#that first line of dialogue popped into my head the SECOND I was done with the other one

[blind-alchemists]

sorry, Zagreus, I've had your sister for five hours and I already like her more than you.

anyway! I did treat myself and bought the game early and. it's just very good!

in somewhat chronological order, my thoughts after yesterday's session

the music! the music is even more amazing than in the first game and if I'm done, I need to listen to the whole OST on loop

the art!! also even better than in the first game!!

Melinoë is a great protagonist

it's incredibly funny the first god we encounter is Apollo, because Apollo is the guy people modded into the first game years ago

... boy, I wonder what the speedrunning meta will look like for this game (I have very obscure knowledge about Hades I speedrunning meta)

I love the little backgrounds that pop out with the art

oh, right, I jumped into the Hades I EA late, so I never saw the place holder graphics in-game before

the environments!! beautiful.

I shouldn't have played the first game last week. It's fucking with me. where's my second dash??? Why do we start with 30 HP??? where are my death defiances??? weapon mechanics???

of course there's a fishing mechanic again.

I like Hecate's design.

saluting??? what's the lore behind that?

OH. this tone of the story isn't ... quite what I expected. A lot more serious. a lot more severe.

Melinoë doesn't remember her family??? Hello??? what the fuck???

and she keeps talking about her task with such a dutiful determination ... no, I'm not crying. But. That's such an interesting conflict.

NEMESIS!! She's holding her sword aspect!! her design!! her resentment!! her vengeance!! her rivalry with Mel. how Mel calls her Nem. please. tell me she's a romance option. PLEASE.

oh, hi odysseus.

hey, there's hypnos! ... why's he sleeping??? (funny thing is, I got the Charon dialogue that implies he's more useful this way lol)

I cannot. Take. Skelly serious. It's worse because Mel does.

I like Moros' design. The long hair going over the horns? Yeah, that's good.

Mel gets an AXE??? a heavy, double-bladed axe??? (I love women wielding heavy weapons, and as long as the rail doesn't make a return, I'm good with anything after enough time)

I like the new art sprites for reoccurring characters!

ahhh, the good old "we don't trust Olympus so we're not telling them everything" line. understandable, but I figure that's going to blow up sooner or later.

I love Mel's bond with Artemis and Selene and the implication that both helped raise her.

... and I like the predominantly female cast so far

Nemesis can show up in Erebus???

BABY MELINOË omg

why does every chthonic goddess / titaness sound like they have a thing for Persephone. Nyx already had a few lines like that in the first game. Why does Hecate also have these kinds of lines.

the Hecate fight frustrates me to no end, because I'm very used to more dashes, more health, and more death defiances, and very different weapons :( (I have bet her twice in total so far)

unrelated, but I didn't know I needed a sheep in the Hades art style but it's so damn cute and I want a large art print of it

Archane!! I love how her silks change Mel's avatar

Oceanus is beautiful

... except for the traps. Really not digging the traps. or the maps.

CHAOS??? why are you holding your old form's head??? and why is there an embryo coming out of it??? why do you have wings??? why do you wear a suit??? the new design unfortunately checks all the boxes but upon reflection that is because it fits into that very niche character design trope I've seen in manwha recently and I couldn't put a name on it if I tried

on that note, I also adore Aphrodite's new design!!

not quite sure what I think of the gathering / farming mechanic yet

I do like the incantations, magic, hexes, and arcana though!

HERMES! I also adore his design.

wait, what? Mel's going to Olympus? You're telling me one part of the game is descending into the House of Hades and the other is climbing to Mount Olympus?? (that's my speculation, at least.)

god, I hope the cast of the first game is alright/alive. :(

I hope we also get to see Athena, Ares, and Dionysus at some point :(

on that note, I can't wait for Mel to meet her brother and realize he's the opposite of her lol. I love siblings and mirrors.

[cloudcountry]

fuck i literally realized a lot of this is due to how much I relate to him IM SORRRYRYRYRYRY but i just wanna talk about him today (i have no fun insights this is just yapping... URGGBSHGRFYGH I RELATE TO AND LOVE HIM SO MUCH SOBS ON UR DOOR STEP)

im sorry, i believe a little warning for the first paragraph i bring up my own dead sibling cause I wanted to get that out of the way

This is decently specific to me: I have a younger dead sibling and idia is just i can relate just so hard to bc of that one fact, (gets out the idia journal) we were around the same age when our siblings died we think we both got them killed through harmless fun comments and just having someone so close to you as your younger sibling die at a young age kinda fucks with you and stuff idrk whats going on but something is

we both have social anxiety i don't think mine is as bad but if i had the option to just talk through a tablet i would, especially in certain situations where i'll freeze up (aka talking to any waiter ever) I genuinely a lot better when im there for someone else that has so we could have a symbiotic relationship for social situations

+ I NEED TO REASSURE HIM HIS DAMN IMAGINARY AUDIENCE ISN'T ACTUALLY REAL NOT EVERYONE HATES YOU YOU DON'T HAVE TO ACT LIKE IT IM RIGHT HERE I LOVE YOU SM :((

Okay funny silly time: love of cats omg cats i love cats he loves cat give him cat he would be unsure how to treat it exactly bc he never had a childhood cat but he has done so much research on cats that he probably could info dump on the cat on why it so cool and the best thing ever "Awww did you know you get a lot of your water from your food bcuz you're a dessert animal and you avoid still standing water due to your prey possibly contaminating the water" please let him see those stray cat cams in china he would love donating food to them,, he would be spear heading naming everyone and making sure they all get a wiki page

OKAY ENOUGH ABOUT IDIA AND CATS BUT HE WOULD SEE IF HE COULD GET THE FUNDS TO OPEN A CAT SHELTER AND FEED SO MANY STRAY KITTIES MOVING ON

baby noooooo,,,, :(( yes im looking back on his after overblot dialogue as a reference even though i just read it anyways,,, Idia will never be able to have his own life separate from his family, since yk cursed and shroud, it's basically a path that was bricked in for him. its like his life path is a long corridor that leads to the same road no matter what he picks. Especially since his unique magic locks him into working for STYX since he can just open a very vital thing and idk almost take over the world. if the shrouds acc got unique magic i think idia could have actually went on to lead a decently good life whether he was STYX head by choice or something else (game dev)

hes so passionate about the things he enjoys, there is so many examples of this, he's into so many things and loves them all with his whole heart it's so endearing (also uhsn dfbghrg bonding over media is the best, hes probably so fun to talk to about media... but he might lord knowing so much over you >:p ily just let me put my two cents in you can keep info dumping idia) OUGH (ignore me doing the hand thing PLEASE I LOVE IDIA I LOVE ORTHO IM ENJOYING WRITING THIS SM) OKAY ANYWAYS aww okay reading over idia's dialogue like im writing you an argumentative essay or something,, STAR ROGUE! the idia of idia (wtf r u writing edie) HIS SILLY ASS SLANG HRGBHRBGVLRHG "OUR LEGEND, POP OOOFF!" Anyways idia just recounting everything about star rogue without second thought he loves it sm he probably played it sm he knows the opening by heart (IDIA AND ORTHO SAYING THE TAG LINE TOGETHER THIS IS KILLING ME AUBURN)

hes heard so often that he was genius when he was really young it was just hardwired for him to think he was the best in the room especially with the advancements he has made from the ages of 10-12. like building ortho is genuinely a feat and he did it and two years definitely he's going to let that go to his head. ngl i feel that his parents were not too great probably absent most of the time since he can just lock himself in his room and work on something that no one knows about for two years. probably fucked him up developmentally too, he was NOT properly socialized the internet was his parents for the entire time probably

he wants to be FUCK THIS SHIT ACC OMG CRIES IN A CORNER SADDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD HE JUST WANTED TO BE A COOL ADVENTURER HERO GUY HE DIDN'T KNOW THAT WOULD HAPPEN!!!!! WHAT WENT WRONG IS NOTHING YOU WERE JUST A TOO SMART KID,,, IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT AND NEVER WILL BE YOU DIDN'T KNOW THAT WOULD HAPPEN OMG. DFGVJKDHJHBCBSHFBSFBSFR

it's like 12:30 right now my mental state is deteriorating this is stupid opinions for the most part i tried my best im sorry if this is bad but YOU SAID GUSH IN YOUR INBOX SO I MADE THAT HAPPEN???

-- with lots of love Edie

EDIEEE MY FAVORITE IDIA KISSER‼ THANK U FOR SHARING YOUR THOUGHTS READING THEM WAS SO INTERESTING!!

first of all holy shit im so sorry about what happened to your sibling. i totally get why you'd find him comforting because of that but Oh my gosh. im so sorry.

i think having social anxiety is something a lot of people can relate to with him, even myself. identity actually brought this up but seeing him being pushed into situations where he is ABSOLUTELY not comfortable makes me want to run in there and help him GET OUT. like i may not like this man that much but nobody should feel pressured or panic over entering a social situation they dont want to be a part of.

AH YES THE CAT CARD

RIGHT YEAH its so SAD how he will never get to live his own life and THATS one of the things that ive thought about a lot concerning him. like it would suck to actually have your fate predetermined no matter what. like he's just going to be stuck there with nobody else except for like ortho and his employees(?) but actually. yk what thats how he spent his school days which is even sadder hello

"the idia of idia" HELLO WHAT DOES THIS MEAN

actually! you bring up a good point about idia always being considered a genius since he was young and how that affects his self esteem and how he interacts with people now. i have literally never thought of it that way but it makes a lot of sense.

THANK YOU FOR SHARING YOUR THOUGHTS EDIE <3 I LOVED HEARING THEM!!

[precambrian-sea-pancake]

Heyo! I'm here to ask you about Ethan and Mia for the character/HC ask meme!

Hopefully this is the right one.

—Ethan

Sexuality headcanon: idk, hetero I guess?

OTP: Him and Mia. It’s a very special ship to me.

Brotp: Him and Chris and him and Zoe. I love that Chris decided to give him some training after RE7 and I like to imagine the two bonded over time. With Zoe, how can I not? They both would’ve never made it out without each other. They were each other’s last hope. Even after leaving her, he was still determined to get her out and sent help. She’s the only person aside from Mia who truly understands what he went through.

NOTP: Him and Karl. I’m sorry, there was absolutely nothing between the two. Dude never gave a damn about him, wanted to use Rose as a weapon because he didn’t give a damn about her either. Those types of ships squick me out. (Again, sorry to those who like it ;-;)

First headcanon that pops into my head:

He always wears long sleeves, and when he can’t, he’ll use other things to cover up his wrist.

Favorite line:

“That’s not groovy” — Ethan during the second boss fight with Jack.

One way I relate to this character: Oh boy, there’s a lot. So I’ll just keep it simple. We’re both been taken out of our elements and had to push through it and we’re both scared of losing people close to us. We are also both emotionally driven.

One thing that gives me second hand embarrassment:

Not much? Maybe a dumb quip but those are supposed to be tacky. I mean, you can’t have Resident Evil without some cringeworthy dialogue.

Cinnamon Roll or Problematic fave:

I can’t call him either because he’s definitely closer to cinnamon roll than problematic.

—Mia

Sexuality: Bisexual. Her actress actuality implied it during a livestream I was watching so that’s how I see her.

OTP: Take a guess XD

Brotp: Her and Zoe. They were both stuck there for three years, and although she was under Eveline’s control, it is implied that they did work together at some points. When Ethan cured her and was about to leave, she insisted to Zoe that she should come with. Afterwards, she sent a letter saying she wanted her to meet Rose. So…how can I not? It’s a really interesting and underrated friendship that I like to explore.

NOTP: Her and Zoe. Age gap is too big for me. Mia is 32 in RE7 and Zoe is 23 at that time.

First headcanon that pops onto my head:

She needs the door open in order to feel calm or safe (contrast to her partner who is the opposite).

One way I relate to this character:

Again, it’s a lot. But she and I both have a lot of guilt issues due to bad things we’ve done in the past, and both of us are trying to move on, and start over fresh. Be new and better people. Yet, it’s hard sometimes.

One thing that gives me second hand embarrassment:

Nothing.

Cinnamon roll or problematic fav:

problematic fav.

[screadingchallenge]

Behind the Keyboard: Volume 7

Behind the Keyboard is a series of interviews with different Schitt’s Creek fanfic authors. The series will last as long as there is interest (from authors) and capacity (from me). If you are an author from the Schitt’s Creek fandom who would like to participate, send a DM to this account.  

Each author was given ten questions. The first five questions are the same for every author, the last five will vary.

Remember, this year’s Reading Challenge begins July 15, so polish up those MFL lists.

Let’s meet our next author:

railmedaddy/ @rmd-writes

How many fics have you written?

28 Schitt’s Creek fics, 44 fics in total

When did you publish your first fic on AO3?

February 2021

Describe your writing process from “Oh, I have an idea” to pushing publish on AO3. 

Basically once something sparks my imagination - a prompt, a tweet, a line of dialogue, something a friend has said - I go from that to saying to a friend/s “but what if—” or if I’m lucky, the entire plot springs to mind and I try and jot at least some of it down before I lose it, usually in someone’s DMs or a group chat cos it’s most convenient. I’ll copy those notes and any brainstorming that may have happened with friends into a google doc and once I’m ready to write, I use those notes as my initial outline. Sometimes I add more notes, sometimes I just write, it depends on the fic and my intentions for how long/complex it’ll be. 

The actual writing varies depending on time available/mood/whether the words are working. I do a lot of writing on my phone cos it’s convenient and I can write anywhere - on public transport, while dinner is cooking, from the bath tub.

For a longer fic, I’ll sometimes have a friend read along as I write, or I share snippets with some friends - that validation helps keep me going! It also helps to know that certain things are hitting the way I want them to. 

I tend to edit as I go, often editing the parts I’ve written before I start writing again. But once I’m done, I try and edit as if I’m betaing someone else’s work and then, depending on the fic and my mood, either have someone beta it or, more often than you’d think for someone who does a lot of beta work for others, just hit publish — once I come up with a title!! Titles are usually the trickiest part for me, quite often I have everything ready to go on ao3 and am sitting there trying to think of a title so I can post. 

Tell me about your most recent fic? What do you love about it? Is there anything you think you could have done better?

My most recent fic isn’t for Schitt’s Creek (I’m currently writing for three fandoms). But my most recent Schitt’s Creek fic is serendipity - a 601 word drabble, about David & Patrick’s first wedding anniversary that popped into my head.

If I can cheat and talk about my second most recent SC fic though, cos it’s a little more substantial - i hope this is forever - which is the second in a two-part series featuring artist!David and written within the framework of a poem that inspired the fic. As soon as I read the poem I knew I wanted to write this part of the story!

I loved working with a poem as a guide for the story, which isn’t something I’ve done before, and it was a fun way to add to a story that I hadn’t actually intended to write more of until I read the poem!

As for whether I could’ve done anything better, I mean there are always things that can be improved, tweaking the wording or punctuation etc but at some point you have to stop obsessing over those things and just do the thing! I don’t think I’d change anything substantial though, I’m pretty proud of this series, I think it’s some of my best writing. 

What advice would you give to someone who’s thinking about publishing their fic for the first time?

Do it! It’s terrifying, but if you have a friend to read over the fic first, not even to beta, just to read it and tell you how amazing you are, that can help with the nerves. My other trick is to hit post and then go to sleep so you’re not anxiously refreshing the page waiting to see if people are clicking (or is that just me?). Timezones mean that I can usually do this and then (hopefully) wake up to some lovely comments. 

Also, it’s cliché but it’s true - write what you want to read. If nothing else, you’ll have these stories to come back to for yourself. 

What’s one thing that you’d like to say to your favorite Schitt’s Creek character?

Just one thing? To just one character? Impossible!

The beginning, middle or end of a fic. Which do you like the most? Which is the worst?

Yes. 

Tricky question! I think I like writing the middle the most through - the guts of the fic, where all the things happen and you get to really have some fun. 

Worst is endings, I often struggle to actually finish a fic and know where to finish it, even if I have a clear end point in terms of plot. 

Are you interested in writing original fiction?

No, that’s not for me. I really enjoy playing with other people’s characters and delving into their stories, but original fiction isn’t something I aspire to. There are many fic writers out there who I’d buy original fiction from though!

When did you start writing?

I write a fair bit in my day job, helping other people to tell their stories, but it’s very different. I didn’t start writing fiction until February 2021 just before I posted my first fic! I hadn’t written fiction before that since high school which was… well, I’m the same age as Dan Levy so you do the maths. 

Outlines - yes or no?

Yes, but not always, and they vary in quality. Sometimes the outline is just a couple of dot points, or a line or two of dialogue and and a concept. Other times, it’s detailed, chapter by chapter with bits of dialogue and specific plot points I want to hit.

[ladytauria]

for the get to know your fic writer ask game!! i picked a lot but you are not obligated to answer them all haha

4, 10, 18, 26, 35, 55, 72

4. Where do you find inspiration for new ideas?

anywhere & everywhere!

my two most recent fic ideas were each inspired by a line from a fic. the last fic i posted was inspired by a headcanon i have, and for my current wips... two are prompt fills for jaytimweek (one from '22 & then one from '23 xD); one is inspired by a post from unhingedao3tags on twitter; & then the other two are inspired by daydreams i had!

10. Cltr+f "blinks" on your WIP & copy paste the first sentence/paragraph that comes up

so i decided to search the entire folder~ the first one that came up is one i've shared quite a few snippets for lately, so i decided to pick a different one. specifically, my vampire!tim wip, which i started purely because i thought of the following dialogue exchange (& a further conversation that's too long to paste for this) & it made me laugh

“Seriously, babybird, what are you, some kind of vampire?” This time, the pause [in typing] is longer. More deliberate. Tim turns his head until he can see Jason—arm propped up in the back of the computer chair, looking down at him with something like fond exasperation. Normally, this is enough to warm his chest, send his heart skipping a beat, despite how familiar the sight is becoming. This time, though, incredulity swallows the symptoms of his crush. “Uh… yes?” Jason blinks at him. “You’re fucking with me,” he says. “…no?” Tim raises an eyebrow. Jason blinks at him again; honest confusion painted all over his face. Tim ignores the little thrill he gets from being able to see Jason’s emotions unguarded. “You… really didn’t know?”

18. Do you title your fics before, during, or after the writing process? How do you come up with titles?

i title my fics as soon as i have a decent idea xD if it was inspired by a song lyric or quote or random phrase, it has a title from the start; sometimes i come up with one during; but i think most of the time i end up titling them after.

if i don't already have a title in mind, i usually end up coming up with one based off of a line or section of the fic~

26. Which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?

hmm.

probably "you know just what i need" because like... i had the idea one morning as i was waking up, came downstairs, and ended up writing half of it that first day. it took about a week, maybe two after that before i had the second half done, but... idk. it's probably the quickest i've ever written a fic over 2k words XD

35. What is one essential thing to remember when writing a villain? 

blanking on an answer for this one, tbh. writing villains is not my strong suit!

55. Of the characters you write for, which is your favorite? Has that choice been swayed at all by your followers/readers’ reactions to certain ones?

of all the characters i write for, my favorite is either the mermaid from voiceless, or the mc of my original novel~ (also v fond of a couple of the side characters lmao)

of fanfic specifically... i default to jason's pov a lot, but a lot of my favorite lines have come from tim's pov~

72. What order do you write in? front of book to back? chronological? favorite scenes first? something else?

usually it goes-- blurb the fic, write any scenes that pop out to me during the blurb (or which inspired the fic), and then write the fic beginning to end, inserting any prewritten scenes as they come up.

however, for two of my current wips, i've deviated. one of them, i skipped over the beginning, & only recently added it in xD & then for the other, i wrote the beginning & end before the middle. so... it varies? xD

[ get to know your fic writer ask game ]

[2-wuv]

CHaRaCTR BINGO 4 FIRST 3 CHaRaCTRS 2 POP IN UR HEaD (OR MORE OR LESS. UP 2 U) l l3>

HAIIII HI HI BESTIE HAI :3c

ok first is Pain Threshold:

again trying to keep to My thouhts on canon characters not oue sysmates but soemtimes. the System Bias™ is difficult to . ignore FHDJSKDKFFJ ESPECIALLY W PT! FJDJSKFJF

so like. I! Love Her. So Much. I care abt her somuch she's so niceys here and we'd be in hell without her around but also. I would run up behind her and slap her in the baxk of the head and run away I would beat the shit out of her I would kill her if givent je chance I would activate PvP SOOOO HARDDDD ON HER. but that's bc we're in the same group [Physique] so it's liek sibling violence hereGJDKDKFKGJG

CANON PT THOUGH IS SOOOOOOOO. SCREAMS!!!!!!! VIBRATES!!! GIRL THERE IS SOMETHING WRONG WITH YOUUUUU. <3. LIKE WHAT THE FUCK FOR EXAMPLE:

[also ft. composure whom is also not normal btw! 👍]

She's just sooooo. Idk. I care abt her both source & in-sys. she's Importance. I'm normal. I would not hesitate to kill her and she would not hesitate to kill me WE'RE BESTIES <3 FHDJSJFKFKFFK

SECOND UP IS CONCEPTUALIZATION:

ok so source Concept like. I do not enjoy him much. Like. Like. Xe gives off Pretentious Artist Vibes. aHfjFjdjdjsjwjd which I guess tracks!!!!! from its in-game description: "Conceptualization has a special role it wants you to play in this world – not the role of cop, but of Art Cop." THAT'S SO SILLY!!!!! ZE'S silley. Like I cannot take their ass seriously I'm sorryFJCKSKFKFJD

But besides that she's not A Major Asshole just. Ju.gh.ead levels of Weird Pretentiousness source-wise! BFNXNXCNGJ

system-wise tho it's like. Well I *have* to respect you or you'll erase me! [HYPERBOLE] FJJDFKDKDKF

also has one of our fave lines in the game:

like what fhe fuck!!!!!!!!!!!!! one of the dialogues ever tjanks!!

in conclusion I'm rotating hym in my brain thankyou 4 coming 2 my ted talk

AND FINALLY!!!! HALF LIGHT!!!:

IM NORMAL ABOUT THIS KID [LIE] POINTS!!!!!!!!!!!! HTAT'S MY ADDOPTED SIBLING WAOW!!!!!!

ok sO!!!! this fuckigm. THING. this goddamn CREATURE of a skill. ok. ok! ok!!!!!!!!!! sys bias is Extremely hard 2 ignore w it! because we saw it and were immediately like THAT THANG IS A WHOLEASS KID and thhe fandom barely agrees???!!!!!! UNDERSTANDABLE PEOPLE CAN HAVE DIFFERENT INTERPRETATIONS BUTEVERYONE IS WRONG ABY THIS ONE THIS TIME SORRY! [JOKE!!!!! DO NOT KILL ME] so that's my unpopular opinion there!

ok where do i Start. uhhhh. this kid. thIS KID!!!!!! OH MY GOD the embodiment of fight or flight and trauma responses. ok. OK!!!!! SOMEONE GIVE THIS LIL GUY LOVE AND ATTENTION STAT WHAT THE FUCK! EHAT THE FUCK DUDE!!! it's incredibly violent and SCARED and waht the fuck who hurt youuu!!!!!!!!! oh my god dude!!!!!!

has done nothing wrong ever. "It actively encourages Harry to kill" ok and! maybe it's right. <3. have u ever thought of That. like. Half Light is Harry's inner child and Half Light most certainly deserves a gun!!!!!! LET THAT KID KILL thank u HFJFKDSKDKDJCJCJD

As much as I love and care for this bastard however I would not like to meet canon half light irl. Because. It would take one look at me and very very much attempt to actually kill me. and I would not like to die anytime soon! JFKCKCCKFKFKFK

and ik I crossed off "I like the fanon better for this one" but when we say that Assume we mean "I like whatever version of them exists in our system better than rhe canon version" it is especially true for half light LMAO

SO! i support children's rights AND wrongs [read: Half Light should be allowed to kill WHENEVER it wants. for whatever reason.] However I am not exempt from the Cain Instinct I'd absolutely defenestrate it if given the chance JFNDMDNFNFFNSJRJ

-Electrochem

[kirbydots]

Jim Hammond and/or Danny Ketch for the character meme!

Character ask game

For Jim:

Sexuality headcanon: In my heart, he’s bi and ace!

OTP: Jim and Namor! The two characters have so much history together, stretching back to the Golden Age! Their dynamic is one of my favorites in comics, especially because of how Jim brings out a different side of Namor that most don’t see. The dialogue they have about one another in canon and Elseworlds… it makes me feel so many emotions.

BROTP: Either him and Namor (see above) or him and Vision! He barely interacts with Vision, but there’s such potential there!

NOTP: Jim and Toro. That’s his fucking son! Disgusting!

First headcanon that pops into my head: Cats universally adore him.

Favorite line from this character: As with Ragman, he’s got a ton of amazing lines that are burned into my brain forever, but that one moment where he says “but how good are you at fighting cancer?” makes me fucking lose it so it’s going here.

One way in which I relate to this character: His feelings of alienation from humanity, how he can never truly fit in no matter how hard he tries are very relatable to me as a neurodivergent and physically disabled person.

Thing that gives me second-hand embarrassment about this character: His beard almost always looks terrible and he looks awful with short hair.

Cinnamon roll or problematic fave? …does threatening to give supervillains cancer count as problematic?

For Danny

Sexuality headcanon: Aroace!

OTP: Nobody! He’s got chemistry with basically nobody, and I rarely ship characters anyway.

BROTP: Him and Noble! I miss Noble, and it’s an utter crime that Noble’s basically been thrown out of comics. Danny’s had a conga line of spirits with no discernible personality beyond “diet Zarathos” when his original spirit was so fascinating! Of the two, Noble was the more heroic— not the other way around like with most Ghost Riders! Noble was this almost comedic force for good, unwilling to kill, running around yelling about avenging innocent blood. His dynamic with Danny is my favorite spirit and host dynamic, and it makes me so sad that it’s gone.

NOTP: Danny and Johnny. Honorable mention to Danny and Noble, for the same reason of them being related.

First headcanon that pops into my head: I think Danny and Robbie would have a fascinating dynamic. I think they’d get along if they were actually able to interact— I think Danny should have been the mentor figure to Robbie as opposed to Johnny. Their experiences line up a lot more than Robbie and Johnny’s would, and I’d love to see the clash between lawful good Noble Kale, who would rather let himself get shot to bits than hurt an innocent, and whatever the fuck is going on with Eli.

Favorite line from this character: The scene where he’s dying, and he begs Ghost Rider to take care of his family gets me every fucking time.

One way in which I relate to this character: I, too, tend to look my best when I’m doing my worst. Blue Danny is such a good look, but the writing makes me want to commit a felony.

Thing that gives me second-hand embarrassment about this character: Sometimes I question whether I like him at all because nearly every book he’s been in is atrocious and he’s been in characterization limbo for upwards of a decade. Jason Aaron go to hell before you die challenge. I don’t believe in hell but I do believe that this man is going there.

Cinnamon roll or problematic fave? Problematic, unfortunately. He’s done some atrocities. I forgive him though.

[tired-beholding-bitch]

with a love so sweet (in your heart, in your heart)

well

what was I to do, not write a fluffy Valentine's Day fic?

yeahh not a chance. how I love writing obnoxiously in love people. and i especially love writing obnoxiously in love idiots

if you couldn’t tell, yes, I have been thinking nonstop about the Soup Sickfic universe since two days ago and I could not live without this -- it just makes me so happy to write them being happy and also dumb and also having big fat crushes on each other ✨

hope this will make you just as happy reading it as it did for me while i was writing it :)

happy valentine's day! 💕❤

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«Does- does the ice cream taste haunted, to you?»

Martin, for the second time this month, isn't completely certain about how he found himself in his current predicament, exactly.

The predicament being, at the moment, the fact he's sitting down on a park bench, eating ice cream with his boss who maybe-kind-of doesn't hate him, actually. On Valentine's Day. And freezing his butt off in the process, because parks are not places to be in February. And also panicking, a little bit, because he might be almost, somewhat, a bit in love with said boss.

Also, that isn't completely accurate, now that he thinks about it.

And he will think about it, because it's still a better option than staring at Jon as he oh so carefully eats his ice cream.

(It's one scoop of rum and raisin, an old lady ice cream order, and he's eating it with a little plastic spoon despite asking for a cone, painstakingly slowly, savouring each tiny spoonful with great concentration. Which is also very old lady-like.

Martin shouldn't find that as endearing as he does, he's pretty sure.

However. It isn’t his fault it’s adorable. He sort of feels like he's about to collapse, with the amount of blood too busy rushing to his face to attend to any of the other very important functions it should attend to.

It doesn't help that his hair is tied back in a hastily fastened bun, messy and practical, that somehow still manages to look effortlessly artsy on Jon.

There are a couple of loose strands framing the angles of his face in a way that makes Martin's heart stutter in his chest, vague metaphors crowding his mind in flashes – something about loving hands carving wood in the shape of him, and about the sun kissing his eyes golden, and just. It's a lot.

He will not think about that. He cannot.)

In fact, unfortunately, he knows how he ended up in this situation.

It was Tim. Of course it was Tim.

Tim, who has been incredibly obnoxious about prodding and teasing and needling him into asking Jon on a date ever since the Great Soup Incident, as it's been referred to since they all went out for drinks once his flu had completely relented.

That was three weeks ago.

Martin has not known any peace since.

Tim had initially pitched his theory on that first evening back, over their third pint of beer – the two previous rounds, in Martin's humble opinion, being the only reason he could ever come up with such an idea at all.

«I think Jon likes you, Marto.» he had said, casual as anything, an arm around his shoulders ready to slap his back when inevitably the words registered and he almost choked to death on his drink.

Sasha had raised an eyebrow, looking at them from across the table. She didn’t comment, even though it was obviously a sign of alcohol poisoning starting to set in and they should have gotten Tim to an hospital as soon as possible, probably. Far from letting it drop, her silence only served as further encouragement for Tim to elaborate.

«No, no – hear me out, alright? What I think – and not only I'm amazing, in general, I also know the both of you very well –, yes, so what I think is that Jon is panicking. Why, you ask? Well, naturally because he has a big old crush on you, Martin, my friend! And he has no idea how to deal with that because he's also been an ass to you!» Tim had explained, cheerful, like his reasoning made perfect sense and not at all like he was about to blackout from a concussion, which would have been the more logical conclusion.

He had turned to Sasha in despair, silently begging her to agree with him – she's so level-headed, surely she was going to see that there was no rhyme or reason to any of that, no universe in which Jonathan Sims had a crush on him. On him. It's simply unthinkable. Preposterous.

Sasha had looked him straight in the eye. Then she had smiled, light and dangerous.

«Actually, I agree with Tim. It really sounds like a Jon thing to do.» she had said. The traitor. That’s when he first realised his friends are cruel, awful people, mocking him so.

And it hadn't stopped there, either.

It's been three very long weeks of constant nudges and winking and a lot of elbows planting in Martin's side every time Jon was in the same room as all of them, supposedly doing something prove Tim's convictions.

Except it never stopped.

It was all the time, while Jon was in his general vicinity. Even in the remote, extremely unlikely scenario in which it could have been useful data to prove his point, Martin doubts it could have been an accurate analysis of Jon's behaviour anyways.

Because the thing is, he couldn’t exactly deny that something different had happened.

That something had changed, after that Thursday evening in Martin's flat.

Jon is… trying.

He apologised properly, for one.

He's less harsh on his mistakes, which makes it easier for him to relax and make less mistakes, which in turn makes Jon smile at him, now, apparently?

Jon smiling at him is a thing that happens, now.

He'll bring him his first cup of tea of the morning, as he has been doing since he was transferred to the Archives and which never prompted anything more than a mumbled, distracted thank you before. And even that only when Jon noticed him leaving the mug on his desk.

But the Monday following the Great Soup Incident he had looked up from the statement he was busy glaring at when Martin had knocked on his office door, and he had thanked him with the same quiet, delicate tone he had used while he was sitting on his bed and giving him water and medicine. Like this was a perfectly normal thing to do.

And he had smiled at him. It was a small thing – it had scrunched up his nose, a little.

Martin had almost spilled the tea, startled, and then he had stammered something about work to do and nonexistent families to contact and had rushed out of the room before Jon could register the glowing red blush on his cheeks, or the fact his eyes had very much lingered on his lips. On the way the unfamiliar expression barely pulled the corners up, softening his features, as he wondered how it would feel to kiss that smile wider. To hear him laugh, maybe.

(He's pretty sure the day he hears Jon laugh is the day he dies.

Martin just knows – it simply isn't something he'll be able to survive, not with the way his breath catches on the faint lines that appear around his eyes when he's happy, something aching and sweet tightening like a fist around his heart every time he manages to smooth out the semi-permanent frown on his forehead.)

And, yes, maybe it is a bit weird that Jon also takes his lunch break with him.

Honestly, it's really weird he stops for lunch at all – Martin has been concerned about him not eating for months, and they have all been taking turns to try and needle him into taking a break with varying degrees of success – but it's especially so that whenever he does decide to have lunch, it's because Martin asks.

That... never seemed to be the case, before.

But he can't really complain, and it eases some of the ever-present worry about Jon working himself too hard that he has to wrestle with on a daily basis.

What’s more, he gets to sit across from him at a cafe table and longingly gaze at him as he gestures wildly with his sandwich while he goes on some tangent or other about deep sea gigantism or the questionable accuracy of historical records or another surprisingly fascinating topic Martin knows nothing about. He would listen to a two-hour lecture on the merits of white rice over balsamic vinegar with no regrets, if it meant he got to witness Jon's hair bouncing happily as he got more and more animated, hands dancing in front of him, cheeks going red because he forgets to stop talking to take a breath more often than not.

Along with other evidence – as Tim keeps calling the strange little instances of Jon doing distinctly un-Jon-like things – and the fact that his co-workers are bastards, Martin really had every reason to not be surprised at all when he walked into the Archives, that morning, and was greeted by an incredibly tense standoff between Jon and Tim himself. At his desk, for some reason.

However, Martin is also an idiot, and he was surprised.

Even more so when this was somehow followed – in a turn of events that left him kind of dizzy, holding on for dear life to a world that had mostly made sense five minutes before – by Jon stammering out an unbelievably awkward you– since Tim refuses, w-we are set to investigate a supposedly cursed ice cream parlour later, Martin. Don’t leave for lunch before one, please before promptly disappearing inside his office with not but a glance back, leaving Martin to gape at the closed door like a very confused fish.

So, yeah. This – this being the fact that he just had to utter the words does this ice cream taste haunted to you and also probably the cold he will end up nursing after sitting on a park bench in February – is all Tim’s fault.

He set them up. Like. Like they’re in a corny Christmas romcom, except it’s not Christmas and also this is real life and also Jon is his boss and there isn’t one single chance in the world he would not think Martin’s embarrassing crush on him is anything other than that. Embarrassing. Tim is delusional. And also an awful friend trying to make him embarrass himself, like he doesn’t manage well enough on a daily basis.

Except.

Jon doesn’t, in fact, turn around to glare holes into him, or try to drown Martin in his single scoop of rum and raisin, or even simply get up to walk away like he figured would happen in the best case scenario.

No.

Jon does the one thing he could have never even begun to imagine would happen.

He snorts.

It’s such a small sound Martin would think he hallucinated it, if not for the fact his own body wouldn’t betray him like this, making him think up something that sends his brain into a frantically blinking blue screen error, not able to process literally any thought besides.

Jon. Laughing – and not about anything, but laughing at Martin’s awkward attempt at lightening up the somehow tense atmosphere that had settled upon them, desperately trying to ease Jon into the comfortable, playful banter he had gotten used to hearing from him during their lunch breaks at the cafe.

A part of him is really smug about it.

He was right. He died. He must have done something right in his life and also his mother’s pastor was wrong, clearly, because he died and this must be Heaven.

Jon’s laugh is, possibly, the most adorable thing about him to date.

(That’s saying something, considering Martin spends a considerable amount of time cataloguing every cute thing about Jon in a growing list in his head.

The fact every new thing he discovers usually bumps up to first place immediately, displacing the previous one, is irrelevant. So is the fact first and second place are also irrelevant per se, because it’s simply impossible to classify them objectively anyway.)

He’s really proud of himself, actually.

Not only he made Jon laugh, he also did not immediately melt in an adoring puddle on the ground next to him. He’s just blushing. A lot. If he tries very hard he can probably pass it off as rightful awkwardness at asking an incredibly stupid question.

That is, until Jon – for some unfathomable reason, that Martin cannot begin to guess and that sends his poor overworked brain into yet another shortcircuit – casually puts a hand on his arm, steadying himself as his laughter dies out slowly.

It’s just – too much. The way his fingers tighten a bit, enough that he can feel the pressure even through his coat. How Jon looks up at him, a smile still playing on his lips, and there’s the tiniest smudge of ice cream right at the corner of his mouth.

No one can blame him for losing control of his mouth.

«Jon. Is– is this… a date?» he asks, and then immediately slaps a hand over his face in despair, wishing there was a way to physically grab the words and put them back.

There isn’t.

He keeps his hand on his face because he cannot possibly face him after this – not as he immediately starts trying to come up with a good enough apology for all that. There aren’t enough apologies in the world, probably.

Hey, sorry, it’s just I’ve been pining after you for a year and you suddenly decided I was someone worth smiling at and it’s becoming really difficult to, y’know, not fall in love with you even more. Terribly sorry about all that.

Yeah, no.

Before he can do the sensible thing – which, he suspects, would be learn very quickly how to vanish into thin air – Jon starts talking instead. He… also doesn’t let go of Martin’s arm, even though currently he’s using that hand to cover his eyes, which means his knuckles are brushing against his cheek.

Martin is going to have a heart attack.

«No. No, this- this is a case follow-up. F-for an incredibly idiotic case.» Jon says, and there’s a hint of humour in his voice, irony masking something deeper. Martin can’t quite detect what it is – nervousness, maybe? But why would he–

«B-but. We could, if you- if you were amenable and you, of course only if you wanted it to be a- a date, we could. Go. On one. A date? T-together?»

Oh.

It’s enough to convince him to glance cautiously in Jon’s direction, peeking through his fingers. Jon is looking at him very expectantly, and in the sun it’s easy to see he’s blushing, too, a little.

He’s smiling.

It’s a new one, all subdued, sweet as honey. It’s also the fondest expression Martin has seen on his face yet, softening the sharp angles of him into something novel, warmer than the crisp February air could ever be. He wants to cradle that expression in his hands and memorise every detail of it.

It’s comforting, in some way, to find out Jon is also an idiot.

«Jon. Jon. If I’m amenable? I’ve– I’ve been sighing after you for almost a- a year. Yes. God, yes, I’m amenable.» he says, and it’s exasperated and yet he can’t even pretend to hide the quivering happiness in his tone, the grin splitting his face that he can’t seem to get rid of.

He doesn’t think he imagines Jon’s blush growing deeper, either, or the mumbled how would I know, it wasn’t that obvious that he muffles into his shoulder.

He isn’t even mad Tim was right.

(The ice cream tastes much better after that.

Probably because he has to hold it with one hand, the fingers of his right intertwined with Jon’s as they make their way back to the Institute.

And yes, they forget to let go of each other before entering the Archives. Because they’re both idiots and they were too busy sneaking extremely-not-subtle looks at each other to realise their mistakes, apparently.

«I told you it was going to work, Sash!!! They couldn’t possibly be that dense.»)

[cherrykindness]

let's make babies |

pairing: Harry Styles x Actress!Reader

summary: you and harry are doing a live on instagram, you've drunk a lot of wine and now the world knows that the future Mrs. Styles is ready to make babies.

warnings: mostly cute, but the title tells you what you need to know 🤪

"What is your favorite song from the Fine Line album?" Y/N read aloud, twirling in her right hand the second glass of wine of the evening, the one already halfway through. "Adore You and Watermelon Sugar, of course."

Harry giggled, rolling his eyes upon hearing his fiancée's statement.

"Y/N will always choose Adore You because it was obviously written for her." He accused. "She wouldn't give that answer under different circumstances."

The comments climbed up the screen continuously, most fans gushing about how cute Harry Styles and YN/LN could be while the other part was concerned with wringing even more information out of the slightly inebriated couple who had decided to do a surprise live one early Sunday morning.

As expected after being away for some time to begin filming Don't Worry, Darling in Southern California, Harry enjoyed a lazy weekend in the house he shared with his fiancée and her pets. The days were filled with late naps and relentless Netflix marathons, sublime and ethereal evenings, marked mostly by unexpected declarations and rounds of sex that used to last until the beams of light were shyly coming through the linen curtains. They were not a monotonous couple, so this order could easily be changed.

"Watermelon Sugar is nothing more than about my love for watermelons, don't get too creative." Harry replied to a fan while sporting a corner smile, the message standing out among the rest for its dozens of emojis and large print, questioning the singer about erotic content behind the lyrics of his latest hit. "I really don't know what you guys are talking about."

Y/N laughed, shaking her head before leaning it against her fiancé's chest, propped up on the soft white pillows that were spread practically all over the bed. The air conditioner was on at a minimal temperature and a light rain whipped on the panes of glass camouflaged by the cream-colored curtain, that being the projection of Y/N's favorite nights.

"You can tell them, I'm not shy." She joked, nudging her fiancé's waist.

"You know what it was written about and who it was written for." Harry replied, raising one of his eyebrows. "That's what matters."

It went without saying that much of Harry's newest album, as well as some of his earlier work, had been done in exclusive dedication to his future wife. Y/N had been the muse for a vast repertoire of romantic songs, and even though the singer preferred to keep the story behind his more explicit compositions a "secret", the relationship the two had shared for more than three years was already solid and known enough for the media and fans to distinguish hidden messages in small details.

"It's a song about what usually comes before the act of making babies." Y/N laughed as he pointed at the display. "Honestly, you guys are impossible."

"No, we make babies every day." Harry joked, making a funny motion with his eyebrows. "I would spend my entire career writing just about that."

"Harry!" The actress exclaimed incredulously, slapping her fiancé weakly on the chest. "Children might be watching this."

"You don't want to have babies with me?" He asked falsely offended, accepting the cup that Y/N offered him. "Because I want some babies with you."

Y/N laughed, rolling her eyes as she watched the internet freak out at the dialogue that had suddenly emerged. Since the beginning of the quarantine, it was kind of inevitable that the couple of artists would not become the darlings of all social media; they were fervently active with photos, videos, and lives that depicted step by step daily life in isolation, gaining more and more followers and making the media more and more fascinated by the relationship they both shared.

The wedding was scheduled for the summer of next year and it was perhaps the most anticipated event in the tabloids. Bets about what the model of Y/N's dress would be and lists presuming who would be selected for the short list of guests stood out among countless news stories about the famous people influencing pop culture today.

The possible arrival of a Styles baby was an inevitable topic in interviews. Harry and Niall were the only members of the ex-boyband that had not become fathers yet, and because they had maintained a solid relationship and were seen as one of the most enviable couples during the last four years, Y/N and Harry had gotten used to all this openly asked questions. They didn't mind, they even had fun with the montages and all the anxiety that dominated the whole internet, often mentioning the fandoms' efforts to represent them as such "cool" parents in perfectly edited pictures.

"No, guys, I'm not pregnant." Y/N amusingly clarified the doubt of dozens of new comments. "Please don't believe so many controversial news stories that appear out there. I was on twitter last week and saw several people theorizing about a possible pregnancy, most of the arguments based on a website that used photos from the set of How to Get Away with Murder in the season where I was actually playing a pregnant woman as Laurel." She laughed. "It's so funny! I know you guys love to guess these things, but we won't hide something so special when it actually happen, I promise."

"Especially because Y/N can hide absolutely nothing from anyone." Harry accused, leaving his drink on the corner table before settling into a comfortable position for the two of them. "Anyone who's a Marvel fan knows that. That's one of her most characteristic quirks."

"They gave me a fake script for the last two movies." Y/N agreed, shaking his head. "For me and Tom."

"We agreed to keep the engagement a secret for a while. The plan was to travel to Holmes Chapel to break the news to my family in person, but guess who got a call at ten o'clock at night from an angry Anne because she learned of her son's engagement from an interview Y/N gave the next day?"

Y/N gave a guilty smile, winking gracefully at the camera. "It was all James' fault! I'm sure he already suspected something, those questions were very suspicious."

"Of course the questions were suspicious, babe. You literally said you had a secret that involved both of us but that you couldn't tell because it was important that our families knew first."

"I thought he would think about a pregnancy or something!" The actress defended herself, feeling very convincing in her intonation bordering on obviousness. "That's a mania I can't get rid of, it's in my genes."

"Did you all hear that? Further proof that you guys don't have to worry about guessing when Y/N's pregnancy will be, I'm sure our baby will make sure to tell you everything while still in the womb, mom's genes will make sure of that."

"You are so funny, Harry Styles." Y/N sarcastically stated, holding back a giggle as countless messages with laughing emojis were frantically up. "Yeah, I know I talk a lot and all, but you have annoying quirks too."

It was obvious that live would be news the next day. Although they were completely open about matters concerning their relationship, nothing seemed better than receiving so much exclusive information from a Harry and S/N drunk on expensive wine.

"You wake up in a bad mood and you're dangerously sexy, that should be illegal."

Harry laughed, holding his fiancée's waist a little tighter as he felt her tumble a little further to the side, getting closer and closer to the edge of the bed. Y/N was dangerously weak for drinks, and the singer knew that the actress' body was already near its limit.

"You're the only sexy person here, love." He declared with a corner smile, evidently finding the whole situation funny. "Do you want to go to sleep now?"

"No." Y/N shook her head. "Can we watch some movie? Can we watch Sweet Home?"

"Of course, love." He murmured, giving the woman a quick kiss on the forehead.

Even though Harry knew that his fiancée was unlikely to make it past the five-minute mark of the episode, he made sure to restart the korean series at exactly the scene where she had stopped, the first chapter still halfway through after Y/N realized that it would be impossible to watch such a macabre work without a drop of alcohol in her blood.

She had been so excited by the taste of Argentinian wine and the idea of updating her fans after a few weeks away, that she had forgotten the main purpose of the live. Harry and Y/N had been apart for a few days due to the new movie the Brit was shooting in North America, all happening in an unrestrictedly careful manner due to the restrictions caused by the pandemic.

He was slowly migrating towards acting and the future Mrs. Styles couldn't be prouder. Y/N had felt on cloud nine when Harry had given her the news of his upcoming job, but her only pronouncement on the subject had been a succinct post on instagram. Just a photo of the couple on a trip to Germany with a simple heart emoji didn't seem enough for the actress' exhibitionist soul, and coming to that conclusion was the main reason she decided to invite him, already relatively changed, for a live appearance. Y/N wanted to go on and on about how much she loved that man and work on that whole honeyed speech that would bring her (once again) the title of "cutest bride of all time," but of course Harry had to come home from his trip with his favorite red wine and poison her with those sweet caresses that took her out of orbit, turning the degree of alcohol content into the least of her problems.

"You're going to kiss Florence." Y/N exclaimed suddenly, as if only now realizing that her fiancé would share the screen with Florence Pugh, one of her closest friends in that industry. "Kiss on the mouth."

The MacBook was still open and hundreds of new comments were going up every second, but Harry didn't bother one bit to warn her about the possibility of her becoming a meme the next day. He was having too much fun with the situation to worry.

"Are you jealous?"

"Yes." She stated with a pout. "I am jealous, I just don't know if I'm more jealous of her or of you."

"But you kiss me every day, babe." Harry laughed. "And you've been kissing other people's men for almost ten years." He joked.

"But I only think about you, I already told you that."

Harry shook his head negatively at the camera, knowing he was sharing with the fans the funniest side of his fiancée.

"I know that, honey." He assured, lightly stroking the actress' back. "I think we'd better turn off the TV and go to sleep now, I'm sure you'll have a terrible headache tomorrow."

The brit planned to bid his audience goodbye and put an end to that recording, but Y/N was drunk and her sense of right and wrong had already gone to space. Harry should have been quicker, however, because his fiancée's speech would be cause for new tags and the only subject for the interviewers for at least the next few months.

"I don't want to sleep, how about we make babies?"

That's what Watermelon Sugar was all about, after all.

[wincore]

atlas | kim dongyoung

pairing: doyoung x reader

words: 15.4k

summary: kim doyoung has a lot of titles. student body president, music club president, favourite student of every professor who’s blessed enough to have him. in other words, he’s not your type and never will be. at least he’s a good kisser.

or, you feel the weight of the world on your shoulders and you do not know how to hold things as delicate as glass.

genre: college au, fwb au, hurt/comfort, angst, some fluff 

warnings: very suggestive content, making out, language, smoking, alcohol, mentions of sex under influence, me being pretentious,,

prompt: anonymous said: slippery + doyoung + "you can rely on me, you know." from the first dialogue link! LOVE YOU ❤️

song rec(s): playlist here !

a/n: yes it’s me experimenting out of my comfort zone again. yes you are required by law to listen to keshi while reading this hahahaha anyway writing this was painful. <3 (aka today i tried writing very complex human emotions and failed again. classic.)

In the beginning, there was no beginning. Ergo, this isn’t really a thing.

You shouldn’t be thinking of summer in Introduction to Latin. You are a good (perhaps great, if your ego allows) student after all. Here you are, though, listening to the ticking of the clock and wondering if you sigh loud enough, you won’t have to construct another sentence with the word for ‘death’. You pause to tell yourself that you shouldn’t be thinking of summer out of class either. Unremarkable; that's what it was and you don’t like unremarkable things.

When two people end up alone together, there’s not much to make of. 

“You know,” he had said, locking eyes. “We should get out of here.”

“And then what?”

“Fuck.”

So here’s the thing: this isn’t and won’t be a thing.

Doyoung has never been subtle when drunk, you found out, and he’s not as gentle as he looks. You flip the page of your notebook absentmindedly. You don’t like where your thoughts are going; the clinking of ice against glass rings in your ears again. It’s been far too long (one whole month) and you’re craving a bit of fun. You may forget yourself but you’re reaching your fingertips a little too far to call him again. More excuses pop up. See, in your world of perfection, there’s a hierarchy of things; men rank rather low. 

(Fun doesn’t.)

Here’s another thing: you forget yourself quite often. You know very well that you’re the one who continued this not-thing and now you’re daydreaming of Kim Doyoung in class hours. 

And under grey bed sheets with a tired smile, Doyoung is hard to forget. 

It was a party, it always is. That time, however, was the first party of the year Doyoung and you happened to be attending at the same time. You can’t remember who hosted it—the frat probably—but it was at a bar called the ‘The Meeting Place’ which had too many people you didn’t care about. Doyoung was there, in his laid-back glory, and you were drawn in far too easily. Being single did not help your case—and the alcohol certainly didn’t. You’re not sure if it was the gentle touches against your wrist or quick words that left his mouth or the attractive all-black get-up. All you know is that it was your mouth against his by the end of the night in a small booth, hot and impatient. Once, twice, thrice and you didn’t even need parties anymore. 

It’s not like you weren’t aware of what you were doing; it’s just that you were quick to give in—like you didn’t want to resist in the first place. And now, summer smells like Doyoung’s perfume. 

The first night had given Mr. Student Body President a near-stroke. You weren’t the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men at parties either so the morning had been full of awkward explanations to each other till you’d kissed him to shut him up (much like in a disgusting romantic comedy, minus the feelings) and somehow, it worked. He didn’t refuse and if you recall, he’d eventually pulled you closer by the waist.

You huff, twirling your pen. He’d never admit it.

You didn’t kiss so sloppily after that, unless it was to make out against a wall or while fumbling with the keys to your apartment. The lack of alcohol can bring wonders. You were a little surprised that he’d agreed—he is the Doyoung you’ve known since freshman year after all; blunt, rude, cares more for his grades than he’d ever for you. How laughable. He’s almost the same as you.

Here’s one last thing: Kim Doyoung is not and cannot be your type. 

You had the same part-time job in your second semester at a local fast food joint, and to summarize, your interactions were less than friendly. You can’t possibly count the number of times he yelled at you for trivial mistakes, and the number of times you sent angry, clipped sentences his way. So, yes, neither of you have told anyone—just acting friendly got you enough eyebrow raises.  If there’s anything worse than contradicting yourself almost directly, it’s having to explain that to your friends. So, you kept it a secret and so did he, for his own reasons.

You massage your forehead. If you think any more of this during class hours, you’re going to have to classify this as a terrible, terrible problem; like you don’t have enough already. You tune in to the lecture again, hoping it drowns out the rest of your thoughts. 

You tap your pen against the desk till you’re asked to stop by the professor. There goes your last resort. It isn’t the first time, but you breathe a sigh of relief at the hands of the clock. Casual means casual—you know it better than anyone. Maybe it would be easier if you could be more open about it. But you can’t. Your own problems aside, Doyoung would kill you if his reputation went down, even a nick. Men like that are so difficult, you curse to yourself. 

You run into Ten in the hallways, brightening at his absurdly wide grin. In fact, you haven’t seen him remotely upset since freshman year, when he couldn’t join the dance club, not because he failed the audition but because he mixed up the dates and missed it entirely. (It’s okay; he got in the next year.)

“Guess what!” he yells before you’re even in conversation range.

“What?” you yell back.

“No, guess,” he says, when you’re close enough.

You roll your eyes. “You scored a date?”

Ten deadpans. “No. I don’t even want one.”

“Loser.”

“No, you.”

“How clever.”

Ten flicks your forehead with no provocation whatsoever, making you yelp in pain. After a minute of cursing on your part, he squishes your cheeks to bring you back to reality—like he wasn’t the cause. You bite your lip to keep yourself from scowling. His hair is still light brown from the bleach, and you fix his bangs out of habit; your dumb friends are all you have at the end of the day. You sigh. They all lean on you unwittingly.

“Anyway, the news? I’m not guessing anything else,” you warn, taking a sip of your coffee.

“Well,” he draws out the syllable. “I heard- know you’re into the smart type. You know, student council kinda guys? So…”

You choke, the coffee leaving your mouth just as quick as it entered.

“Who told you that?” The laugh that leaves your mouth is forced and certainly fake but it’s the best you can do.

Ten rolls her eyes, still smiling. “I was thinking if you would be interested in a certain Park Hyungmin.”

Oh. Student body vice-president. He’s most definitely your type, with a gifted body and equally strong academic prowess—not to mention perfectly maintained tan skin and the most radiant smile you’ve ever seen in your life. 

“Oh, yeah, he’s hot,” you nod in agreement. “What do you want me to do with him?”

“He likes you. Like, totally has the hots for you. And I owe him so please help me out here.”

You furrow your brows, heaving a deep sigh.

“You...want me to go on a date with him?” you ask. 

You can oblige. Park Hyungmin is the hottest dude on campus (probably). It’s a win-win situation—in fact, it’s even better. A certain bitter taste finds itself in your mouth. It must be the coffee. You swallow it. 

“Yeah.”

And the deal’s done.

It was casual commitment, like most things you do for fun. You don’t think much of it, and the thought takes its final bow when you run into Doyoung himself.

Well, sort of.

You turn heel when he appears in your line of sight, pretending to fix your hair against a damn wall. You aren’t quite ready to face him yet, considering the coffee hasn’t kicked in—it’s not healthy how much you depend on it. Dependence is different, however, from consciously drowning yourself in it. 

See, Doyoung is anything but tolerable without a few shots of vodka. Or after sex. Or when he’s mumbling in his sleep. And you can’t erase any of those scenes. This is you trying to save yourself (and Doyoung) from embarrassment and a whole lot of explanation.

His coat looks expensive and you’d rather he had it on instead of on his arm. The tucked-in sweater and pants combo accentuates the line of his waist and the colour—you wonder where he found a teal so fitting—looks serene in the crowd. He’s wearing his glasses though, looking a little less put together than usual. Still, no one seems to notice and he continues to explain something to his group of friends.

God forbid you find Doyoung attractive during daytime.

His lips are chapped but pink as ever, the hair messed up by either the wind or his friends—you should stop staring by now. You give in. You’ll text him to book a hotel room tonight.

Sometimes you wonder how he has that large a friend circle, and always, the question answers itself. Eloquence, wit and regrettably, good looks—what does he lack? Maybe if he lost the habit to nag people around fifty-six times a day, he’d be the perfect man.  

An arm slings over your shoulder, punting the soul right out of your body.

“Fuck, Johnny, don’t do that,” you hiss, placing your hand over your chest involuntarily. 

The head of the photography club apparently spends his time terrorizing everyone he remotely knows. You make a foul expression but iIt’s not like he ever minds your scowling. He says he’s had enough practice from teasing Doyoung (and you’ll admit, it’s the only time you feel sorry for him). You were certain Doyoung would have filed him for harassment sometime in sophomore year. 

“What are you even looking at?” Johnny asks, raising an eyebrow at the plain offwhite expanse of the wall in front of you.

You feel hot at the neck. “I was fixing my hair.”

“In front of a wall?”

You click your tongue. “Do you not have class?”

“Oh, don’t be so quick to send me off.” He places a hand over his chest in mock hurt, fingers stretched delicately. 

To your dismay, the rest of his friends gather around giving you happy greetings—greetings only carefree college boys are capable of delivering. To your further dismay, Kim Doyoung arches an eyebrow at you, the same way he does on nights you’re doing things less than appropriate to think of in broad daylight.

“Hey, Doyoung, don’t you have anything to say? Or were you too drunk to remember?”

You bite down on your lip a little too hard. Doyoung, on the other hand, looks like he’s just seen God, stammering out a “what?” nevertheless.

“Weren’t you supposed to buy (name) a drink for driving you home that night?”

“Right,” he says, clearing his throat.

Oh, he’s bought you a drink enough times. Summer has waned but whatever thread you tied around your wrists hasn’t. Right now, your guess is that Doyoung has been ensnared in the common ritual for college boys to walk around campus and declare their friend is single just to embarrass him (or by some miracle, score him a date).

Everything, apart from the way you look at Doyoung, feels like a charade. You shake your head with a quick laugh, smacking Johnny in the arm and pay your condolences to Doyoung—keep it light. You’re good at it, or pretending you’re good at it, at the very least.

Doyoung’s gaze on you lingers for a moment and then you breathe. You’re going to be late for class—you offer the classic excuse and you’re out of there. In a way, it’s exciting. You’ve always wanted to have a secret relationship, even if this isn’t a real one. 

Doyoung is like the summer breeze, and you’d like for him to stay that way.

The next time you grace each other’s presence is when Doyoung’s tongue is in your mouth and his hands are running up under your shirt. 

He’s quite a pretty sight—messy hair, red lips and rosy cheeks. He moans into the kiss as he has quite a few times now and there’s the lovers’ high running through either of your minds. When he presses his lips to your neck, a soft restrained sound escapes you, not quite prepared for the sting of electricity through your skin. He moves to your collarbone and shoulders and then even lower, hands gripping your waist tight. The walls do not have ears here; these hotels are cheap but they’re built for privacy and maybe you’ll let yourself believe for once that you can belong to someone.

“Why did you text me in the middle of the goddamn night?” he mutters against the base of your neck.

“You want reasons now?” you whisper, hands running through his hair.

Doyoung has pretty fingers, pressing at the right places and prettier eyes that look at you with something akin to, dare you say it, love. He kisses you like he hasn’t had enough; and it makes you feel important.

He’s even better when he’s annoyed.

You wake up at around five in the morning. Propping yourself up on one arm, you take a moment to look at your partner. It’s easy to make out the line of his nose against the pillow, and if you focus, you can see his lashes against his cheek and his dark mop of hair clinging to his forehead. However gentle the moonlight is, it is kindest on a lover. 

Funny.

Too tired to sneak out, you go back to sleep.

“All I’m saying is that you have too much coffee,” Doyoung complains, slipping on his loose black sweatshirt. “It can’t be good for your health.”

You shake your head, scrolling through your phone as you lay on your belly. You’ve seen this view enough times—his back to you and sitting at the opposite edge of the bed, his incessant complaints and opinions about something that happened recently, running his hand through his hair when he sighs. You press on the calendar app and type in a note labeled ‘x’. Keeping tabs isn’t a bad thing; especially if you like order. Spending too many nights with someone is going to land you in trouble. That said, if you could trap love in a bottle, you would.

“You taste like coffee,” Doyoung adds with reddening ears.

Sometimes, it’s easy to ignore what he says if you listen to the sound of his voice instead. You sit up, scooting closer as Doyoung shoots you an alarmed look. He’s so cute like this; something about all the painted fences he puts up around him makes you want to lean in closer.

“So,” you poke his side. “How many relationships have you been in? Proper ones.”

“Three,” he answers, to your surprise.

Your eyebrows shoot up. “That’s more than I’ve been in!”

Doyoung furrows his. “How many have you been in?”

“One.”

He seems equally surprised but doesn’t probe further. After all, the price sticker that spells ‘youth’ clings to his forehead just as it clings to yours. 

“How many people have you fucked?” you ask suddenly, enjoying the visible flush across his neck.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he notes, flicking your forehead.

“Ow!” You place your palm against your forehead. “Okay, I get it, you have nothing to brag about.”

He shakes his head, an exasperated sigh leaving him. “I just don’t think you have to know. I like privacy.”

“Wait.” You gasp. “Don’t tell me- That night- don’t tell me you were a virgin—”

Doyoung squishes your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, a laugh erupting from your mouth. 

“Who’s a virgin?”

Nothing about this, you find yourself realizing, is complicated. It’s easy, gentle, natural, like a breath of fresh air—everything but complicated. Even under dim lights and within the depths of night, Doyoung is warm and uncomplicated. His chest, his hands, his lips—they are warm, as are his words. 

But Doyoung is a fucking fairytale.  

Even after these few months, all you know about him, in the definitive format, is that he plays the keys for more hours than he sleeps. What he does for fun, what his classes are, how he became student body president—you could play guessing games all night.

“Do your friends know where you spend your nights?” you ask, leaning back against the pillows.

“They know what I’m doing, not who I’m with,” he responds, running his fingers through his hair.

You purse your lips. It’s nothing hurtful but you don’t like the hush-hush in his tone.

“Why not?”

“Because this is a secret,” he responds as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Do you want them to know?”

He’s right.

“Ah, whatever,” you mutter, a stream of curses following when your elbow collides hard with the edge of the bedside table. 

“Your mouth is filthy.” He looks away to his phone. “I don’t swear as much.”

“Well, of course it is. I had your—”

Doyoung presses his palm against your lips with a tired sigh. “Please. Don’t speak. For the sake of my sanity.”

You smile under his hand and he returns it; and the November morning warms up.

“Where were you last night?”

You were expecting the question. Areum is the worst possible candidate for a roommate if you want some privacy. You don’t think she ever sleeps; sometimes, you wonder if she even showers because all she does is stare at her laptop screen and adjust her designs. Her lips are always chapped and her hair is always in a simple low ponytail but somehow still messy. You’ve never met someone so exhausted yet so full of life at the same time.

“Who were you with last night?” Eunji yells from the bathroom, before the two of them laugh.

You knew you shouldn’t have stayed the morning. You have the nosiest roommates anyone could (not) ask for. But they’re still your friends, you tell yourself begrudgingly. You would tell them about Doyoung if it weren’t for Eunji’s big mouth and Areum’s lack of common sense. And if it weren’t for the inherent comfort of privacy.

(Some part of you wants to keep him to yourself. You don’t care about student council president Doyoung or his friend group’s everything-regulator Doyoung or always-has-his-shit-together Doyoung. The one in your bed is the most loving.)

Areum adjusts her glasses, narrowing her eyes at you. “So? Any answer?”

You break out of your daydream at her voice, feeling a flush creep up your neck.

“I don’t have to explain anything,” you retort, snatching the coffee she brewed from the tabletop. “It was a Friday night and the two of you like Netflix more than me.”

“That’s mine,” Areum mumbles out a weak complaint.

“But don’t go out alone,” Eunji whines. “It can’t be safe.”

You laugh. “You know me. I don’t do anything too dangerous. Besides, you guys have that tracker app.”

They shrug, offering you a thin smile. A part of you is happy that they trust you but another part wonders what it would be like to be worried over. Maybe getting nagged isn’t so bad. 

You take a sip of Areum’s coffee and almost spit it out right back. 

“Did you add salt?” you ask, wiping at your mouth and hoping the taste disappears.

“Uh.” A reply so intelligent, you wonder if she ever pays attention to anything she's doing. 

You take a moment (a few), sigh (several times) and make your way to the shelves. Grumbling, you make her a proper cup of coffee before you leave.

Classes don’t wait for you (even if you think they should) and the world doesn’t wait for you (again, you think it should wait for people) so you’ve made it a point to understand the whole deal about rules. If everyone followed the rules, it would be quite a pretty scene; messing up is only valid if it’s done prettily. You laugh at the thought. That’s near impossible. The bus ride to the campus consists of music and thoughts of bleak tomorrows—an average commute for college kids, you think. You sure hope you aren’t alone in this.

Doyoung smiles at you in the hallway today, and despite your best efforts, it makes your day smell a little fresher.

Your day: classes, coffee break, classes, complaining with Ten, assignments, ‘me’ time. For someone who pretends to be laid back, you use your planner as though for survival. There’s no sticky notes or colourful sketches (except on occasion); just good old fashioned to-do lists and a calendar marked with time you’ve spent on productivity. Every day is a list to be completed. If people call routine a man-made cage, instinct is the biological cage. You’d rather be in control of the cage you’re in. You’d rather be in control of yourself. It’s scary otherwise.

So you know how to get the job done—it’s ingrained into you the same way you would place your hands over your ears at loud sounds, or the way you would run to your bed in the dark after switching off the lights.

It never occurs to you that the reason your world is so perfect is a sad one.

Sometime next month, it’s going to snow. Not yet though, and it’s still too cold.

The inside of the cafe helps the slightest, the heaters situated far back from where you sit. Christmas decorations are up already and the combination of red and green meshes delightfully into the form of an aching headache. The wood paneling on the walls are worn at the corners, the garlands hardly covering them, and the barista behind the counter seems as gloomy as the decorations are bright. You wouldn’t be noticing all of this if you weren’t stuck in one position.

You lean your cheek further into your palm and sigh, only this time Ten asks you to, quote, ‘shut the fuck up’.

He pulls up his sleeve and reaches for another pencil. His cryptic process continues, as it has been for the past half an hour and you feel yourself getting impatient, trying to not bounce your leg and get another bout of quibbling from your half-mad artist friend. You don’t usually run low on patience; but Ten has a special pass to test drive it.

“How much lon—”

“Shh!” He hushes you quickly. You can’t remember why you agreed to being his portrait study subject but you sure as hell regret it.

Around fifteen minutes later, you take a (permitted) breath. You have neither the energy nor the neck strength to glare at Ten but you make sure to show your displeasure by snatching the cookies from the table with a particularly sour look. He gets up and pushes you to the side of the small worn-out couch offered by the equally small booth.

“God, that chair was uncomfortable. My butt is frozen solid,” he lets you know, and you roll your eyes.

“You know, if we weren’t friends in high school, I would never be friends with you,” you state.

Ten tilts his head to the side, a mocking pout over his lips. “I would die without you, (name). Really.”

You smack his arm and he yelps, smacking your arm right back. The sound attracts some attention and giggles, and you make a gagging gesture to let them know you are in way or form in a relationship. The low-volume music changes to something with a more distinguishable beat, the sound of doors opening and closing almost every two minutes accompanying. Arriving on time is an accomplishment, especially arriving before rush hour on Fridays at the only decent cafe on campus, but both of your classes end early and there is no way you aren’t taking advantage of that. Leaving, however, is mostly done when you’re being glared at by the waiters and waitresses.

“Doyoung asked about you,” Ten says, all of a sudden. “Kim Doyoung.”

You try to not show concern, but raise an eyebrow. “What? So? He’s not my type or anything.”

You bite your tongue. That was too quick a response, too obvious. Your cheeks grow hot. Ten doesn't say anything, however, and for a moment, you think you’re in safe waters. 

“Are you guys… into each other or not?”

You cough, trying to show your surprise at something so outrageous. “Why would you think that? Does he look like someone who dates around?”

“Actually, he’s been on quite a few dates.”

“No way.”

You know that. He’s told you about it before, in vague references, but you know about them nonetheless.

“Isn’t one student council guy enough?” you mumble. “Why are we talking about Doyoung?���

He shrugs, a familiar feline smile on his face. “Just asking. He talks about you sometimes. Actually, we forced it out of him but whatever.”

You shake your head. “You’re all terrible.”

“You seem to like him though.”

“Who said that?”

Ten sighs, ignoring your question. “If you guys are dating—”

“We’re not.”

“—or fucking—”

“Ten.”

“—you should learn a thing or two about him. The guy’s not as annoying as he looks. Or stuck-up. He’s really nice but don’t tell him I said that.”

“I know that,” you snap, feeling warm at the neck all of a sudden. “I know him.”

“Oh, you do? Tell me what his hobbies are then. Or his major. Or the clubs he’s in, apart from the student council.”

“He- He likes to sing and he’s- he’s—god, what is this? An interrogation? I’m not going to meet his mom for dinner.”

Ten gives you an ‘I knew it’ look before leaning his elbow onto the table. “You’re sleeping with a guy you don’t know anything about. Serial killers would love you.”

You massage your forehead. “Look, I know he’s a good guy, okay? And he’s sweet- and- and—wait a minute. Oh my god, you tricked me.”

Ten lets out a snort. “Hey. Okay, look, the other guys might be dumb as shit but I have, you know, a working set of eyes. I can tell. It’s not that hard.”

You grumble but the cat’s out of the bag anyway. You should’ve known Ten would figure it out—he’s a nosy little shit, and he’s been that way since high school.

“Whatever. As long as Doyoung doesn’t start panicking about his tarnished reputation or whatever.”

“Oh, I think he’s desperate to let everyone know.”

“To you, Ten, everything seems obvious. It’s annoying.” You mess up his hair.

“No, I mean, I thought you were dating.”

“Well, we’re not.”

Ten shrugs. 

“And I don’t like him,” you add. “I like the- the thing that’s going on because there’s no feelings attached.”

He looks somewhat pained, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed, but doesn’t respond to your explanation. “Can I ask for a favour?”

“No.”

Ten sighs. “Come on. You didn’t even hear me out.”

“You’re going to say something stupid. Or insulting.”

“It’s neither, promise.”

You run your hand through your hair, breathing shallow. “Fine. I don’t have to agree though.”

Ten purses his lips. “It’d be better if you did.”

You hum in response, biting into the cookie and trying to ignore the glare from the nearby waitress. It’s about time you left anyway.

“Get to know him, dude. Don’t break his heart.”

“What?”

“Just kidding. There’s a party tonight. Hosted by yours truly. Finally moved out of that stinky dorm room. Bring over some friends but not more than three. And lend me some money for a juicebox.”

“That’s a lot,” you mutter. “You ask for a lot of favours.”

“Oh, speaking of which, Hyungmin—”

“He already asked me out on a date. Am I supposed to say no? You never mentioned he has such an attractive voice.”

“Oh, I’m not telling you to not go on that date. You have to, actually. I’m going to be in a lot of trouble otherwise.”

“That sounds good to me.”

“Shut up. I’m not done speaking.”

You roll your eyes.

“But if you didn’t, I could draw some conclusions.”

“What am I, your chemistry experiment now?”

“Well, you and Doyoung seem to be—”

“Don’t complete that sentence.”

“I was going to say something funny.” 

Ten flashes you a blinding smile and you sigh. By now, you’re about to get kicked out of here so you stand up discreetly while he packs up his stuff. You hug your jacket close to you as soon as you leave, shivering at the evening breeze. The sky is inky, but with a faint sort of ink—deep blue and light, all at once. From the crowd, you can tell classes just got over for quite a few people, eclectic chatter filling up the street.

“Fine. I’ll bring Eunji,” you tell Ten after some contemplation. “And whoever else responds to my text first. Areum never leaves the room. You know that.”

“Thanks, (name)!” he messes up your hair. “I would give you a kiss but someone will end up punching my pretty face.”

You furrow your brows. “Well, you’re not my type anyway.”

“I’m too good for you,” he responds in a sing-song manner, waving at you before running off and disappearing into the university crowd.

There’s always a sort of buzz in the air you can’t quite describe at college parties.

Even if this is a relatively small one, you feel an oncoming headache the moment you enter Ten’s new apartment, which you’re sure had a ‘no parties’ rule in the rental contract. You spot Kun, Ten’s roommate from the dorms and he flashes you a quick smile in greeting before he’s swept up by a doting crowd. Apparently, a cute guy in animal sciences is rare and it makes him rather popular.

Eunji disappears from your side the moment she spots Johnny, and the number of eye rolls you’ve given her haven’t warned her off him yet. You suppose it takes heartbreak to change a person. Sighing, you make your way to the kitchen only to be greeted with the strange sight of Yuta trying to balance Jaehyun on his back so they can imitate some anime formation and back out immediately. Living room, it is, despite its populous space. (You don’t really want to think of bedrooms right now.)

The apartment is quite big for what Ten told you the rent was. The hallway to the two bedrooms is narrow but you suppose something has to be sacrificed for space. You furrow your eyebrows at the two bedroom doors. Ten never said he was getting a roommate. You shrug it off, sitting down on the rather stiff couch. The lack of furniture, apart from the couch and a coffee table, makes the place look even larger and people sparse. You like the beige walls; Ten’s always loved warmer colours but something makes you think he’s going to be ruining them in a few days with garish green paint before he comes crying about that to you.

“Hey.”

You look up to the familiar voice, heart rising to your throat.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Doyoung remarks before sitting down beside you and offering you a cup of god-knows-what.

“I don’t take drinks from strange men,” you say, biting down your smile and crossing your arms.

“If you didn’t take drinks from strange men, we wouldn’t be fu—”

“Doyoung!” you hiss before looking at him with careful suspicion. “Are you drunk?”

“No. A little bit. Not enough.”

You sigh. “How will you get home now?”

“I live here, idiot.”

“You’re- You’re Ten’s roommate?” you sputter.

“Yeah. New one,” he responds. “He used to live across our room in the dorms, I can’t believe I actually agreed to this.”

“I can’t believe it either. I’ve seen cats and dogs friendlier with each other than the two of you.”

Doyoung laughs. “He’s surprisingly one of the better people to room with. I’d rather eat my own blanket than room with Yuta again.”

You laugh at his irked expression, eyebrows furrowed so cutely. The line of his brow bone to nose to lips, it seems a little too perfect to belong to someone. He relaxes his shoulders a little, leaning back on the couch as he looks somewhat lost in thought. (“You think too much,” you’d told him once. “And you think too little.”) If only that were true, you smile to yourself.

“Are you sure you can hold parties here?” you as when the music suddenly rises in volume.

“Well, it said student-friendly,” Doyoung responds, looking visibly disturbed. “Not sure if I want to test the limits of that so early.”

There’s a pause, filled in with loud pop music. You don’t think Ten, your dear introvert, would have agreed to such a party but there’s a chance Johnny or Jaehyun had something to do with this. You don’t know who to suspect when it comes to their group of friends.

“I still can’t believe you’re rooming with Ten.” You look at Doyoung.

“Well, that makes, what, eleven of us, I guess?”

You laugh, feeling conscious all of sudden. Maybe you should listen to Ten’s advice.

“Doyoung,” you call, looking at the cup in your hands a little too passionately. “What’s your major?”

He looks at you with eyes widened ever so slightly, and a pause over his lips.

“Linguistics,” he answers.

“Oh. You said something about it once,” you mumble, recalling something vague about an assignment of his. “You know mine?”

“Yeah,” he answers, eyes cast on his watch.

“Well, that makes me feel a little guilty,” you mumble as softly as you can.

“You should be,” he says. “You never listen to anything I say.”

You scoff. “You just complain most of the time.”

“Really now?”

“Yes,” you snap, looking away.

You look back again when you hear the sound of Doyoung’s laugh, a distinct brightness in it. Sometimes, you wonder if you really are as awful as you’ve made yourself be.

“You’re cute,” he says. “No wonder everyone is so in love with you.”

For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you.

“Everyone?” you laugh. You don’t care about everyone. It’s burdensome.

“Everyone. They hate you too, by the way.” He smiles to himself. “Heard you’re going on a date with that dimwit. Hyungmin.”

You feel a sudden discomfort in your being. Taking a sip of the drink, you try to shake it off as best as you can. 

“Yeah, I- I don’t think I’ll go,” you say, waving it off. 

Why are you lying? You left it hanging on a maybe. Part of you wants to tell Doyoung; he is your friend after all and you tell friends stuff like this. The other part tells you this is cheating; lying and pretending everything is okay—it feels like cheating. 

“Oh.” He looks lost before he focuses on you. “Why not?”

“Why do you care?” you ask, trying desperately to calm the uprising in your chest.

He stays quiet for a few seconds and then shrugs, looking away from you. It makes you feel a little guilty to dismiss the situation so quickly, another item to add to your troubles. You sigh.

“Sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, it’s okay. You’re right.” You can see his Adam's apple bob up and down.

“I’m not,” you say. “I’m wrong. I really didn’t mean it.”

He looks at you all at once, his gaze so gentle that it makes you think he wants to kiss you, or do something equally affectionate. Instead he sighs, downing whatever’s left of his drink before a wash of sudden looseness does away with the tension in his body.

“You have any more questions for me?” he asks, smiling. “What's it like to be student body president—or, or what instruments can I play? My favourite animal? Colour?”

You smile back. “What is your favourite animal?”

“I don’t have one. Don’t like them. Unless it’s a soft toy.”

“No way. You’re lying.”

“Now, I answer your questions and you call me a liar? Makes me a little hesitant to answer the next.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, next then. Why didn’t you join the frat? All your friends are in it.”

“Hurts my ego.”

You laugh. He’s still probably an honorary member. There is no way he’s apart from friends for too long with all those feelings of fraternity he has, no matter what he says. It’s the same as you. Affection leads nowhere though; just to short-lived moments of comfort.

You realize, through the course of the night, that you never asked. How he got into the student council, what his classes are, what he does for fun—you never asked. It’s almost like you didn’t want to know. 

How sad, you muse to yourself, to be this way. To be so wrapped up in your own problems that you fail to see people around you. Pity, however, isn’t something to feel at a party. You talk with Doyoung for the rest of the night till the sound of his voice makes you feel certain ghosts of butterflies, and till you have to take Eunji home before she does something she regrets. This is what it really means to have the price tag of ‘youth’ strung across you perhaps—when you feel old and immature all at once, and in between, when you feel nothing at all.

Doyoung is too old to mistake love. Or too young. 

Labels don’t define anything, especially when it comes to relationships—so even if he calls it love, whispers it to himself at midnight when he’s sitting alone on his bed while his friends are passed out drunk on the floor, it is empty. And then there’s you. The heat of your skin, the curse of your smile and that cheeky laugh you do to get on his nerves. He wants all of it and he’s not ashamed—but he’d be a liar to say he can shout it to the whole world. He’s not that kind of man, and what is his can remain his without the rest of the world prying its damn fingers in. The first night, no, the second—third? He can’t remember which night it was but something pent up in him exploded and he didn’t try to control it for once.

“Ow,” he mutters.

His throat burns from the whiskey. He hates drinking alone but you’re either asleep or with friends and he can’t think of anyone else but you. He tugs at the turtleneck collar, getting uncomfortable by the minute, and then proceeds to take off his coat.

For a moment, he considers getting back to the living room. There were more than enough people with lingering touches against his shoulder and longing gazes—they’re not you. He leans back onto his bed. Another hour and everyone will be gone; why did he even let them hold a party in the first place? Parties just remind him of you—he takes a whiff and smells summer and lemon vodka all of a sudden. A deep sigh leaves his lips.

You might not seem to find yourself especially sad, but Doyoung finds something oddly touching about you. Maybe it’s the way you say his name, he muses, like you’re desperately trying to fill the gaps. But it can’t be him in particular, of course—it’s a lover, any lover.

He hates long nights, just as he hates winter but lately, they haven’t been feeling too cold. Isn’t it ridiculous the way he’s running after you? Doyoung was never meant for this. It’s fucking pathetic and it makes him want to tear all his hair out but there he is, still and quiet in the same place. A certain agony makes its way through him. His hands are freezing and yet his insides are burning—nothing makes sense and right now, he doesn’t want it to. He presses his cold hands to the warmth of his cheeks and a laugh erupts from his mouth.

He must be going crazy to laugh like this in an empty room. The car lights from the window travel slowly from wall to ceiling, the only thing moving in the stagnant of his room.

Inevitably, he thinks of the end. It should come quick; in fact, he’s never been one to do this. He’s always been someone to get attached to people. He doesn’t know how the end will come because this shouldn’t have begun in the first place.

Doyoung’s out of breath.

“Crazy bastard,” he mumbles to himself, followed by a groan when he lifts his head up. As if on cue, the door opens and shuts with a bang. Ten walks in looking drowsy, running his hand through his hair with a disgruntled face.

“I hate to say this,” he slurs. “But you’re right. We can’t have extra furniture and parties. Gotta choose one.”

Ten lays down flat on the bed. “I vote out that ugly ass clock you bought. Why do we need it? We have phones and laptops.”

“It was a gift,” Doyoung mutters.

“Oh. Uh. Actually, someone already, uh—”

“Leave it. We’ll talk about that in the morning.” 

Doyoung massages his forehead, groaning at the pain when Ten suddenly decides he’s all up for cuddling. 

“Ew,” he says, scooting away from Ten. “Get away from me.”

“You don’t mean that,” Ten whines, trying very hard to pull Doyoung into a hug. Of course, his attempts are blocked by Doyoung’s palm against his forehead.

After a few more seconds of trying, Ten huffs and turns away, crossing his arms. “I don’t like you anyway.”

“I know,” Doyoung mutters.

Ten erupts into laughter, sounding more like a psychopath than a close friend of his.

“You do that every time you like someone?” he asks in between fits.

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “I just said—okay, yeah. Whatever.”

There’s a much needed silence and Doyoung wonders if he can just fall asleep without kicking Ten out.

“You should tell (name),” Ten says all of a sudden, Doyoung’s heart stopping at your name.

“What?” he whispers.

Ten looks at him as though he’s talking to a particularly stupid child. It makes Doyoung scowl but there’s too much alcohol in his system to know if he really means it.

“You don’t- you’re- everyone in this goddamn building knows,” Ten explains, exasperated. “Jaehyun knows, and he’s the densest kid I’ve ever met. God, if you like (name), go for it.”

Doyoung blushes so deep, he considers pressing his palms to his cheeks again. He thinks for the next few moments. Ah well, if they had to find out, he’s glad he didn’t have to declare it himself.

“Whatever, just ask (name) out. It can’t be that complicated.”

Except it is. You don’t have to spell it out for him—he knows the way you feel. The two of you only ever wanted one thing out of this. But if there’s something Doyoung isn’t good at, it’s keeping his mouth shut. He wonders how many times he let it slip, wonders if you even care enough to notice. God, it’s starting to sound pitiful for him.

“Ten. How much did you drink?” Doyoung asks, raising his head.

“Nothing. None. I’m not drunk.” Ten shrugs. “Just sleepy.”

A ‘wow’ is all Doyoung can respond with. He still isn’t quite finished figuring out what sort of horrific planet Ten stumbled from. A notification ding distracts him from kicking Ten off his bed and he has half a mind to toss it onto the bedside table but it’s still half. He softens almost immediately.

It’s a text from you: a ‘u’ followed by a smiley face and then a meme he can’t quite read through hazy eyes. He finds himself smiling anyway and sends a barrage of emojis, whatever he finds because he likes the way you get annoyed at them. Sighing, he decides that’s enough. He’s not in the right state of mind for conversation.

Doyoung shuts his phone off, attempts to push Ten off the bed one last time before closing his eyes and dozing off.

Not every day is meant to be fun—you know that in your twenties—but it’s still somewhat disappointing to have bad days. Like youth is meant to give you some sort of happiness daily. That’s what they make it sound like.

You groan, rubbing at your back. Sitting at your study desk for so long does not have good long term effects. At least, your temporary, meaningless assignments are done. You scowl at the text on your laptop screen; the more you look at it, the more you hate it and so, you shut it off. It’s not like your pissy professor is going to be impressed by anything you do. However, you like the orderly certainty of schoolwork.

Break time consists of guilt and sugary snacks. You’re done with most everything and you suppose leaving the final review of things to a later date can’t hurt. In fact, it sounds rather appeasing. A few more moments pass in making a decision.

You get dressed. The apartment feels eerie all alone, and you’re sure as hell not going to spend the rest of your evening here. You shiver, quickly striding out the front door and locking it before taking out your phone.

People misunderstand winter. Winter is only the end of things; and sometimes, the beginning. It isn’t cruel or crushing, it’s just taking its course. However, you have a tendency to blame seasons for all that happen in it. For instance, you shouldn’t be missing summer when you really miss the first night with Doyoung. 

He picks up after calling thrice. You wonder what he’s even up to, if Saturday evenings are also booked full for such a guy.

“Why do you take so long to pick up?” you complain. “Do you not get days off?”

“I’m busy,” he hisses. 

Something’s wrong.

You pause, unsure what to do. It’s not his voice but the one in the background that catches your attention. 

Inviting him somewhere. 

Rather sensually.

Your ears feel hot and you drop the call. Of course. Of fucking course. You’re the idiot thinking it was a thing. This whole thing is casual—feeling sorry wasn’t in the contract. Fucking around was.

It’s not like you’ll be heartbroken by something like this. Of course not. Of course. Doyoung and you never had a beginning so there isn’t an end, really. It’s fine. It’s fine. You take a deep breath and browse through your phone. With the onset of Christmas holidays, you have around three options left. Ten (yikes), Jaehyun (no way) or the latest addition, Hyungmin.

Well, you’re dressed. You have to go somewhere. And your statement about Hyungmin being the hottest guy on campus still stands.

You send two texts to the boy before deciding that’s apparently enough time waiting. He picks up after a few rings, voice groggy from what you assume to be a late afternoon nap.

“You up for a drink?” You cut to the point.

“Uh? Oh, uh, now? I am, of course- I just need—”

“Twenty minutes. I’ll text you the address.”

Nothing cheers you up like your favourite bar. Or friends. Or people who respond to calls.

Hongdae is as busy as ever. You knew the bar would be packed but not this packed. Still, you managed to grab a seat at the bar table. With the oncoming night, the smell is just going to get worse—so there’s nothing wrong with treating yourself to some lemon vodka (and its refreshing scent).

Hyungmin arrives exactly four minutes early, and the mussed up hair makes you think he must have been in a hurry. For what, you can’t be sure. 

You can still see the inklings of Hongdae nightlights on his hair right before he enters, and in the fallacy of that moment, you think it’s going to be Doyoung. You sigh. This isn’t the time for that.

“Sorry,” you say, gesturing to the bar table. “All the tables were booked.”

“No, no,” he responds quickly. “I actually prefer it here.”

He’s tall, not that it’s the first time you’re noticing, but even when he’s sitting, he’s at least two heads taller than you are. His shoulders are accentuated by the mocha coat, no doubt part of the latest trend this winter. As a fashion student, he hits the mark and more. 

For a moment, you feel bad for knowing his major. Ten let it slip about him and yet still, you feel guilty for remembering it. You’re not supposed to go into unnecessary detail about people that don’t matter. Does he matter? 

“Surprised you could make it,” you joke half-heartedly. “Aren’t you lot always busy with something?”

He laughs. “The student council? Oh, we’re busy alright.”

Busy. Right.

“What about you? Aren’t you part of like three different clubs?”

“So what kind of busy?” you ask, ignoring his question. You’re part of two, now that you left the music club last semester. It’s not like small talk matters though.

“Uh,” he hesitates. “You know- attend meetings and events, coordinate committee work, supervise stuff, etcetera etcetera. So busy, yeah.”

“Busy on Saturdays too?” you ask, before thanking the bartender for the drinks.

“Yeah, I guess. Doyoung has it worse than me honestly. Even now, he has to take care of stuff because of me. Hah…”

You gulp down your drink making Hyungmin raise an eyebrow in concern. “Stuff? Because of you?”

“Yeah.” Hyungmin scratches the back of his head. “He’s with the girls.”

“Girls?” you ask, playing with the glass. You’re starting to feel annoyed, red lining your vision.

“Yeah.” He makes no notion of clarifying his statement.  

“Must be quite the president,” you say, resting your cheek against your palm.

“Oh, he’s a nightmare.” Hyungmin laughs. “He has to control everything.”

You try to mask your scoff. You know what he can be like when you’re working beside him. 

“Oh, and the guy has no sense of humour,” Hyungmin laughs, the sound easy on the ears.

You blink.

“I think he’s funny,” you say quickly. You swear you have no idea why you sound so defensive.

He hums in response and you consider biting your tongue, telling him you’re only here for one thing and forgetting the uncomfortable churning of feelings inside your chest.

“Forget I- I’m a little confused today.” 

Is that an acceptable explanation? You can’t think straight enough to decide. The silence on Hyungmin’s part, however, worries you. The crowd around you fills in for the next few moments as your companion seems to debate something with himself.

“Look, I know you and Doyoung are… I don’t know, something.”

You huff in irked amusement. “God, does everyone seem to know?”

“Not until late actually.” Hyungmin takes a gulp. “He’s been acting weird. Doyoung.” 

You look away, breathing shallow. You don’t like it, the way things seem to be getting out of hand. All this time, the world seemed to be in the palm of your hand and now, it’s spilling everywhere; the sand in the hourglass is already up to your knees and you don’t know what happens when it fills.

“Do you actually like him?” he asks, leaning back just a little. You know where this is going. “Are you guys dating?”

“No,” you respond, checking your watch.

“Oh.”

There’s a moment’s hesitation in him but you’ve seen that look before. You know that look.

“Then we can- uh- we can—”

“Fuck?” you ask.

He gulps. “I mean, you can say no any time—”

You pull him by the collar and kiss him, hard enough to melt away your hovering thoughts. He kisses like you expect him to, not how you want him to. You know this sort, and somehow, that makes you feel comfortable. Knowing what you’re getting into is easing but it doesn’t lessen the weight of it.

It’s sickening. The way you’re pretending it’s Doyoung.

Hyungmin pulls apart, panting heavily. “Oh, okay.”

“Tell me you drove here.” 

He holds up his car keys in response.

You’re not the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men, but it’s better than falling in love with them.

So you follow a lover to a hotel room and try to feel something. Some time, when he’s kissing you against the hotel room walls, he pulls apart and asks, “You’re thinking of someone else, aren’t you?”

You know the answer; it just won’t leave your lips.

“It’s okay,” he says with a weak smile, “Let’s just have fun.”

And every time his mouth was on yours, every time you saw stars, you felt the ghost of Doyoung and his haunting touches. It was strange and unfair and unlike you—or at least, unlike the you that you built over the past few years. You feel as though you’ve misplaced something—like something was supposed to be there when you reached out but instead, it was empty space.

The night ends as it should and you leave right before dawn with an apology text you couldn’t put half your heart into.

Most winter nights, you wake up with pain so profound, it’s seeping into your bones.

It never made sense. You never tried to make sense of it. So you let the aches push you down by the shoulders, lodge itself into your neck and back; and you tell yourself, it must be what you deserve. It’s cold and you’re walking barefoot on frozen ground.

You gasp. The weight of who you are and who you have to be—it has its knee on the back of your neck, shoving you into the damp earth. There’s no particular reason to it; it makes it seem as though it’s insignificant. Unimportant. Irrelevant. But that’s the problem—the weight of the world on your shoulders makes no sense. Whose world are you even carrying? Whose approval are you trying to win? You scramble to get up, messing up your bedsheets in the process, and pull your blanket around you. Your own warmth surrounds you and it makes no difference. You frown.

You remember your phone call with your mom, and your lips tremble. You shouldn’t have told her about how crappy your finals went but it slipped. You tried to explain that you did work for them, that you gave it your best but sometimes things don’t work out. She didn’t have to say it out loud for you to hear her thoughts. 

You’re disappointing. 

You wipe at your eyes, feeling annoyed at the emotion. If you could let the ground swallow you whole, you would. In a heartbeat. You don’t even know what you’re doing most of the days despite that pretty planner of yours.

You get out of bed, pull on your cardigan beside the bed and grab your lighter and pack. The tiny balcony makes for a great smoking spot and while you would scold any of your friends for committing to this, you do it yourself. Hypocrite.

For all you try to shove into yourself—hobbies, student clubs, actual clubbing, friends—the more you feel less than enough, as if everything just vanishes into thin air inside you. As if you aren’t enough and never will be. You play by the rules and you lose, you break the rules and you lose. 

Maybe it’s because you let yourself be filled by the intricacies of other people that they like you. And thus, you cannot stop for fear of loneliness.

Just as you’re feeling crushed again, you picture Doyoung against your back, placing his nose in the crook of your neck—something he has never done—and you wonder why it helps. 

Sucking in air too fast, you cough. You shouldn’t have let it go on for so long.

It was fun—harmless fun. You shouldn’t even be thinking of taking a step in some other direction. You’re friends, barely, but you like where you are. If Doyoung was that important, you wouldn’t be going about this all backwards. You sigh, though it comes out jagged. The room is quiet and that’s the way it should be at four a.m, of course, but you crave music all of a sudden. Doyoung and you are just a temporary fix; and you let that thought relax you.

When you think of his chin on your shoulder, however, it feels feather light.

“Why are we doing this?” you ask. 

The atmosphere is warm and toasty, just like you expect it to be in a bakery with light pink doors and a collection of plastic potted plants on display. The decorations aren’t an eyesore here and somehow, it makes you feel better. It’s a little far but you decide it’s worth it.

Doyoung shrugs, sipping his hot chocolate. “It’s Christmas, and we’re both here.”

Your eyes follow the hanging lights over the counter, wrapped in pine tree stickers and eventually to the neat display of a ‘Season’s Greetings’ menu, the contents of which are currently at your table. A Christmas song by some singer who’s been popular lately plays, tunes light and dancing. You hate the end of the year solely because of the extra pressure January brings. Nothing you can’t handle, of course. Nothing you can’t handle.

You sigh. It’s been a little difficult lately.

“Doyoung, really, why are we doing this?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“Are you- uh- are you not enjoying this? I could—”

“No! No, it’s not that. I feel better, actually.” You bite your tongue almost immediately after. It’s not like he’s supposed to know the sort of hell week you’re having. A poorly received term paper, finals that weren’t up to your expectations, crippling loneliness without friends and, oh, the self-doubt—you are at the lowest you can be in college. The only sweetener right now is in the hot chocolate and the way Doyoung’s looking at you. 

You feel something close to guilt.

“Good.” He smiles. “You seemed… You seemed a little down.”

The sliver of warmth between your ribs makes you think this is unreal. It feels uneasy to be so affected by someone but you let it slide, turning back to your hot chocolate.

“Why didn’t you go home this time?” you ask, sipping your drink.

“Oh, I didn't really want to face my parents,” he says before leaning. “Didn’t do too well this semester. And my brother’s going to be there with all his achievements.”

You chuckle in disbelief. “You don’t like your brother?”

“I love him to bits. Just can’t stand my mom’s nagging when he’s around.”

“That’s rich coming from you.” You cross your arms, smiling triumphantly. You feel like children squabbling but it’s so lighthearted, you want to laugh.

Doyoung raises a pointed finger, about to retort but nothing comes out. He puts his hand down.

“I guess you’re right.”

You shake your head. “I’m sure she’s proud of you too.”

“I know that,” he says, laughing. “Of course she is. I don’t keep myself busy for nothing.”

You gulp, a sudden sourness rising at the base of your tongue. 

“Busy, huh? Didn’t know spending saturday evenings with girls also counted as busy,” you mutter against the cup, half-hoping he doesn’t hear you.

“What?” There’s a perplexed look across his face.

You wave your hand in dismissal. “Oh don’t mind me.”

“Are you talking about me giving a tour to the fresher girls?” Doyoung leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Hyungmin does that usually but Mr Man was sore from soccer practice and Friday fucking.” 

You blink. “Fresher… girls?”

“What, did you think I was at a brothel?” Doyoung laughs in amusement.

You feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “No! No, of course not.”

You wave your hands about for a few more seconds, trying to come up with an explanation. This makes things rather embarrassing.

“Sorry,” you say finally. “I jumped to conclusions.”

Doyoung laughs, rather deep and heartily, and you wonder if your apology really did sound as stupid to him as it did to you. 

“You do that a lot,” he notes.

“Thanks,” you quip, cutting the pastry with your fork a little too forcefully. His laugh follows. (You hate it so much. It sounds like pure adoration.)

The next few moments consist of scrolling through your phones (because Doyoung says his ‘mouth hurts from talking to you’) and you would’ve been in a better state of mind if everyone wasn’t posting pre-Christmas photos with their families. 

“You know they’re opening that park. What’s it called- Winter Wonderland or something. You said you wanted to visit.”

You look up at Doyoung amused.

“Let’s be honest. You want to be in bed, Doyoung,” you say. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I care,” he answers, looking at you with his doe eyes. “About you. You sulk when you’re upset.”

“I don’t sulk,” you reply but your smile is obvious when you exit the cafe. 

It’s like a date. The more you think of it that way, the more it makes you smile.

The evening is perfect—orange and pink and loving and happy. Doyoung trails behind you as you tread over the sidewalk with cheeky remarks about his speed.

“I’m in the track club, you know?” he huffs, finally tired of your jabs.

“As what, the start point?”

A fake, sarcastic laugh leaves him. “I wouldn’t get to see you if I walked ahead.”

You feel warmth creep up your face. You mumble, “that’s cheesy.” It’s too weak though, and it goes unheard. 

For the first time, you notice his eyes are a little like yours in what they reflect. You love them. 

So this is where the crowd went. The amusement park, or whatever you call it, is buzzing with a faint sort of excitement, mostly in the children that didn’t get to go on a vacation elsewhere. It’s quite the wonderland though so you can’t see them complaining.

“Do you think they’ll kick us out if we make out on the Ferris wheel?” you ask, smiling at Doyoung.

“I’m not making out with you on the Ferris wheel,” he replies, making a face.

You do end up making out on the Ferris wheel, and you get butterflies from it. It’s like a teenage dream but Doyoung looks even better. You pass on the cotton candy because frankly, you’ve had enough of sweet things. You sit at the frozen wooden seat, hoping it warms up while Doyoung brings the two of you some fries.

Your phone buzzes with a notification. Your eyes light up at the mail from your professor. You had turned in the term paper three days ago, weeks ahead of schedule and were particularly proud of the way it turned out. 

You look at the email and zero in on the word ‘redo’.

Your shoulders sag immediately. You spent four weeks on that—and it’s not good enough? You search frantically for how it could have gone wrong and come up with none. That’s not supposed to happen. Something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong. The week’s exhaustion swallows you up again.

When Doyoung returns, he looks at you concerned before quickly setting the fries on the table.

“(name). Is something wrong?”

“Huh?” Your voice sounds so weak and squeaky, you feel embarrassed. It’s embarrassing that after all these years, you still don’t know how to handle failure. 

Because it’s not supposed to happen. You tell yourself that over and over and it makes things worse.

You feel dirty, underneath all that dust and crumbled rock dangling in your hair. Whatever rests on your shoulders is cracking and collapsing, and you’re pushing in the wrong direction to make sure it all stays up. 

He reaches out his hand but you avoid it.

“No,” you mutter, weakly shaking your head.

You rub at your nose and eyes, hoping you can hide behind your forearms. Doyoung shouldn’t be seeing you like this, he doesn’t deserve to see you like this. You turn away from him, your palm gently pushing against the soft material of his shirt. 

Doyoung doesn’t move. Instead, he gently tugs on your wrist so you have no choice but to face him with your red-rimmed eyes. You’re not sure if it’s embarrassment or pity, but the concern in his eyes makes you cry harder. 

“You don’t have to do that,” he whispers. “You don’t have to find a place to cry.”

For the first time in adulthood, you learn what it’s like to lean your forehead against someone’s chest this way. Doyoung wraps his arms around you and the sound of his breathing soothes your near-erratic heart. 

“I worked really hard on it, you know?” you mumble against his chest. “My term paper.”

“I know,” he whispers.

Doyoung strokes your head delicately, fingers running through your hair with airy touches. Eventually, you let go of a final sigh and look up to his lips.

He seems surprised at the kiss but it’s all you can think of now. It’s gentler than usual and Doyoung moves cautiously though he seems to like it all the same. His arms feel comfortable around you. When he pulls apart, he looks at you yet still with careful concern.

“We can- we should stop if you want,” he says, and he means it. 

You shake your head. Night is creeping in overhead, deep and quiet and slow.

“I like you, Doyoung,” you say finally. “I really, really like you.”

Doyoung’s eyes widen, as though a rabbit wary of the traps it might set foot on but he eases into your touch almost immediately.

“I like… I like you too.” His lips waver but he looks away and takes a deep breath. “I like you so much.”

You smile and think that maybe everything is set right now, with his chin against your shoulder and your arms around him. 

Doyoung discards the jacket once you’re in your apartment, kissing you fuller now. Every other thought leaves you; you beg him to make you forget the rest of the world. The walls are comforting now that he’s here, and it’s warmer, hotter.

“Can we- Can we go a little slower?” you mumble, his arms still gentle when they wrap around your waist. He parts his lips from your neck to look at you momentarily before nodding.

You suddenly understand why he always makes you feel so good. There’s a certain fondness to his touch and warmth to his kisses. There’s no one quite like him, really.

“I love digging graves, especially if it’s my own,” you mutter against the pillow.

Doyoung laughs. “What did you do this time?”

“This time? Excuse me? Do you think I’m some sort of trouble child?”

“Hm. Let’s see. Yes.”

You pause. Why do you hesitate to tell him you slept with Hyungmin? It’s not like you were cheating—you weren’t dating Doyoung. Besides, that night with Hyungmin didn’t mean anything. A horrid feeling snakes around your throat, heavy and piercing. You resort to changing the topic.

“I’m… I took another course beyond my understanding.”

“That’s it?” he asks.

You nod.

No, no, no; it’s all backwards now and you don’t know how to reverse it.

Doyoung takes your hand in his, delicately and yet firm. His chest is against your back, bare and warm. When he presses his lips against your knuckles, the warmth that flushes through you makes you want to believe in something else entirely. You feel weak. 

A part of you argues that you feel honest—in a moment of clarity you don’t think you deserve. Neither vodka nor whiskey can make you this clear in the head; you struggle to breathe straight. How awful it is to feel warmth and not believe in it at the same time.  

“You can rely on me, you know?” he whispers.

The knot in your chest makes you want to cry.

You feel lonely and the opposite of it all at once. Doyoung is too much for you—too kind, too pretty and too true. He makes you realize too many things at once.

There are a few things in the world that can stifle loneliness. Like the notes Doyoung plays on the piano, like the songs he hums in the morning till you place open-mouthed kisses against his neck.

You realize, all of a sudden, that Doyoung really is your dearest friend.

And yet, you don’t think you deserve it. You’ve never loved, you believe, but you have. You don’t remember it well enough. The lovers’ touches you kept searching for led to this. Hypocrite. You wanted a lover’s touch and you rejected the love that came with it. What a complicated bundle of emotions. You weren’t always this way.

You loved your first cat when you were six, all the way till it died a warm death in your bed. You loved your mother even when she yelled at you for skipping your chores. You loved your middle school friends when you talked about comics and movies you saw for the first time. 

It’s hard to love the same way now.

You suppose sympathy needs a little backstory. Nothing is unconditional. 

It had all started when your heart had broken into two clean pieces. You put a bandaid on it and called it a day. No one taught you to ask for help.

Your friends know someone broke your heart; you tell them everything. Friends, friends—you wanted them so bad and yet, you keep them as far from you as you can. You pretend to be paper-thin and so shallow, sometimes you wonder if that’s all there is to you. But for all they know, they know next to nothing. It wasn’t just the aftermath of reckless puppy love. 

The first time your heart broke, it was watching your mother cry in the living room for a reason you didn’t understand. You wondered who committed the crime, who should be charged—and you found no one. A loveless marriage is cruel, yes, but you cannot point fingers. It isn’t just cruel; it’s infuriating.

The second time, the two pieces of your heart broke into a few more. It was a boy with an inviting smile and flags whose colour you couldn’t quite discern. They must have been red, but everything else was too—hearts, cheeks, lips, and the threads around your wrists. And eventually, he guided you to the conclusion that you are undeserving, unworthy, unloved. 

You were strong, however. It was easy to collapse on the bed and feel the weight of the world settling in, but you stood up again on shaking knees and you told yourself to have fun; you can have fun without feelings. You know better than to attach meaning to fun—you might hate insignificant things but it’s only fun if it’s pointless. You’re not letting go of this place you’ve worked so hard to arrive at, with all the shattered pieces in your hands.

It’s better to offer nothing at all than offer broken pieces.

“Can we stay like this?” Doyoung’s arms tighten around your waist, his breath shallow against your shoulder. “Just for a little bit.”

His voice is beautiful as always, but for a moment, it strikes you as sad.

Everything’s twisting up into knots and you are frantically running your fingers over them to straighten it all out. You know what it’s like to let things rot; and you are tired of it. Why can’t everything disappear for one moment? Why can’t you just let it be the two of you?

You sigh in response, nodding. 

“I might not know what’s happening in there,” he starts, drawing circles on your chest with his finger, touch comfortably light. “But…”

I’m here and I get it.

Is that what he wants to say? You don’t think you’ll get to know. You’re not exactly voicing yourself either. 

Stay the night. You want to say it but your lips are frozen.

Instead, you rub your thumb over the back of his hand, fitting into each other as perfect as a lie. You would tell him, you try to convince yourself, if you could say it with enough conviction. There’s no point to saying things that are half-meant, that are true but only just enough. You’re a coward.

And now, this has gotten complicated.

An end.

Tapping his pen against the desk, Doyoung grows increasingly annoyed. The council's next  meeting agenda isn’t going to finish writing itself but he can’t bring himself to either. Besides, Ten’s pacing outside his room is starting to get on his nerves.

“Ten!” he yells. “Can you quit it? You’re making too much noise.”

His disapproval is met with silence. For a moment, he spaces out and reflexively thinks of you, only to feel a confusing sort of emotion. It’s normal, he tells himself, and that it’ll sort itself out.

Doyoung feels like a glass box more often than not. If he breaks, who picks up the pieces? Who gets cuts all over their fingers?

‘Whoever breaks him’ should be the answer. But that’s wishful thinking. It’s not that simple. 

He’s so see-through that it’s painful. He used to tell Taeyong he’s wrong but he’s never been able to prove it. He is easy. It’s embarrassing.

But then again, part of him likes it when it comes to you. He likes it when you kiss him after a particularly heated disagreement, he likes when you get on his nerves just so he’d fuck you and most of all, he loves the push and pull. Fun is just that. He doesn’t know what he’d do if that heart of his he placed so gingerly into your palms falls and shatters.

The line between hate and love is thin; and he’s enjoying walking it too much.

He has nothing to offer but himself. He laughs at the thought and shakes his head. It’s somewhat dirty, and not just in the sexual sense.

“Ten!” he yells again. “Stop pacing!”

Getting up from his seat, he strides over to his door, swings it open and finds Ten scratching his head and glancing at his phone in repeated action. 

“Ten?”

He’s so in a trance that he hasn’t noticed Doyoung. He is the lovable sort of idiot if he ever chooses to be so. Most of the time though, he’s just a smartass.

“Oh, oh no, I’m a bad friend,” Ten mutters to himself, his pacing growing more restless. He scratches the back of his head, eyebrows furrowed and too inside his head to notice Doyoung. He wants to ask but something tells him he shouldn’t. 

Turns out, his apprehension isn’t strong enough these days. 

“Whose date did you crash?” Doyoung asks, more than annoyed already.

When Ten looks at him, Doyoung feels rather shriveled and freezes on the spot. Call it instinct but Doyoung respects fear and pain. Ten has a mixture of the two, amplified when he looks at Doyoung.

“Doyoung. Hey,” he says, trying to tone down the distress in his voice.

Doyoung still hasn’t recovered from the initial surprise of Ten looking that way.

“Did you fuck up? Did someone fuck up? Why do you look like that?”

Ten sits down on the small couch. “Long story… I guess. Too many details, you- you know? Just—”

“What the fuck happened?”

Ten still can’t look him in the eye. “The group chat’s a little…”

“Ten,” Doyoung snaps. “Cut the crap.”

“No, that’s- that’s what I’m- You’re going to be upset.”

Doyoung straightens, furrowing his brows. “I think I can fucking handle it.”

“You know that date I set up for (name) and Hyungmin?”

“You set that up?”

“(name) slept with Hyungmin.” 

Doyoung quietens. The silence seems to make Ten uncomfortable as he shifts in his seat, getting up when Doyoung speaks.

“So?”

Ten blinks. “You’re not upset?”

“Just what kind of loser do you think I am?” Doyoung mutters.

Glass shatters just that easily. Maybe he wanted you to shatter him. Maybe he was already cracking at the edges.

“Doyoung, you don’t have to—”

“Stop,” he exclaims a little louder than he intended. “Stop looking at me like that. I’m a grown man, I can handle shit like this.”

It still hurts though. You lied to him and he let you in. You lied to him. Doyoung sighs, returning to his room with a realization he should have had long ago. His night ends with more deleted drafts than he’s supposed to have and eventually, with increased discomfort, he delegates the job to Park Hyungmin himself with the excuse of sickness.

Doyoung does feel sick. He felt this way once, in highschool, but it had turned to red, hot anger ready to lash at anyone and everyone, spilling from his lips as easy as it was to breathe. And Doyoung can never feel that way towards you. He was different back then too, of course, but you—you’re unlike anyone he’s ever met. He loves the comfort of you, and something like that is hard to come by. 

He feels like laughing again but instead he finds tears on his cheeks. Silly boy, he can hear his mother tell him. You don’t give your heart to heartbreakers. 

So Doyoung falls asleep to the sound of upbeat music in his earphones, music he hates even just to pass the night. Morning will come and he will have to become stronger. Comfort is fleeting, after all.

With everything said and done, you know very well that if you were to tell someone you love them—genuinely, truly, from the heart—it would be Doyoung. It’s not a sudden realization, like the sky falling apart or a tidal wave crashing against the shore and sweeping away the city. It is like the gentle lapping of water, though, or the way the clouds change shape—natural and anything but alarming. You want to stare at it forever, and you want to believe that’s how it will be forever. 

“You told everyone we had sex?” Your voice is boiled to a shout. 

Hyungmin looks torn, lips moving but no explanation making its way out. “I- I told my friends, not everyone.”

“And you forgot that your friends talk? Everybody talks, Hyungmin, what were you thinking?”

He sighs before taking a step towards you. “Why are you so angry about it? As far as I remember, you had no trouble talking about whose pants you got into.”

You scoff. “With friends, not the whole campus.”

“That’s exactly what I did!” 

You cross your arms, feeling so upset you might cry and unsure as to why. You’re usually good at dealing with stuff like this, keeping things in the right place.

“It’s because of Doyoung, isn’t it?” 

You snap your head to Hyungmin. There’s a serene sort of look to him despite his unkempt appearance, and a look of understanding.

“I’m sorry. Really. But if you were so into him, you shouldn’t have called me that evening. It might not matter to me but…”

You broke his heart. All that devotion he had towards you led to this. 

“You’re right.” You choke on your words, leaning against the wall. “Fuck… Fucking…”

You turn around, making your way out of the hallway and hope the tears on your cheeks dry faster if you run.

You can’t remember the last time you ran. Your world didn’t need running from, it was right in the palm of your hands. Now that you look back, the world was always on your shoulders and heavy as it can be. Maybe you liked it—the weight. You could’ve shrugged it off any time; you didn’t need all those caging schedules or careful, elegant steps.

No. Atlas couldn’t shrug because his punishment was his existence. To have weight is to have meaning; and that is how you intended to live out your life.

Doyoung makes you see it differently. To love so fully even if it seems cautious—you, who has never loved at all, couldn’t comprehend it. And because he makes you see it differently, the box is now open and all hell is loose. 

For once, you don’t want to live in the world you crafted. You want more love, more hurt and you want to open the doors. You don’t mind hell if it’s for him.

You ring the bell to Doyoung and Ten’s apartment and pray the news hasn’t reached him yet. He said he was busy this weekend; maybe he was detached enough from his phone for once. You just want to be the person to tell him. It’s not a perfect apology otherwise.

Doyoung opens the door with pursed lips and cold eyes. There’s a sense of ease over his shoulders and arms but he won’t look at you and panic rises to your throat.

“We’re not fucking tonight, (name),” he says.

“That’s not- That’s not why I’m here.” Your voice is so meek, you wonder what happened.

Doyoung steps back, crossing his arms. He’s still looking at his feet and you feel the urge to reach for his face.

“I wanted to tell you- I… I just—”

“That you’re fucking other people?”

“God, Doyoung, stop with the fucking. I don’t care about that right now.”

“Really?” His voice is so sharp, it digs into your skin. “You were just in it for that. That’s the fun part in your stupid life, isn’t it?”

You feel a sharp pain in your nose and forehead. “You’re- Now that’s- Doyoung. I’m sorry. That’s what I wanted to say.”

“After—” His voice chokes up. “After everything is done? Stop with the excuses and face it for fuck’s sake. You aren’t made to fall in love. That’s why you dance around it all the time.”

Although he says that, he doesn’t sound angry. He sounds defeated.

“It’s not like you aren’t cautious,” you retort, throat feeling heavy. “You said it yourself- you don’t want to care too much.”

“I was wrong,” he says, voice hoarse. “I care about everything more than I’d like to admit. I care about you more than I’d like to admit.”

“The Hyungmin thing didn’t mean anything, okay? You were busy and—”

“So why did you lie?” He strains to not raise his voice. “Of course I knew our little thing didn’t mean shit to you. Why did you pretend it did? Last week, you said- you said—”

“Doyoung, last week- last week I- I wasn’t pretending, I swear.”

“You could’ve just saved yourself the trouble and the dignity.” A short, humorless laugh leaves him.

You feel your lips tremble, the explanation not quite made its way out yet. He looks so innocent like this, rabbit-like eyes watery and full of pain, pure the way they have always been. This is your mistake, isn’t it?

“Doyoung, please,” you manage to say. “That was wrong. I couldn’t clear up my head. Please don’t—”

“No. I was an idiot. Or you see me as one.” He frowns deeper, lips trembling. “I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t have. We shouldn’t have been at the same fucking party and I shouldn’t have drank so much. You’re- I’m not that kind of person.”

You bite down your lip. “What kind?”

Doyoung laughs, the sound raspy and empty. “The kind to not fall in love with you.”

It damn near breaks your heart to look at him. You have to say something, it shouldn’t end like this. You’re desperate and all you think is that you don’t want it to end at all.

“Please, I thought of you as a friend, that’s why—”

“And this is what you call being a friend?” he cuts you off.

You feel the sting in your eyes and nose, making you turn sharply to the side. You wish he’d just make you cry. It makes you feel the rancid guilt all the more.

“Make Hyungmin your friend for all I care. Let’s stop this.”

You stare at your feet, unable to respond. 

“You can have every boy in the world, (name). Don’t come to me.”

“Can you just stop talking about everyone else?” you yell, desperate. “Do I talk about your exes? Seungjae or- or what’s-her-name—” 

“That’s different!” He looks distraught, breathing heavily and with a painful red flush over his nose and cheeks. He runs his hand through his hair, tousling it further. “You lied to me, (name). You lied.”

Your cheeks are wet and the look that flashes over Doyoung makes you think he wants to step right out to you. He stays frozen in place, however, looking away to the side.

“Did you notice?” he asks softly. “Even once? How much I cared?”

You can’t answer, letting the tears drip down your face. It’s getting colder and colder. 

Doyoung bites down his lip before parting them. “All we did was have sex anyway. So please just- just leave.”

You take a long few moments but nod, hugging your coat closer and stepping out of his apartment. You think you hear Ten’s footsteps but it’s followed by the bang of a door—this is how it ends then.

The line between hate and love is thin; and you are deserving of neither.

You perfect your next semester’s academics, and the next. It still feels empty. You go out to drink with friends and return to a messy bed you sleep in alone. You smile as always and you laugh as always. No one asks you how you are as always. You never needed anyone to ask you how you are.

Ten tries but you push him away. You don’t need to drag in other people into a mess you made. He feels sorry for the whole thing but you tell him it was you that spilled the paint, Ten just handed a dash of it to you.

You were right. You don’t deserve Doyoung. At least, you made it so that you don’t deserve him. 

‘It’s better to have loved and lost than to not have loved at all’—it still hurts.

Every day is part of a list again. You doodled in some of the pages, when you thought you were starting to fall in love. There’s only a skeleton of it left now. Soon, you’ll let it crumble to dust too. 

You tear apart the planner sometime after graduation and cry and curse at yourself for doing that. No one’s good at parting with things they care about. You’re no exception.

It’s December again. 

This place is a little strange to visit right after graduating, especially with the memories flashing you by. Johnny said he booked one of the private booths (“A senior’s treat!”) but you feel your steps growing hesitant when you reach the neon signs by the stairs. It spells ‘The Meeting Place’ and smells of cigarettes just like it did the first time.

You stop midway up the stairs. For a moment, you think of Doyoung sitting there and wonder if you’ll ever be able to talk to him again. If you had the chance now, would you take it?

Of course, you wouldn’t. There’s too much to be set right and you can’t do it.

There’s supposed to be the six of you. Johnny mentioned Ten and you know Eunji’s invited too. You saw Jaehyun on the way here, still a student. You sigh. It must be him, the one they failed to mention to you. Kim Doyoung. There’s no one quite like him.

You spot him first. Looking a little forlorn as he gazes absentmindedly to the side, he faces away from you and you get the inevitable urge to run away. It’s a funny feeling. 

Your stomach is churning. You don’t want him to see you. Ten babbles on about something to Johnny, smiling like he found candy while clearing his drawers. Eunji looks tired, leaning against Johnny’s shoulder and you wonder if she already drank more than enough shots.

“(name).”

You jump at Jaehyun’s voice from behind you. 

“Hey,” you respond, giving him a wide smile.

He hesitates. “Are you okay? Not that you don’t look okay- you look really good actually. I mean, are you and… you know okay?”

“I don’t think so, Jaehyun,” you say and make your way to the booth.

It’s a little cramped for the six of you and Doyoung gets up before you can even greet him. It’s not like you deserve it anyway but it tugs at the wound.

“I’m going to go take a drag,” he mutters.

“You don’t smoke,” you say, looking up.

He stares at you momentarily and you look away. You think Ten and Johnny glance at you with pity but you don’t really care. 

 “Can I come with you?” you ask, barely a whisper.

“Sure,” he says, to your surprise.

The smoking area is so small, you’re surprised it’s even there. A glass structure overlooking the neighbourhood, there’s barely any light within. The only thing nice is how warm it’s in there. 

Doyoung lights his cigarette and then offers to light yours. It’s quiet, the music from inside numbed to the cold doors. You really can’t take it. You stub the barely consumed cigarette and throw it into the bin.

You’d rather just stay quietly in his presence.

“You’re not smoking,” he notes.

“It’s a bad habit.” You look out through the glass.

Doyoung chuckles. “You were a collection of bad habits.”

“And good ones too,” you quip. “I was a perfect student. I was perfect in most everything actually.”

Doyoung’s smile widens. “You were. You certainly were.”

A few more moments pass in silence, your eyes traveling over the outside scenery which seems to be growing duller by the second. City lights have never felt fainter.

“It was an accident, right?” You say suddenly. “The whole thing? Us?”

Doyoung hums. “Yeah. I fell in love by accident.”

You smile weakly. “Right. I never got to apologize.”

“I loved you on purpose.”

You look up at him. There’s not a lot of people who say what they mean. He looks the same as he used to under your grey blankets, with a warm blush over his cheeks and kind, wide eyes. 

“You’re so damn pretty,” he murmurs, “even now.”

You scan his face for signs of lying.

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” you ask finally. 

Doyoung blinks before easing into laughter. “You- You’re- You’re the same as ever.”

You let yourself crack a smile.

“Doyoung I- I really am sorry,” you say quietly. “And I did- do care for you.”

Doyoung stubs out his cigarette and discards it before looking you in the eye. You notice he’s wearing his favourite black turtleneck in the proximity, the grey plaid coat covering most of it. You really liked that look on him.

“I’m sorry,” you say once again. “I want you to know that. I didn’t want to hurt you and I promise I won’t ever do it again.”

You mean it. You’re never going to hold glass again. He doesn’t deserve it.

“That’s a problem,” he responds, breath mingling with yours. “I want you… I want you to hurt me. If you really do love me, I’ll take it.”

“Doyoung,” you whisper, turning away despite your whole body screaming at you to give in. “I meant it. I can’t hurt you.”

Doyoung cups your cheek with one hand, glancing at your lips for a moment.

“You’re warm,” he says.

He’s warmer.

“I want to kiss you,” he says.

You want to kiss him too.

“We went about this all wrong, didn’t we?” he asks.

“We did,” you answer, voice barely above a whisper. “I did.”

Doyoung pulls back. “Then let’s start again. I’m Kim Doyoung, I majored in linguistics. I was student council president and I made a mistake.”

You smile. “We don’t have to do that.”

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “After all the trouble I went through to make a good introduction?”

The two of you laugh, and it gets warmer. 

“I’m (name),” you say. “I was a top student and I made a bigger mistake, Kim Doyoung.”

“Oh? I wonder what it was.”

“Kind of a long story.”

“I’ve got all the time for you.”

You smile and start. He responds with gentle kisses. You’re piecing your world back together again; but this time it’s feather-light and fits right in the palm of your hand. 

[duskholland]

The Fame Game (Part Ten) - Tom Holland

Summary ↠ Tom is straight-up not having a good time right now. 

Word count ↠ 3.9k

Warnings ↠ The romantic cliché of your dreams, alcohol, references to past intimate times, swearing. Pretty tame overall though!

A/N ↠ I can’t believe we’re at the end of the series! V (mischiefandi) gave me some really good ideas for this part with Tessa - I hope you’ll like what I did there lmao. I’m going to leave my extended thank yous for the epilogue, but just know that I am so grateful for everyone who’s stuck with the series from the beginning until now... Thank you for reading and coming on this journey with me. I hope you’ll like the final official part! Epilogue next week :’))

TEN: Come Home (T)

As the front door to Tom’s house shuts behind you, Tom finds himself slumping against the wooden frame, grief overcoming his senses. He’s tired and his arms hurt, everything hurts, but he peers up through the windowpane at the top of the door and watches as you run out through the sheets of rain. Paparazzi flashes illuminate his garden, capturing you as you stride purposefully to your car, duck down and enter it. A moment later, the car pulls away from the pavement and disappears.

Tom kicks at the door.

“Fuck!”

His hands curl into fists as he turns around and leans with his back against the door, frustrated eyes falling onto his jacket and his keys. For a moment he contemplates picking them up and making a mad dash after you, reckoning he could probably beat you to Heathrow if he drove recklessly enough, but then he sags.

Tom has to give you space. You’ve asked for space. He has to respect it.

His hand twitches as he walks out of the porch, as if his very fingers can feel how badly he wants to reach out and grab the keys, but he leaves them. Instead, Tom climbs the stairs and walks straight into the spare room, throwing himself down onto the bed and burrowing his head in the pillows. He groans - loudly.

It was always a long shot - telling you how he felt. And in some ways, Tom’s admission of love had gone quite well. You reciprocate his feelings, which, really, is the most essential part of it all. But that reciprocation is only the tip of the iceberg, and it goes far deeper than that - because you still left. Tom is still alone, curled up on the bed that smells distantly of you, clenching his fingers feebly around the sheets that he’d refused to let Harrison change, even months after you’d left. Your perfume lingers on the cotton.

There’s the small pattering sound of paws moving over wooden floors, and Tom’s lips quirk up ever so slightly as he pulls his face from the pillows just to see Tessa trot into the bedroom. She plods towards the bed but hesitates, sniffing around the wardrobe. One of the doors hangs half-open, and Tom notices that you’ve left it barren.

Tessa whines.

“I know, I know, girl.” Tom looks at the dog, smiling sadly. Tessa looks miserable. “I miss her too, yeah? But it’s going to be okay.” His words hitch, and Tom reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he feels his heart clench. “It… It’s a bit fucked up, but it’ll be okay. She… She loves me, at least.” He breaks off, laughing awkwardly. “And she knows now, too, that I love her. And yeah, she still left, but… Maybe one day I’ll see her again.” Tom sighs. “Probably not, though. Bloody hell, I’m so… I’m so stupid, Tess.”

Tessa looks up at Tom. Tom sighs.

“And now I’m talking to my dog like a lunatic,” he mutters. Tom sits back against the pillows, hands settling over his stomach. “This is actually pathetic.”

Tessa emits a loud whine before jumping up onto the bed, her wet nose jutting into Tom’s neck. He sighs, smiling as he reaches up to run his hands all over her sleek body.

“You wouldn’t leave me, eh, Tess?” He mutters. “You love me?” He’s sitting up properly, smiling as Tessa basks in the cuddles, releasing happy yips. “Thought so.”

Tom stays in the spare room - your room - for almost an hour, cuddling with Tessa, pondering his predicament. He’s wallowing in it, miserably staring at the ceiling and torturing himself with the ins and outs of the conversation he’d had with you. He loves you, but he understands why you wouldn’t believe him. Tom understands that he’s hurt you and that he needs to respect your choice to leave, but that doesn’t make it any less gutting.

With a sigh, Tom stands from the bed. Tessa whines, and he rubs her head fondly before walking down into the kitchen. He spots his phone on the counter and picks it up, his heart clenching as his lockscreen pops up.

It’s a photo of you both, from many months ago. It feels like a distant memory now, but when you’d first been in London, you’d gone out bowling with Tom’s family. Afterwards, you’d all retreated to the pub, and you’d shared pints all evening. At some point, Sam had taken a photo of Tom with his arm wrapped around you. You have your cheek on his shoulder, and though it’s a little blurry, it has to be his favourite photo of you together. The way you’re looking up at him is with warmth in your eyes, and it makes Tom’s heart skip a beat to remember how nice it was to be resting at your side.

Swallowing down the resentful lump in his throat, Tom opens up his texts and clicks on your contact. With cold fingers, he types out a message, altering and adding bits for a shameful amount of time before sending off the completed thing.

Tom: Have a safe flight. I’m sorry for being such a dick. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I love you. I love you and I’ll wait for you. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to figure it out. I love you. Xxxxxxxxxx

With that done, Tom takes himself off into the living room and throws himself onto the sofa. He grumbles as he grabs a pillow and wraps his arms around it, holding it close. He keeps checking his phone, wondering if you’ll reply. The message changes to read almost as soon as he’s sent it, but after that, nothing. It only makes his heart ache more.

So, with nothing else to do but wallow in his misery, Tom closes his eyes. He tries to sleep, and after a while, Tessa curls up beside him. Slowly but surely, the noise in his head and the pain in his chest ease off enough for him to rest, and Tom lets the world of heartbreak drift away.

Knock knock.

Tom stirs, slowly.

Knock knock knock.

“Eh?”

Knockknockknock.

Tom sits up, disorientated and dizzy. It’s dark outside, but through the blinds in the living room, he can make out that the front light is on. Someone is at the door.

With a grunt, Tom stands up. Tessa wriggles around, and he pats her head softly as he stumbles towards the porch, frowning as he tries to remember if he’s ordered anything recently. He doesn’t think he has, but maybe Harrison’s been making impulse purchases in Liverpool. Tom hopes it’s something he can eat. Fuck, he’s hungry. How long has he been asleep?

Tom pulls the door open without a second thought, still groggy and tired from his nap, and he gets the shock of his life when his eyes catch sight of the person standing nervously on his doorstep.

You.

Before he can get a word in, you’re surging forward, your arms wrapping around Tom’s figure before he can process it. A short huff leaves his chest as you hug him tightly, continuing to push him until Tom’s back is up against the wall. You kick the door shut behind you, coat dripping rain onto the floor, and then you grab his face and kiss him.

Tom kisses you back, his brain waking up the moment your lips touch his. He’s slow, but he matches your movements eagerly, his palms going to your shoulders as he kisses you messily. You’re practically vibrating, your mouth curving into a smile so prominent that Tom can feel it brushing up against his face.

You came back.

Tom pulls away, his eyes prickling with tears of surprise. “Wh-What?” He stammers, smiling when you laugh. “But your flight?”

You shake your head softly. “I couldn’t do it,” you say. “I couldn’t leave, Tom.” You brush a hand through his hair. “I love you too.”

Tom kisses you again, his hands going to your face. He cradles your cheeks as he presses his lips to your mouth, over and over again, dazzled by the lightness in his chest. His heart has never felt so warm before.

“You are spectacular,” he mumbles, gushing mindlessly against your lips. “You are- you are wonderful. You are brilliant.” He breaks off as you giggle, pausing in his dialogue to kiss you again. “You are my favourite person.” Tom pulls back, looking at you fondly. His eyes trail the familiar lines of your face and he swoons, overcome with positive emotion. “I love you.”

You kiss his cheek softly. “I’m also very wet,” you say, shaking off a dripping arm. A sheepish expression crosses your face. “I, um, might need to borrow some clothes,” you murmur. “I kind of just… Turned around and ran out of the airport.” You grin nervously. “I think my suitcase is halfway to America by now.”

Tom scoffs, nodding. “That’s okay, love. I’m just so happy that you’re here.” So happy that you came back, that you don’t hate him. So happy that you love him too.

Tom reaches out and takes your hand, kissing over your knuckles gently. A thousand stars seem to twinkle in your eyes as you look at him.

“I’m happy too.”

An hour later, you’re both sitting on Tom’s living room floor, boxes of empty takeaway stacked around haphazardly. Tom’s leaning up against the sofa, legs outstretched in front of him. His arm is wrapped around you, and you have your head resting on his shoulder, and he feels more content than he’s ever felt in his life.

“I can’t believe you left your suitcases on the plane,” he murmurs, voice gentle. You’ve been sitting together and talking all evening. He’s been spacing every few sentences with another kiss to your temple, enjoying the expressions of fondness that find your face each time his lips touch your skin. You look very cute in one of his oversized hoodies. “Did you tell anyone that you left?”

“Nah.” You sit up, stretching suddenly and yawning. You turn around to look at Tom, eyes flickering out over him until you smile mischievously. You move closer, swinging one leg over Tom’s thighs before settling in his lap, your hands falling to his shoulders. A wave of your perfume washes over him, and Tom sighs contentedly as you kiss him quickly. “I told the flight attendants, but they couldn’t get my stuff off the plane. I thought it was worth it, though.”

“Oh, definitely.” Tom can’t stop kissing you. The urge to press his lips to yours whenever he wants is too powerful to ignore. “I’ll replace it all for you, if you want,” he mutters, distracted by your mouth. “I’d buy you a whole bloody house if you wanted, darling.”

You laugh against his lips. “That’s unnecessary, Tom, but very sweet.” You pause, pulling away with a bewildered expression on your face. “My lease expired on my flat,” you say, processing the words, “So I actually don’t have anywhere to stay.”

Tom wiggles his eyebrows. “Well, luckily for you, I know someone who just so happens to have a house all to himself.” He walks his fingers over your shoulder, smiling at you. “You might be able to convince him to let you stay. I hear he’s a very generous landlord.”

“Oh yeah? Happen to know where I can find him?”

He nods, grinning. “He’s right here, love.”

Tom goes back to kissing you for a while, both of you growing giddy off chaste pecks. His lips are numb and puffy but he loves it, loves the ache and the way the back of his neck hurts from all the tugging of his hair.

There’s a phone ringing, out in the porch. Both of you ignore it, even as it rings a second and a third time. When it dies after the fourth, you pull away from Tom’s lips to roll your eyes.

“It’s mine,” you mutter, “Just ignore it. I don’t care about whatever it is.” There’s a hunger in your eyes, and Tom smiles.

“Whatever you say, boss,” he teases, earning himself a flick on the shoulder.

“Don’t call me your boss,” you scowl, scrunching up your nose. “I’m not your boss.”

“Oh, do you want me to be the boss, then?” Tom returns.

You glare at him. “No. You’re not my boss. You’re…” You trail off, and Tom tilts his head to the side, smiling softly.

“What am I, darling?”

A smile curves out across your lips. “You’re my boyfriend.”

The warmth that unfurls in Tom’s chest as he hears those words almost brings tears of relief to his eyes.

“Yeah.” He brings a hand to your face and you nuzzle your cheek into his palm. “I am.” He kisses you, softly. “And I love you.”

“Love you too, boyfriend.” You look at him for a moment before tilting your head and kissing the flat of his palm. “I am overjoyed to be your girlfriend. Your real girlfriend.”

Tom laughs, nodding his head in quick agreement. “Yeah, I-”

His phone starts ringing. It vibrates over the glass coffee table, clattering noisily, and a shadow of irritation passes over his face. You turn around, craning your neck and screwing your eyes together as you get a read on the screen.

“Shit,” you mutter, grabbing the phone and passing it to him. “It’s Rebecca.”

Tom feels his mood sink. “Fantastic.” He looks at his phone before glancing up at you. “Should I answer it?”

You sigh as you nod. “She’ll just keep phoning.”

Rather reluctantly, Tom swipes his finger over the screen, accepting the call and then putting the device on speakerphone.

“Hello?” He says.

The line crackles for a moment. “Oh, hi there, Tom,” Rebecca says. “Is Y/N with you?”

Tom glances at you. You clear your throat before replying.

“Yes, I’m here. You’re on speaker.”

Rebecca swallows so loudly that it’s audible. “What have you done?” She whispers. “Paps got you leaving the airport.”

“I changed my mind,” you say. Tom reaches down and takes your hands in his, squeezing your fingers when he hears the waver in your voice. “I didn’t want to go back to LA.”

“They also got you going back to Tom’s house. The tabloids are going crazy. Nobody knows what’s going on.” Rebecca pauses, and then sighs, deeply. “What is going on?”

“I’m staying in London,” you tell her, eyes on Tom’s face. Your lips curl into a nervous smile, and you continue to look at Tom as you speak. “We’re not… We’re not breaking up, Rebecca. I don’t care if it’s not part of the plan.”

“So… You’re actually dating?”

You hum. “Yes.”

There’s a tense few moments. The sound of rustling papers comes down the line, and Tom tries to ease you by rolling his thumb over the back of your hand. He can see the nerves in your shoulders, understands that for you, the prospect of being scolded, and possibly even dropped by your management is terrifying. He knows just as well as you how much power they have over you.

“Okay.” Rebecca sighs. “Tom?”

“Yes?”

“You’ll take care of Y/N in London?”

“Of course.”

“Good.” There’s a brief moment’s pause. “I’ll get someone from the office to call you tomorrow, Y/N. You’ll need to come back to LA to shoot your next film, but I don’t see why that needs to be immediately.”

A relieved smile splits across your face, and Tom exhales.

“Thank you, Rebecca,” you say. You lean down to rest your forehead on Tom’s shoulder, and he rubs a hand over your back. “Thanks for understanding.”

“Well, it’s the least I can do,” she responds. “Congratulations, you two. For what it’s worth, I think you make a lovely couple.”

The line disconnects and Tom grins, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you impossibly closer. You squeal as he nuzzles his face into your shoulder, kissing the base of your neck over and over again. He works his way up to your lips, pausing briefly only to suck a light hickey just below your ear, and by the time he reaches your mouth, you’re pushing back against him, eager.

“I can’t believe that this has worked out,” he says. Tom lets you pad your thumb through his ruffled eyebrow.

“Neither,” you admit. “Feels almost anti-climactic. Every other part of this relationship has been so dramatic.”

“Oh, don’t tempt fate,” Tom says, eyes wide. “We’ve had enough drama.”

You laugh, nodding in fast agreement. “You certainly have a point there.”

You crack open a few beers and end up chatting in the kitchen together, the hours slipping away. Tom sits across from you, holding your hand as you talk, and talk, and talk, covering every topic beneath the sun. There have been so many taboo subjects that neither of you have felt confident enough to bring up over the course of your fake relationship, and you take the time to work them through - together.

Tom finally admits that he’s had a crush on you since you first met. You tell him that you’d only suggested the one night stand because you’d wanted to be close to him. He counters that by opening up about how stressed he’d been before his failed revelation of love.

You laugh together, you cry together. Then you move on, together.

“C’mon, Tom.” You stand up, smiling, and walk around the table to pull him up. Tom gets to his feet, his body full of a nice, lulling buzz from the beers he’d drank. You lean in and peck his cheek before tugging him towards the patio doors. “It’s too hot in here, isn’t it?”

Tom hums. He can feel the red flush to his cheeks. “We could go shower.”

You turn around to grin at him. “Or…” Dropping his hand, you twirl the lock on the patio doors and pull them open. You look back at Tom, smiling. “Care to take a dance in the rain with me, lover?”

Tom blinks a few times, looking at you curiously. “Sure,” he agrees. As you pull off your hoodie, he pulls out his phone and then turns on one of the bluetooth speakers that sits by the door. “What do you want to listen to?”

“Something romantic,” you respond.

There’s a frown of concentration on Tom’s face as he scrolls through his Spotify, but it clears when he finds a playlist of some classic love songs. He shuffles it and Elvis drifts through the air as he puts down his phone and shakes off his hoodie.

“This is very random,” he tells you, accepting your hand. You tug him out onto the patio, into the night sky, and Tom feels his t-shirt begin to dampen. It’s no longer pouring with rain, but it’s still drizzling enough to be noticeable.

“Well, I had a reason,” you murmur. Together, you do a bit of a dance. Tom grins as you spin around, laughing brightly as droplets of water stick to your face. You have fun for a while, and you even spin Tom around too, but then you both get dizzy and settle back into a loose slow-dance position, your arms around his neck as Tom perches his hands on your waist. Your foreheads press together. “I used to think about this,” you admit.

“Dancing in the rain?”

“No, no.” You pause to kiss him. Your lips are warm against his skin. “We’d used to see one another at all the shows. Oscars, BAFTA, Golden Globes… And we’d argue, or brood, and just generally be miserable.”

“I’m following.”

“Well.” You shift your face into the crook of Tom’s shoulder, kissing his neck a few times. “I always wondered what it’d be like to sneak off with you, and just… Have fun. Do something crazy. Have a couple drinks and dance. I didn’t… I didn’t like you, but I always thought we’d be able to have fun together. If you weren’t always such a dick.”

Tom hums, resting a hand on the back of your head. Raindrops pour down his face, but it’s nice. He can feel the weight of his heart pouring onto the ground, swept away with the water.

“Well, I hope we can have many fun nights together, love.”

You pull back to look up at him, water droplets clinging to your eyelashes. Both of your hands shift to Tom’s face, and you smile. It really is very romantic, swaying together in the rain, soft romantic tones in the air. You feel so warm wrapped up in his arms.

“I hope so too.” You have mascara running down your cheeks. “Plenty more nights in London like this, please.”

Tom nods. “Plenty more nights together.” He brings you back in, hand soft on the back of your head as you bury your face in his chest. Tom lets his lips rest against your head. “I love you,” he says. He can’t seem to stop saying it, thinks you must be fed up with the number of times he’s sprinkled the three special words into conversation. He just can’t help it. Now he’s open with his heart, he wants you to know, completely and without any shred of doubt, that he loves you. He never wants you to question it again.

Your hands sink into his hair, and Tom sighs happily as you play with his wet curls.

“Love you too.”

The two of you last another ten minutes before getting too cold, and then you take a shower together. Tom lays you down in his bed and you kiss some more, before things get a little raunchier. He tells you that he loves you in every way he can, and it feels like the two of you have knitted your souls together as he holds you afterwards, the bedroom full of a tranquil glow.

Tom’s hand is on your cheek, fingers stroking gently over the soft skin of your face. You look so beautiful, hair a mess, eyes bright.

“Isn’t it funny,” you say, softly, “how we’ve ended up like this?”

Tom hums, his pinky nudging against your hair. “We’re lucky. Such a mad world we live in.”

You release a warm chuckle, nodding. “Our world is crazy. Fame is… Insane.” You pause for a moment. “It’s the whole reason this happened. Management wanted me to stay on top, didn’t want my image to get shattered because of that kiss. They wanted me to win the game.”

Tom tilts his head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“The fame game,” you reply, smiling. You inch nearer to kiss him quickly, and Tom finds himself chasing your lips. For a few moments, you’re both distracted, and you further intertwine, Tom’s arms hooking around your waist as he holds you close.

“The fame game,” Tom repeats, nose nudging yours. “That’s a funny way to put it.”

You shrug. “Just the way I like to think about it. Making it seem like a game made it easier when this started. It was all just a performance until it became real.”

“I like that.”

“Me too.” Your hands are on his shoulders, fingers trailing Tom’s warm skin. “The game always has its winners and its losers, Tom.”

“And what are we?”

You kiss him, softly. Your lips linger against his. Tom feels so much gratitude and love for you that his eyes prick with tears.

“The winners, of course.”

↠ EPILOGUE

[dream-a-little-bigger-x]

The Perfect Night | Charlie Gillespie

Requested by anon: Can you please write a fanfic with Charlie Gillespie x reader where you're taking him with you as a plus one to your high school reunion because you don't have anyone to go with but then they realise they really like each other

Pairing: Charlie Gillespie x Female!Reader

Warnings: a few curse words like bitch, fluff 

Words: 2,622

High school wasn’t your favorite. All the bullies and the stress to fit in. Everyone laughing at you because you were the nerd with all the stories piled up on your computer and the fantasy of a child in your head. You’d thought you left all of that behind. But then came the reunion. You’ve only graduated five years ago from high school and only last year from college. Though you had an amazing job as screenwriter and some really great friends, you didn’t have a date to bring to that reunion, and you knew all those people would pick on you for old time’s sake because you didn’t have a date. “Hey, you okay? You seem stressed,” Charlie’s voice shakes you awake from your anxious thoughts about the reunion. You look up at him and offer him a nervous smile. Charlie Gillespie is your co-worker, and along with the rest of the Julie and The Phantoms team, one of your newest friends. Yes, you were on the writing team for Julie and The Phantoms, and you had just finished a table read for season 2. “Yeah, I just—there’s this high school reunion tonight and I really don’t want to go.” “Not a fan of high school?” he asks as he falls into step with you, the two of you walking out of the building. “Not at all…” he gives you a curious look, “Eh, they used to bully me because I was a writer and spent my time writing books instead of going out to parties or spending time with friends,” you give him the synopsis. Charlie doesn’t need to know about the nights you spend crying in your room or going to your therapist. You were close, just not that close. Besides, you’d rather forget about your past. “And now you’re a part of the writers’ team on a popular Netflix show?” he tries with a smile, but you just give him an unimpressed look. “Come on, Y/N! This is an opportunity to show them what you made of yourself! Brag a bit about how amazing a job you have!” You shrug, still not convinced. “I just don’t want to face them alone…” you mumble, staring at your moving feet when suddenly a thought pops into your head and you stop in your tracks, looking up at him. “Do you want to be my plus one?” He halts too, raising his eyebrows at you. “Nope, you’re right, that’s stupid!” You start walking again, Charlie following your example. “No. No, it’s not stupid. I just didn’t think you’d ask me?” “You’re one of my best friends here, Charlie. It’s just logical.” He smiles at that. He really has become your best friend since meeting him a couple months ago. “Okay! So, am I playing your boyfriend? Husband? Just a best friend?” You furrow your eyebrows at him, glaring at him questionably. “We could make something fun out of this, Y/N!” He’s almost bouncing off the walls with excitement. That’s the Charlie you know and love. “Okay… Uhm, let’s pretend you’re my boyfriend. I bet they wouldn’t expect the antisocial nerd to have a boyfriend.” The giggle that comes out of his mouth is too adorable to handle. “How did we meet?” he asks, making sure you got the story straight. “Uhm, here?” you suggest. He rolls his eyes at the obvious answer but goes with it. “Okay! Uhm, let’s – let’s say I fell for you when you bossily told me how I should say a line in the dialogue you wrote?” You nod your head slowly. That sounds kind of cute. “What was our first date?” “Uhm, I don’t know? Movie and dinner?” He scrunches his nose, shaking his head. “No, girl… Charlie Gillespie doesn’t do basic dates!” You chuckle at this, stopping in the hallway of the building to check out. “You like hiking, right?” You nod your head, signing your name on the paper at the front desk. “I took you on a hike on the Eagle Bluffs trail in Vancouver and we had a romantic picnic on the mountain with a gorgeous view over the Cabin Lake.” You nearly melt away at the thought of him taking you on a date like that. “That’s a cute date,” you tell him, impressed, and trying not to show what it’s really doing to you. “And I kissed you on that mountain top.” He raises an eyebrow as an amused smirk pulls at his lips. “No one at my school would ever think I’d be the one to take that step.” “And our first ‘I love you’s were accidental slip ups at work!” He sounds way too excited and he’s getting way too into this. “Like, I’d accidentally completely mess up the punch-line of the joke you wrote, and you’d get annoyed and angry, and then I accidentally said “Okay, sorry, thank you, I love you”.” You giggle at his ideas as the both of you exit the building together. “Anything else we need to discuss?” you ask, grabbing your car key. “Don’t think so…” he trails off, really mulling it over. “Oh! Is there a dress code?” “Yes! It’s formal,” you reply, hoping that wouldn’t be too much of trouble so last minute. He thinks about it for a moment, going through his own wardrobe in his mind. “What are you wearing?” he questions. “Not sure, a red dress, I think…” “You think?” “Yeah, I might change my mind if I don’t like it.” He nods his head understandingly. “What time does it start?” “Seven. It’s about fifteen minutes from my place.” “I’ll pick you up at twenty minutes before then,” he suggests. You nod your head in agreement, then say your goodbyes and go your separate ways. That night, Charlie’s eyes widen when you open the door in your red, tight-fitting bodycon dress with spaghetti straps. He’s not used to seeing you out of your comfy mom-jeans and T-shirts or sweaters. “Uh… Okay… First of all,” he gestures to your body, “Wow!” You laugh at him, feeling a blush creeping up your cheeks. “Second of all… WOW!” “It’s not too much?” you ask, shyly. “No! No! Not at all! I’m very glad I get to play the boyfriend of a goddess like you.” “Oh, shut it, Charlie!” you slap his chest playfully before grabbing your clutch and leaving your apartment. “You look pretty wow yourself, by the way,” you say, approving of the suit he’s wearing. He bashfully smiles as you exit the building. He opens every door for you, like a true gentleman. You’re pretty sure no one has ever done that for you before. You always thought it would be so cliché, but it’s actually really nice. “Hey, how far are we going to go with PDA?” he asks when he gets in behind the wheel. “You know, holding hands and stuff…” You blush a little at the thought alone. Being single for so long almost made you forget that was a part of it too. “Uhm… Just improvise,” you shrug. “You’re the actor after all.” You go over the story again with Charlie, making sure neither of you will forget and give everything away. “You ready?” he asks as you’re standing in front of your high school. Terrible memories flood back inside your mind, sending shivers down your spine. As if on automatic, you grab Charlie’s bicep for support – both moral and physical. “Let’s do this.” The two of you walk inside the school and find the gym where they’re holding the five-year reunion. The music’s blasting, lights are flickering, and people are mingling, reminiscing over their high school memories. You already spot a few people you know, but much rather not talk to. “If you ever feel overwhelmed and want to leave, just tell me, and we’re out of here,” he whispers in your ear. You can’t help but smile at his words. A true gentleman.   “Thanks, Charlie,” you whisper back. He takes you straight to the bar where he gets you your favorite beverage. “How’d you know?” you ask when he hands it over. “You always order a G&T at the crew parties,” he tells you nonchalantly. “How attentive of you,” you compliment with an endeared smile plastered on your face. This man keeps surprising you with the smallest thing, and it’s the cutest thing you’d ever witnessed. It gives you the feeling of being seen and appreciated and respected. For the first time in your life. “Oh my God! Y/N!” you hear the shrill voice of Ella, one of your classmates from back in the day. One of the biggest bullies from your senior year. “You look amazing! How are you doing?!” she grabs the hand your not holding your drink with and presses a kiss to your cheek. “Hi, Ella…” you greet, putting the fakest smile you can muster on your face. “I’m good! How are you?” Charlie watches you to find any sign of uncomfortableness. “I’m good! You know, recently engaged.” She shows you her hand, which is decorated with the shiniest, biggest diamond ring you’d ever seen. “Oh, wow!” you glance at Charlie, “Look, babe, she’s engaged!” If he’s surprised by the sudden pet name, he doesn’t show it. “Congratulations, Bella!” You know he’s butchering that name on purpose, and you have to try your hardest to stifle a laugh. “You have a boyfriend?” Ella asks, clearly bitter over either him butchering her name or you, having such an attractive boyfriend. “There’s nothing on Facebook about that?” she chuckles awkwardly. Charlie wraps a protective arm around your waist, pulling you closer towards him. “Uhm… Yeah… We’re keeping it lowkey, you know?” you reply as convincingly as possible. “He’s an actor, so…” you trail off, hoping that would impress her. Ella’s demeanor changes all of a sudden. She goes from total bitch to flirty bitch. “Really?” She twirls a strand of hair around her finger. “Y/N?” Another voice chimes in, this one belongs to Addison, Ella’s bestie. “Hey, Addie…” you greet, clutching your glass really hard. Charlie can feel you tensing up beside him and starts rubbing circles on your hip. “Y/N has an actor boyfriend,” Ella informs her. Addison’s eyes widen as they dart from you to Charlie and back. “How’d you meet?” Addison questions, intrigued by this entire story. The two of you glance at each other, trying to determine who’s going to tell the story. “At work, actually,” you start. “I’m on the writers team of the show he plays in.” “Yeah! She bossily told me how to deliver the line she wrote, and I’ve been in love with her ever since.” He looks down at you with the most endeared smile on his face that makes you melt like ice cream in the sun. “Aw! That’s adorable!” Addison clutches her heart as if it’s about to burst out of her chest. “When did you fall in love with him, Y/N?” You glance at Charlie for some assistance or some inspiration. “When he suggested that instead of a boring movie and dinner date, we’d go hiking together. I just knew he was the one for me at that moment.” You’re not going to lie, Charlie taking you on a hiking date would totally make you fall in love with him. Ella’s and Addison’s noses scrunch up in disgust. “Also…” she adds, then leans in closer to the girls to whisper, “His arms! The boy has guns, I tell you!” The two girls gasp, scanning Charlie entirely from head-to-toe. He snickers, then pulls you closer again. “You did not fall in love with me for my arms,” he tells you, shaking his head with an amused look on his face. You look up at him, eyebrow raised. “I do see you every day with those muscle tees, babe. You really think I wouldn’t swoon for that?” You couldn’t lie. Charlie’s arms were killer. But obviously not the only thing that made him attractive. “If you don’t mind, ladies. I’m going to take my lady for some food,” he nods towards the other side of the gym where food is stalled out into a banquet. Addison and Ella bid their goodbyes, and the two of you make your way to the catering. “I hate them with a passion,” you grumble as you take a plate to fill with canapes. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone as fake as them, and I’m an actor.” You giggle at his comment and reach for the mini-pizzas at the same time he does, your hands touch, making both of you freeze. “Sorry,” you both mumble, pulling away, flustered. “Hey, Y/N!” A voice you really didn’t want to hear sounds from behind me. “Kill me now,” you mumble, earning a worried look from Charlie. “Ex-boyfriend.” Charlie takes your plate from you and places it onto the table, leaving you a little confused. “Do you trust me?” he asks, hushed. “Yeah, wh—?” before you can finish your question, Charlie presses his lips to yours, pushing you gently against the wall behind you. You’re startled, at first, but then melt into the kiss as your stomach starts to do flips and turns. You didn’t realize until now that this is what you’ve wanted all along. You always wondered why your eyes always automatically darted to his lips. Now you know why. “Ooh! Get it, Y/N!” you hear your ex’s best friend shout. Nothing about high school has changed. Except now Charlie’s here. He pulls away and stares at you for a moment, equally as overwhelmed as you. “You want to get out of here?” he whispers. You simply nod your head, running your tongue across your bottom lip as though the taste of his lips is still there. Charlie grabs your hand and pulls you to the door of the gym. As you pass your ex and his friends, you offer them a wave of your slender fingers. For the first time in years, you feel powerful in this gym, like you can conquer the world. Charlie takes you into the hallway, and pushes you against the wall of lockers, kissing you again. You can’t help the smile tugging at your lips as your hands tug at his suit jacket. “I wanted to do that for so long,” he whispers when he pulls away for a second, pressing his forehead against yours and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “What do you mean?” you ask, keeping your voice down too. “You really think I made all of that up in there?” he chuckles. “I really did fall for you when you told me off about delivering that line wrong.” Your mouth drops open before your lips turn up into a surprised smile. “It was incredibly hot.” “And I do swoon every time I see you, by the way,” you admit for the first time to yourself. “And I would really love that first date you imagined for us.” “Good,” he replies, “Because I was going to ask you to go this weekend.” Your eyes widen, and Charlie notices a sparkle in them that he’s never seen before. “Thank you for tonight, Charlie,” you whisper, pushing a strand of hair from his forehead. He has that Patrick Swayze hair he had a couple of times in Season 1 of Julie and The Phantoms, the hairstyle you find way too attractive. “No, thank you.” He smiles down at you before connecting his lips to yours again in a deep, passionate kiss. Tonight, you not only conquered your dreadful past, but you also found the love of your life in your best friend. And you couldn’t possibly ask for more. This was a perfect night.

Taglist: @hannahhistorian92​ @marinettepotterandplagg​ @thequirkybookaholic​ @parkeret​​ @lukeys-giggle​ @gingerxarmy​ @lovesanimals​ @bookdealer5​ 

[hufflepuffhollander]

shirtgate: tom holland imagine

a/n | i finally did it! i wrote a thing without angst! i have grown so much as a person. anyway this is my third and final (☹️) submission for @hollandsrecs​ 1k bingo event, crossing off the “accidental relationship reveal” trope square. this has been a super fun challenge and everything i’ve written for it i’ve actually been v proud of so thank you all for the continued support :)

summary | it is pretty obvious — you accidentally tell the whole world about your relationship with your costar Tom Holland.

tom x fem costar!reader | contains language, fluff, heavily suggestive dialogue | word count: 1.8k | enjoy!

“Babe, have you seen my shirt?”

A strong pair of arms snake around your waist.

“Why do you need a shirt?”

You slip around and lace your fingers behind your boyfriend’s neck, blushing at his sly smile.

“As flattered as I am, I don’t think my publicist will be very pleased seeing pictures in the papers tomorrow of me walking around naked.”

He ran his hands up and down your bare back and leaned in to kiss your neck, making you shiver in the best way.

“Ooh, I would buy the hell out of those photos.”

“You’re such a weirdo, Tom.”

“You love it.”

“Maybe. Where is my shirt?!”

“Just borrow one of mine,” he said, going to his closet and pulling one of his favorite spider-man t-shirts from the back. You draped it over you and reveled in being enveloped in his scent while Tom frowned at the loose cotton now hanging over you.

You walked over to him sitting on the edge of his bed and straddled his hips, lazily putting your arms on either one of his shoulders. The smell of your perfume mixed with his laundry detergent blissfully dizzied him, and he couldn’t stop thinking about how the only thing between your bare bodies was a thin piece of fabric- but his pout stayed put.

You noticed the drop in his mood. “What, I don’t look good in gray?”

“You look amazing in it, darling. I just wish you didn’t have to leave,” he exaggerated his expression, toying with the bottom hem of the shirt, exposing a few inches of your bare belly. You kissed his nose and pushed him back on the mattress, leaning over and propping yourself up on your hands. His eyes continued to roll over you, the sunshine filtering in through the slats in his blinds casting a glowing sheen across you that he couldn’t peel his eyes away from.

“I’ll be back later,” you said, dragging one finger slowly down his chest. “And you can take it off again then.” You finished your sentence with a smirk and a boop to the nose, got up, and went to finish getting dressed. Tom stayed there with his jaw slacked, cursing his better judgement for not tackling you and using his charm to convince you to stay.

“Oh, you better believe I’ll be doing a lot more than that,” he huffed, swallowing hard, trying to figure out what the hell he was going to do with himself until he could get his hands on you later.

~

“...and this is the room where it happens!” you pan your camera around your bedroom to show all of the fans who were watching your live story. You had promised them a tour of your new apartment once it was all moved into, and with a fan base as big as you had, you couldn’t disappoint, even if you would’ve much preferred being tangled up with Tom right now than showing millions of strangers your throw pillows. But your relationship was to be kept completely off the books, out of the media and only inside the comfort of your own homes, with the exception of your close friends. You both knew what kind of drama it would spark if you went public this soon after your movie release, and wanted to live in your little private bubble of normalcy as long as you could. When you expose your love to the world, things just get messy- and right now, you were content with everything being divinely simple.

Feedback poured in onto your tiny screen.

“wooowww so jealous!!!”

“your house is beautiful 😍😍”

“hiiii y/n! show us more!”

You scrolled through the comments on your live-stream, laughing and responding to some questions people asked.

“Yes, my dog lives here with me!”

“Ohmygod, no, Chris Evans does not live in my basement! Did he tell you that?!”

You floated from room to room giving the tour, and eventually made your way to your impeccably organized closet, opening the doors and flipping your camera to show the live audience the inside. And right there, sticking out like a sore thumb on top of your white dresser, was one neatly folded gray spider-man shirt- normally spotted on Mr. Tom Holland. It was unmistakeable. The comments started flooding in before you could even turn the closet light off.

“wait a second- is that TOM’S SHIRT?!”

“omgomgomg-“

“yoooo i knew it, y/n and tom 😍😍”

“wtf?!? are they DATING???”

You realized what you’d just done a second too late, immediately came up with an excuse as to why you had to close the tour, and ended the livestream, heart beating out of your chest. Not even a minute later, you got a call from Tom; you almost threw your phone across the room.

“...Hello?”

“Hey, hi, y/n, uh, what did you just do?”

“Tom, I swear I didn’t mean to-“

“Baby, it’s alright. Just…what- what happened?”

“They saw. They saw it. All of them. Your stupid shirt. On my stupid fucking dresser. I’m so sorry, how do they even know what all of your shirts look like, that’s so fucking weird-“

Your mouth couldn’t keep up with your brain you were so flustered, and all you heard on the other end of the line was Tom chuckling softly, which only confused you even more.

“Are you- are you laughing? Because I’m having a heart attack,” you half-muttered, sitting down with your heavy head in your hands. It was pounding with panic and confusion and couldn’t hold itself upright any longer.

“Take a breath, y/n. The world isn’t ending-”

“Yes it is!” you teared up, feeling your phone buzzing out of control in your palm.

“Baby, no it’s not. Stay there and I’ll be over in 5.” Tom hung up the phone and you went to check your texts, every app under the sun pouring in with notifications of screenshots and callouts about what you had just revealed. When Tom finally knocked on your front door, you basically fell apart in his arms before he made it past the threshold.

“Tom, I’m freaking out, everyone is saying we’re-” he cut you off with an unexpectedly sweet kiss, this proving to be the only thing that could get you to stop panic-rambling. Your eyes fluttered shut against your mind’s wishes to keep pumping with adrenaline.

“Yes, darling, most people are speculating all over the internet that we’re an item because they saw your livestream,” he said, walking you to your couch and sitting down, guiding you to sit on his lap. “You have a much bigger following than I thought.” he grinned at you, but all you could do was frown back.

“Oh, god. I ruined everything.”

“No, you didn’t. It was about time people started knowing I was off the market,” Tom said, running a soothing hand through your hair as you continued to pout at him. 

“...Really?”

“Yes! I mean, it’s just cruel that I’ve had all this to myself-”—he gave your body a once-over—“and couldn’t show it off, y’know.”

That got you to crack a small smile, and Tom capitalized on that moment and pushed you down onto the couch to hover over you, peppering you with obnoxious kisses. Admittedly, he’d made a valiant effort to distract you, but you playfully swatted at him to get off because you were nowhere near done being dramatic about this. 

“Okay, so wait, you’re — Tom, stop that — you’re not upset?” You found your previous spot etched into his lap and settled back down, interlocking your hands and playing with his slender fingers.

“Actually, no, I’m not,” he said, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. “Thought I would be, but, honestly? It feels good, love. I don’t have to hide you anymore. I never wanted to in the first place.”

You gave him an audible awww and snuggled into his chest, wrapping your arms around him and trying your best to squeeze him until he popped. “I’m sorry it couldn’t happen on your own terms, though, it was just a dumb mistake,” you sighed into his shirt.

“Are you kidding? The fans are eating this up. They’re dubbing it ‘shirtgate’,” he laughed and shrugged again, “I don’t even know what that means.”

You giggled into his chest and brought your face back up to his, kissing his forehead, then nose, then lips. You went for a deeper kiss the second time, but he interrupted you.

“Although, I did tell you y’should’ve just stayed shirtless.”

You feigned offense at what he said and instinctively covered your chest by crossing your arms over one another.

“Well good luck getting me shirtless now, Holland.”

“Excuse me?!”

“What a horrible time to prove a point!”

You both laughed as he tried to wrestle your arms apart, but they didn’t budge. You gave an impressive fight, but Tom got the better of you, and ended up throwing you over his shoulder from the couch and carrying you upside-down into your bedroom. You seized your opportunity and pinched two handfuls of his butt, chuckling.

“Hey, I like the view.”

“Did you just grab my ass?!”

He dropped you down onto your bed and walked away, coming back in with his gray shirt and throwing it at you.

“Put it on, babe.”

You obliged all while staring at him puzzled as he twiddled away on his phone. Once you were dressed, he sat down next to you, put his phone up to face you both, and turned on his instagram live.

“Tom! What are you-” you gasped but had to stop speaking as thousands of people were already tuning into his stream.

“Hey, everybody! Me and y/n here. We know there has been some buzz going around about this shirt,“ he pointed to you and you smiled awkwardly. “and wanted to set the record straight.” Tom put his arm around your shoulders and you were suddenly in the foreground of the screen.

“Yes, it is mine. And she does look amazing in gray, doesn’t she?” you started to giggle and blush incessantly as he kissed your cheek, gave a casual wave goodbye, and shut off his phone.

“Uh, what did you just do?”

“Gave ‘em something to talk about.” he flipped his phone onto silent, grinned and came back over to you, fingers already fussing with the oversized shirt, starting to tug it upwards.

“We’re so screwed.” you said eliciting a laugh from him, leaning back so he could take in more of your features that he loved oh-so much.

“So, you know me, I’m on the record as loving you in this shirt,” he said, his voice already sounding lower, softer, huskier.

“Mmhmm,” you played along.

“But I’d like it much better off again.”

[downtonabbeyrevisited]

Season Two Episode Two

Following a typically chaotic opener, Episode Two of Season Two strikes a far more sombre tone. The arrival of Henry Lang as Robert’s valet brings the first of this episode’s three plot points that address the impact of WW1 on the mental health of its soldiers. There is nothing funny to say about either shell-shock or suicidal ideation both of which are vast, complex issues that, for my money, Downton Abbey isn’t the vehicle explore in (because they require more time and depth than the pace of the plot in Season Two affords) and it certainly isn’t my place to make light of them in this rather irreverent corner of the internet. So I’m going to have a go at treading a fine line here. Forgive me if I stumble. 

Lang is clearly in the grips of something awful and yet in an attempt to avoid the indignity of having maids in the dining room, he is bumped up to footman duty. He struggles throughout, culminating in him depositing his cargo on Edith’s dress. Mrs O’Brein has firmly taken Lang under her wing, recognising that he is struggling and offers him assurance and comfort that she has never gifted to Thomas. 

Across the Village, Lieutenant Edward Courtenay is in the hospital having been blinded by gas. The use of gas (both chlorine and mustard) had a devastating impact on soldiers in WW1 but was also the root of the development of Zyklon B. Frtiz Haber, a German Jewish chemist, enabled chlorine gas to be used a weapon in WW1 and his research was later developed into the Zyklon process which was used by the Nazis to murder millions, including his own family. This is only one of a dizzying number of appalling ironies to be found in the World Wars but as I said last episode, I’m not a military historian so I’m going to leave it there. Edward had plans to return to the country after his graduation from Oxford to pursue the simple life (although one gets the feeling that his idea of the pursuit of a simple life will still be one that is very well upholstered). Thomas has taken it upon himself to read Edward’s letters to him and�� together with Sybil is helping him to adjust to living life with a different set of parameters. But growing pressure on the hospital’s limited capacity means that he is to be transferred elsewhere. All three voice their dissent at varying volumes to Major Clarkson who falls back on the very real backlog of wounded men. After Edward has died, Major Clarkson, Isobel and Sybil talk about a renewed need for the Abbey to become a convalescent home, an idea that has been bubbling under the surface for a while now. Meanwhile, Thomas has been left on his own to process both Edward’s death and the implications of witnessing a lack of support given by his own physician to those with depression.  

The usually reliably jovial Mrs Patmore also has a more somber episode with her pursuit for the truth about the death of her nephew Archie. Robert finds that he has been shot for cowardice. Not only does this mean that her family is in mourning but they will now have to navigate the stigma and undue shame that came with having a relative die in this way. So entrenched in British life was the derision levelled at those who were shot for cowardice or desertion that it was only in 2006 that pardons were offered by Britain for 309 of those that were executed by firing squad during WW1. I know I said I’d leave it there with the military history, but that felt like an important bit of context. 

We are now in 1917 and Matthew is still in the same trench that he was in 1916 (a detail I hadn’t actually noticed until I got the screen cap for this) so it looks like his strategy of downing tools mid-fight and continuously popping back to Blighty for important plot developments isn’t really paying dividends. Perhaps the addition of William to the ranks will help him? William certainly seems to think so and if the speed at which he moves through the various stages of his ‘relationship’ with Daisy is any indication of his tactical prowess, the British Front will not only be well within Germany’s borders but will be breathing down Russia’s neck in a fortnight. In any other episode, this would certainly get the award for oddest relationship dynamic but Sir Richard Carlisle exists. 

Sir Richard makes his debut at Downton, having been introduced in name only in the previous episode. He and Mary met at Cliveden which is a regular haunt of mine, giving me hope that one day I too will from a strategic alliance with a newspaper magnate. He may know how to talk his way around a boardroom but he is lacking in the sartorial department. Whilst Sir Richard manages to avoid catching fire in his tweed, Lavinia is not free from the heat as he threatens her with his connection to her uncle. He may not know much about navigating the niceties of Downton, but at least he has cottoned on to the fact that any major disagreement should occur under a specific tree. Whilst Mary’s signature move is weeping into her gloves, Sir Richard’s is grabbing women by the forearm. A female friend of mine told me that one of her favourite things about the pandemic and the compulsion to keep 2m away from anyone (and not just emotionally) is that she has not been ’steered’ by a male hand on her lower back since 2019. It turns out that she can enter and exit rooms just fine on her own and I get the impression that Lavinia could get the gist of Sir Richard’s rage without the vice like grip of a man probably about twice her age. 

Twinned with the ’tree of emotional conflict’, the ‘platform of romantic uncertainty’ provides the backdrop for Sir Richard’s proposal of marriage to Mary which is a declaration that really feels like it should come with a series of well-formatted charts. Mary’s heart, however, is still very much with Cousin Matthew. After being counselled by Carson in a type of conversation I cannot imagine her ever having with her father, she is on the verge of coming clean with Matthew. But in the second round of Lavinia vs. Mary, Lavinia declares that she ‘could not go on living’ without Matthew and Mary winds her neck in. 

Also having a romantic entanglement this episode is Edith. Drake, previously of dropsy fame, has lost his farm hands and Edith turns up to offer her help in a wildly unsuitable trouser and heeled boot combo. But she soon gets down to it by pulling up a tree stump and flirting in a barn whilst a rather lovely border collie looks on (I’m currently trying to talk myself out of getting a border collie and this incident has done nothing to help things). After showing Drake that she can drink from a bottle like literally every single other human on the planet, the two share a kiss and some highly awkward dialogue that only slightly resembles ‘Carry on Downton’. 

Whilst Edith is more than happy to crack on in a barn, Mr Molesley is much more backwards about coming forwards. Apparently having predicted the creation of ‘The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society’, he figures that a book is the perfect kindling for romance when you exist in a glossy depiction of the past. Sadly neither Elizabeth nor her German garden can lure Anna from Bates who is fast shaping up to be schrodinger’s boyfriend. Anna proceeds to make some odd analogy where she compares Mr Bates to her moon-based child, revealing a rather unhealthy amount of codependency in that particular relationship. 

Romantic declaration of the moment 

Again, it feels like anyone but Sybil and Branson should get this but I am an agent of chaos and here we are. Branson defends Sybil’s will to work and has ample opportunity to see her shine in her chosen field. The admission that she will not be returning to her old life is a little chink of light that Branson basks in. 

Expressive eyebrow of the week 

I nominate Carson’s entire face when he realises that he has taken on too much and goes an impressive shade of red. As Carson frets about spoons, sauce, and something I can’t quite fathom, he starts to resemble a man who is re-arranging the deckchairs on the Titanic. Carson’s battle to get a cork out of a bottle and knocking into chairs is a warm up to his rather dramatic collapse which is accompanied by a pretty disturbing groan. Sybil springs to action and he is soon efficiently ensconced in his own quarters. 

Wait, what? 

“I got a lot done on the train” Clearly Richard was on a train that was unencumbered with the wifi issues that plague the Pendolino.  

“It takes a good deal more than that to shock me.” Mary’s shock-o-meter is a pretty odd instrument. It is unresponsive to corpses of diplomats but goes into absolute meltdown at the notion that she might have to live in a cottage. 

“Let's hope my reputation will survive it.” I’ve not checked (and I categorically never will) but I would put money on the fact that someone has created a rarepair out of this. 

“How can Matthew have chosen that little blonde piece?” Is Lavinia blonde? Women’s hair is not really my forte but I would have thought she was more akin to Tim Minchin than 1998 Justin Timberlake. 

“I believe in this war. I believe in what we are fighting for.” William seems to have a better grip on what all of this is about than I ever did in high school history. The ‘A’ that eluded me is heading his way. 

“I thought he might've died for love of you.” How I love snipey Thomas. It’s good to have him back. To borrow a quote from Bottas (another man who is currently living a life in which his destiny is his own demise) ‘traditions’. 

“Fold it in, don’t slap it” The more season two goes on, the more I think that Moira is just an amalgamation of some choice elements of Julian’s kingdom. 

[mrslackles]

what do you think are gg's biggest flaws?

Ooh, Anon! It’s like you’re in my head. 

I’m busy making a video (that will probably never see the light of day) about this --  my distance from the show has really helped with some super objective clarity -- so I’ll use my notes from that to help me answer. 

I’ll preface this by saying what I was most shocked by after putting down all the points was that Rio isn’t even mentioned until really far down??

Anyway, let's get into it.

These are Good Girls' greatest flaws in my opinion (and relative to season 1 -- while I think it had its flaws too, the list is far smaller and I think that's a separate post)

1. It didn't stick to its guns

What set this show apart from others in the 'Everyday person does crime (poorly)' genre was its comedic lightness, strong friendship element, relatability and emphasis on girl power.

a) By season 2, the lightness was already slowly disappearing to make way for season 3's darkness. (Quite literally; this show said sunlight scenes for WHO.) It also stopped being as fun. Remember how it genuinely used to be fun? I mean let's not forget The Best Scene Ever where Ruby shoots Big Mike by accident and we all laughed our asses off. (Compare and contrast to a similar-in-tone-and-context scene -- or even the whole episode -- like Boomer popping up behind them as Rio's package in season 3.) I think season 3 had some great lines and laughs, but in general, the fun element was completely missing for me.

b) As was the friendship. We already know Annie and Ruby basically became Beth's backup dancers in season 2, but at least then they still seemed to have some type of agency. In season 3, they rarely question Beth's (truly questionable) decisions, don't talk to her about shit like why she's still with her horrible husband and have very few true friendship moments as they did in season 1.

c) Which made it less relatable, but what also contributed was the major plot holes (it's less easy to relate when you're constantly having to remind yourself to suspend your disbelief). And, to be honest, their stupid actions. Just the most common-sense things weren't followed, like not taking your children to a crack den or not putting a hit out on a gang leader. It's frustrating watching a TV show -- where characters are supposed to learn things, have arcs and improve over time -- and feeling like you have more logical sense than all the main characters in every scene. (WHO would think a hitman was going to use a sniper rifle on people in broad daylight on the side of the road???)

d) You don't have to look any further than the title or the stans who shout "THE SHOW IS ABOUT THE GIRLS" -- or, hell, the first 10 seconds of the show where Sara is literally talking about the glass ceiling -- to know that the main characters being women is very important to the show. If not formally feminist, it was at least supposed to be empowering or feel like "girl power" (a term I hate, but we won't get into that now).

And I think it did it pretty well in season 1 -- it actually played on my favourite theme of the show, which is the world's perception of these women being what ultimately allows them to get away with so much. (Rife with opportunities for commentary about white privilege, but also a genius way to upend patriarchal beliefs.) But more and more it seemed like the show was asking you to accept empowerment as simply "these things are being done by women, yay".

And, well.

2. Its marketing

I'll keep this one short because I think we all know how messed up this situation is. Basically they're selling a show (every week!) that they're not making while ignoring all feedback on every social media platform. Which brings us to...

3. The marriage of Death

If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times -- Beth's character development starts with getting rid of Dean. Her growth is stunted by him on multiple fronts and it's frustrating to viewers since she's constantly put forth as the main character. Not to mention how the audience, separately from Beth, was originally conditioned to see Dean as the scum of the earth (think of scenes like him crashing his car because he was perving on a woman jogging) so keeping them together is really... a choice. To actively root for this marriage (which seems like what the show wants, at least for the protracted moment) means either thinking Dean is a great person (which, as I said, we've only seen the opposite of) or believing he's all Beth deserves. Which leads me to...

4. Beth's (socio)path(y)

Is sociopath a 'good' word? Probably not. Have I seen dozens upon dozens of posts talking about whether Beth is one? Yes. And I see it from a huge variety of people -- from viewers who just binged the show last weekend to those who've been watching for years, the question keeps coming up. And I entirely blame the writing of the show that, by the way, I don't believe is deliberately creating Beth to get this reaction. I think she's written (and, to an extent, acted) in a way that is much too aloof and I'm not convinced it's meant to come off as cold and unfeeling as it does. Everything else leads me to believe that the audience is supposed to root for Beth, but it's just so difficult.

Beth does a lot of messed up shit that requires dialogue to sympathise with her and the inner workings of her mind, but in the later seasons Beth rarely gets to express herself verbally. And every time she does get to speak about her emotions, the dialogue is a pick-your-own-adventure between "She's in so much denial", "This person feels no emotions" and "I'll go find an analysis/fic later to explain this" (scenes like "Nothing" or "I was just bored"). Compare and contrast with some of the great scenes in season 1 where she emotes, like her paralysing shock after they first rob the store or admitting she enjoys crime, or (one of my favourites!) the one in the park where she's mimicking the other mothers beside her.

5. Brio

I said in the beginning that I was shocked Rio doesn't get mentioned until this point and that's because I've always felt like he was an integral part of the show. When people say the show is about the girls, they're truncating -- the show is about the girls getting into crime. That crime is represented by Rio over and over again -- they never bring in another criminal at his level (which is another one of its flaws, but that's also a different post); Rio is it.

And though I stand by Rio's importance, the truth is that Brio isn't as essential to the show, by which I mean that if all of the above were done well, it wouldn't be as sorely missed. In lieu of riveting plot, a fun friendship, character development and empowerment, most viewers have glommed onto Brio like a lifeboat (or ship, heh).

Unfortunately it's also what the show has most stubbornly refused to develop significantly.

It's honestly a toss-up for why I feel Brio is a flaw: is the flaw that they got together? That they never got together well enough? That the writing keeps bringing in these 'chemistry-filled' scenes that are ultimately filled with air?

I don't know. Maybe all of them; maybe just one, depending on the day.

6. Its criticism falls flat without intersectionality

This is a big one because Good Girls is *trying* to do something very clever. As mentioned previously, my favourite theme of the show is how the women's apparent innocence/vulnerability in the eyes of society is their biggest strength. The show plays with this and other interesting themes with varying levels of success, but ultimately they all fall a little flat when they don't feel intersectional.

When Ruby gets sidelined. When Turner, who sees and all but calls out by name Beth's privilege, is portrayed as the villain. When Rio is told he's gonna "pop a cap" in his young child's "ass". When the racist grandma becomes a sympathetic character whom we must later grieve. (And she really didn't have to be racist, now that I think about it? It was just that one line for laughs and that was it.) When, despite the real-world implications, Dean can loudly announce in a store that he's buying a gun to kill someone with and the show just glides past it. When Ruby has to grovel for forgiveness from Beth for trying to protect her husband and family from the system, with no acknowledgement from Beth about how their realities are different. When Rhea gets booted off the show as soon as she's done serving Beth's plot. When Rio gets treated like a prostitute for absolutely no reason. (Oh, and is accused of raping Beth and is literally spoken of as an animal and starts only existing in zero dim lighting as a one-dimensional stereotype... the list goes on.)

7. PR/The actors

I'll risk my life here to sprinkle this in because I do think it's a massive problem. The Manny/Christina of it all is just the tip of the iceberg (although wtf Good Girls? There's nothing you could do to get these two into an interview together??). The main actors do the bare minimum to promote the show and it's weird. I also think it's the height of unprofessionalism to keep characters on the show against the wishes of the majority of the audience just because you enjoy their actors (Boomer confirmed; Dean highly suspected). While, on the flip side of the coin, limiting a character's screentime because you aren't best buddies with them. Having less and less Rio when he's such a fan favourite is dumb; as is not including him in any series marketing material. It feels personal and that isn't how a TV show should be run.

8. The entire hair and wardrobe department needs a stern talking-to

[voltagesmutter]

Zen x MC - BodyWorship.

Pairing: Zen x MC (F).

Fandom: Mystic Messenger.

Prompt:  Body Worship || Masks || Formal wear. 

Warning: Mirrors, Body-worship, loving-fluff smut, oral (Female and male), vaginal sex.

Day 1 of @alloveroliver​ amazing Kinktober event/prompt list.

Amazing thank you to @crystal13unny for being my beta 💛

“To you my love,” She toasted, raising the flute of champagne, colours of gold filled with bubbles swirling in the glass. 

“Jagiya, you spoil me,” Zen meeting her movements, the ringing sound of glasses meeting filling the hotel room. The paleness of his skin was tinted a slight red, bashfulness taking over him as she gushed over his latest performance. A rarity to see the phenomenon flustered, but when it came to her, Zen was an array of emotions.

“You were truly wonderful Zen, I think that was by far my favourite performance ever ,” A pause followed as she brought her glass to her lips, a redded lip mark now staining it with a perfect print. Zen’s eyes fixed on her movement, she’d purposefully worn his favourite colour just for tonight. “You were beyond captivating,”.

Zen had a leading role in a local production, shining brighter on stage than he ever had done before. Partly due to new talent scouts were sat in the audience, but mainly because the love of his life was sat front and center with their friends. Admiring and savouring every line he spoke. While she attended dress rehearsals before, this was the first production of his she’d ever been too. Her eyes unable to be torn from his ruby ones as he delivered his lines of proclaiming love to the audience. And whilst he was saying them aloud in the play, he spoke everyone to her, pouring all of his emotions into them as if he was speaking to her directly. While the others were incredibly moved by his speech, she felt her eyes swell up with tears to watch him. He delivered it with such rawness of emotions, making it believable that he was pouring out his heart to a lover rather than reciting dialogue or reciting lines. So elegant and poised, charming and loveable, the brightest light on the stage. 

After the excitement of it, there was a flooding round of applause from the audience crying out for more. Then came the meet and greets with different cast members and producers, Zen keeping an arm tightly wrapped around her and close himself to the whole evening. Refusing to be apart from her for even a second longer. The scouting talents gushed over him, promising to be in touch concerning signing and as they said ‘Putting him on the map’. They smiled, chatted, laughed and conversed with others, swiftly moving from group to group until finally they taking their leave.

She’d booked a room at a swanky hotel nearby as a surprise for all his hard-work, toll of the sheer effort he’d provided to his work was evidently clear, but only to her; Zen kept up a mask of his perfect appearance, only letting it fade away in the comfort of their home. Exhausted, fatigued with muscle aches, yet always wearing that loveable grin that could make anyone swoon. She wanted to use tonight to help him relax, to focus a night of pure attention on him. Seeing him performing on stage like he was born to do lit a fire within her, to see her man living and breathing his passion. She wanted to show him, love him, make him feel just as vibrant off stage as he did on stage. Tonight she would do just that.

“Jagiya,” He took their drinks, placing them upon the glass table to cup her cheek, pulling her face up close to his. He kissed with a passion, one that knocked the very wind out of her lungs as their tongues sought comfort in each other’s mouths. Red nails seeking purchase amongst his white ponytail, angling his face down to deepen the kiss. The picturesque background of the city fading into the background as they held each other. 

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you on stage,” He whispered between kisses, moving them down to her jaw and neck. His hands restlessly rubbing her sides, fingers itching to pull the hem of her skirt up.

“I couldn’t take my eyes off of you, you looked so gorgeous up there Zenny,” Gently tugging his hair with a slight gasp as he playfully nibbled the sensitive patch of her neck.

“I hope not, I couldn’t bear for your eyes to wander,” His face coming up to nestle against hers, noses gliding each other as their lips met once more. Expert fingers quickly found the zip at the back of her dress, unzipping it, letting it fall to the floor in a puddle. 

The growl that fell from him, the expression on his face was like a child’s at Christmas seeing a wide variety of presents beneath the tree, causing a faint blush on her cheeks. The crimson underwear she wore, matching the colour of his eyes, sat beautifully as lace rested upon her skin.  His pupils blew wide, like they always did when he saw her undress. His look wasn’t just lustful, it was praising, loving and admiring. 

“Jagiya I need you,” His voice a low baritone hum against her neck once more, hands skirting across her body to rest upon the top of her underwear, thumbs rubbing in circles upon her hip bones. The hardness in his jeans pressing against her to prove to her how she affected him.

Zen always made the effort to indulge in her first, burying his head between her thighs for what could feel like hours but tonight was her turn to repay him, to give him the divine pleasure he always gave her.

“Do you want to know why I picked this hotel?” She teased, pulling away from his hold but he kept his arms encircled around her, rutted his hips against her causing a small whine to fall from her lips.

“The bed?” Eye’s glancing over to the almost double king-size, much bigger than theirs at home.

“Nope,” She shook her head, it was a right answer but not the one she was looking for. “Come with me,”. She stretched out her hand and intertwined it with his, leading him into the bathroom where a claw foot bath rested in the middle of the room, big enough the two of them to comfortably fit it. Lavish mirrors from ceiling to floor stood behind it. Leaning over the tub she turned on the hot tap. As water began to fill it the feel of her lover grinding against her again caused another sigh, her eyes catching his in the reflection.

“You're teasing me, dressed so deliciously, bending over like this,” His teeth gently bit the shell of her ear, “Are you trying to lure out the beast?” turning in his arms whilst pushing gently to create some distance to see a confused look upon his face. Whilst she loved when Zen let go and just mercilessly fucked into a mess on the spot, that was not the aim of this evening. 

“Actually tonight,” She gently pushed him backwards, taking a step forward as her fingers messed with the bottom of his t-shirt, “We’re going to do something different,”.

“Oh?” He questioned, raising an eyebrow. He couldn’t deny his first thought went straight to anal, a conversation they had had many of times.

“Tonight my love is all about you,”. Her fingers tickling his lower abdomen as she lifted his shirt off of him, licking her lips to the beautiful sight beneath. Pale skin with ripped muscles, broad shoulders that narrowed down his waist where a defined six pack lay. She wasn’t in love with Zen for his looks, she loved him for his personality but the body, and sex drive, were much appreciated bonuses. 

“Have I told you recently how lucky I am to have you?” Her lips pressing softly to his as she ghosted her fingers down his chest, teasingly running over his belt.

“Jagiya I-“ He swallowed the bob of his adam's apple clearly visible as she undid his belt, slowly pulling it through the loops. 

“Shh baby, let me take care of you tonight,” Her words were met with no protest, Zen almost crumbling on the spot as she kissed down his body, “I want to make you feel so good,” dark red marks standing strong against his pale skin as she slowly made her way down. A few loitering kisses upon his racing heart, one pressed over his hardening nipples before a trail moving downwards over the taunt of his abs.

“My beautiful Zen…” Her lips pressed to his belly button as she popped the button on his jeans.

“My handsome, incredibly talented sexy man,” Tugging at his jeans until they fell to his ankles, his erection straining against his boxers as she dropped to her knees. All Zen could do was stare in awe, biting his lip in bated anticipation.

“My real life Adonis,” A red stain pressed just above his boxers as she tugged them down, his cock springing free. Fully erect and pulsing with need, a pearl of precum visibly leaking from the slit of his head, “My wild beast,”.

“Fuck…” They both cursed, her at the sight, him at the feeling of her hand wrapping around him pumping him slowly.

“You have no idea what you do to me Hyuan,” Her breath ghosting over him caused a heavy groan from him, his cock twitching at teasing warmth.

“Jagiya… you drive me crazy,” Head rolled back slightly as she pressed wet kisses to his delicate skin, his balls coated in red marks, a stunning contrast of red on white upon his skin. She circled around his base, more prints left upon him before pulling back. Just as Zen went to speak she wrapped her lips around his head, giving him a harsher stroker. 

Zen feared he may just snap in the moment, to melt into a puddle on the floor as she ran her tongue up and down his length, whispering words of admiration for his body, for his cock, for his soul. Leaning back he pressed one hand to the wall for support whilst the other threaded through her hair. Low groans echoed off the bathroom walls, reflecting off the tiles and flooding their ears. Catching a glimpse whilst his eyes fluttered open and shut in the mirror, his body decorated with her mark, it was a sight that would forever be burned into both of their minds.

“Agh.. Jagiya,” He panted when she parted, a strand of saliva visible connecting her smudged lips to his throbbing head. 

“The bath,” She whispered, standing up and turning around, switching off the tap as hot water filled it up just over half way. He couldn’t help but wrap a hand around himself as she slowly peeled off her bra followed by her panties, damp and stuck to her folds with the sheer arousal. He almost came from the sight, the smell of her flooding his senses from when she stood as she spread her legs to get into the water, beckoning him over with a finger. He sat opposite her, the water rising slightly with them both in, gentle waves crashing half way up her abdomen. Leaning forward she crawled to straddle his hip, kissing him as she wrapped a hand around him again, continuing her movement from moments ago. His cock stood solid, up out of the water. The light tuff of his white pubic hair and balls lying just beneath the watery surface. 

Using her thumb she spread the new bead of pre-cum over his length, thighs tensing over him from the moans that fell from his mouth. His eyes twinkled from the reflection of the water and light, illuminating them as they glossed over. He wasn't used to being teased, relishing in the way she leaned down to take him into her mouth once more, nothing but pleasure taking over his body. 

Admittedly, performing such an act in the bath wasn’t the greatest of ideas. Water caressed her lips each time she worked lower down his shaft, small waves rising each time he bucked into her touch. One hand wrapped around the base of him, the other cupping his balls in the palm of her hand, a gentle squeeze every now and then that made him twitch in her mouth. The moans that fell from his mouth were heavenly, peeking up beneath her thick lashes to savour him falling apart in-front of her. Chest rising and falling as his head rolled back over the edge of the tub, shoulders broad and expanded as he rested them on the sides, fists gripping over the edge to keep himself grounded as she continued to work over him. Red lipstick stains trailed from lips, across his jaw and neck, down the toned planes of his abdomen. Where the water had risen over his body she was unable to see the following red marks. Red stained over his albino skin, pressed to the base of his cock and up over it, perfection of art upon skin. He was a vision of sheer beauty, a man being brought to the highest points of pleasure from his lovers mouth. And he was all hers.

“____…” Almost so quiet she didn’t hear it, one hand now moved to intertwined in her hair with a gentle grasp. The way she felt him begin to throb against her tongue, the higher pitched whimpers that fell faster and faster was a sign he was close. Hollowing her cheeks, applying more pressured suction as she pushed down further, exhaling from her nose as she moved her hand, rouge lips firmly pressing to the bottom of his cock to take him fully into her mouth. Her free hand pressed to his hip to stop him from bucking into her mouth, waves splashing across her cheek from the movement. He cursed heavily to feel the smooth velvet of her tongue running against the throbbing vein of the underside of his cock, the action proving to be his undoing as he pulsed against the back of her throat. Her head moving up slowly to push down whilst his release filled her mouth, ensuring to ride his orgasm out the best she could before his pleasured moans fell into softening whimpers.

She felt herself clench over nothing at his moans, craving for him to fill her but it needed to wait, Zen was her priority tonight not her own needs. One final brush of her lips to his softening cock before she pulled off him, swallowing his plentiful release as she sat up, pressing her hands to rest on his chest. Zen lying in a blissful glow, skin glowing with sweat as he took a few moments to regain his breath. Both of them counting their blessings to be so lucky to belong to each other. 

“I love you so much ____,” Finally breathing at a normal rate, sitting up to hold her to his chest. One hand cupping her cheek and using his thumb to wipe away the saliva that pooled in the corner of her mouth. “Let me show you how much,”.

Whilst his sweet words were tempting and she would love nothing more for him to pin her to the bed and pound her into the mattress, tonight was all about him. 

“Later Zenny, but let’s shower first, the water's getting cold,” She whispered, pressing a delicate kiss to his lips before rising out of water. Not bothering to wrap a towel around she walked straight into the shower, letting the warmth of the water envelop over her. It took a mere few seconds for Zen to be running in behind her, his hands holding her waist from behind as his lips found her neck. They showered together, every attempt Zen made she shot him down with “After, I promise, let me take care of you,”. As much as she throbbed and ached between her thighs, she needed to wait, knowing the release she would have later would be worth it all.

She washed his hair, sinking her fingertips into his scalp and letting the water massage the bubbles out of it. Zen relaxing against her in a tranquil state, love, love and love pulsing from one body to another as they washed each other. The red paint on his skin now fading away down the drain, sweet nimble kisses shared as she washed away the soap on his skin. Sighing softly to feel the flex of his muscles as she ran her fingertips over them, enjoying his tender vulnerable side, that was only for her.

Zen had spent his life trying to prove he was good enough, that he was the best he could be and yet when it came to her he felt he would never be good enough. In his eyes she was a goddess, a laugh and smile that poured light into his life, someone so pure and caring. The words of his monologue were a reflection of how he felt about her, practically giving her his heart on the stage.

It was a trial to make it to the bed, lips locked together as they pawed at each other’s body’s. Stopping every few feet until finally he couldn’t take it anymore and held her in his arms, carrying her to the bed. He lay her down on the mattress, following suit without breaking the kiss. He parted her thighs to settle in between them, lips peppering down her body until she stopped him with a tug of his hair. She knew exactly what he was about to and where them lips were heading, turning her night of passion for him into one for her as well. Rolling them over, she straddled him, keeping her hands tightly on his chest to stop him flipping the positions again.

She sank down onto his cock with delicate mewls, no need for foreplay, much to his protests, from how wet she already was from seeing Zen so undone for her earlier. He was always the gentleman and ensured she came atleast once before sex, either with his tongue or hand, normally both. 

He found himself thanking the heavens over and over again in a silent prayer as she rocked in his lap moments later, slow grinding movements with sweet proclamations of love to each other. Only once she’d climaxed twice did he search for his own, thrusting up whilst pulling her down, her body slightly spent and overly sensitive. ‘Oh… Hyun,’ she repeated over and over, thighs tensing with her fingers running down his chest, leaving red wakes in their way. The pulse of her sensitive walls over his, the way she moaned, the bounce of her breasts in front of his face was enough to bring him to the edge of climax faster. They came together, with each other's names on their lips. Her thighs trembling as she descended from her highs, collapsing onto his chest.Two strong arms encircled around her, a pair of lips pressing to her sweating forehead as he whispered to her how much he loved her, how lucky he was to have her, how much he worshipped her.

Once her thighs stopped quaking, he rolled them over so she was lying on her back. Mimicking her actions from earlier, pressing kisses down her body and repeating the words of praise she has used, to let her know he was just as crazy about her as she was him. He parted her thighs and settled between them, eyes glistening as he looked up with a smile.

“My love, earlier you compared me to Adonis,” He placed her legs to place on his shoulders, tilting his head to press kisses from her knee down her thighs, “But whilst I might be him, I hold nothing compared to you, my real life Aphrodite,”. He didn’t give her time to answer back, his mouth already pressed against her lower lips and using his tongue to part her folds. Zen believed at one point that he was the most beautiful creature to walk this planet but he came to realise he was wrong the first day he set eyes upon her. Her face sculpted by the hands of the gods, a living breathing masterpiece that he got to indulge in and praise everyday.

Their actions speaking for their words of love as they continued to cherish each other’s body’s, melting in pleasure and passion into each other’s arms as the sun rose outside. Two lovers expressing their adoration for each other with entwined limbs amongst the tangled satin sheets.

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