan been chasing the lamp??)

Now to my theories

The Professor is a ghost: He doesn't want Ryan to touch him, maybe because he isn't physical? someone pointed out that ghosts mess up election items and gain energy from them so maybe he uses that box for energy to manifest himself in a way he looks more physical (FBO kinda thing)

He is a hologram, the same way I assume the box powers a ghost professor what if he is a hologram Professor, this can explain the weird glitching we see ,and amongst the articles Ryan is looking at there is one very suspicious about holograms... foreshadowing???

He might be part dinosaur or some kind of zombie; this would explain his hunger for meat and why he wants Ryan to be soft and moisturized, maybe he is planning on reveng?? but this doesn't explain what is going on with the box?!

He is possessed by a demon or a genie, which would explain his demonic voice, but not the box, UNLESS the box isn't there to power HIM but the box sucks out his energy to power someone else that's why at some point he powered down or feel asleep!

In conclusion I'M SO VERY CONFUSED I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS AND ONE THEORY DOESN'T EXPLAIN IT, maybe he is a part dinosaur ghost hungry for flesh and needs energy from the electric box?!

I know that this creepy thing

IS NOT MY PROFESSOR!!

Can't qait for next week and and having to analyse even more things !!

[archivalofsins]

This is the last and only post I'm going to make on this topic. So, I discovered who the anon vaguing about me was. However, it was someone that was close to me and has a habit of stating things without crediting others. I shared the Google Doc to the Kazui script to this individual. Under the cut are the dms of this event occurring for transparency's sake with the individuals username taken out of course.

Correction: The individual I shared the script with and the anon are two separate people. I wrongfully speculated it they were one in the same due to the timing of these events and for that I apologize. If you believe that you know who sent in that anon for any reason just remember the point of behaving in the way that whoever that individual was did under the safety of anonymity is to avoid taking accountability and the consequences of their actions. This situation has just been the perfect example of Futa's statement in Backdraft, "Holler-holler from safety, so worthless." It's more than likely that no one in the fandom will ever know who that anon was but I can vouch for the person I trusted with this script and say without any doubt that they would never refer to other fans in the way that this individual did. It's not the way they conduct themselves and I'm immensely sorry that believe for a second that it could be.

I will be keeping this post up not only to show others the harm that jumping to conclusions can cause but as a reminder to myself.

Since the person involved in this situation has used points from my theories and analysis before. I felt that doing this was the only appropriate course of action, out of fear of having information from the script leaked. I was hesitant about spoiling the surprise revelations that were in the Calico Cat video script but ultimately my more cautious side won out. Leaving me feeling as though I had no choice but to spoil the surprise revelations within it.

This includes,

A. The colors used in Kazui's video being the same colors used in traffic lights within Japan.

B. Both of Kazui's song titles being related to Jazz

C. Yokohama the location that Kazui is believed to be from is known as the birth place of Jazz in Japan.

If anyone sees someone talking about these things as though they just happened to conveniently discover them there's all this.

I wouldn't usually like to be vague about anyone. However, since this has been done to my theories as well as having another person in the past attempt to do something worse with my original writing. I felt the need to move with caution too preemptively within this situation. This is something that did cause the individual being referred to throughout this post a great deal of stress and for that I apologize again.

I've been working on this script nonstop. I did not want to sit back and let anyone do this to me again by working off that feeling alone valid or not my actions ended up being harmful to those around me. As said before if you believe you know who the anon was or who I shared the script with just leave them alone.

Star and I have been discussing the script with others as well who can attest to its progression.

Sorry to have been a downer and spoiled a great chunk of this script in an attempt to avoid a worst-case scenario. However, Star and my other friend were working on this with me. It was an error on my part that I failed to take that into account when sharing the script with others. I don't want that to end up negatively impacting the work they've both been putting in.

So, I'm just going to be completely transparent about this and my errors in the handling of this situation then hope for the best moving forward. Again, if you think you know who either of these individuals are don't bother them.

I know for a fact that this situation has probably been a difficult time for at least one of them as well. I'd rather just leave the whole incident behind me and take it as a learning lesson.

[drstonetrivia]

Chapter 193 Trivia

I really liked this chapter.

For a minute, I thought this was going to land on another body, but it looks like it just fell off the cliff and landed on flat, non-petrified-person stone. There is darker stone near the edges of the panel, closer to the petrified-stone color, but who knows...

First the beam is coming from behind the fort and they're facing towards it at the edge of a cliff, then next they're suddenly both faced away?

Did they try running away, or were they trying something else?

This confirms that the petrification in 2019 was in fact using only one medusa rather than a whole pyramid, and that Whyman's command is the same as the original, potentially proving that Whyman set off the first one too (why 12,800,000m and not simply 13,000,000? or 12,742,000?)

It's highly likely these are actual people since it wouldn't be the first time Boichi's added real people in as statues, but I'm not sure who they are (if I'm right, they could be totally random!)

If you have any ideas let me know!

I theorized last week that the sound of Stanley's gun going off could have cracked the bottle, but I guess I was wrong! Going by Stanley's imagination, it looks like Maya was on the opposite side of the tower and Xeno on his right(?), meaning the tower was probably surrounded.

This isn't the first time we've seen this exact pose.

(Senku also does it at one point in the anime, but only in theory)

Xeno's laptop! Since he's 20+ now and we can assume he's ~10 years old in this picture if it's meant to parallel Senku, then chances are this laptop is from the early 2000s... The base is pretty thick, it could be a ThinkPad? I'd love to know what's written on the back though...

More like three thousand, seven hundred and ten years ago! How time flies 😂

Stanley's doing an awful lot of moving for someone getting petrified, but I'm glad he finally got to light the cigarette he put in his mouth last chapter, (~19 minutes ago going by my beam calculations...)

The darker marks across his head are interesting too, new scars perhaps?

(They're probably not really scars, but they do seem to "grow" across his face like the stone, and no one else has it.)

Confirmation that the beam reached Japan! We know from one of the volume extras that the villagers were left with a job to do, and whatever it is seems to be near the old Tsukasa empire. I wonder what they're doing? Finding someone specific to revive? Building something?

Which teachings is Soyuz talking about? It could be about remembering his past way back in chapter 128 after seeing him again, or more likely a lesson about protecting the stone statues from damage so that they can be brought back later.

Both leaders are trying to protect their people. At least someone learnt to not get petrified in a fragile position (looking at you, Xeno.)

Notice Mirai is next to Kokuyo: could Kokuyo be acting as Mirai's father now that Tsukasa and Kohaku are gone and Ruri's all grown up?

The fact they're all in the exact same tucked pose could mean they had training drills for this situation, or have at least considered it. The villagers, as always, are ready for anything.

Mirai seems to have adopted Chalk, since she's the one Chalk is crying next to. A shame dog saliva doesn't work as revival fluid but a good attempt nonetheless. The question is, where was Sagara that it took half a day to find Chalk? Working on something as well, perhaps? 🤔

The radio tower on Roppongi Hills looks lit up, but they probably didn't leave the lights on since it was daytime when they got petrified. What could this light mean? Are they still receiving and sending signals?

The fact everyone who got petrified this time around is smiling gives me so much hope for the future. Unlike on Treasure Island where they were all frozen in fear on the Perseus, here they're almost relieved.

Note Gen's petrification scar paint is still visible on his skin!

How long have they been petrified? Going by the seasons changing, at least 2, maybe even 3 years. The problem is the boxes get smaller and less detailed, so an exact time frame is still unknown. At least Senku's counting for us!

Hello to the two new Wise Generals (since everyone else is gone!) This is definitely still Chalk and Sagara (they have ropes) but grown up. Why Chalk stayed looking the same for 4 years only to suddenly turn into a shiba inu I have no idea. Maybe it's very particular dirt?

I forgot to add this earlier, but we did get confirmation on where Chrome, Kaseki and Gen ended up. (Kaseki is right next to Chrome)

With this longer petrification, it means people may get new outfits, and non-painted scars will be gone. In addition, Senku's birthday will probably change time of year again.

While Chalk and Sagara are free, the American cows back in Corn City probably won't be doing too well.

I can't wait for next chapter: Chalk and Sagara, the new Adam and Eve of the Stone World.

[the-lady-writes-what]

Warning: Long essay below the cut

Real talk about Harry Potter for a second. As a millennial who was into HP when I was younger, I have to honest and say that I did not see the problematic shit the J.K. Rowling put in her books. For a lot of us, growing up as a white kid in the early 2000's, we were not educated enough to see the anti-Semitism, racism, and lukewarm feminism that wasn't really feminism because Rowling made fun of Hermione for it. Watching the spiral of Rowling into TERF territory and aligning herself with people who reference Hitler in their TERF speeches and literal fascism breaks my heart. HP played a huge part in my childhood, as it did for many people. Sadly there are HP adults who continue to enable Rowling to use her platform for evil. Instead of looking back and dissecting the literature that formed our current mindset, there are people who grew up to be nasty people indirectly because HP taught them that anyone who complains about the system is doing progressive social justice wrong. Harry Potter became a wizard cop for the system that helped put Voldemort in a position of power. Hitler didn't rise to power out of the blue. He worked the current system in his favor and won support. He wasn't just some manipulative well spoken mastermind, he was using rhetoric that already existed. The criticism about the politics in the HP universe came far too late. We currently have numerous adults who are now currently voting to repress Black and queer history from schools, LGBTQ+ education, and criminalize being trans and gay in several states in the USA.

Not every adult who read HP became a fascist, not every adult who is fascist read HP. I'm certainly not saying that HP is solely the reason why anti-LGBTQ+ hate crimes are currently on the rise again and legislations are trying to get passed. What I am saying is that this is what happens when you don't think critically what you read. Critical analysis about what books are produced and by whom can help deter or enable the kind of ideas that Rowling associates with. Her brand of "progressiveness" is seen through the lens of an upper middle class and upper class white British woman. She largely benefits from a system that will come to be the shoulder for her to cry on when the internet "bullies" her, i.e when the internet and former fans try to hold her accountable for the inflammatory things she's said and written about trans people, women, Jews, POC, etc. I am not a saint in all of this either. My first book that I wrote which will never see the light of day again contained an Indian servant because I thought about historical "accuracy" which looking on it now was a load of shit. What I should have done in the first place was do critical research and properly acknowledge the racism and discrimination and imperialism of the British Empire. That character should not have existed and I deeply regret writing a story like that, even if my intention was not to further enable a white-washed history of the relationship between the British aristocracy and the people of India. Whether it was my intention or not, the fact that I wrote it was not okay. I am sorry for that. That book is no longer available and the remaining physical copies will stay with me. They aren't going anywhere. Moving forward, I will do better research and listen to the voices of people of color when it comes to writing characters outside of my own race.

Rowling has yet to learn that lesson towards trans people and keeps using the debunked conspiracy theory that "men dressed as women" will sexually assault someone in the ladies' room and take up female-dominated spaces. Transwomen are women. End of story. It seems that the more she is criticized for upholding anti-trans beliefs and conspiracy theories, the deeper she digs her heels in. She doesn't want to be corrected or told she's misinformed. The die hard fans of hers follow suit. Adult fans of HP have gone to assault and abuse transwomen, forgetting the soft-spoken message of the books they claim to love so much, that you should not hate people for who they are. I say soft-spoken because HP's message of anti-bigotry can hardly be called as such. It is spoken through the lens of upper class wealthy white woman's perspective of social justice and feminism. I say soft-spoken, and even limp-wristed, because its anti-bigotry message falls flat when discussing the numerous problematic and racist undertones in her writing. She wrote house elves as sentient creatures who want to be enslaved and made fun of Hermione for fighting for their freedom. She wrote the main characters to be all straight, white, and cis who later become part of the very system they fought against as children. The magical races in the Wizarding World universe are frequently looked down upon as if they're lesser than the human wizards and nothing is done for them. She did little to no research on non-European naming conventions and named the one East Asian character Cho Chang, combining a Korean and Chinese name as if the cultures are synonymous, named a black character Kingsley Shacklebolt, and allowed the Fantastic Beast franchise make Nagini (a South Asian name with cultural and religious significance) an Indonesian woman played by a South Korean actress. As if insult wasn't enough, Nagini is portrayed as a submissive Asian woman (stay classy Rowling!) who later dies at the hands of a white character to move the plot forward.

I wrote this fucking essay because Rowling is hurting so many people. Her kind of rhetoric which is a pandemic of hate towards trans people is hurting those I know. Two of my dearest friends are transwomen and I would fight tooth and nail for them. Hearing the author who wrote the books that got me interested in reading say things that accuse my friends of being men and wanting to assault women hurts them more than me and it infuriates me. She is one of the many reasons why diversity in reading is important so her mistakes don't get repeated and regurgitated. When you're a dumb white kid in the 2000's, you don't see the problematic stuff because you're not personally affected by it. Nobody can be racist against a white kid. And when authors like Rowling get praised in spite of the insensitive stereotypes and problematic shit in their books, it really is no wonder that we have a resurgence of hate crimes and rhetoric against LGBTQ+ folk and POC. The books didn't materialize out of thin air. There were so many editors who have had to go through the books and said, "Yep. That's fine" when she was writing offensive names for POC characters, anti-Semitic goblins, and having the white main characters join the system that put wizard Hitler into power.

It hurts to let something like HP go and die a slow painful death. It was a huge part of my childhood and got me into reading books. I might not be the reader I am today without those books. Because I will never be affected by the system in which people of color, trans folk, and the Jewish community are oppressed and I admit to being very privileged, I did not recognize the numerous red flags in J.K. Rowling's body of work until it was too late. For that I am sorry. The damage is done, but I'm trying to do better by listening and protecting my friends, trans or otherwise. J. K. Rowling can go fuck herself.

[measuringbliss]

Spider-Man Read-Through 032: Gifts (ASM 163-164)

MASTERPOST

In this batch, we celebrate a birthday and we actually analyze stuff!

Oh, there's the Kingpin too, I guess.

At the start of the issue, Spidey has an action scene with goons and the Kingpin, but he can't follow them very far. The scene was rather bland, so let's just skip to the Parker stuff.

The previous batch did allude to a surprise party!

First of all, is it me or do the characters change clothes more often? I feel like that's new. I love Peter's purple pants, they're great.

Yup, it reminds me of The New Animated Series! What a show that was. Not perfect, but audacious at least (and visually great).

Anyway, I love how everybody wishes him a happy birthday. That's neat! Peter has just had a really difficult year or two. Gwen's death, Harry's addiction, Gwen's clone... I'm happy that he gets to be happy for a bit.

OKAY. THIS IS MY CALLING. MY OPPORTUNITY. LET'S ANALYZE ALL OF THIS.

Let's check the number of people present that gave something:

the rose curtains

the green armchair

the native american statue

the doggie plushie

the patchwork couch

the pink lamp

the wooden table

the poster on the wall

the espada decoration

the pink rug Those items are the most remarkable. Now the people!

MJ

Flash

The wonderful landlady

Robertson

Liz

Harry

Randy

Gloria

So about 8 in each category. I think that's good enough.

I have some explaining to do.

First off, I think Robertson probably brought the majority of the more mundane furniture. He's older than the rest of them, would have asked Randy's help to transport everything, it makes complete sense to me. I also attributed him the green armchair, but I hesitated. However, I thought that, given how nice it looks, any of Peter's similar age friends would have a hard time giving it off. However, its green color is more of an MJ thing to me...

Talking about MJ... The statue. I think she'd find it pretty funny. Now, how would she have it? I have no idea, but I have a feeling she'd be very happy with herself hahaha. I also attributed the patchwork couch to her for the vibes, although I also thought it could be attributed to Gloria.

Gloria is an issue for me, because we didn't get so much time to get acquainted with her, so it was hard to think of something, but I think she could also have brought some furniture, or some of the most useful stuff like the fruit basket, the radio, the fish.

Flash! Let's talk about Flash. His things were easy: both the circular wooden table and the espada decoration ooze frat bro energy. The fish decoration might have been from Harry or Robbie too, but...

Harry provided the big dog, I think. He could technically have given anything to Peter. He's rich. But I think the dog is a sentimental thing. And it's huge. Do you picture the other characters having a huge dog like this? I personally don't. Or maybe Randy. But Harry? Giving his giant dog plushie to his best friend?

I'm gonna cry.

The rose curtains are tacky, but also charming. I thought it might have been from MJ or Gloria, but the landlady seemed the most indicated to me. In the same way, the old-looking (although I don't know much about lights from the 70s...) pink lamp is probably from the landlady.

Liz probably provided the pink rug, and maybe some furniture. I don't know. We didn't see much development since her return.

Finally, Randy. I feel like he and Robbie acted as one, but the poster feels the most Randy-ish. Randy's shown to be pretty politically active in his student circle, so I wouldn't be surprised if he had posters to put up everywhere. After a bit of research, the text probably says "Every day, in every way, I am getting better, better, and better", a sentence attributed to Emile Coué (French rep, yay!). Which kind of throws my theory in shambles...

Or does it? I can see Robbie giving it to his son, and his son getting tired of it/learning its lesson, and deciding it would look nice on Peter's wall.

Oh well, that does it for the analysis! Now, did I hit the nail on the head?

Toasters is definitely something Gloria would bring, like I said. The fish... make sense, alright.

Our lovebirds interrupt me checking my answers.

And Flash's eager to ruin everything, hahaha.

Does the panel imply Peter and Flash briefly held hands for a second? I'm here for it!

Peter is not, however. He questions his sexu--I mean, his relationships with the opposite sex. He's so close to getting it!

The two people interrupting him are Liz and Harry, having the time of their life. Good for them!

Later, Spidey encounters the Kingpin again, and...

SUDDENLY BONDAGE!

The next issue begins with a clarification.

Girl. What.

Turns out a lot of stuff happened in Captain America #148. I didn't expect that storyline to continue in another magazine. Marvel!!!!

Thankfully for me, Vanessa arrives to slay.

Unfortunately, the Kingpin doesn't care about Vanessa thinks and she says that she's basically done here. So long!

Yes, you suck, Kingpin!

However, he doesn't suck entirely. He says that Spidey can go, since he doesn't need him anymore. Spidey's not very nice and still tries to fight. He has only six hours to live, and decides to go back to his apartment.

For all of you, whump lovers!

Peter decides to go to Curt Connors. They do experiment, foreshadow that The Lizard's gonna come back soon, then Spidey goes to find Richard and revert their life energy.

They two villains fight, fall in the Hudson river, Spidey emerges, and Vanessa stops the men from shooting at him.

I guess Spidey's lucky, huh! Because it sure looked like he was going to kill Richard to save himself!

Nobody asked for this! Nobody!!!!!!!

[kyarbrougharts245-02]

Project One/Blog 3

The second week comes to a close and here arrives the third. Similar to last week’s reading, the topic revolves around grids. I will say I believe this week’s reading was much more comprehensive since the professor delved further into the topic of grids previously. The teachings even highlighted some interesting details outside of grids. To clarify, in class, we learned about orphan words and how they should typically be avoided. An orphan word is seen when a single word appears on a line, hanging from a body of text. 

Good practice is to keep lines above 6 words as stated by the instructor. However, on the very first page of the assigned reading, I caught sight of an orphan word at the page’s bottom right:

“...side a is to side b as side b is to the sum of both 

sides. Expressed numerically, the golden section is 

1: 1.618.” (138, Lupton)

I’ll admit, I think the placement of “1: 1.618” is odd. It took me a little while to connect the ratio at the end of the sentence. I found myself looking around the page, even scrolling up to the top and down to the bottom in an attempt to find the missing piece. I find it all a little interesting. The course is slowly making sense and I’m starting to see this information through a different perspective.

On the topic of different perspectives, both the reading and the course lesson helped me differentiate the grids found in everyday media, specifically newspapers. As I’ve stated in the last two blogs, I feel like I subconsciously understood the types of grids seen in graphic design (and additionally which details differentiated each from one another), however, I just could not put an appropriate label to them. I now know from both the class and the reading that some of the more common grids we see are modular, experimental grids, column grids, etc. 

One last thing I’d like to mention about the reading relates back to the first page. It introduces the ratio relationship used in Graphic Design, titled the Golden Section. I found the introduction a little challenging—perhaps that could be due to the fact I’m not the biggest fan of math in general. Numbers and theories can be very icky! I was initially confused by the golden section’s formula and I didn’t find the written description any more helpful. To be honest, I think I’m still a little lost on the concept. However, I’m sure if I found another way to break the information down, I could grasp the formula a bit easier.

I’ve always struggled with conceptual learning regarding math. Give me a numerical problem, but God forbid you include word problems. Physics showed me just how draining the whole math process can get when outside forces like Gravity or velocity are included. 

Let’s steer away from math. It’s too late to be thinking about numbers unless it’s the numbers on the clock. And if that’s the case, let’s hope it’s not 12 at night. 

To end on a cheerful note, my Nine Squares project is finished. Happy day it is! I’m positively kicking my feet and prancing around with joy! The stress I felt after staying up to 2:45 am fooling around with that thing has now been alleviated. It was literally like a weight had been taken off my shoulders!

However, there’s no need to bash this project too harshly. As tedious as I found the cutting to be, finding different colored papers and cutting precise shapes with them has sparked some ideas for future personal projects. I’d be lying if I said I had tossed the Exacto blade in the garbage without a second thought already. 

I mostly enjoyed cutting text from the colored paper and placing it on a hard black background, as seen in my last square. Perhaps it's the shade of red I chose or the dynamic type found in the original title, “Thriller” by Michael Jackson. I could see myself doing something more with that specific craft. For now, I’m envisioning little experiments in my sketch before I ever try something like this project again.

On the plus side, when I showed my project to my mom, she told me she preferred that style of art compared to my more customary drawings of dragons, dinosaurs, and other fantastical creatures. She said it was more readable to her which I found quite surprising as my taste revolves around fantasy. My favorite works come from French concept artist Nico Marlet who is known for his time with Dreamworks, specifically How To Train Your Dragon. I’m sure you can see why I would like him so much. 

That being said, my mother opened my eyes and I realized that if she was interested in art that resembled something like my Nine Square Project then I could utilize the skill to potentially craft an artwork as a birthday present.

[aerixwri]

Main Antagonist: Henry Gustillo

So, funny story, this absolute wonder of a character is based from a person I know from real life. Shocker isn't it. But the reason he's a little more special is because he's based on a very specific person: my school crush. To be more specific the first impression of my school crush, which was... so so so bad.

I genuinely thought the guy was an asshole. He had that kind of asshole faces and demeanor about him. Also the way he ended up as the class mayor was purely because all the boys in the class voted for himwhich didn't rub off nicely on me as the then elected vice mayor. So, yeah. Obviously as I get to knew him he was actually a lot more sensitive than I assumed, so that's a lesson in judging a book by its cover. (pics from pinterest, my love)

================================================ Misbelief: As someone who has a lot to lose if the truths were exposed, it's better for the truth to be hidden so one can enjoy his life. ================================================

BASICS

Character's Name: Henry Prescott C. (Cristie) Gustillo Role in Story: Antagonist Stereotype: Teacher's son (but in this case he's the chairman's nephew) Physical Description: - slick black hair, usually gelled, with a middle part. - small hooded eyes - smooth and flawless skin - a shap jawline - sharper nose - lean physique/sleeper build Age: 16 MBTI Personality Type: ENTJ-A ================================================ EXTERNAL

Typical Outfit - always wears a charcoal black coat no matter the heat - white polo/button down - dark colored slacks or khakis - shiny black shoes - school uniform What is his favorite book, movie, or band? Book: 1984, The Art of War, The Hunger Games Movie: Psychological Thrillers, Oppenheimer, Dystopic films, The Hunger Games Favorite Band: Classical Music, Juan Carlos What names/nicknames have they been called throughout the years? - Henry - Gustillo - Prisscot, Pisscot, Piscuit (dumb nicknames made up by Mackie and Iday that's never used when he's around)

What is his method of manipulation? - Charm and Monetary Award Their go-to cure for a bad day? - Playing chess - Playing his favorite musical pieces of the piano and challenging himself to go faster

================================================ This guy has way too many lore for his own good. His family story goes so deep and is held together by dreams and a hyperfixation on smug rich bois with trauma. But seriously, he was way too much backstory that's scattered around my journals that I need to put down in one place. This guy's going to have a full on part by part analysis ala film theory style.