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#I might try and see if I can talk about it publicly; since the team couldn’t ever get the first episode out
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Paying For Someone Else's Mistake - Logan Sargeant
Request from @monacosprince - tbh i’m so mad and williams for what they’re doing to logan! can you please write a fic where logan is upset and self doubting over the situation and reader helps him???
Ngl reader is going to be an angry, overprotective little girlfriend in this. If you don't like that vibe, I'm sorry but I feel like Logan needs a girlfriend who will stand up for him when he's feeling down. She's a little bit...bad-tempered shall we say. We are also going to feature bestie!Oscar being a good friend bc despite popular belief I'm sure he's there for Logan to make sure he's ok.
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When it comes to dating Logan, y/n is not afraid to use her voice where Logan might try to be quiet. He's got an image as a patriotic America but he's such a soft soul and so isolated as a driver on the grid. Y/n can't help but let a more protective over him.
Y/n and Logan started dating towards the end of the season last year. She's been his main support system in giving him the confidence her gained back after losing it so much last season. He absolutely adores her and he would do anything for her. But she does a hell of a lot in return for him and he's given a lot of credit to her publicly for everything because he isn't ashamed to admit that she's genuinely that amazing to him.
"Hey, I was wondering where you'd got to." Logan smiles as y/n appears in his drivers room ahead of FP1.
"I always here when you need me." Y/n states brightly moving to kiss him. "How you feeling?"
"Good. Have you been enjoying the sun? You're warm." Logan comments making her laugh a little as he places the back of his hand to her cheek.
"Yeah, it's nice out. Before we go to Japan we should get ourselves down the the beach for a day or something." Y/n grins before Logan's trainer, Ben appears smiling at the two. "Time to go?"
"Time to go." Ben confirms making her gesture for Logan to go ahead, but he links their hands and pulls her with him as Ben leads them.
-
Y/n felt bad for Alex. She knows Logan has anxiety about crashing and causing damage to the car sometimes means he plays it on the safer side or if he does push himself like he wants to and it doesn't work out, then she makes sure he remembers that everyone makes mistakes. Even Max managed to give his floor a beating today.
Obviously y/n isn't involved in the debriefs and meetings following practices but James and the team need to talk with the boys about a problem.
Ben appears before Logan does and he looks like he's just been kicked in the stomach.
"What's going on?" Y/n frowns but before he can answer, Logan appears looking disheveled and like he's been trying to stop himself from crying. "Baby? What's happening?"
"Nothing. I'm tired, just want to get out of here." Logan states which raises alarms anyway because Logan is never that eager to leave. Even tired and jet lagged.
"Probably best to go back to the hotel and rest." Ben confirms making y/n's frowns deepen. They're not telling her something and she doesn't like being kept in the dark.
Logan all but rips his suit off as if it's burning him to wear it and actually he does tear his fireproofs in the rush to get them off.
Y/n has to bite her tongue to not demand an explanation. She feels like she's sort of on the verge of stomping her foot like a toddler and shouting for someone to say something. There's nothing more upsetting than seeing Logan so upset.
They finally get out and when they do, they pass Oscar who stops them to talk to his long term friend.
"Hey, mate. How's it going?" Oscar smiles, him in a good mood since it's his home race.
"Hey, sorry man. We're just heading off to the hotel. Y/n doesn't feel well." Logan lies annoyingly well, but his tone is tight and strained which makes Oscar's gaze flick to y/n.
"Sorry, you feel better y/n. I'll see you tomorrow mate." Oscar nods but Logan is already tugging her away and the questioning look on Oscar's face making her shrug in a silent conversation.
Whatever has happened, Logan doesn't want to talk about it. At least not right in this moment. In fact they get to the hotel and she's given a kiss before he mumbles that he's going to shower.
Y/n huffs sitting down with a frown before she decides to change and order room service. Which actually arrives before Logan comes out the shower. But when he does she decides to finally force it out of him, whether she has to poke him into a corner to do it.
"Logan, please tell me what's going on." Y/n pleads deciding to try the softer approach since his eyes are bloodshot and it's obvious he has been crying in the shower. He'd never want her to see it because he hates the idea of her seeing him in such a weak position. "I can't help you if you don't tell me."
"James decided to give Alex my car...they don't have the parts to repair his and he wants Alex in the race." Logan states clearing trying not to choke on his words.
"He what?" Y/n frowns actually retracting back in disgust and trying to figure out if she really just heard him wrong. "Say that again."
"Baby-"
"No. No. That's-That's not ok. What the hell?" Y/n frowns getting up and beginning to pace. "Was I watching the wrong car when I saw a driver send a Williams into the wall? I don't remember you climbing out the smashed up car."
"Baby, it's-"
"Don't you dare say this is ok. This is not ok. I-" Y/n cuts herself short about to say something that would only add to his upset which is pretty visible really. "You deserve better, Logan. They have no right to do that."
"I know. But they've done it for the better of the team. I understand. Alex is the stronger driver-"
"Alex sent his fucking car into a wall! No other team would do this. If he can't keep his car on the track knowing the team doesn't have the means to fix it. Then that is not for him to get to continue! It is not your mistake to pay for." Y/n snaps not angry at Logan but she can't contain it. She softens a little, her body unable to fight the instinct to hug him tightly. "You are worth so much more than how they treat you."
Logan sighs resting his chin on top of her head as she rests in on his chest.
"I just need you right now." Logan whispers making her close her eyes hoping to prevent tears that are building.
Y/n hates this. Right now she'd go as far to say she hates the whole team for hurting Logan like this.
"We can eat, get in bed and cuddle?" Y/n offers moving her head back to look up at the blonde. "Yeah?"
"Sounds good." He nods managing a ghost of a smile.
-
Logan's alarms came and went. He's awake but certainly in no rush to get out of bed, favouring lying his head on y/n's stomach while she plays with his hair.
"Would you stay with me if I lose my seat before the end of the season?" Logan asks breaking the peaceful but cold silence between them.
"Don't even talk like that." Y/n mutters trying to keep her voice void of the anger that it's verging on the edge of. "You are not going to lose your seat before the end of the season and even if you did-which is not going to happen. I would never leave you because of it...I would never leave you if you gave me the choice. Full stop."
Logan only responds by turning his head to hide his face against her skin.
"Logan..." Y/n tries, swallowing thickly at the knowledge he's hurting in such a way.
She tried not to think much of him deciding he doesn't need to be in any rush to get to the paddock. But he did reach over and put his phone onto do not disturb after the alarm and it seemed to starting going crazy. People had definitely tried to call, he was meant to be in.
"We can't stay here forever." Y/n whispers rubbing her hand through his hair but he doesn't reply.
So instead of pushing, she just remains quiet and gives him the time she knows he's silently asking for.
After another 15 minutes of just playing with his hair. She keeps herself quiet when he finally shifts up and looks at her, but he quickly kisses her softly and smiles at her but it's forced.
"Are you practicing smiling with me?"
"Apparently not if you have to ask." Logan sighs then sitting up. "I just want to stay here with you."
"I know. I don't think anyone would blame you for not showing up today. Or even just saying you want to fly over to Japan."
"You think?" He asks looking slightly amused but not quite enough for it to reach his eyes.
"Well I'd understand and I'm the only one who matters here." Y/n smiles earning a small laugh. "I love your smile...don't let them ruin your smile today."
"For you, I'll keep smiling." Logan promises making her smile and move to kiss him.
And just like that they're up getting on with the day.
When they get to the paddock the level of support for Logan is overwhelming, though y/n actually had already found the support for her boyfriend online was insane. A little harsh on Alex, though maybe initially she'd felt like finding a car to run over the rebuilt F1 car and destroy the second chassis to make a point.
Logan doesn't really see Alex but y/n couldn't promise not to be slightly cold towards him.
It wasn't Alex's decision. James made the decision.
But it's Alex's crash, so she holds him somewhat at fault for this. Even if it's more on the team's completely unacceptable state of not having spare parts like the spare chassis they need.
"You're not smiling." Logan comments making y/n lift her eyebrows quickly from how deep they'd furrowed.
"Just thinking." Y/n mumbles before managing a smile at him as he relinks their hands. "I like seeing them show you all the love you. I think you needed to see that people are here for you."
-
Y/n doesn't know if she's spent so much of her life straining herself from punching people in the face. She'd happily use most of the Sky Sports commentators as target practice.
Her mum would scold her for such violent thoughts. Hell if Logan could read her mind then he might even try to settle her fiery urges.
She's flexed her hands more times to try and unfurl them from the tight fists she'd held them in for the better part of an hour.
She's not even been watching the screens. Only focusing on Logan while he stands with engineers.
Only once they're out of the garage when practice is when she discover fans saw her on broadcast and have duped her as Logan's "scary dog privileges" and apparently fear for Alex or James to cross her.
"Fantastic." Y/n mumbles walking around the paddock only to find herself caught in Oscar's company and he looks pretty amused.
"You look like you might be ready to knock someone down with a headbutt." Oscar comments making her hum. "How's he doing? I haven't got to talk to him?"
"Better now he knows the amount support he's getting." Y/n sighs while crossing her arms. "But he doesn't really want to be here. He'll probably leave early."
"I don't blame him. I get it, but-"
"No. It wasn't his crash to pay the price for." Y/n cuts in not standing for a second of it. "I'm sick of seeing people try to justify it. If one more person tries to say that it's understandable but not fair, I'm going to knock them down and stand on their windpipe till they're blue."
"Every time we talk I'm happier and happier that I'm on your good side." Oscar comments earning a small smile that in different circumstances would've been a laugh. "I'm glad Logan has you...It took him a long time to find you, but you perfectly balance him out. I think he needed someone who so...loyally defends him."
"People talk shit about him constantly. Then this happens...How is he supposed to stand by a team when they publicly humiliate him like this?"
Oscar only looks at her in sympathy.
"Anyway, I don't want to bring down your mood for your home race...you're looking really good out there." Y/n smiles lightly trying not to be a completely moody bitch.
"Thanks. If there's one race I want to go well, it's the home race."
"Well I have faith in your capabilities to make that happen." Y/n smiles before she swallows. "I'll be rooting for you to take pole in qualifying."
"That might be pushing it." Oscar chuckles but she shrugs and just leans over kissing his cheek with a one armed hug.
"I'll still be rooting for you, I'm going to go be a moody bitch elsewhere."
"I know Logan appreciates it."
Y/n sighs moving through the paddock frowning at cameras focusing on her and burning some holes through any sight of Sky commentators. No doubt that will be clipped and posted soon enough.
By the time she sees Logan briefly before qualifying, she finds he's with Alex.
"Hey, y/n." Alex greets seeming to try to be his usual friendly self but he's met with a cold shoulder.
"Alex."
"What y/n means is...happy birthday." Logan smiles linking their hands and squeezing hers in a push to be nicer but she only shoots a fake smile to the older man.
Alex makes a quick excuse of needing to get ready before he leaves while Logan sighs turning to her with a look that is supposed to make her feel guilty.
"I don't feel bad." Y/n states making Logan sigh.
"I know you're being protective. But you can't make Alex the enemy." Logan smiles sadly while tucking some strands behind her ear. "You know I love you...and I love that you're upset for me. But you can be nice to Alex...especially on his birthday."
"I'll consider it." Y/n murmurs earning a smile from the American since he knows she's still just being hesitant because she's upset.
"He was saying he will had to tread carefully after seeing the clips of you in practice." Logan smiles earning a small smile before he gently cups her face. "It's just one weekend."
"I know."
She hopes he's right. Though she's seen James talk about them "hoping" to have a chassis ready for Japan.
But that's a problem for another day.
"How are you feeling?" Y/n asks making Logan look at her for a moment.
It reads on his face. He can paint a smile on but damage goes deeper than skin deep.
"It still hurts. But it's my hurt to feel."
"You know asking me not to hurt for you is like asking me to just stop caring."
This decision is damaging to the team. It's damaging to Logan's confidence. If Alex fails to get even 1 point, it's damaging to his reputation. But for y/n, she knows that regardless of what's said, and regardless of how James might try. This is going to stick with Logan possibly long after he's out of the team.
Y/n hates that someone has the power to hurt him like that and did hurt him like that. James used that power and swung it like an axe into Logan's side, whether he wanted to or not that's exactly the damage that's been done. But the only thing y/n hates more than that, is she hates that she can't fix it.
"I'll try to be better." Y/n sighs making him smile lightly and pat her.
"That's all I ask."
Y/n grunts a little still not being able to stop herself from voicing her disapproval.
"I love you." Logan smiles lightly then gently kissing her.
"I love you too."
"Alright, let's get moving. And please try not to look like you might bite James' ear off if he gets too close."
"No promises that I won't bite his ear off if he gets too close. At least if I look like I'm going to do it, he'll not risk coming too close to me."
Taglist: @namgification @hiireadstuff @jsjcue @geniusalpaca @itsjustkhaos @llando4norris @partyinpitlane @lpab @xoscar03 @harrysdimple05 @mellowarcadefun @cixrosie @scopeiguess
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its-time-to-write · 5 months
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this is 100% self indulgent. no one asked for this except me and I have zero excuse for how it turned out. i have no defense, no witty rebuttal, no nothing. i wrote this because i wanted to, and at the very least i hope this inspires someone to write their borderline-self-insert fic and post it publicly.
this fic is set after season 3. enjoy😂
(oh now might also be a good time to mention how much I love Man City. bc it’s a lot.)
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can’t hear my thoughts (i cannot hear my thoughts)
Calling Lake Como beautiful is like saying space is big. It’s true for sure, but it feels like an understatement. It’s June and the weather is absolutely gorgeous, perfect for the wedding you’re attending. It’s for two good friends of yours, and it’s going to be a party full of football royalty. You’re mostly excited to see friends who are WAGs from other teams who you’ve connected with over the past year and a half.
Oh, and you suppose it will be a nice vacation with Jamie, too.
You’re staying at a beautiful hotel that’s been open since 1910, and you swear you’ll never stay somewhere as beautiful again.
“Getting ideas for the house?” Jamie teases, and it sends a thrill down your spine with the way he refers to his house as your collective home. 
You grin as he spins you around the Suite Greta. Everything is golden, from the drapes to the pillows to the sun catching on his face.
“No,” you reply, “but maybe for a vacation home?”
Jamie laughs as he catches you up in his arms. “I could see us here in the next off-season. Not sure we’d get out much,” he muses and you wrap your arms around him as tight as they can go.
You’re here for a full week but Isaac’s wedding is only one day. You and Jamie have plans to see everyone who’s in town, as well as have some time to yourself.
“Sasha wants to go out for dinner tonight,” you tell Jamie as he unpacks his suitcase.
“Girls only, or will Jack be there?”
“Let’s see,” you hum as you scan the group chat. “Isabel said she and Erling will be there, so looks like it’s a couple’s thing. That’ll be fun, right?” you ask with just a hint of anxiety. Jamie and Jack are friends, they’ve run in the same circles for years, but you’re not sure how he’s going to feel about being outnumbered two to one, City to Richmond, at dinner.
“As long as Rodri ain’t there, I’m fucking chuffed,” he says as he lays out his suit on the bed.
“Chuffed? Is that a thing you say now?” you ask, flat on your back on the bed.
“Yep,” he replies. “I’m posh now, babe. Sorry you Americans can’t do it as well as we Brits.”
“I have it on good authority that we do it very well,” you smirk. “But I don’t think that’s something you’ll get to experience tonight. I haven’t seen Sash or Isa in ages, so we’ll probably talk for a long time and then I’ll be tired when we get back to the room.”
Jamie groans. “You’re sadistic, woman. The shit you put me through.”
You smile and remind him, “You’re the one who picked me, remember?”
Jamie is technically the one who picked you. You had just moved from America to London, got a temp job at a Richmond FC, and the rest is history. You don’t work at Richmond anymore, haven’t for a while, as you’ve been able to start your own thing in between attending matches and events and whatever else Jamie’s invited to. Being Jamie’s girlfriend is a full-time job on its own, and he definitely spoils you beyond what you’re used to. He’s the one who bought your dress for the wedding and it freaked you out just a little bit until you called Sasha (an angel, by the way) who laughed and talked you off the ledge. 
“Comes with the territory, babe. They’re just boys with more money than they know what to do with. Jack’d buy me the moon if he could figure out how. Enjoy it. It’s been a while since anyone’s seen Tartt this happy.”
So you do. You had been living together for almost a year now so you’d think that a dress wouldn’t push you over the edge, but there you go. You’re trying to be calmer about it. It’s better ever since you met Sasha and Isabel. 
You had been stuck in a room while Jamie talked to his old manager, and they had noticed your deer-in-the-headlights expression. You’re right in the middle of the two, age-wise, and from similar enough backgrounds.
“Here’s my number. Come over to my flat tomorrow for brunch. We’ll get you settled, babes,” Sasha had said. You went and it had been amazing to finally make real friends, even if they were technically on the opposing team. 
You’re excited to see them, excited for Isaac to finally get married, and excited to spend a full seven days with Jamie by your side. It’s going to be the best.
You enter the venue arm-in-arm with Jamie, practically dancing across the grass. The sun’s shining and there are all sorts of people you know and love. It feels a little surreal to be here. 
Earlier, back in the room, you had slipped into your dress carefully to avoid getting makeup stains on the front. The skirt fell just at your knees and puffed out ever so slightly, with thick straps instead of regular sleeves so you could fully enjoy the warm weather. 
“Do a spin,” he had said, voice full of glee. You’d acquiesced, twirling around to let the blue tile print billow out before he caught you, kissing your shoulder so as not to ruin your makeup. 
Now, you’re holding onto him and trying not to wrinkle his linen suit when you hear someone shout your name. 
“Sasha!” you screech, running toward her as best you can with your shoes on the grass. You squeeze each other into a tight hug, uncaring about about the state of her hot pink dress. 
“Hey man,” Jack says to Jamie, who grins and shakes his hand. “You’d think they haven’t seen each other in fucking ages.”
“It’s been twelve hours,” you say. “And before that it’s been like two months. Anyway, don’t you two have some football to discuss or something? Or headbands? Or-”
“Really short socks,” Sasha helpfully supplies. 
Jamie shakes his head. “Fuck off, Attwood.”
“Fuck you, Tartt,” she replies. 
“Oi, you two wouldn’t even be friends if it weren’t for me. You could be a little nicer,” Jamie says. 
“Oh is that Hughes?” Jack asks before either Sasha or Jamie can escalate. Their entire friendship is based off sniping one another and neither you nor Jack are particularly in the mood for it today. 
Jamie turns to look. “Oh mint, looks like things are starting. You saved us seats?”
“Yeah, with Haaland and Isabel,” Sasha returns, linking her arm through yours. “C’mon, did you get yourself a parasol?”
It’s the most beautiful wedding you’ve ever been to. Stella looks stunning in her gown, Isaac stoically sobs his eyes out while Colin surreptitiously hands him a tissue. Even Roy seems to be having a good time, but then again Keeley once told you that he “really fucking loves weddings.” You hadn’t believed her, but his lips are in a straight line instead of a frown so maybe she was right. 
There’s a group of City and Richmond players together, and it’s a little strange to see how friendly they are off the pitch. Dani is explaining something with lots of hand gestures to Phil while the rest of the group jokes around. 
Sasha sneaked you and Isabel away to get drinks for yourselves and you were about to get away unnoticed when Erling caught Isabel’s arm and asked for a drink too, so now you’re ordering for your boyfriends as well as yourselves. 
You don’t really care, there’s a part of you that’s reveling in the sheer joy of being young and hot. Sue you. 
“Cosmo, please,” you say while the girls order drinks of their own. Sasha raises an eyebrow so you shrug and say, “Jamie likes what he likes.”
She rolls her eyes and scoffs “Tartt,” but it’s with the affection of an older sister so you elbow her and ask, “What did Jack want?”
She makes a face. “Heineken. He also likes what he fuckin’ likes.” 
You wheeze out a laugh as Isabel comes to join you. She smiles as she sips from something lavender colored in a martini glass. She cuts an elegant figure in her yellow, billowy dress. You smooth your dress and open your mouth to say something when a voice calls your name. You look to see your ex walking up, hand-in-hand with his wife. You know, the one he left you for. 
“Jake,” you say in surprise. God, you need your brain to form coherent thoughts right now. “What are you doing here?”
He grins, far too wide and goofy to be real. Not like Jamie, you think. 
“Oh, you know, Emma’s loosely related to the bride on her dad’s side. She asked for an invite, so here we are. Who are you here for? Bride or groom?”
“Both, actually,” you reply automatically. Jake’s words are grating, not so much in content as they are in tone. He always had a way of saying things condescendingly, like everyone else was a stupid little kid. 
“Oh,” he says in what you think is supposed to be surprise, “that’s funny. I didn’t know you knew anyone out here. You’ve been living in England all alone, right?”
Emma just hovers by Jake’s shoulder. She’s not contributing anything to this conversation except a snooty little smirk. 
“No,” you say. “I’m not alone. This is Isabel, by the way.” You look around for Sasha, but she’s disappeared. Smart girl. 
Isa doesn’t extend her hand. “Nice to meet you,” she says and Jake takes her at her word. He puffs up his chest a little bit as he asks, “Where are you from? You don’t sound British.”
“We’re from Norway,” a voice behind her says. “I’m Erling.”
Sasha has reappeared with Jack, Erling, and Jamie in tow. You mentally congratulate her with a well done, Sash as you feel Jamie’s arm loop around your waist. 
He feels like a solid wall against your back, a glimmer in an otherwise garbage moment. 
Jake takes stock of the three men who are looking at him with less-than friendly stares. You’re not sure what Sasha told them, but you’re absolutely positive Jamie recognizes Jake. You can practically feel the hairs on his arm bristling. 
Jake finishes his assessment and deems it appropriate to talk. “So, how do you all know each other?”
Jamie scoffs and looks away, while Jack stares at Jake like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. 
You wonder what it is with your affinity for J-names. 
“We’re footballers,” Erling says before anyone can take more offense. 
“Premier League footballers,” Jamie adds, as if it means anything to Jake. 
Jake’s American, like you, and he’s never been much for sports anyway. He wouldn’t even recognize David Beckham if the man were standing under a poster of himself. 
Jake says, “Right. Hey, weren’t you on one of those trashy dating shows?” and Jamie stiffens. 
Sasha mutters, “Fuck’s sake,” under her breath as Erling and Isabel take pointed interest in something in the distance.  
“No,” Jamie replies shortly. “The fuck were you talking to my girl?”
Jake looks to you in surprise. “Oh! You two are together? That’s… well, that’s… I guess I just didn’t expect her to be whoring around like that. But hey, move to another country and all morals go out the window, right?”
That’s the thing about Jake. He never speaks as if he’s actually trying to be offensive. He just says what’s on his mind. And you’re a little concerned that what’s on his mind is going to land Jamie (and quite possible Jack) in jail. Neither of them are especially known for backing down from a squabble. “Cut from the same cloth,” Pep was rumored to say. 
“Fuck off, mate,” Jack interjects. “Just fuck off. Everyone here loves her, and you can’t talk about her like that.”
Your ex reevaluates the situation at hand and decides the best thing to do would be to take Emma’s hand and walk away. 
“Strange that his wife does not speak,” Erling remarks. 
You grimace. “You could’ve stopped at ‘strange.’ No idea what I ever saw in him.”
Jamie has a crushing grip on your waist so you wiggle a bit to get him to loosen up. 
“Prick,” he mutters. “How the fuck did he even get here, anyway? He’s in fucking America.”
“His wife’s loosely related to Stella. They asked for an invite,” Isabel volunteers. 
Jamie rolls his eyes. “Oi, if he tries to talk to you again, I’ll grab Roy and we’ll fucking kill him.”
“Yeah, ‘cause McAdoo’s never been above a little violence at a party,” Jack grins. 
You return his smile and say, “Thanks, but I’m pretty sure his mother-in-law would kill you.”
Erling huffs out a laugh. “Never a dull moment in the Premier League, is there?”
Isabel grins and loops her arm through his. “I’m tired of all this,” she says.  “Let’s go dancing. There’s a band and we don’t have to think about anything other than celebrating, yes?”
“God yes,” says Sasha.
Jamie still looks murderous, but you squeeze his hand once and whisper, “I’m fine, babe. It’s fine.”
He looks like he wants to argue, but he lets you pull him along to the dance floor with the group.
— 
There are so many people that you don’t even catch a glimpse of Jake and Emma. You’re not sure what they’re up to, and fairly certain they don’t know anyone else here. You on the other hand, are living your best life as Jamie sings along to “Ain’t No Mountain.” He’s swinging your arms around as he sways in time to the music. You just let him lead you however he wants. The song ends and he presses his lips to your ear so you can hear him over the sheer volume of everyone talking. “D’you want a drink? I can go get you something.”
You nod and mouth my usual, please, so he salutes and begins weaving his way through the crowd. You watch him as long as you can before spinning back around with a smile.
A smile that quickly fades when you realize Emma is right in front of you.
She says, “Cute dress,” and for a moment, you believe she’s being sincere but then she follows it up with, “Did you borrow it from your grandma’s closet? I’ve seen people do that.” 
Right, because grandmas are known for wearing dresses like this. 
“What? No, Jamie got it for me,” you say. 
“Oh cute, is it from Walmart? I think I saw something like it there last week.”
Emma is trying to draw blood. You suppose she’s taking her shot now as opposed to back then because she thinks there’s no one around to call her out. No one who knows her. 
You say, “They don’t have Walmart here,” instead of “It’s Dolce & Gabbana,” because the second phrase would make you sound like a prick. There’s a part of you that wants to be a prick, though, wants to channel that part of Jamie that’s ruthless, vicious and cruel, messing with the opposition before he cuts them down. 
The first time you saw it, it was hard to believe the Jamie on the pitch was the same Jamie who played with your hair while you cooked, or put a sticky note on his fridge titled “Babe,” detailing everything you’d ever said you liked. 
Emma sees she’s not getting to you, so she changes tactics. “Must be hard being here without any friends,” she remarks. “All alone. And you’ve never been especially extraverted. Are those people the only ones here you know?”
God, Jamie, where are you?
You open your mouth to respond but are cut off by someone with a distinctly midwestern twang say, “I heard one of my favorite countrywomen was here.”
You turn to see Ted Lasso grinning at you in a black suit. It’s the same smile you remember, albeit his eyes are a little sharp. You’d bet anything he knows exactly what’s going on between you and Emma. 
“Ted!” you smile as a rush of relief floods your system. You step into his arms for a hug as he says, “Hey, sweetheart. How’ve you been?”
“Oh, you know,” you say. “Kind of great, actually. I wondered if you were going to be here! Have you seen Jamie yet?”
Ted shakes his head. “Y’know, I haven’t. Why don’t we find him together?” He offers you an arm and you take it gratefully, choosing not to spare Emma a glance.
“She seems like a real bucket of laughs,” Ted remarks.
“You have no idea. That’s my ex’s wife.”
Whatever Ted thought you were going to say, he certainly wasn’t prepared for that. He opens and closes his mouth a few times before settling on a short, “Well I’ll be danged.”
You laugh and stand on tiptoes to try to see Jamie. You don’t see him, but you catch a glimpse of an especially tall, blond head.
“This way,” you tell Ted. You brush past Phil who smiles at you, past Colin and Michael, and past someone you’re pretty sure is a Beckham.
You make your way to Erling and Isabel as they dance to the music in their own corner.
You frown. “Have you seen Jamie?” you shout. 
Isabel shakes her head. “He was looking for you,” she calls back.
“Oh,” you say, “Ted, this is Isabel and-”
“Erling Haaland,” Ted says, hand outstretched. “Pleasure to meet you, son. Big fan of the way you play the game.”
You miss Erling’s response, startled by a hand on your shoulder. You turn to see Sam standing behind you.
“Sam!” you exclaim with a grin, “You look so handsome!”
Sam returns your grin and strikes a pose. “I’ve been sent on a very important mission. I am to retrieve you and bring you to Jamie and I am under no circumstances allowed to let a small rat man named Jake speak to you.”
You raise an eyebrow. 
“Jamie’s words, not mine,” Sam clarifies. “Although I must admit, I have seen this rat man. I do not like him very much.”
“You and me both,” you agree. You wave to Isabel and pat Ted on the arm before following Sam.
He leads you away from the crowd of people to a stone path illuminated by small lights. This can’t be right, you think but Sam points down the path and says, “This is where I leave you.”
He turns to leave then changes his mind and spins back around. “It was lovely seeing you today, albeit for a short amount of time. I hope I will be seeing more of you while we are here. It is not often I meet someone who makes Jamie more tolerable.”
He speaks with a touch of humor and it’s just enough to dispel any apprehensions about what’s waiting for you in the dark. 
You say, “Thanks Sam. Love ya,” which he returns before he disappears back to the main party.
You take a breath and head down the steps.
It’s dark, the light barely shining enough for each step, but as you get farther you see a shadowy figure sitting on a bench under a tree. You smile. You can tell exactly who it is by his silhouette.
Jamie stands as you get closer and pulls you into his arms.
“Thought we’d sneak away to make out a bit,” he says. “And maybe to you wouldn’t yell at me in front of all our friends.”
You groan. “What did you do? Please tell me it has nothing to do with Roy. Or Jack. Oh my god, did you two start convincing people you were separated at birth again? Because it’s really only funny one time.”
“Well…” Jamie hedges.
You pinch his back. It’s the only part of him you can reach at the moment. “Jamie Tartt, you’d better tell me what you did right now or so help me you are going to be sleeping on the couch for the rest of our lives.”
“Oi, don’t fucking do that!”
He reaches back to grab your hands and holds them flat on his chest. “We- Roy, Grealish, and me, might have gotten your prick ex kicked out.”
“You what?” you gasp.
Jamie starts speaking in a rush before you can say anything else. “Look, y’know how protective Grealish gets, especially because Sasha fucking loves you, and then Roy heard that your prick ex was here (not the twat ex) and he said it’s easier for him to get in and out of fights on account of him being a fucking manager but then Grealish said that it’s pretty much expected that fights happen so might as well and anyway, no one’s gonna fuckin’ snitch on any of us because (hate to break it to you babe), but you’re, like, everyone’s kid sister. They’d fucking kill for you so it’s possible that we channeled that into threatening to break all of his bones if he ever ended up in the same country as you again.”
You’re processing all of the things Jamie said plus the incredible speed at which he said them, so all you can manage is a single “Okay,” before he’s talking again.
“Ehm, it’s also slightly-fucking-possible that someone did break his foot.”
“What?” you all but shout.
“Coordinated effort between Isa and Haaland,” Jamie says. “Lad’s a fucking wall, don’t know if you’ve noticed.”
“Jesus, Jamie,” you groan. “I don’t know if I should kiss you or pinch you again.”
“You can do both,” he suggests.
You sigh. “I’m going to kiss you. Like, a lot. And I’m not going to worry about getting caught and after we’ve snogged like a pair of kids in high school- sorry, secondary school, then we’re going to eat a bunch more food and dance with our friends. And if you want to get sloshed, I promise I will only take funny videos for myself, and I will not send them to your mum this time.”
Jamie says, “Liar,” as he kisses the tip of your nose.
“Fine,” you concede, “I will most definitely send them to your mum. And Simon. We’re on a group chat.”
“Not even gonna fucking ask,” Jamie says as he threads a hand through your hair so he can get at a better angle to kiss you.
You wake up the next morning (ahem, afternoon) to Jamie’s foot in your face.
“Excuse me, sir,” you say.
He hiccups himself awake. “Yeah?” he rumbles. “What fucking time..?”
“Late, I assume,” you say.
He groans and flips himself around so your heads are on the same side of the bed. He wastes no time in tangling your limbs together.
“Oi, koala boy. Some of us have morning breath.”
“No y’don’t babe,” he mumbles.
You scratch his head and a shudder runs through his body. “I know,” you say, “my breath is perfect. I meant you. I just didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”
“Cruel woman,” he returns before lapsing into silence. The sun slips through the curtains, and you’re sure it’s going to be another gorgeous day
“Jamie,” you begin then stop.
He says, “Yeah, love?” while looking up at you with his gorgeous blue eyes and you take a moment to freeze this image in your head. 
Jamie Tartt, in bed, hair tousled from sleep. Pillowy white duvet, golden freckled skin, warm body pressed to yours.
He kisses your shoulder, rousing you from your thoughts. 
“Jamie,” you say again, “I wanted to say-”
“Don’t,” he interjects. “You’re not fucking allowed to say thank you for the bare fucking minimum.”
“But it’s not,” you reply, opting to skate over the fact that he apparently can read your mind. “Bare minimum is like, making sure I’m not alone with him, not getting your friends together to scare him off and break his foot.”
Jamie’s been kissing your skin wherever he can reach as you speak, so his words are interspersed with pecks. “Technically, the foot was an accident. Ask any one of our witnesses. And besides, they’re your friends too. You’re the one who got ‘em all to like ya despite the fact we’re mortal enemies on the pitch.”
“You’re the one who goes tanning with Jack,” you remind him.
“Lies told by the press,” Jamie grumbles. “This is my natural sexy glow.”
You say, “Okay little British boy,” as Jamie decides that his current position is not enough and he wants to lay on top of you.
He says something but his face is buried in the crook of your neck, so all you can feel is vibrations.
You ask, “Hm?” so he lifts his head.
“What if it were us next year?”
“Tanning or breaking feet?”
“Getting married.”
Jamie goes back to having his mouth on your neck as if the air weren’t just punched from your lungs.
You’re quiet long enough that he lifts his head again to ask, “Is that good quiet or bad quiet?”
“Good!” you hastily confirm. “Good, but, babe- you haven’t even asked me yet.”
He says, “I’m going to,” as if you should have known already. 
“Okay,” you breathe, “can you give me like a little heads up or something so my nails are done?”
“Uh-huh,” he says, “At the end of the week. Been planning it. Ring’s in my bag, even asked Stella if she’d be pissed that it’s the same week she took on the most un-sexy last name in history. She said she don’t give a shit as long as it’s not at her actual wedding. So.”
“I love you,” you tell him. “Not just because of yesterday or right now. I just think you’re great.”
“I am great, babe,” he says like it’s obvious. “Picked you, didn’t I?”
You crack a smile. “Alright, that’s enough out of you. Do you want to get out of bed or go back to sleep?”
“Sleep,” he replies immediately. 
“Thank God,” you groan, “I didn’t want to move. You’re like a weighted blanket.”
“It’s me sexy muscles,” Jamie says. You wiggle under him to get more comfortable.
“Uh huh,” you agree, but the words are hardly out of your mouth before you’re both back to sleep.
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faroreswinds · 11 months
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is GW's direction really that crazy when you think about it? feels more like people are just salty that Claude didn't team up with their faves on his route because people look at Claude as a third party that validates their side. But what I saw in Hopes fit what I thought about Claude from Houses Claude does whatever he feels most benefits his goals at the moment regardless of morals. He teams up with Faerghus when he feels it benefits him most, he teams up with the Church when he feels it benefits him most, he teams up with the Empire when he feels it benefits him most and he throws his allies to the dogs when he feels it benefits him most. Like in Houses, Claude tells Dimi before leaving in Azure Moon that this is how he operates and that he only makes moves that he thinks benefit him. That's the story trying to communicate how Claude and Dimi are different. Do fans think he's just trying to be cute or that his words mean nothing? Claude's not a man of rigid principles, he's an opportunist. He, the other characters and supplementary material repeat that same message about him over and over again too. like Claude's not supposed to be a uniformly kind person, he's friendly and pleasant to talk to but someone that can be amoral or moral depending on the circumstances. And in GW, an alliance with Edelgard was more personally beneficial to him than trying to team up with Faerghus. They have the bigger force, they're paying Leicester significant reparations, they're getting stability at his southern border and they want to eliminate the same threat.
I mean.... It kinda is a crazy direction.
The issue isn't just the differences between Hopes!Claude and Houses!Claude. That could be a whole other explanation on its own, but since you have framed it as in-character, let's go over the other reason why it is a poor direction on its own.
The biggest issue, anon, is that Hopes!Claude... is an idiot.
Nothing he does or says makes much sense when you add up all the worldbuilding elements together into one big pile.
For example, he decides to side with Edelgard and wipe out the Church. He believes this will end the war quicker, and remove Edelgard's justification for war. And if that justification is gone, then Edelgard will have no choice but to cease her aggressions, or else the war is no longer justified.
However, this logic ignores sooooo many things. The first is that Edelgard publicly declares that the Kingdom and Alliance are false nations that only exist due to meddling forces. That should be a red flag right there and then. Not only that, but Edelgard invaded his nation and beelined for the capital. That should have been another red flag. If Edelgard didn't wish to take over the Alliance, she would have had no need to go for the throat.
Claude even admits that Edelgard might not stop her war. He should know that someone may not stop a war just because it is no longer "justified". And yet, he continues to side with her.
Here is another one. Claude puts a lot of blame on the Church for... basically everything wrong with Foldan. Forced marriages. Fierce border protections. The existence of nobility. The lack of freedom for nobles. I mean, just everything and anything you can think of, in his eyes it is the fault of Rhea and her Church.
But how can he come to that conclusion? Does he live under a rock? Is he not the leader of the Alliance? Does he not know that Edmund, within his own Alliance territory, makes trades with other nations outside of Foldan? When he went to school, did he not see how people of Duscur, Brigid, and Almyra got places in the classroom? How a woman from overseas got to be a Knight of Seiros? Even if he only spent two weeks there, surely he saw something, no?
He is also a prince of another nation. A nation with no Church, and no Crests. And they still have a King and nobility of their own. So why is he blaming the Church for such things? He literally is from another nation.
Hopes!Claude feels like he was written by a young author who is just starting out. There is no logic to his thinking. He just hates the Church because the writers needed him to.
And what makes it worse is that Claude is supposed to be the smart one. He is lauded as the brilliant tactician. The guy who thinks 5 steps ahead in every chess match. But he comes across as the most ignorant of the three lords, who cannot see past his own nose.
So yes, this is why is it a crazy direction. It's not just because of any misalignment of his character from Houses. It's because within Hopes itself, Claude is just a moron that it is hard to take him and his thought processes seriously.
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yooniesim · 4 months
Text
tw: death mention, cancer mention, oversharing, long-winded self-reflection, far too many paragraphs
The strides I have made with my temper in the past year... real talk... I'm proud. It's been hard to manage myself and keep from popping off but I've been making a lot of progress removing myself from situations that get me heated, irl or online, and I'm happy about that. It doesn't remove my feelings or the damage I've caused with my anger in the past but I feel like I'm making real progress. Even though my depression and overall mental health varies, I feel like temper wise I'm in a lot better place than I was a year ago. I've been staying away from people irl that fed into my anger by being neglectful or abusive to me, and tried my best to work on my own actions at the same time.
I'm also proud of where I'm at with my blog comparatively. I've been working hard to focus on the good things and what makes me and others happy, rather than falling into a pit of negativity. I feel like I can still express myself from time to time, while also being better able to know what is appropriate to say and when. Idk if this is just especially ND of me but I feel as if I had the belief that as long as I felt whatever I was saying was the truth, it was appropriate, and that the negativity wouldn't get to me if I stayed by that metric always. But that isn't always the case, and i'm getting better at evaluating that. At realizing that, even with good intentions, getting wrapped up in all the issues of the world and all the negative discussions can be almost a form of self-harm.
Not many people know about this, but the trauma i experienced during the pandemic really affected me and changed me a lot. If you're a long time follower comparing how I was pre-2020 and after, it probably feels like I changed completely as a person, because I did. I don't speak about it a lot, especially now that it feels like the entire world has... moved on, but. Being a healthcare worker then felt like seeing your own slice of hell. Seeing that much death firsthand and being so afraid every single day, being confronted with your own mortality and that of your loved ones, it's extremely difficult. Especially since I lost a very close relative to a drawn out battle with cancer, who I was a caregiver to, as well. Between that and finally being medicated for the first time in my life, i became numb, and at the same time, I became angry. Angry at every little injustice that crossed my path. I wanted to fix something, anything- even in a silly little community for a silly little sims game. I thought, maybe, shining a light on things I saw that were wrong- scamming, doxxing, bigotry- might help. I broke myself apart trying to do that. And... for what, really? I accomplished nothing. And to this day still deal with people that boil me down to just... a hater, I guess. Too annoying for their personal tastes. As if that alone justifies some of the truly vile things that have been said and done to me, publicly and privately. That continue over a year after the fact. Even now it's difficult to think about sometimes.
I've made many mistakes here. Being an inexperienced and flat out incompetent server owner, to start. But with that, too, I've made progress. I'm so grateful for the mod team I have in Sutopia now. For the loving community that's risen from the ashes of what was once an overly negative space. For me getting a handle on my own love of petty gossip, a fatal flaw. For me learning how to ban instigating and toxic parties instead of naively giving them the benefit of the doubt. I still struggle- because as much as people might think I'm harsh, seeing as I try to put up that front as much as possible, I'm actually far too forgiving to the point of stupidity at times. I've been paralyzed by indecision in the past, not wanting to hurt anyone by mistake with the wrong call, and wound up hurting everyone involved with my inaction instead. But I know now that I have a more experienced team beside me that helps so much with these decisions and ensuring a safe place for everyone. And that's taken a weight off of me for sure.
Occasionally, still, the anger gets to me. I see someone that I know for a fact has scammed someone, or hurt someone, or flat out lied, or harassed me in anons or said something racist about me in private that they have no idea I know about- and they're just continuing on, getting love and adoration over their sims or cc or something, and it gets to me. I want to post, I want to blast everything on here and say, look! They're not what you think! Look what they did! Look who they really are! But then I breathe, and I think. Would it really help? Would it really do anything? Would I be opening myself up to be attacked and hurt for nothing? And I come to the humbling conclusion that it's not worth it. Not worth it for them to come back in a month with a new name and all their friends welcome them back like nothing happened and so simblr continues on as it always has. And I'm just a "hater" that's probably jealous of how many friends they have or how much money they make whatever other egotistical explanation they'd spout after everyone inevitably forgot what really happened. Occasionally, it makes me feel a little sick.
But, I breathe through it. I'm getting better at that. Sometimes I write something long out in the drafts- like I'm doing now- and delete it right away instead of posting it. It helps. Even though sometimes I feel guilty. I think about the anons I used to get, the people saying they were too scared to call out certain creators for certain actions because of how big they were and how much hate their followers would send, I think about the asks I still have in my inbox of screenshots and proof. About how sometimes people would thank me for saying things they couldn't bring themselves to. That I was the only person doing it. The only person who wasn't afraid. Even though I was only "unafraid" because I could barely feel anything at the time. And I don't even have that "advantage" anymore. But it weighs on me thinking that I should be trying to help them still. But how can I help anybody? I'm biased, too. I make mistakes. I've made so many mistakes. What gives me the right to say anything? Being put on that pedestal and having that responsibility on my shoulders- stupid as it was from the bigger perspective of life- hurt me, too. Because no one has the right takes every time, and having the wrong one on occasion doesn't automatically make you a terrible person. But it's extremely difficult for people on the internet to understand that. Sometimes I feel used when I remember those times. Chewed up and spat out, once the flavor wore off. And violated, not by the anons or anyone that disliked me, but by people I thought were friends. That's always the worst part to think about.
.....Until I decide it's time to leave, anyway. Then you're all going down.
It's better not to expose myself, or others, to that again. Is that growth? I don't know. I still struggle with so many emotions. The anger, and the guilt. Regret and sadness. But then, I've also felt so much joy from here, too. When I talk to people in the server, when I help people here with their cc projects/requests, when I read people's stories, when I talk to nice anons. I still love talking to anons so much, and want to have in-depth, rambling discussions with them again! I love to laugh with my mutuals and share our silly little sims together. And, god, sometimes I feel relief. Like, there's nothing for me to prove, no one for me to impress. I can do whatever I want and not worry, because well- so what if I get blocked? Or talked about? Like what else is new lol. I don't need to focus on the community. I just need to focus on me, my posts, my mutuals I already know are kind people. It's a freeing feeling. And it makes continuing to express myself here worth it. I want to concentrate on that. The positivity, the love. The creativity. The people here that warm my heart with their kindness. So I think, as we continue into December and into the New Year, and every year I'm here beyond that, that's what I'll do. Continue to grow, and share the love.
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xaz-fr · 1 year
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Afamiliars beware
since I’m banned I don’t really care anymore. Buckle up, its long and I’m not gonna put it under a read more because :))) these girls have broken my spirit for the last time.
If you’ve ever seen a community around called Afamiliar: don’t join it :)))
For those who don’t know what Afams is. Its where you can order a little drawing of a familiar from FR and it comes with unique colors and markings and can dress it up, breed, it and scavenge with it. Artists make them in a queue and fill orders as they come in.*
The admins are INCREDIBLY toxic. They can’t take any sort of criticism and they play favorites with who and how people get punished. You aren’t even allowed to say you’re unhappy about anything. Ever. Or if you do you get a strike. If you call out the team or admin’s hypocritical behavior you get a strike. If you stand up for yourself when the admins are clearly doing these things you get a strike.
I was part of Afamiliars for two years and was part of the team for a year and during that time I watched the entire thing fall apart. They really try to make it seem like they’re one big family but its just not true. The admins and owners Myndris and Sketchanie are both pretty toxic and talk about people, members of their community and their staff of artists and other team members, behind their back and make snide comments about them constantly. And while everyone else is held accountable to the rules neither of them or their friends are. Myndris talked so much shit about someone she had the entire team convinced they were a terrible person just because they didn’t like some art they got. The best part is when the admins agree with you about things you have problems with in Afamiliars in private over DMs and then publicly renounce everything you say. So hypocritical AND completely two faced. My absolute favorite :)
I was fired from my position as artist in July because another team member antagonized me into telling them to shut the fuck up because I wanted to be able to have open dialogues about the actual stuff that was bothering me. I ended up leaving for a week I was so furious at the state of things and why the admin team had such shitty conflict resolution. No negativity. Nothing in any way could be perceived as negative or you got a strike, so long as you weren’t a friend of the Admins. If you were they’d just tell you to stop. It was full on ‘no war in Ba Sing Sa’ in the Afams server and still is. Which is why I left and then for a week not a single member of staff reached out to me to see if I was okay. In fact after I left the community noticed and they started deleting messages asking what happened and where I was and where I’d gone and why I’d left.  Their most prolific artist had just LEFT and the only way they thought to respond was to delete every message that asked what happened. :)))) They also lied to the team about how many strikes I had and my ‘behavior issues’ to convince them to vote me out. Which is hilarious bc there are way worse actors in the team than me.
But saying anything that might be slightly confrontational got you a warning or a strike. So it was literally impossible to have any sort of adult conversations that might make people upset. Things that had been bothering me for seven months. Things the admins agreed with and refused to do anything about. They just let it sit. And stew. Agreeing with all the problems you have with X thing in private while publicly acting like it wasn’t a problem at all.
They also don’t listen to feedback like... at all. I’m not expecting anyone to be perfect and I know we’re all only human but they keep making the same comedy of errors again. And again. And again. To the point that now they’re two most popular artists are either gone, or about to be gone. They’d been given feedback from multiple people multiple times about how a trial mod on the team makes certain people uncomfortable and instead of removing that person they doubled down on them and did not remove them. And then when people went to other admins about the problem THAT WAS SHARED with the person in question. Admin specific information saying how people were uncomfortable with someone with that person. Probably with their name attached. When I brought THAT to an admin again nothing was done.
In the past few months I’ve just watched the team and the server completely fucking implode. The admins doubling down on zero negativity even as more and more people realize... something isn’t right. More people, people I don’t even talk to!, mention things that are a bit more aggressive than the admins would like. Someone even got muted on the server for telling a mod that an admin had dealt with the problem and the mod was then continuing to antagonize the original problem; which is against the rules. Someone got harassed over DMs by another member, asked where they could submit a report and posted proof of it, and they were the one given the strike and told that the admins do not moderate DMs. But they do sometimes feel the need to moderate and condone certain discord servers run by people they don’t like :) Which is a true thing.
In the past week the second most prolific artist left because one of the admins called the afams everyone makes ‘a miserable pile of pixels’ in reference to how much drama they get in the server and feedback form. This obviously upset some people and so said artist is taking a break for a month. I know she’s not a fool. She also sees what’s happening. She might go back but I doubt it and I hope she’s much less stressed out whatever she chooses to do. Then another artist stepped down the next day. Then just today a third artist stepped down, both of which were admins. So within a week 3 artists felt the need to step down to focus on themselves and mental health issues.
I’ve never attacked any of these people by the way except when they say shit about me that is categorically untrue. Or they show up trying to bully me. Which they also do. I was friends with all these people in the team while I was on the team until one day they just decided I wasn’t :) Not allowed to be friends with the admins anymore if you call them out on their hypocrisy.
And then today they finally banned me from the server. Which I wasn’t really a part of anyway and didn’t participate in much. And people have said worse and done worse to the team and admins but because I’m the designated server villain everything I do is worse.
This is why I was banned
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from the latest admin artist that stepped down after giving their message they were stepping down. And I said ‘that seems pretty call-outy and overly negative to me’ which is... against all the rules on the server. But I’m the villain. So I’m not allowed to point it out.
The other admin said this to me pointing out that THIS ADMIN was breaking the site rules
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Even tho I’ve legit gotten a strike just for saying ‘I don’t like this thing you’ve done. I’m not gonna talk about it but I want you to know I don’t like this decision you’ve made’.  And these rules also exist in the team only area and it says that  NO ONE is exempt. And I said as much. Because that’s bullshit.
At least unless you’re the owner’s wife. Than you can do whaaaatever you want :)
But yeah. Fuck Afamiliars. I’ve seen the writing on the wall for the past year. They’re gonna implode, or explode, and the admins are gonna be busy finger pointing at everyone but themselves for the problems. In Sketch’s stepping down message she said this exactly
I understand there have been many fuck ups on our end, and I apologize for those, but we have always strived to learn from those mistakes. And I'd like to think that we do a little better each time. 
Which is not what I’ve seen the past few months. Instead they’ve doubled down on Being Right at all costs, not listening to community feedback, lashing out at people who call them out on their bullshit and hypocrisy and I know they still talk shit about their community members in DMs with their stooges.
It’s been a BEAUTIFUL fireball to watch the past 3 months since I was fired.
*Lots of artists don’t actually fill their orders. They just let their queues fill up into huge ribbons on trello and then once a month maybe fill 1-4 orders. One artist has been around 10 months and made so little art their orders can’t even fill 4 pages on discord search. So you’re stuck waiting months, or sometimes YEARS, for a project you want to fill. A friend of mine just gave up on a project because they’d been waiting two and a half years. But the queues on all artists except for maybe... idk, 3-4 artists (including me at the time) were so slow you would be waiting and waiting and legitimately no progress was made. There used to be a rule of 1 afam a week to keep queues moving but sometime around the time Sketch decided to stop making afams that rule was quietly removed.
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catlock-holmes · 7 months
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I'm sorry you're feeling low, hun.❤ Even tho it might take time, believe that it's going to get better. Sometimes I feel sad that I'm not the "special" person to someone too (I'm aro-ace-spec and all my closest friends have romantic partners) but I know I'm cherished in a different, equally meaningful way.
Dream teams like Holmes and Watson may exist but they are very very rare. And even those two met way into their adult life after spending years of feeling lonely. Theirs is a very special relationship but it need not be the end-all be-all of meaningful relationships. You are going to form wonderfully important bonds with people you love and who love you in return.
You are not alone in your worries either, many people are afraid their friends don't like them as much as they do. Perhaps one of your friends even feels like this. You'll get through this❤
(You don't have to answer this publicly)
Hey, thank you very much for your kind answer 💜 it really made me feel better, I didn't even think anyone would read my post, thought even less that anyone would react to it and answer something kind. I was just posting that because I don't know how else to deal with it anymore, because I don't have anyone to talk to about this, just talking to the void of tumblr. You basically showed more caring than any people I know personally, which in turn again is kinda sad that 'friends' care less than someone on Tumblr that I don't know personally irl. Thank you for your kindness 💜
I had hoped for so long that it gets better, that I would find a true friend who cares as much about me as I care about them, but each time it just ends with disappointment again because Im let down and cast aside, and eventually it just gets silent. I'm ace too so of course I won't ever be anyones "special" person in that way, but I am not even anyones special friend, no ones best friend, it's always somone else who is preferred.
And Im not sure that Im cherished, when I see how other people get showered with admiration and kind words by someone, while I don't even get a simple "how are you" by the same people or get ignored for days or longer. They always find time for other people, but never for me. Although I am trying, getting into contact with people, asking them to get together and do something, but either they don't have time or just don't want to, even though they find time for other people and put in the effort there to see them, while they don't even think about doing the same for me. They never think about asking me to meet up or invite me to an activity, its always other people they ask. It feels like Im just a replacement friend for everyone. Not someone who actually matters, but someone who you can go to if your preferred people don't have time and you are bored. People don't even notice if you vanish for some time, because they never look for you or send you a text to check up on you, or don't even notice if you are upset. Conversations don't happen unless I initiate them, and even then sometimes there's no answer. It feels as if none of them actually care. It has been like this always, I used to have best friends, but they always eventually left for someone else and cast me aside, and since then I can't find any best friend anymore, I would like to be someones, but no one else wants to.
I am just sitting all the time at home alone instead of going outside and enjoying the summer like everyone else because no one wants to go anywhere with me although I keep trying, keep asking. It's just miserable, being isolated like that all the time, and on your own it's just not the same especially when most activities require a friend. I just wish some friend would actually contemplate meeting me or writing with me of their own accord, because I matter to them, but seems that just doesn't happen. Seems I am just not important enough to them, because they can do it with other people, seem eager to meet them and talk with them, but not with me.
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moonysimp · 2 years
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Happier —lando norris.
summary: a one shot / dual pov fic where y/n is a famous singer and she and lando broke up but still have feelings for each other. but after she sees him with another girl she dedicates him a song in her concert and he finds out and goes to talk to her.
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I. (y/n pov)
headlines. articles. tweets.
it all came out in the worst possible time.
everybody was talking about the same thing.
"f1 driver lando norris spotted with the model lauren christensen"
"after his four year relationship ended, lando norris has been seen very close with the model lauren christensen. could this be a new beginning for norris?"
"did lando norris get over his ex that quickly? 4 months after he publicly announced his breakup with the singer y/n mendez, norris has been seen in public places with the armani model lauren christensen"
it hurt. it hurt more than anything else. and also the fact that it was everywhere wasn't helping.
everybody is different, and some people heal faster than others. you should be happy he's happy, y/n. you have a tour to deal with right now, you can't sit here and scroll on twitter to punish yourself more than you already have. get up, put down that ice cream and your phone and think of something else. literally anything else but him.
i get up, put the ice cream on the little fridge beside my bed, throw my phone across the room, and go to the shower. maybe a shower is what it takes to wash away all the memories flooding my mind. his smile. his scent. they way his eyes get small when he smiles. his cute and silent laugh. his voice. all his little moles. his hands and how he promised that he would hold me forever. no matter what.
well i guess he's holding her now. i guess this is my sign to move on.
only if it were that easy.
II. (y/n pov)
two days have passed since the news came out. and now i have to go through this specific weekend knowing that he is most likely with her. i have been trying not to think about it but it's inevitable. the USA tour has finally reached texas, and so has the formula 1 calendar.
i used to joke around with him saying that i would love to perform in the same place that he gets to race. it never happened when we were together and now that we are not together anymore, here we are. lucky me.
as i'm on my way to sound check for the concert tonight, i can't help to look up the results for qualifying. ever since we broke up i can't bring myself to watch a race, but i like to keep track of how he's doing. he's been getting better and better this season and for the first time in years mclaren might be onto the championship, with lando on second position in the driver's championship, only 16 points below leclerc. i wonder how he must be feeling since this is huge, not only for him but for the whole team. mclaren means so much to him and i can't even fathom what it must be like to give them a championship.
i wish i could be there for him.
enough.
two voices in my head battle as i get off the car and enter the stadium. i have work to do, but i also can't stop praying for him to do well on today's race. i shake my head and i focus on what's important right now. i want my fans to have the best night ever so i'm gonna make sure everything is set up and ready for tonight.
III. (y/n pov)
he won. he won and all i can think about is how i can't celebrate with him. how she gets to do it. how she gets go hold him tonight.
that's why i decide to make a last minute change on the setlist.
...
"all right, texas. how are we feeling so far?"
the crowd cheers as kyle gives me a chair so i can sit onstage.
"this next song i'm gonna play for y'all tonight is actually a cover. this song is about… heartbreak."
a little smile touches my lips as the crowd screams like i knew they would. we all love a bit of drama. and just like i know my fans respect my privacy, i also know they love when i give them little sights of my personal-and specially-my romantic life.
"this song is for those people that leave your side, and how a part of you is still in love with them, even after they're long gone. I do believe that some people come into your life to completely change it, and it's incredible how they leave a mark in you. i think it's beautiful but also really fucking painful." I laugh a bit alongside the crowd.
"it's hard to get over that kind of people. and it's even harder when you know they did get over you. specially when you know they did it by meeting someone else." tears start to form in your eyes. "so i decided to let all my feelings out tonight, texas, and open up to all of you. this is happier by miss olivia rodrigo, sing it with me." and so i start singing my heart out. to him. to the fans. to anyone who will listen. they say music heals the soul, and god knows i could use some healing right now.
You've moved on, found someone new
One more girl who brings out the better in you
And I thought my heart was detached
From all the sunlight of our past
But she's so sweet, she's so pretty
Does she mean you forgot about me?
Oh, I hope you're happy
But not like how you were with me
I'm selfish, I know, I can't let you go
So find someone great, but don't find no one better
I hope you're happy, but don't be happier
a couple of songs later the concert ends. i jump on the car to go to my hotel room. today drained me. i haven't felt this tired in quite some time. but this is good. if i'm this tired it means overthinking everything will be hard, because shit will be going down after tonight. i don't think people will ignore the fact that i kinda just dedicated a whole song to my ex-famous-formula 1-driver-boyfriend. but who cares? i needed to let it out of my system. besides i don't even think he will see it. he must be too busy celebrating his win.
IV. (lando pov)
*a couple of hours before the concert*
"LANDO NORRIS WINS THE 2022 TEXAS GRAND PRIX, GIVING HIM THE #1 POSITION AT THE DRIVER'S CHAMPIONSHIP"
i raise my fist as i pass the checkered flag. i can't believe it. i won. i'm leading the driver's championship. i cheer for the team, for me, for all the fans out there. as i get off the car i run to my team, i hug them all, tears running down my face. as they let me go i look around, searching for someone, needing one more hug. it takes me a second to remember.
she's not here. you two broke up.
i blink several times, remembering how y/n is not here. and hasn't been here since we broke up. my head is spinning and my heart hurts for a moment. but in a minute, the other drivers are all over me, congratulating me on this huge win.
after a lot of press i get on my car and start driving to my hotel room. i can't help but smile, since this day has been amazing. definitely one of the best days of my entire life. but that little void is still there. because i know she's not here. and there is no one in this world that i would love to celebrate more with, than her. the worst part is that she is actually here, in this city, just not with me. and it hurts. the thought doesn't leave me as i park the car and enter the lobby of my hotel.
she's playing here in texas, that i know. it might not be good for me to keep up with her tour schedule but i crave to know what she's up to. i haven't been to one of her concerts. it's impossible for me-mentally and physically- since i'm traveling around the world. but i can't forget how we used to talk about a situation like this, where we both could be able to be there for each other. a concert in the same city as a grand prix. and now is happening and we can't enjoy it together.
i would be lying if i said I'm over her. as much as my friends tell me to get out there and find someone else, i can't do it. the biggest thing i've done is going out with lauren, following team orders. the press needed something to focus on that wasn't how my team mate daniel was doing, so they decided to get me and lauren in public places a couple of times to interest the press. and i get it, they also tried to set me up with her to see if i could get over y/n. but it's impossible. i tried to see lauren in that way, she's a really nice girl, she's very polite and also quite funny, and it's fair to say she's gorgeous. but she's not her. i wanted to scream to the world that lauren and i meant nothing to each other. If i could i would make video and tell everyone that I'm not over my ex-famous-singer-girlfriend. but that would be... what? a disaster? most certainly.
k seriously need to move on and stop it with these crazy ideas. i just won a fucking grand prix. i'm at the top of my career. i should be out there partying not being miserable here scrolling on twitter.
i think about going out and celebrating but it kinda seems off. and then i see something on twitter that catches my attention. there are a bunch of people tagging me in the same video. i open it up and my eyes widen as i realize it's y/n onstage. and then i listen to what she says.
"this song is for those people that leave your side, and how a part of is still in love with them, even after they're long gone"...
i cover my mouth with my hand the whole video as my heart starts beating faster and faster. this is it.
she still loves me. and i still love her.
i gotta do something about that.
V. (lando pov)
sometimes i don't like to be a public figure, to be recognized all the time when i'm out in public. now is not like that. right now i'm very happy i'm famous. i knew which hotel y/n would be staying at. we were together for four years, of course i remember her favorite one. i get to the lobby and i directly head for the front desk attendant. his eyes light up as he recognizes me and after a couple of words-and the promise of a signed hoodie- he tells me the number of y/n's room. my heart is about to jump out of my chest as i enter the elevator and i press the button of the 12th floor. the elevator doors open after what feels like forever and i start looking for the room #444.
i'm gonna get her back.
i knock on her door with a shaky hand. and after a couple of seconds the door opens. and i'm staring at her brown eyes. i can't help but think of how pretty she is. of how much i've missed her. how wrong it was for us to break up, no matter how difficult it was for the relationship to be 100% stable.
"four months. four months and thirteen days ago, if i'm not mistaken. that's the day we called it off. we decided to part ways because we both were so busy with our lives and our uprising success that we couldn't find a way to stay together and spend as much time as we needed with each other. i let you go and i'll be damned if i didn't think that was the worst thing i've ever done."
she opens her mouth to speak but i don't let her, because i need to let it all out before all the courage leaves me.
"i tried to move on. partly because i supposed you were too. but it was useless. i still look for you after every race. i still wish to hug you after every win. i miss to wake up beside you. i miss your voice. your way to see the world. i miss feeling whole again. and i didn't say anything sooner because i didn't want to ruin anything for you in case you had found your peace and had left me behind. but i saw that video today. i saw your speech before that song and i know how much you like to talk about the song you're about to sing. that's when i realized that... maybe it hadn't been hard just for me, but for you too. maybe i wasn't the only one who missed every little thing about you. maybe it's not just me that still loves you. maybe you still love me too."
VI. (y/n pov)
my eyes water as i listen to all the things he's saying to me. he is not with any other girl. he's here, at my door, telling me he still loves me. he finishes his speech and takes a ragged breath. staring at me. i take it all in. his voice. his beautiful eyes. the way he's an inch taller than me. his hair that looks like he's been running his hand on it a million times. and the fact that he hasn't moved on. just like i haven't.
my hands move on their own accord to cup his cheeks. i feel he leans into my palm and he closes his eyes briefly, then he opens them when i start speaking.
"you changed my life, lando norris. with your childish smile and your shiny cars and your heart of gold. of course i still love you. i don't think i'd be able to feel the way i feel about you with anyone else. when i saw you were spotted with that girl i... i thought it was over for us. i thought it was my sign to move on. but here you are." his hands hold mine and he says:
"she means nothing to me. i tried to look at her that way but it was impossible. she isn't you. you're the only person i want to be with. i love you, y/n. that will never change."
i can't stop myself from launching forward and join our lips in a kiss. a kiss that i've been dreaming of for four months and thirteen days. a kiss that not only tells him how much he means to him but tells me how much i mean to him, and how much we've missed each other. the kiss deepens as i take a step back, taking him into the room with me. he closes the door behind him as he places his hands on my hips and pushes me against the right wall of the room. my hands are on his hair, on his neck, on his chest. i can't have enough of him. i can't believe i finally have him back. we break the kiss and join our foreheads together.
"congrats on your win."
"yeah, i'm about to show you how much i want to celebrate it with you." he joins our lips again as he lifts me up and my legs curl around him.
...
i wake up to a sleeping lando by my side. his lips are slightly parted, and he looks so peaceful. i always enjoy to watch him like this, he's such an active person, always running around, making people laugh, driving fast cars. i always find it fascinating to watch him this calm. my hand strokes his cheek and i begin to leave little kisses on the moles on his face. he slowly opens his eyes as i giggle.
"good morning."
"good morning indeed." he gives me a quick kiss.
"it feels a bit surreal to have you here with me", i say, resting my head on his chest.
"i've been dreaming about it for too long. it was about time we came back to each other", he says, stroking my hair with his hand. we stay like this for a while. and then i turn to face him.
"promise me we won't walk away ever again. we will face every challenge, every turn, everything. together." he nods, looking at my lips and then back to my eyes.
"i promise you i'm not letting you go ever again, we can get through everything together."
"and i better never see that armani model near you again, do you hear me?" i tease him. he throws his head back as he laughs. that laugh that could light up a room. i've missed it so much.
"copy. do you have any other requests?"
my hand on his chest slowly makes his way to his navel, getting lower and lower.
"mmhm. box, box, box?"
"i really hope that stands up for sex, sex, sex." we both laugh and then i'm over him, kissing every part of his body. thinking about how much i love this beautiful boy and how everything finally feels right again.
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introvertedlass · 1 year
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I think we both can likely agree though that the whole thing has been weird since day one.//
Same anon lol
I completely forgot about that fake phone drop she did and my mind came back to reality. If this is a real relationship then Chris needs intense therapy because he obviously doesn’t know what he wants or what he’s doing if he thought this was a great way to introduce someone he’s “serious” with to the world. And yet, not one romantic gesture between them publicly …not that I need to see that, just childish scare video, forced hand grab and him and his balled up fist. He hasn’t even held her or tried to look like he gives a damn.oh and is mama doesn’t like her. 🤣
I just happen to watch that scare video via gifs slow mo of just him and that led me to watch the video again and I went what of this IS legit, but then I have to remember the past year him flirting with reporters, the Dodger comment, and so much much more so yeah if they break up before Valentine’s Day it’s PR, because why do all of this just to be like hi world he’s my “gf” and now we’re done unless the PR contract is up and various people in the industry like the buzzfeed guy and a blind stated PR so I guess now we wait. I just can’t figure out why Chris and team felt the need to block fans and what not.
I also lowkey feel like Chris has been dropping obvious hints that this is bs and like an sos to the fans like don’t believe anything I do but focus on how I say things or something but that’s just wishful thinking, people just want better for him then obvious problematic women in his life but it’s his life so meh.
I actually think this might be part of the plan. His team seems to be keen to confuse people. Is it real? Is it PR? It's been done so badly it almost seems like on purpose. Is it to keep everyone guessing and therefore talking? I mean, if it was real and they felt the need to announce things people would have reacted and moved on. The fact that his team seems to want to keep going with things like the video drop makes me think they are trying to keep interest in this "relationship" going. The question is why?
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thedumbassartist · 2 years
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Okay so, someone said they wanted this so
Here's my idea for a better setting/story starter for arc 3
Also just as a notice I haven't read book 14 or 15 so keep that in mind
So here we go
So I propose, Wasp after becoming queen becomes increasingly paranoid about being overthrown and having her throne taken. Mostly her paranoia manifests with the idea that her daughters (she had had before coming into queenhood) are planning to overthrow her, or even worse team with other tribes to overthrow her.
She becomes so paranoid about this that she was convinced that one of her daughters was secretly planning with the silkwing queen to dethrone her. So she kills them both (in secret), and just goes, yeah, silkwing just become a part of my kingdom since you don't have a queen.
Wasp's thought process is too get rid of the major threat of the other tribes with queens that aren't her, who can plot against her. And soon to to eliminate her heirs.
The silkwing integration actually goes well, they are regarded as just another part of the kingdom by most hivewings.
However soon after this, there is a failed killing of the leafwing queen which sparks war between the two kingdoms. And this war has been going on for many years and has been in an on and off state forever. And book 11 starts in the longest stand still of the war.
Back around the beginning of the war, Wasp started to neglect the care and giving of resources to the middle to lower class hivewings and silkwings. She is starting to provide the most support for the rich, the ones who fight for her and those who endorse her.
And this brings a spark of revolution to the minds of silkwings. Who are beginning to talk in secret, gaining the support of hivewings who are beginning to become irritated with Wasp's lack of support. Leading to the creation of an underground rebellion of the mistreated members of the kingdom.
Near the beginning of the first book in the arc the rebellion hasn't been able to do much because of the tightening of surveillance of the hives. After a particular incident where via a tip the royal guards managed to raid a meeting of some of the rebellions more important members. Which then lead to the very publicly reported on threats that Wasp made to anyone out there who planned to rebel against her. That they would meet the same fate that these members did, which was death.
This scared many people outside of the rebellion but to the rebels this only made them more determined to succeed in their plans.
And that's pretty much my idea for a better background to the 3rd arc. Maybe if enough people like this one I might try and see if I can reconstruct book 11 with this base.
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Be Each Other’s Company - Charles Leclerc
Summary: A F1 creator is hired to improve the F1 social media along with doing some bits and pieces for Sky with the commentators and is now always around the paddock, having caught a certain Ferrari driver’s attention is nice. But she just doesn’t believe a word he says.
Charles Leclerc x midsize!reader, side pairing: matchmaker/wingman!Jenson Button x reader
This is for the midsize girlies, I’m not saying Charles wouldn’t date someone mid-plus size but...I don’t think it’ll happen if I’m being real, I’m midsize so come for me about this. He’s literally publicly shamed (jokingly) Carlos when they’ve been talking about how much food they eat. 
PS. I love the fact that Carlos is a foodie, absolute king goes around the world, tries and loves all the food
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Y/n being a young face in the paddock who has been a fan of F1 and having being chosen to be part of the media group who get to travel around. She’s living the dream.
She actually spends a lot of time with Jenson Button. Which is a childhood dream because no matter what age, that men is objectively gorgeous.
But he’s not the man who makes the effort to get her attention on every possible occasion.
“Y/n, you are dressed in Aston Martin? You are beautiful no matter what, but red looks much better.” Charles declares as he spots her making her turn from Alonso who looks amused by the interaction.
In the past couple weeks it’s become fairly common knowledge that Charles is fond of her and he intends to make it as well known as he can. To ward off anyone else who might think they have a chance with her. 
“She is in the green team for today.” Alonso grins proudly while she smiles at him.
“Charles, I’m a little busy. Is there something you needed that’s important?” Y/n asks, as patient as ever with the Monegasque. She may be continuously rejecting him to save her own feelings, but she isn’t horrible to him.
“Can you come to the Ferrari garage afterwards?” Charles asks ignoring Alonso who is just eating this situation up as a spectator.
“I am here to work, Charles.”
“Please?”
“You should go. I am invested in this.” Alonso states earning a frown which makes him silence himself. “Ah sorry. I will be quiet now.”
“Could you go find where Lance is please?” Y/n asks  making him nod and give the two some space to talk without him watching like it’s a tv drama. Waiting till he’s headed into he Aston Martin unit, she sighs turning back to Charles. “We’ve been over this, Charles.”
“But you have not even given me a chance.”
“I know I haven’t. But you know why I haven’t.” Y/n smiles sadly since this is maybe the fifth or sixth time.
“You do not like me.”
“You are so manipulative.” Y/n laughs while he grins at her, those dimples flashing at her like a hot blaze that burns through her veins all from his gaze. It’s not fair that his smile can have that affect on her. “Alright, fine. I’ll come find you.”
“Thank you, I will see you soon.” Charles smiles before moving away just in time for the Aston Martin drivers to appear giving her something else to focus on. Though Alonso doesn’t hide his curiosity about it.
Eventually they finish up the video they were doing with her and she moves to the Ferrari garage immediately being spotted by the one man who asked her to be there.
“We are going on a track walk, will you come?” Charles asks making her smile at him and laugh a little. “It will be fun. I promise.”
“Of course you think it will be fun.” Track walks are notoriously quite long and boring, but only a few drivers opt out of them and usually they’re not the favoured drivers by the F1 community. But a track walk is the perfect opportunity for Charles to charm y/n like he hopes to. “Come on then, no time to waste.”
The two walk out of the garages and up onto the track.
Canada is slightly chilly so walking around it’s not exactly a fun experience but Charles lets y/n talk to try and keep herself distracted from the temperature. Instead talking about her thoughts on the season and primarily Red Bull’s likelihood to win the entire season with Max’s lead.
“I think I am slowly winning you over.” Charles states making her puff out a breath slightly. “Do not lie, we are friends no?”
“It is not that simple.”
“I would not hold who your exes are against you.”
Is that a low blow? Or is that actually a good point?
“I have to go for some Sky stuff, but I’ll probably see you later.”
“I will give you a ride to the hotel, wait for me by the gates if I’m not already there.”
Y/n just bites back a smile and rushes to get to wherever Sky needed her to be 10 minutes ago.
“Y/n, where have you been?” Jenson asks since he’d actually spoken and heard from Alonso. “Are you blushing?”
“Shut up.” 
They get on with the Sky stuff during which Lando, Yuki, Nyck, Toto and Charles all manage to crash at different points throughout them talking. They do have Daniel and Mick pop up but that’s purposely intended for them to talk about stuff with them.
“Could I steal her?” Charles asks appearing before the cameras have cut with his arms around her waist, giving only seconds of warning before Jenson grins and nods for Charles to take her before she’s scooped up from the ground.
“Charles-Jenson! You can’t just-oh for goodness sake. Charles, put me down.” Y/n groans while Charles laughs carrying her to the Ferrari unit while she catches sight of the cameras focused on them.
They won’t broadcast anything that she doesn’t want put out into the world, but no doubt they’re banking on the idea that she’ll end up with Charles as he wishes and she might just be worth keeping the footage of for the day they can confirm her as an F1 WAG. 
-----
Charles spent the whole weekend stealing y/n away whenever he could and he spent most of the time together giving her every reason to believe him when he said that he wanted something with her that was more than friendship or driver and media personnel.
“You should give him a chance, y/n. Charles clearly sees something in your that you don’t see in yourself.” Jenson states making her look up from her phone to the older man.
“He got to you, didn’t he?” She questions slightly amused by the lengths Charles is willing to go. Jenson is already fond of Charles and wishes him better luck in his career than Charles has had to endure so far. “You are so easily bought.” 
“Charles is a nice man, a very nice man. Men like him are hard to come by even in the paddock. You’d be lucky to find someone who is so clearly obsessed with you even when you keep trying to tell him he’s got the wrong idea in his head. Has he changed or given up?”
He doesn’t have to ask that to know the answer for it. She knows that Charles has been unwavering with his mission to finally win her over into agreeing to a relationship.
“You should be hired as professional advocate for Charles, you promote him just as much as he promotes himself.” Y/n smiles before she sighs and tilts her head. “Together you’d be iconic.”
“Together, you and Charles could be the F1 IT couple.”
“That sounds awful.” 
“I thought kids your age found that stuff appealing.”
“So glad you distinguish me only by age and nothing else.” Y/n hums dryly while Jenson tries to speak up about it. “I’m kidding, Jenson...anyway, you were selling Charles to me, keep going. What else do I have to look forward to?”
Jenson grins at the young woman and begins to list off all things that would appeal about Charles, and as usual, it’s not long before Charles is there with them interrupting the seemingly never ending list. Charles sits beside her and pulls her onto his lap without a second thought.
Y/n isn’t stupid, she knows that her previous point that her “size” is the main thing that is stopping her from really accepting his advances, so he’s continued to seem to make moves that are attempts to show that her weight is nothing that bothers him in the slightest. 
“Do you need more?” Jenson asks earning a deadpanned expression. “I’ll leave the two of you to it.” 
It was pretty obvious that Jenson was leaving her in hopes that his long list of pros vs the internal list of cons she’d already made.
“If you’re paying Jenson to sing praises for you, then you need to give him a raise.” Y/n states while he grins at her. “You should not look so proud.”
“You have yet to launch yourself off of me. I am very proud.” Charles shrugs then kissing her shoulder through her clothes as a casual gesture that probably means more than he wants to allow himself to admit out loud. “Has my efforts finally paid off?”
“Yes. I’m going to stop being a horrible person who rejects every time you act nicely towards me.” Y/n nods earning a beaming grin that shines bright enough she leans away almost losing her balance on his lap leaving Charles to pull her closer again. “So...what do you want to do first?”
“First, we need you to wear something Ferrari so everyone knows where your devotion truly lies.” Charles declares making the young woman snort, not because she’s refusing to cater to his demand but because she knows that he’s not joking in the slightest. 
“I’m not supposed to show a preference of the teams.”
“I don’t care. Everyone is a Ferrari fan.”
“Well that’s what the legends say.”
“Seb would be flattered to know my own girlfriend called him a legend.” Charles laughs while she rolls her eyes only for Charles to pull her closer. “Have you got anything else you need to do for today?”
“No. Not that I’m aware of.”
“Perfect. Then you are all mine.” 
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dalekofchaos · 1 year
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Sometimes I love Jon Moxley. Sometimes I think he’s a blithering fucking idiot. Last night was one of those times I thought he was a blithering fucking idiot. 
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He just can’t fucking help himself, can he? He has to bleed every week in throwaway matches on free and weekly Television. 
And not only is this fucking idiot bleeding, he is caught on camera blading. Way to expose the business, dipshit. He’s buried blood in matches for the next 10 years.
The ”production team” just HAD TO show him blading didn’t they?
Word of advice: blading doesn’t make wrestling feel more real in general; especially not if you fucking show us the wrestler doing it! What an complete embarrassment.
And what the everfucking hell is it with AEW burying the Tombstone Piledriver? It’s slowly becoming the new Canadian Destroyer. This is some Super Cena levels of bullshit.
As someone who actually likes blood in wrestling, seeing it every week in throw away matches just reduces the importance of blood in wrestling.
When you have blood on your TV every single week, it loses its effect and feels less special. Just because you can have blood every week, doesn't mean you should.
Bleeding in a match brought drama and tension to a program. AEW has matches that bleeds every week on free TV, which loses the passion and waters it down.  Blood in matches always felt more intense on PPVs and it should be saved for blowoff matches to important feuds.  Everyone is so desensitized to it now since it happens week after week. AEW does blood too often. That's the problem. It's not the blood, it's the frequency. 
This is honestly why I can’t stand Jon Moxley anymore. At first I loved the guy, but he can’t get out of his garbage wrestling mentality, he can’t see that this isn’t CZW or GCW. AEW is run by a publicly traded company. If this were WCW, Mox would’ve gotten AEW kicked off TNT ages ago. This fucking idiot even stands up for that moron Nick Gage and I wouldn’t be surprised if Mox talks Tony into bringing Gage in to AEW for a match.
The biggest problem is Moxley's matches have no structure. They just brawl back & forth. No shine, no heat, no cut off, no comeback. Someone bleeds. Then bunch of big moves until the match ends.
Moxley isn’t capable of having a wrestling match that doesn’t involve blood. He can’t have a match that isn’t talked about, throw a wrestling clinic or do any kind of wrestling match unless it involves blood. He needs blood to have his matches talked about. It's overdone and lost its hype, thanks Mox.
Constant bleeding and F bombs, it’s like this idiot WANTS WBD to kick AEW off the Network. 
Watching a Moxley match is like watching a SAW movie. They were good at first but by the 5th one relied on blood rather than story
AEW bleeds too often, almost every week for free and it’s gotten tired and it’s made AEW no different from GCW. At least ECW had wrestlers who could work. GCW is the freakshow and if AEW wants to emulate GCW instead of being a wrestling company, then AEW will continue to decline in quality and how Turner Broadcasting can keep tolerating this smark garbage wrestling horseshit, is beyond me.
It’s at the point where Tony needs to tell EVERYONE no blood except on PPV or the end of a major fued which should be at a PPV anyway. But then I’m afraid some like MOX might try to “hard way” or something.
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mixdropd-moved · 3 years
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Thinking about object shows again,,,
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phoenixyfriend · 3 years
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Fake Sith TCW Trio
I have another fucked up time-travel AU! Who’s surprised? (Nobody.)
So like. Have you guys read that one fic where Luke and his students go back in time and pretend to be Sith Lords and are super hammy about it? (Sith Lord Swell by AMournfulHowlInTheNight)
This AU has contributions by @atagotiak, @the-lunar-system, @purronronner, @gelpenss, @creepingthroughthistidalwave, and @thisarenotarealblog.
I want TCW trio (plus Rex and Cody) to go back to several years pre-TPM and, since the Council DEFINITELY won't believe them about the Sith being back... they'll force the issue.
Anakin is weirdly excited about things and building up their backstory.
Anakin: Okay so I can definitely be a Maul type, with the unhinged ranting and manic laughter, Obi-Wan can be the whole Refined Rich Guy type like Dooku, where you can't even tell he's evil until he starts talking about getting out the eyeball scoops, maybe toss in a bit of mad science stuff? Ahsoka could play up like Ventress OR, oh oh, she can be the Light Side Child we need to PROTECT who's publicly begging us to return to the Light after our big dramatic Falls where we murdered like eighty people to save her, and-- Obi-Wan: Why are you never this enthusiastic about actual undercover missions. Ahsoka: Did you just have all this ready to go, or...? Anakin: WE COULD GET YELLOW CONTACT LENSES FOR ME.
Obi-Wan: How's my evil laugh?
Anakin going “Okay.. so if any of us need to murder someone to sell the bit it should be me, I think I could handle it the best. Why? No reason.”
Obi-Wan: I'm not sure a complete Fall could come from protecting Ahsoka, really-- Anakin: No, no, it could.
Obi-Wan: Surely you’d hold back because you realize neither of us want that for you. Anakin: Uh. Sure. Definitely.
Obi-Wan points out that none of them can channel the dark side to Prove they're Sith and Anakin just goes "Okay, give me like two seconds to stew in my negativity and--right, you can stop staring in horror, please."
Anakin rambles on that they can TOTALLY make the galaxy a better place while playing at being Sith! He's got a whole LIST of slave empires to "take over" and disassemble!
Anakin has a whole excited spiel about how EVIL soldiers and assistants are minions, in this case partly because Cody and Rex are too good at what they do to be mooks. Cody could pull off evil minion very well. Facial scar? Looks good in black? Quietly competent and sarcastic?
He also pushes for Obi-Wan to lounge in a fancy throne with a glass of wine while Anakin stalks the shadows and Ahsoka hangs out on the window ledge. The disaster lineage is dramatic, okay, Anakin’s just leaning into it, he’d appreciate it if everyone stopped looking at him like that.
Qui-Gon, surprisingly, ends up a skeptic about all of this. Everyone is freaking out about the Sith and he’s like “y’know I’m not even sure they’re darksiders.”
Some Jedi, possibly Qui-Gon for his conspiracy board, gets in a real risky situation and one of the Fake Sith saves them, but also panics and kinda drops character for a bit.
Jedi: You saved me! Why’d you do that? Anakin: I uh... just wanted the pleasure of killing you myself?
"You saved me. Why?" "Mmmm. Jedi." [walks away]
Qui-Gon: [trying to figure out what is up with these people semi-competently (from his perspective) pretending to be Sith] Dooku: [trying to protect Qui-Gon from Sith influence]
The gang is the most successful at pretending to be Sith to Dooku. Sure, they’re not gonna punish him for something he hasn’t done, but it’s not hard to act menacing and angry around him.
(They really do have so much fun irritating the heck out of Dooku. He hasn’t Fallen yet, but they want to keep an eye out.)
At some point, future Obi-Wan definitely drops that little tidbit of "What, you didn't think the Banites were the only Sith running around did you? You... didn't even know about the Banites. How... disappointing."
They REGULARLY use Ahsoka as an excuse to be marginally less terrible. They claim that if Ahsoka pouts, they stop. ‘Soka also uses them as an excuse for why she’s a lil feral. (To be fair, that one is accurate. She was already a lil feral before but it’s not like they did anything to stop it.) Ahsoka gets her "breaking into people's offices" jollies by bugging Nute Gunray's office.
The Jedi keep trying to Rescue Ahsoka.
Rex and Cody end up in real beskar, there's a whole Thing with Mandalore and Jango and Satine.
Obi-Wan is CONSISTENTLY worried about Anakin Falling for real, which... hey, at least he knows to be worried about Anakin Falling. Step up from canon, really.
Anakin is WAY too into killing the Hutts but like. It does... technically sell the bit.
Obi-Wan: Sure, I’m not sad that they’re dead, especially because we’re not connected to the Republic, so we don’t need to worry about starting a war and all that. But. Anakin is disturbingly cheerful about this. Rex: Wasn't he a Hutt slave? Obi-Wan: Well yes, but-- Rex: I'd kill Nala Se if I could get away with it.
Cody and Rex are very supportive of Anakin's murderous intentions.
Obi-Wan does understand anger, even killing someone in anger. Like Maul (the first time at least) and D’nar and a few others. All the same, like... y’know. The level of bloodthirst from the others is a little off-putting.
At one point, Anakin accidentally addresses young Obi-Wan by name, despite never having met before, and to cover it up, he... panic-flirts. He panics, and so he flirts, with young Obi-Wan.
(He will later blame this on old Obi-Wan, because he had to pick up the habit of flirting with the enemy from somewhere.)
Anakin vaguely implies that he's a wee bit obsessed with young Obi, and that the padawan should "get used to being the target of a dark-sider's interests," because he’s scrambling for Ominous Shit and, well, future Obi-Wan was pretty frequently a fixation point for darksiders, right?
The second he gets out, he just starts screaming into a bucket while Rex pats him on the back.
For the next however many terrible months, possibly years, he has to keep up the act while having an ongoing meltdown about how That's My Dad As A Twenty-Something.
(It doesn't help that young Obi-Wan reflexively flirted back.)
Old Obi-Wan, meanwhile, is just very "you dug this hole yourself, padawan."
There is an argument at the beginning about Obi-Wan’s outfit. If he’s gonna be a Sith, he can’t just go around in beige, but he’s like “I like this and it’s comfy.” Sure, he’s changed clothes for undercover stuff, but that’s always been temporary, y’know? He likes his beige.
We have a number of options.
My first instinct? Beige linen three piece suit, like a southern lawyer. "Now I may just be a simple Outer Rim force adept--"
And, of course, you can TOTALLY make the beige sinister: he’s impersonating a Jedi! Jedi impersonation would also explain why nobody has a red saber.
“Sure is good that the Jedi don’t seem to realize most of the galaxy doesn’t know red sabers are different and bad.” “Shhhh, stop poking holes in our story where a Jedi might overhear.”
Like.... if you do enough doublethink, it works! How would a Sith hide? In plain sight. Also, it’s a GREAT way (if they were actually assholes) to try to slander the Jedi name.
(Anakin and Ahsoka still think he could stand to put a little more effort in. Add a splash of color, for pity's sake!)
Though tbh part of me is like “What if Old Obi wore, like... a split skirt suit...” Victorian womenswear inspired because he misses his robes, but he has to look Professional, and like he's MOCKING Jedi instead of BEING one, so he wears a vintage-y split skirt thing over his leggings. Ends up looking a lot like what Ventress had for a while, but Beige. I also keep wanting to put him regency menswear.
Anyway. Obi-Wan’s wardrobe aside...
Anakin builds up his Tatoo accent again. It helps him with the (mostly true) "slavery helped me fall" backstory.
Either Cody or Rex offhandedly mentions being made to serve them (the Fake Sith) and now the Jedi are somewhat concerned about brainwashing. Are these Mandos the victims here?
“No like. Literally made for this. In a lab.” This is even more horrifying. So...
On the one hand good! The Jedi should be scared about Sith! On the other hand... it makes the Jedi more determined to stop them, specifically. They keep on getting in the way, just, all the time, and they’re not investigating the actual Sith problem, which is decidedly not great since the Team doesn’t actually know who’s a real Sith right now, except Maul, and who even knows where that guy is.
Obi-Wan, at some point: Do you think we've succeeded at this ruse... a little TOO well? Anakin: I don't follow. Obi-Wan, gesturing at the truly obnoxious amount of wealth they've collected, including "trophies" of their kills: Really? Because I'm a little worried! Anakin, planning out a battle to take on Nar Shadda: ...I'm not.
"How many people do we realistically we need to take over Hutt Space? Apparently... five."
(Mostly because Anakin is ridiculously op.)
ANAKIN AND YOUNG OBI GET KIDNAPPED BY PIRATES TOGETHER. It's tradition.
Anakin: Okay, so, I need to get really angry about something to pass as a Sith... time to think about my WIFE and how I'll NEVER SEE HER AGAIN.
Since Anakin’s life never goes as planned... this does not work. Instead of getting properly angry, he makes himself sad. There are tears. There is wailing. There’s a distraught rant or two. Young Obi ends up awkwardly trying to comfort him.
“Oh no, this… Sith?? Is crying on me. What do I do???”
Later on, when the Council wants intel: "So... one of the Sith cried on me about his wife. I think she's dead? He wasn't very clear about it but it, uh... it sounded like it might have contributed to his Fall. Also the relationship was a little unhealthy? He basically worshiped the ground she walked on and kept ranting about how he would have given her the galaxy on a platinum platter of she'd only asked, but that might be new and inspired by the Dark."
One of the random Jedi is REALLY good at detecting the truth Through The Force, and asks Anakin how he Fell...
Anakin just. Tells the Tuskens story.
They don't get pinged as lying, but oh boy does old Obi have a LOT of questions for Anakin once they're in private.
There are other things happening to help sell the ruse. Some of them are necessary! Some of them are... not.
Obi-Wan: What's the best way to show we're rich and kind of evil, but like... classy about it? Anakin, immediately: I sit on the floor next to the throne, leaning against it, and you call me pet names while stroking my hair, and then when you need something killed I get to do it for you and then I go back to the floor and you thank me for the directed violence, and then you go back to Negotiations with criminals while I’m sitting there covered in blood. Obi-Wan: ...is there something you want to TELL us, or...?
"You're all going to get a glimpse of something normally kept hidden about me." "Anakin, you don't have to do that." "No, I'm gonna."
(Anakin has decided hes going to peel his kink tomato to sell this ruse, and the others are slightly uncomfortable with that.)
Anakin: Okay, I cannot keep flirting with you. Young Obi: Wait, what? But that's the best part of any time we run into you! Anakin: You look WAY too much like my Master did when I met him. Obi: O...kay? If someone looked like my master when HE was young, I'd-- Anakin: My Sith Master half-raised me. He's basically my dad. Obi: ... Anakin: What's that look for? Obi: I mean, you spend a lot of time lounging at his feet, and, like, given how much you hate slavery, I... kind of assumed it was a kink thing? Anakin, brightly: Oh no, I just have a LOT of trauma. And neuroses. Snips says they’re neuroses.
Young Obi is a little upset because he was actually getting REALLY into Flirting With The Enemy and was hoping it would go somewhere. He mopes to Qui-Gon about it. Qui-Gon isn't sure whether to be proud about Obi breaking rules, or worried over Obi-Wan falling for a Fake Sith.
(As Tia put it: "You enjoy making young Obi-Wan have a completely unrequited crush on Anakin, don’t you?")
Fortunately, one of those attractive Young Mando boys very kindly helped him tape up his ribs this one time, and has thus caught his eye...
I feel like having Cody date Young Obi would court an entirely different kind of (internet) drama because clone ages, but whatever.
Also please imagine an element of "so I'm dating the genetic identical of my boss... who's dating the man I'm a genetic identical of..."
(It's probably not actually Jangobi but man would that be funny and also stupid.)
Somehow Young Obi figures out that the "Sith Master" is a future him before he realizes that they're not actually dark. In his defense, Anakin was pretty convincing. Especially with the wife rant. It makes HIM more obsessed with Anakin, in a reversal of the implied earlier dynamic, which is all kinds of weird. Less romantic but like. Still weird.
"Future Me Scares Me" with Extra stupid. "Future Me Annoys Me." "Future Me acts like grandmaster Dooku, but more sass." "Future Me raised a really hot evil guy that refuses to bang Present Me." "Future Me might be a Sith, but I'm getting more and more convinced he's just fucking with us all." "Future Me is really rocking that beard, and I can't BELIEVE we figured out a way around the babyface."
"I’m kinda concerned about the whole evil thing, but I’m also glad that I know I’ll stay hot as I get older."
Quinlan approves of the priorities.
Also a lot of interactions with older Obi are very Anakin: [does/says something deeply unhinged] Obi-Wan: So, do you want to…. Talk about that? Maybe? Anakin: What’s there to talk about?? I’m fine, everything’s fine! Anyways how about those plans for tracking down Maul?
Anakin later, like way after the ruse is lifted, just blankly tells everyone that he did Fall, once, and Older Obi made him get therapy about it after the truth came out between the two of them a few months into the Fake Sith thing.
Where'd they find a therapist? I'm sure there's one SOMEWHERE around. Denon and Herdessa are close enough, and they've done enough "your criminal empire now belongs to me" that they can pay well. They make sure to find one that takes confidentiality real seriously.
It's all very "we need some more time to unpack all that."
Therapy helps get Anakin to figure out Sheev’s whole deal. They don't necessarily figure out he’s a Sith from it, but they figure out he’s sketchy and they need to look into that more. Obi-Wan probably already thought he was sketchy, but the whole active gaslighting campaign was a little surprising. They realize that he kinda benefited a lot from a lot of Sith plots and they still probably don’t think he’s a Sith but Obi-Wan is definitely starting to think he’s working with one.
"Okay, we're already bugging Gunray, should we bug Palpatine just to be safe?"
They get away with a lot of slicing because Anakin is a technical genius from twenty years in the future.
The reasons they're so good at Taking Over Hutt Space: 1. They know parts of the future. 2. They have superpowers and FAR less reason to not use them, now that their actions aren't going to reflect on the Republic. 3. They have Cody and Rex, who are two of the greatest military minds in the galaxy, and know EXACTLY how to wage a war that covers a solid third of the galaxy, starting from a position of relative weakness. 4. Anakin's charisma is scary high, and his knowledge of slave culture means they gain a lot of trust from the people they free, and they just... keep acquiring volunteers for the army they didn't plan to have. Obi-Wan doesn't know what to do. He thinks they might have started a cult?
In his defense, Dooku sort of started a cult, and Komari got kidnapped by a cult, brainwashed into joining it properly, and then took it over as head figure of said cult. It's practically tradition!
Comics Vader is the central figure of like three different cults, it was really just inevitable.
Anakin: Aw, don't worry master, it's not a cult, it's a revolution! Ahsoka: They're worshiping him, though. Anakin: ...it's still a revolution! Just... with some misunderstandings.
Also, if they got wind of people trying to keep people from being able to leave and other culty stuff like that, they’d probably put a stop to it pretty damn quick.
Names! Time for names. As per usual, it's easiest to keep track of Obi-Wan's alternate Older Self by just calling him Ben.
Darth Ben.
Ahsoka: You should be Darth Boring. Obi-Wan: I can still make you run laps, you know.
Anakin: The Force is telling me to call myself Darth Vader. Obi-Wan: ...why? Anakin: I dunno, but it sounds cool, I'll run with it.
Someone: Ben has all the answers; we shouldn’t question him, ever. Ben: One time I lost a planet, and a five-year-old found it for me.
More options: Going with the "evil word with the prefix 'in' chopped off" that we get with Sidious and Vader: Darth Surrectus (as in insurrection) Just random Latin words: Darth Temporus (time) Darth Commenticius (fake)
Anyway, back to Nonsense:
Maul goes after young Obi early, because the Fake Sith are really invested in this one random Padawan (Sidious is saying he might be a cousin of the false Sith Master? They do look similar enough) so someone needs to investigate. Naturally, Anakin shows up with some wild screeching to fight Maul, and when someone questions why he got involved it gets very "Kenobi is MINE!" and like. Okay. So.
Anakin means it in a very Sith "to toy with" and "to torture" way, or the ‘my chosen opponent!’ way, just the same kind of Obsession as Maul had with Obi-Wan in the original timeline. Unfortunately, Anakin’s a weird-ass person who flirts with Young Obi against his own better judgement, so there's some awkward "Like... your boyfriend?" from young Obi. Anakin just screeches in SOME emotion that nobody wants to interpret, and couldn't even if they wanted to, and starts whacking away at Maul again.
(Anakin hasn't explained the "you look exactly like my dad, sorry, it's just too weird" thing yet, and he is HAVING MANY REGRETS.)
There's definitely at least one instance where a person asks Anakin if he's planning on dating That One Jedi Twink, or at least banging out the tension. At that point in time, Anakin doesn't actually know who the fuck they're talking about, because "Obi-Wan + Twink = Does Not Compute" for dear, dense Ani, and instead he just ends up ranting about how he is LOYAL TO THE MEMORY OF HIS LATE WIFE, how DARE anyone so much as INSINUATE that he would TARNISH HER PERFECT MEMORY and UNWAVERING KINDNESS and WHOLESOME BEING, and the person who asked doesn't end up lightsabered but they do end up with a LOT to tell whoever they're reporting to.
Young Obi-Wan definitely hears Anakin mutter the phrase “something to discuss with my therapist later” a few times, and he’s a little bewildered because darksiders definitely don’t seem like the type of people to go to therapy. They’re the type of people to need therapy, sure, but not the type to go to therapy.
I think it would be very fun for Young Obi to continue sighing over Anakin (who's pretending to be fine with it and even flirting back because he's in too deep to stop and hasn't worked up the courage to explain the elephant in the room) while Anakin is covered in grease and infodumping while having a slightly manic hyperfocus on engine repairs while the two of them Somehow got stranded together in the middle of bumfuck nowhere (it's Plagueis's doing, he finds the interactions between THESE two in particular to be the most informative regarding the fake Sith).
Anakin, at some point while stranded with young Obi-Wan, and having actually started unpacking some stuff in therapy, though he’s def still got a ways to go: I’m pretty sure Ben cares about me. He acts like he cares, like he’ll do stuff like put extra blankets in my quarters in the spaceship because I get cold real easily or track down those droid parts I need for a project and he always has my back in a fight but y’know it’d be nice to hear him say he loves me once in a while. Especially because we kinda had a rough start and idk I don’t think he wanted me around at first.
And uh. Obi-Wan definitely relates to that a bit too much, y’know?
I want to say that Young Obi ends up mentioning All That to one of the clones or Ahsoka later, because they seem probably invested in Anakin's well-being, even if Ben is, well, a Sith, so Obi-Wan's a little worried the man's affection really is fake, but at least Ahsoka...
(Ironic, given what Anakin's actual eventual Sith would-be-Master was like.)
Young Obi mentions Anakin’s most recent rant to Ahsoka, and she just goes "Wait, is that why Skyguy likes to sit by the throne and get called pet names?" "Uh... I don't... know... but it sounds like all of you have a LOT to unpack there, Miss Apprentice."
Later on: "Master Kenobi, you need to tell Skyguy you love him 'cause apparently he's been having a lot of emotions about you not telling him you care and he's been talking to mini-you about it whenever they get stuck together and--"
Young Obi-Wan is just constantly the "Now we don't have time to unpack all of that" John Mulaney gif. Anakin in particular is a mess, and young Obi-Wan slowly goes from "I want to date that" to "I want to study that" about him.
Obi-Wan gets stuck somewhere with Ben, tries to small talk, gets on the topic of Vader, and spills the drama. He gets an awkward “Thank you for bringing that to my attention.”
It’s followed by a fairly frustrated “I try, but Anakin refuses to communicate his needs to me, and it feels like I’m always falling short.”
At least one member of the group is in therapy, probably all of them, but they’re still using young Obi as a sounding board for all this stuff. On the bright side, this is probably good for impressing the importance of good communication on Obi-Wan.
Good for Obi-Wan! And... whatever Padawan he eventually has.
As for baby Anakin, who is approximately age four, I want to go with "Anakin decides to be his own uncle, and Shmi just rolls with it because fuck it, she’s not a slave anymore, and a Fake Sith is a solid defense against anyone trying to re-enslave them."
[This is a backstory I've had them use before (see here and here).]
Seeing Big Ani and Little Ani in the same space might be what finally pings the "oh shit, that's future me" thing for Obi-Wan... you know, if he’s ever allowed close enough to see Little Ani in the first place.
Little Ani stays with the fake-Sith and is sorta jointly trained by all of them, and young Obi-Wan teaches little 'Soka at the Temple. Ani and 'Soka still end up friends somehow, but it is fairly different.
Every time little Ani addresses Old Obi as "Dad," it's just like ten kinds of awkward. The one time someone tried to explain that Ben wasn't his new dad, Shmi glared them down. She is of the opinion that, all the gods be damned, Ani deserves to refer to the most mature man in his life, who raised another him in another timeline already, as a father.
Ani doesn't NEED a father, Shmi herself is more than enough, but he does deserve to have this if he wants it.
An alternative conclusion to the time travel is uh. So the Mandalorians are genetically identical (give or take a hair gene) and really resemble Jango Fett, though whether anyone notices that is up in the air. Then the three ‘Sith’ (two fake Sith and their morality chain tag-along) have three younger, identical copies show up….
It could be really weird cloning shenanigans. Now, it makes no sense that they’d make clones, and stagger their production like that, and leave them as babies on various planets for Jedi to find. IDK what reasons Obi-Wan would come up with for that, but it’s a fun little detour before he gets to time travel.
There's a really painful moment (for the audience, who know about canon Vader) where someone tries to convince Ahsoka to leave the Sith and she's just like "no way, they'd never hurt me!” Then she clarifies that “someone has to keep them from doing stupid Sith shit whenever they get bored, you know?"
A bunch of Jedi probably think she’s delusional, but the few that have seen her get into trouble that is legitimately too much for her, which isn't often, have then seen Anakin show up like the devil himself to save her, and it's like. Oh. This is why she isn't scared of them hurting her.
We’ve discussed how Anakin does get concerningly in character with the fake Sith thing. However, Anakin and Ahsoka are, just once in a while, surprised by how Ben gets sometimes when playing the bad guy.
After all, he stabbed a dude with a fork and threatened to eat him during his time as Hardeen…
He has the same dramatic streak as all the rest of the lineage. He can be vindictive and creepy and scary as fuck.
HOWEVER:
Obi-Wan: I know I'm supposed to be playing at evil right now, but how do we feel about me making that evil a little... fruity? Ahsoka: Fruity, master? Anakin, who knows where this is going: [buries face in hands] Obi-Wan: You know, the... [limp wrist] Ahsoka: ... Obi-Wan: I mean, I'm already bisexual and well-groomed, I can play it up.
What’s the point of being evil if you can’t be flamboyant?
Anyway, I had to put in a lot of thought for what to do with Rex and Cody, because there's a solid place for them in terms of strategy, but it doesn't do much to give them independent narrative arcs, and 'young Obi-Wan has a crush' isn't much of an arc, you know?
So, basic info first: Cody, Rex, and Anakin all hold the rank of General in this AU because, like... who else is gonna. Ahsoka remains a commander because everyone declares her Baby, and also to keep up the "I'm a morality chain" ruse.
Cody maintains a very stern and unyielding public persona, but the second they're behind closed doors, he's roughhousing with his little brother.
Rex has some fun pretending to be a sadist whenever he and Anakin have to team up, because hamming it up as an evil bastard in front of Jedi is actually really fun... but usually, he's a competent fucking professional.
Because here's the thing: someone has to be.
They both kind of hate the army they've gotten, because these people don't even have proper trigger discipline, let alone any actual discipline.
This army? Tragic. They hate it. Give them the clones.
They have to be drill sergeants for months before they have anything worth sending onto the field.
I think that might be how/when they end up reaching out to Jango. Like, the first inroad is absolutely "we're your clones from the future and you were a Shit Dad so you owe us," but then they actually talk him around into letting the Fake Sith hire him. He brings along all the Mandalorians he can get to answer his calls, and on suggestion from Those Mando Twins, joins the army Ben doesn't even want.
Darth Boring doesn't want an army! Unfortunately, Cody thinks that's stupid as hell, and is overruling Ben so they can actually work on this 'cleaning up the galaxy of slavery' thing with actual resources.
Cody and Rex are super competent, and it shows in their horrified disdain for the state of their troops.
Rex: Fucking natborns. Anyone who isn't in the know: What's a natborn? Rex: [leaves without answering] People: WHAT'S A NATBORN???
(I'm assuming that the word smush is harder to parse in Basic.)
I think young Obi-Wan's new crush on Cody should also be unrequited. Cody's just like... bemused. Very "Okay, then, that sure is an Affection you've decided on."
Cody and Anakin both: Sorry, it’d just be too weird. Obi-Wan: Why would it be too weird? Cody and Anakin: Reasons.
Rex has to deal with the "whyyyyy" from both his brother and his (former?) General.
Young Obi-Wan just likes cute boys that fight good! Is that so wrong???
Ahsoka: So since we're not officially Jedi anymore-- Obi-Wan: We're still Je-- Ahsoka: Can we date? Can I date now? I want to date someone before we go back to the Code. It's a classic life experience for most teenage girls, and I want to Have That Experience before we're back at the Temple. Obi-Wan: You're not... you can date, Ahsoka, that's not actually banned by the Code. I mean, you'd have to keep it casual, but-- Ahsoka: I CAN DATE!!!
(Great priorities, Ahsoka.)
An idea I'm toying with is that one of the clones ends up Legally Engaged to Satine for political reasons, and young Obi-Wan is just like ???? because not only can he not date the hot boys, but one of said hot boys has become Mr. Steal Yo Girl.
Young Obi-Wan is suffering, and Quinlan is the worst friend ever because Quinlan is laughing at him.
There is obviously the question of
"How would Satine ever end up agreeing to that, given what their public personas are like and all that? She puts duty ahead of personal feelings but all indications are that it’s a terrible decision both ways." (as stated by Tia)
Which, yes, I forgot to actually say that I was imagining Jango had declared "those twins" his heirs after telling people they were his younger* cousins. Because reasons.
* Jango is about 27 when they land in the past, and I’m going to say the accelerated aging ended after hitting physically twenty because no, I don’t want to deal with that. As far as anyone knows, Cody and Rex are about five years younger than Jango. They’re less than year apart, which isn’t very visible, and most people assume they’re identical twins (except Rex’s hair), and that Cody just looks slightly older because of the scar.
Darth Boring had convinced Satine that the way to keeping Mandalore peaceful was to work with Jango (because Darth Boring, which is not his actual title but it is what Ahsoka insists on calling him in private, has a vested interest in keeping Mandalore and all interested parties calm), and he... maybe accidentally set up a political marriage between her and one of the clones.
It wasn't on purpose! Satine never married in his timeline, okay, he didn't expect her to ever get married here, either! He didn't even suggest it! This just happened!
(I want to say that Cody would be more competent at having a political marriage? But IDK.)
Do I do the Satine thing? It has potential, but also it's a bit of a cop-out. Do I have Cody be a diplomatic representative for their pseudo-Sith empire? He could be, but I think he'd hate it. Do I have Rex date one the Chaos Entities (Anakin or Ahsoka), or is that too repetitive with my other works? THERE'S JUST TOO MUCH GOING ON.
Part of me wants Quinlan to get a crush on Cody, and the crush gets bigger specifically in response to the fact that Cody refuses to take him seriously and/or just doesn't give him the time of day.
Based on their one interaction in TCW, they probably let get along ok. Cody maybe likes him back, buuuuuuut internally he's just a little "you were tolerable at almost-forty; early twenties you is obnoxious."
Just imagine the absolutely puppyish attempts at gaining approval and Impressing The Hot Mando General. Quinlan keeps having vague daydreams of seducing someone to the side of the Light. He really leans into the bodice ripper fantasies of saving someone evil with the power of love! (And also the power of really good sex.)
Bant looks at Quin and Obi and wants to throw them both into the nearest pond because they're idiots, but on this topic they are the same flavor of idiot. She considers calling up Reeft and Garen to help her knock some sense into them.
Quinlan: Can I volunteer to go undercover to the Sith? The Council: No. Quinlan: ...what if I-- The Council: No.
Tholme tries to get Qui-Gon to commiserate over their Padawans getting obsessed with Hot Sith Boys, but Qui-Gon just finds the whole thing funny. He knows from the chats he has with Ben that Anakin feels so completely, utterly, incredibly awkward about all of this.
(Ben continues to hold to "Anakin brought this on himself.")
(Ben also “kidnaps” Qui-Gon a lot.)
Also, hey, at least Quinlan isn’t actually into hot Sith boys! He’s into hot Sith minions which is... probably a step up. At least Cody’s not a Sith himself!
It's a step in some direction but Tholme has no idea which one.
(Quinlan sees Cody in dress uniform once and just keeps the mental image for Ages. It’s in his dreams. Sometimes said dreams overflow to Tholme via Force Mind Magic and Quinlan wakes up to someone smacking his face with a pillow.)
Arguably, Quin's also a lot more romantic about his crush than Obi-Wan is, in this case. Quinlan: I want to save him... Obi-Wan: Hey, hey, cute boy. Look at me. Let’s bang.
Cody: There are currently two future Jedi generals having some form of absurd romantic fixation in my direction. I don't know how to feel about this. Rex: Bed them. Cody: ...I'm not saying that's not eventually an option, but one of them is the younger Kenobi, and I'm not sure I'm comfortable with that. Rex: Pat him on the head like a tooka and then bed his friend, it'll be funny.
I think the Quinlan thing and also general exasperation of leading an absolutely useless army can function pretty solidly as the basis for Cody, but I have another idea for Rex now.
Komari is currently brainwashed in a cult, yes? So.
I keep bouncing around back and forth on what to do with Rex, but part of me suddenly really likes the idea of, after Team Fake Sith finds and dissolves the cult (as one does), and takes Komari into custody (because she's dangerous and deeply unwell), Rex kind of ends up her touchstone to being a decent person. He’s not a morality chain, and it’s not really a redeemed-through-love thing, just This Is A Solid Dude who doesn't pity her or thinks she's irredeemable (however you choose to define such a thing), but actually relates to the kind of conditions living like that can involve, and just kind of...
I don’t know. I think Rex's arc in this AU could be very heavily grounded in something to the effect of "You're not the worst darksider I've met. You're not the only person who was in a cult. You're not even the only former Jedi I know that's committed awful, horrible crimes. My question is just this: What are you going to do moving forward?"
Later Anakin: Wait, who do we know that was in a cult? Rex: What did you think Kamino was?
(Rex isn't as chill as he'd like her to think, but he's trying, and she's fairly reliant on the Force to understand emotions, and is currently in nullifying cuffs, so he can bluff.)
Komari needs someone solid and dependable to rely on for at least conversation, and I think Rex needs to feel needed.
I’m not sure if it’d be romance or friendship, but I think there's a solid basis to work with, potentially.
Per Tia:
One thing about Rex and shipping is like. If you want to do Rexwalker again that's fine, but if you're worried about repetitiveness but still want to like. Ship him in a non-political-convenience way. Rexsoka here actually would be different than your other stuff.
I'm trying to figure out if I can make it work because Ahsoka thematically fits very much into a little sister shaped hole here? She feels younger than in other works, despite not actually being younger than she is in, say, Commander Buir. In those other fics, she has some time alone to function and prove herself independently of Anakin and Obi-Wan.
I usually pluck Ahsoka out at sixteen if I'm pulling her from TCW, so she's got most of her competence but hasn't gotten quite all the trauma yet. Commander Buir, in particular, also has baby-shaped Anakin for contrast.
That said, I can see a decent source of narrative conflict in her wanting to experiment with romance and all that, and Anakin trying to tell her she's too young.
A year into this whole time-travel mess, she wants to give the dating thing a shot, and it spirals into "You were only two years older than me when you got married!"
I think I could build a plot out of Ahsoka wanting to do these things, and Anakin as an audience insert not quite processing that she's old enough to make these decisions. If she's choosing to date Rex, whose age works out as being close to hers when one takes into account Kamino fuckery, and whom she trusts absolutely, it’s arguably extra weird for Anakin to be upset with it.
"Senator Amidala was five years older than you, and you married her when you were nineteen and had only really known her for a week! I can go on a date with a guy we both know is one of the most trustworthy people alive if I want, Skyguy!"
I can definitely see Ahsoka getting annoyed with Anakin being overbearing and controlling at some point before that unrelated to romance, too. It’s not exactly a new fault of his.
My god, just imagine someone snidely asking Anakin "where's your little shadow?" and Anakin, being Himself and also a Fake Sith, has an emotional breakdown about how Ahsoka yelled at him for micromanaging her and not trusting her to make her own decisions in life and so she got herself a multi-month solo mission from Ben that Anakin isn't allowed to know any details about, and--
It's another one of those "oh, you have PROBLEMS problems with your mental health" incidents for the Jedi to add to the file, because Anakin having emotionally charged rants about his issues at seemingly terrible times is how they get a lot of information.
Some of the rants are planned.
Many of them, actually.
They want the Jedi to know these things.
Just, well. Anakin.
He really is a little Like That.
On that note, I'm low-key imagining that Anakin gets put on mood stabilizers by the therapist in this context, and he's doing good! He's handling his issues! He's--been captured with Obi-Wan the Younger again and his medication was confiscated.
Anakin is... not great. He's a little out of practice managing his unmedicated self, and when adding withdrawal symptoms onto that... poor Anakin.
(Poor Obi-Wan.)
I think it would be best if Anakin makes a bunch of ominous blustery comments at their captors about how they won't like what's coming to them if they take his belongings (AKA the fanny pack that has his backup pills), and then Obi-Wan just gets to watch Anakin get more and more erratic, because like. Yes, Anakin is using the Force to compensate, but unfortunately he's mostly cut off, and the stress of the situation is pushing him away from depression and into the beginnings of a manic episode.
Anakin is aware of his issues to the point where he's mostly managing, and he keeps asking Obi-Wan "would it make sense for me to [slightly deranged, very impulsive action]," and Obi-Wan realizes he's being the morality sounding board for the Hot Sith because ??? reasons?????
Eventually, Anakin does flop back in bed and dramatically throws his arm over his eyes, and says he needs his meds back, he's absolutely going to lose it, and Obi-Wan tentatively asks what kind of medication. There are levels to worry about. Mild allergy medication is one thing, but heart medication that needs to be taken every four hours is another, you know? He wants to know how much panic is appropriate.
Anakin lets him know that it's Psychiatric In Nature. Obi-Wan suddenly realizes that he really, really, really doesn't want to know what a properly erratic, unmedicated Anakin is like.
(An unmedicated Anakin really isn't nearly as bad as Obi-Wan fears. Anakin's been dealing with this for a while, and knows what his issues are and some of how to deal with them. He'd need to be running on no sleep and higher levels of stress, or to have been drugged with something meant to increase his aggression, to really lose his shit and do something worthy of Vader. RotS levels of stress and sleep deprivation is required to pull RotS levels of manic paranoid delusion.)
Tia asked:
How long does it take the Jedi in general to catch on to how like. They have opportunities. But these Sith never seem to harm any Jedi. And it’s not just like, the past timeline parts of the disaster lineage. They probably get opportunities to hurt other Jedi. Ones that are less skilled at saber work. And more importantly ones that they don’t seem weirdly interested in."
I'm not sure, really. The Jedi don't spend as much time in the Outer Rim as they could, and that's where the Team operates, so actually running into them by accident is unlikely for anyone other than Shadows.
Fortunately, it's really easy to toy with Shadows with the excuse of "I want to see how long it takes before you Fall with us."
I do want like... okay. Here’s the mental image:
Qui-Gon calls them out on being Fake Sith pretty quickly, so Ben just sort of eyes him, dramatically, and orders out "Leave us" to all non-team people. The threat of torture is implied but not stated. He gestures with wine to keep in character. He definitely makes sure Young Obi-Wan is ushered out, so it's just five time travelers, Qui-Gon Jinn, and Ahsoka's immortal force birb.
"...so, what's the reason for the farce, Obi-Wan?" "How in all the hells did you figure it out so quickly?"
(Qui-Gon cheated a bit. He could feel the broken training bond that was never properly severed due to Traumatic Death Of A Master on Ben's end)
Ben didn't realize he'd feel it! Young Obi-Wan can't feel his older self or a training bond with Anakin or Ahsoka, so why could Qui-Gon?
IDK if there would be anything on the level of crying and hugging it out, but I think it would be very funny if, every time young Obi and Anakin are getting captured by pirates or something, Ben and Qui-Gon are just having a nice afternoon tea and checking their watches to see if their respective walking bundles of neuroses are done with their adventure yet.
The Council is So Done, because Qui-Gon continues to insist that they're Not That Bad, but every time anyone other than Qui-Gon brings up the friendship, Ben laughs and makes a comment about how absolutely gullible Master Jinn is.
Obi-Wan is skeptical of his own experiences with Anakin, at least, if only because he's skeptical about Anakin's everything.
"I don't know if Vader is telling me the truth. I don't know if he's telling himself the truth. I don't think he's a great source of information even when he thinks he's being honest."
Anakin could tell Obi-Wan the full and complete truth, and Obi-Wan would worriedly put a hand to his forehead and start doing tests for hallucinations and paranoid delusions. In his defense, this is a very reasonable assumption to make with an individual like Anakin. It's just also not accurate, this time. I don’t know if Anakin hallucinates in canon without a weird inciting incident like Force Nonsense or getting drugged by the enemy, but paranoid delusion is pretty much all of RotS.
"I’m your time-traveling padawan who’s pretending to be a Sith to catch some other Sith who’re going to start a galactic civil war and those Mandalorians you like are from a clone army based on a template of Jango Fett made to serve the Jedi (because that’s totally something he’d sign up for), and one of the Sith is your grandmaster but he doesn’t seem to have fallen yet, it’s probably fine," is hard to believe.
Honestly, even if he seemed stable before saying that, which he doesn’t, it’s all real far fetched. There's a lot going on and Obi-Wan wouldn't even begin to believe it without evidence.
I've had it in my head that he and Bant and Quinlan have been gossiping about the mess for months if not years about these idiots, and at one point it became common knowledge that Ben was a Kenobi, and Bant convinced them (since the two were among the most likely in the entire Order to encounter the Fake Sith) to get a DNA sample, probably hair or blood since that's easiest so they can figure out HOW these two are related, if they are, and then there's a whole big thing.
Bant: No, no, this must be contaminated, it's coming up as Obi-Wan! Are you sure you didn't accidentally grab some of your own hairs? I know it's a little long for most of your hair, but the braid-- Quinlan: Wait, they keep claiming stuff about cloning, right? Maybe someone's a clone? Check for artificial telomeres! Bant: ...okay, so, there aren't any artificial telomeres, but the ones from apparently-Ben are... a lot shorter... um... I don't know what to do with this. It's like I have two samples from the same person, twenty years apart. Quinlan: Obi-Wan, what's that face? Why are you-- Obi-Wan: Vader told me he was a time-traveler. I thought it was the fever talking, but...
That’s how he finds out that Ben is future-him before finding out about how he’s not evil!
"Master Jinn... I think... I think the Sith controlling the Outer Rim is me from the future." "Oh, you finally figured it out?" "I AM HAVING A CRISIS HERE."
Obi-Wan, after a few hours of dazed realization, runs screaming to Quinlan and Bant like 'GUYS GUYS THIS EXPLAINS WHY VADER KEPT SAYING IT WAS WEIRD AND THAT I LOOK LIKE HIS MASTER AND THAT IT WOULD BE LIKE DATING HIS DAD.'
You know, the important stuff.
I think Qui-Gon tells him that Ben isn't evil because, like, That Sure Is A Crisis Obi-Wan's Having. He could hold off for shits and giggles, sure, but Obi-Wan’s on the edge of something Really Concerning, mentally. Best help calm him down on at least one or two things.
Obi-Wan’s maybe still a little skeptical until he confronts them over it. Because their Sith act was real good and also like. Maybe Qui-Gon just wants to believe the best of his Padawan, y’know?
Quinlan runs into Ben before Obi-Wan does, after this whole mess, and gets to observe as money changes hands and people act like sore winners about bets made for When Does Obi-Wan Figure It Out.
Anakin was saying 'soon' because he really didn't think the fever-fueled rant would be discounted as easily as it was.
Cody was of the opinion that it would take at least a few more years since they're actually pretty damn good at this whole schtick.
Quinlan: Wow, he's... going to be really disappointed that you have such a low opinion of his intelligence. Cody, gesturing at Ben: Experience. Darth Ben: ಠ_ಠ
Cody just rattles off some of the Extremely Stupid Shit that Ben's done in their time working together.
Rex cheerily offers up "You didn't even realize General Skywalker was married, sir! And they weren't subtle!" "I knew they were together, I just didn--" "Everyone knew they were together, sir. Everyone."
(Rex had the lowest opinion of their deductive capabilities. He claims it would have taken until Baby Ahsoka showed up at the Jedi Temple.)
-Once Obi-Wan accepts that they're decent people after all- Obi-Wan: Wow, Anakin, you're real good at acting unhinged! Anakin: Haha. Yeah. Thanks?
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xaz-fr · 1 year
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oh fuck hi xaz i was wondering where you went. apparently the reason was a little uh.. well, jesus christ. tbh.
i'm a little nervous about showing my face which is why i'm on anon but ive been in afams and very active in discord since i wanna say the fall before the first skycats thing? and ive been pretty much absent since around when you left. (funnily enough i haven't come up in a single queue in that entire time, or in the year and a half ive been waiting for a project queue >_<)
anyway i wanna say i love and support u and i hope other than this bullshit you're doing well, and also i can definitely corroborate some of the stuff you posted that the afams team has been doing... uh. bad.
especially that part about the one mod having a bunch of complaints about them.. honestly it's at the point where i'm not even sure *which* fucking mod it is lmao. (put some extra info in a second ask)
and the way the two admins treated you, while i didn't see anything super obvious first hand, it always struck me as soooo fucking weird that you could make some of the same kinda jokes that they did, and jokes with "fuck" and "shit" and whatever in them, except you were getting publicly dressed down for it. (i will say there were a couple times you had some less savory jokes HOWEVER you corrected and apologized and didn't do it again. but most times it was regular shit everybody else was saying too, from what i remember)
oh and there was also a couple times where the admins asked for feedback on stuff and i'd try to mention some difficulty, and i'd get completely *publicly* shut down with some ableist nonsense, and nobody would say shit. i'm not comfortable saying exactly what was said, but it was... it was bad. it was bad. like i had to stop going to the discord for like a week when it happened. and myn said she'd talk to the people who did it and now i'm starting to think that just never happened....
I just wanna go on record saying I don't know who this person is but they sound like a an afam helper (not quite a mod bc up until kata we didn't have mods). The server has a few of those. So for the admin babies out there, I didn't tell this person to send this in or anything.
And yes you're absolutely right. The admins loved to ask for feeback or insight on stuff and if it wasn't 100% squeaky clean it'd be shut down. Reminds me of the time one of the admins (not the main ones actually) told me my ideas weren't good and unrealistic during a brain storming thread for an event that never happened last year and no one stepped in to tell her to stop until I stood up for myself and said 'just because they're unrealistic doesn't mean I can't talk about them'.
Some, but certainly not all, of the staff are weirdly ableist as well. I totally forgot about that. I'm a bit mentally disabled but I try and shrug that stuff off so I don't go crazy but I know others are a lot more sensative to that kinda stuff. And while like you said I might have slipped up myself sometimes I did try and correct it and make it right because I didn't realize I'd fucked up until my foot was in my mouth.
And completely agree. You'd go to the admins with an issue about a person and they said they'd deal with it but it... never felt like it did? I remember that was a big point of contention where I was BEGGING the admins to please just TELL US what is happening. Give us updates. Have you followed through with things you said you would? Has the person someone had a problem with been actually spoken to? But it felt like a lotta the time things were sent to the admins and then nothing happened and that's why I always wanted an actual open dialogue so people could SEE what issues there were and hold the admins accountable for those things. But that wasn't allowed bc it was confrontational.
Not all confrontation is negative. It is something that sometimes needs to happen between people so everyone feels heard and understood. But that isn't allowed.
And about your second ask; oh geeze anon I'm so sorry. That sounds horrible. I teared up a little and I'm glad you're away from that person. If you wanna talk more you can always DM me over discord.
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iwadori · 3 years
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Haikyu boys when they make you insecure PT 1 (Kenma,Kuroo)
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Part 1 Part 2  Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6.
Word Count:3k 
genre: angst, fluff
masterlist
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Kenma:
You and Kenma have been in a long distance relationship for a while.
Both of you stream, Kenma doing it seriously for his job and you just playing it for fun,
Sometimes you stream together of course but because of your difference in audiences and games you don’t do it all the time
“Bye guys! Hope you enjoyed todays stream” You wave off to the camera and shut off your PC taking a few sips of water.
Kenma: Hey.. nice stream today Y/N are you going to watch mine?
Y/N: Of course I will 
Kenma: Ok talk to you later
Y/N: okayy <3
Kenma is what inspired you to stream, he also taught you all the ins and outs of streaming making sure you were set and ready. Your gaming style was very relaxed and friendly as you obviously weren’t streaming as a career just for fun and to make friends with your online viewers. The games you played were usually: minecraft, COD, Sims 4, Roblox, Animal crossing and *Insert your favourite game here* the way I literally named all the games I play 
You wait for Kenmas stream to start, kind of excited as you’ve always loved seeing your boyfriend in his ‘element’ when it comes to playing to games. As your boyfriends stream starts you see he’s already chosen what game he is playing today which is to your surprise Call of duty, since that was the game you were playing earlier.
As he gets into the stream you are entertained, as always since Kenma was being his usual self laughing at his own deadpan jokes and interacting with his viewers. He is currently waiting for his capture the flag game to start so as he waits he decides to read some comments in the chat.
You’re used to the usual ‘Kenma where is Y/N I miss your usual streams together’ or ‘kenma please RAIL me’ which always makes you laugh. You were also used to the common hate comments Kenma and You both got on your streams but you were definitely not ready for this..
@ Ihatewomanandiamadick : Hey Kenma did you see your girls stream today she is so dog shit at COD lmaoooo jhdfkjdrhdrr
“Well hello ihatewomenandiamadick” started Kenma “but yes I did see Y/N stream and obviously she is not the best at games and I would definitely NOT ask her to team with me for any serious gaming competitions ... but she’s fun to watch I guess” as he finished speaking about you his game loaded up so he focused his attention on that the words he just spoke going to the back of his mind as they end up at the forefront of yours.
You obviously knew you were no match for Kenma’s gaming expertise but you didn’t expect him to publicly agree with a hate comment let alone add more of his imput on you. Did he really think that about you? ‘She’s fun to watch I guess’ did he not even enjoy your streams that much?
You wanted to distract yourself, and you definitely couldn’t do that watching him so you close off of his stream and get in your bed deciding to watch your favourite show. 
Waking up at 6pm after your sad nap, you see that Kenma has left some messages to you,
Kenma: hey did you watch my stream?
Kenma: do you want to facetime later and play some minecraft..?
Kenma: y/n r u ok??
Y/N: oh hey cnt play minecraft w you rn not really in the mood..
Kenma: oh ok..
Time passed since then a month to be exact and you basically dropped off of the face of the earth, you weren’t in the mood to do anything let alone game and stream, which was a constant reminder of your boyfriend (something you didn’t want at the time.) 
You felt embarrassed over all the things he said about you and all the things you now think he thinks about you and the way you play. Maybe he thinks even worse things about you, beyond just how you game? What if he doesn’t even genuinely like you...or he has someone else...it does make sense, you do both live miles and miles away from eachother AND he’s a big streamer you see the amount of girls in his comments.
You shake your head to erase your protruding thoughts coming in your mind, but it doesn’t really help. You and Kenma haven’t spoken much over this month he tried to constantly reach out to you at first but you assume he got bored over your constant, repetitive dry texts. So you were almost content with you and Kenma not even being in a relationship anymore.
However on Kenma’s side, he was beyond worried about you. Since you haven’t been streaming or barely responded to his texts he thought something happened to you, but he didn’t want to be seen as ‘overstepping boundaries’ if there was nothing wrong at all with you and you simply were just ‘not in the mood.’ 
So here he is, in Kuroo’s apartment trying to get him to help him out on finding out what is wrong with you.
“So kenma can you remember what happened the day when Y/N went ‘ghost’“ asked Kuroo in a mock detective voice
“Y/N didn’t go ‘ghost’ Kuro, and take this seriously” said Kenma “I’m worried bout her”
“Okay fine, but for real what’s the last thing you remember before she started acting all weird.” 
“Umm I think it was around a month ago I did my saturday stream and I think she was on it but she didn’t leave her usual nice comments throughout”
“Ohh that was the stream when you sai-” Kuroo said before pausing his words as the memory of what Kenma said about you on his stream came in his mind, as even Kuroo thought it was a tad bit harsh for Kenma to say all those things “I think I know why Y/N has been so distant kiddo”
“What why?” Asked Kenma
Kuroo pulls out his phone and brings up the clip off what Kenma said and Kenma’s face cringes ‘did he really say all those things about you’ he thinks. 
“Shit.. I didn’t know I said all of that” he said quietly “how do I make it up to her?”
“There’s only one thing you can really do Kenma” said kuroo
You are woken up out of your sleep by a knock on the door. Getting out your bed like a zombie, you trudge to your front door only surprised by what you see. There in his 5′6 glory stood your ‘boyfriend’ Kenma with a controller and a kitten teddy in his hand. You were very tempted to shut the door in his face and get back to your dreamless sleep but you waited on him to speak.
“Hi Y/N” he said quietly “wanna play some minecraft...?”
“Why so you can ridicule me on how shit I am?” You ask bitterly ready to shut the door on him
“No! No not all” he said stopping you from shutting the door entering your place “Y/N i’m really sorry on what I said, I wasn’t thinking AT ALL... I love watching your streams and I think you’re great at playing games...I was just being a dick,”
You take a deep breath before tears pool in your eyes “what you said really hurt me kenma..” you say “ I know people say shitty things on the internet all the time... it’s the internet. But I wasn’t expecting you to agree with the hater and say even more shitty things on top of that.. I don’t think I want to even stream anymore”
Upon hearing that, Kenma’s mouth parts open with shock ‘you dont want to stream anymore’ were his comments that bad? Now he feel even worse as he should and is now more determined to make things right. 
He impulsively drags your arm into your game room, catching your surprise ‘what is he up too?’ you think. He stops for a second seeing your usual pristine gaming set up, collected up with dust. 
“What are you do-” you start 
“Just wait!” He says, as he rushes away turning on all your stuff and logging onto his twitch account as he sees the views go up he starts to speak
 “Hi guys, its me kodzuken and today I’m here on stream with my beautiful girlfriend and today I want to say..” he turns to you “Y/N im so sorry for the horrible things I said to you that day... I was just being a dick and I’m sorry I really am.”
You look at the chat and you see some confusion and some people recalling his words from last month. “It’s fine Kenma, I forgive you” you say giving him a hug”
“Okay Y/N, so what do you say... wanna beat my ass at bed wars?” He says with a smirk 
“When have I ever loss?” you return his smirk
Of course you did beat his ass as bed wars for rounds on rounds never losing proving yourself to actually be a good gamer girl. You enjoyed your time with Kenma, forgetting what he said before about you and moving on. 
Eventually, you guys moved in together and streamed together all the time and yes you still do play for fun but you’ve gotten way better at COD (some may say better then Kenma) but who is better didn’t matter to any of you, as long as you got to play together that’s all you both cared about.
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Kuroo:
Kuroo and you have been together since you were in your first year of high school 
You met as friends first when you got him to tutor you in chemistry ( a subject you still aren’t that good at.)
Now you have your upcoming entrance exams for university in a month so your school has you doing mock exams in preparation for them.
20%
You look down at your chemistry paper that your teacher just handed you. 20%. You’re surprised, very surprised since out of all your subjects (that you go 90+% on) you studied on the chemistry test the hardest ensuring Testurou, that you didn’t need his help at all. But I guess it turns out, you did.
This failing mock grade put a blunder on your day, you didn’t interact with anyone and didn’t want to see your boyfriend so you skipped your usual routine of meeting him on the rooftop and went to the library instead ‘might aswell start early on your studying’ you thought.
As you were going over your chemistry topics, you hear an ‘ahem’ next to you and you turn your head only to find your boyfriend and his friends next to you. Kuroo with his usual goofy smile on his face. 
“Hey kitten where were you at lunch?” he asked 
“Needed to go to the library, Chemistry is kicking my ass” you mumbled 
“Oya” he said as he noticed your chemistry test laying under your textbook “20%, well damn Y/N I knew you were stupid, but I didn’t know you were that stupid” he laughed doing his stupid usual hyena-like laugh.
Ouch well that hurt. You slightly flinched at his words, “Really your name, you didn’t know the molecular formula for ethanol, that’s first year work” he said continuing to laugh “I’m pretty sure that’s one of the first things I tutored you on when we first met” 
His overbearing laughter was not good for you, you were already having a bad day and yes you do know your not that good at chemistry but you didn’t need your chemistry-enthusiast boyfriend to make fun of you for failing. Kenma and Yaku stood there awkwardly obviously aware of how bad Kuroo is making you feel but they didn’t really know how to stop his friend in the moment.Whilst he’s still dying of laughter you decide to pack up your stuff and leave the library.
You managed to get your Chemistry tutor to let you retake your mock paper in a week so that means, extra hard studying with no distractions you definitely can’t fail again. Since studying on your own was definitely not a good option, and you couldn’t go to Kuroo (especially after he ridiculed you) you decided to ask the second smartest person you know to tutor you.
Y/N: Hey Yaku! Can I ask you a favour?
Yaku: Hi Y/N what do you need??
Y/N: I have my chemistry retake next week, and as you know from your loud-loud friend I failed my recent test so can you tutor me?? 
Y/N: Pleaseeee
Yaku: Ok Y/N why can’t you ask Kuroo you know that he’d be more than happy to help
Y/N: Yakuu pleasee just help me out 
So there you was, nearly a week done with your study sessions with Yaku and you’re feeling way more confident than before. 
“Y/N what is the functional group of a Carboxylic Acid” Yaku asked
“umm... COO?” 
“Great! that’s correct Y/N” he praises i dont actually know if it’s correct or not
You then hear a knock at Yaku’s front door and hear his mum let the person in, Kuroo then enters Yaku’s bedroom with shock plastered on his face surprised to see you here.
“Y/N...hey?” he says confused “what are you doing here?”
“Oh Mori-chan is just helping me with chemistry for my retake tommorow” you say nochalantly internally smiling at the twinge in Kuroo’s face at the purposeful use of Yaku’s first name.
“So why didn’t you ask me to help you know I’m a chemistry whiz” he asks
“Maybe I’m too stupid to be taught under your tutelage” you mumble “since I seem to forget whatever you teach me, even when it’s 3 years ago... but ok”
“Y/N I-” he starts 
“Oh save it Kuroo, I have studying to do” you say cutting him off
“But I-” he tries
“So Mori-chan COOH is the function group of ethyl ethonate right?” you ask ignoring your boyfriend who is now at a lost for words
“ummm yeah it is” says yaku who is clearly feeling heavily awkward at the tension in his bedroom.
Kuroo leaves and you and yaku finish off the studying for the night, you did feel a little bad for being a bit mean to Kuroo but it’s karma for him being a dick to you. 
You wake up the next day ready for your exam which was first thing in the morning, before you hand in your phone you see a message from Kuroo,
Kuroo: I know you’re still mad at me, but I think you’re going to do so well on this test. You’re not stupid at all, you’re really smart and I love you < 3 
Kuroo: Good luck Y/N
You don’t respond to the message but smile at the sincerity of it and thankful for the boost of confidence it gave you before you start your exam.
Finishing the exam with a smile, you were confident you did well as everything you and Yaku went over was on the paper and you’re almost certain you atleast got more than 75%. You have to wait an hour before your teacher can give you your results, so in the meantime you might aswell reconcile with Kuroo.
When you exit the classroom, standing there was Kuroo who seemed to have been waiting for you for the whole duration of the exam.
“So how was it?” Kuroo asked, apprenhensive as he assumed you would just ignore him like you did at Yaku’s house.
“It was fine, I think it went alright..” you say
“Kuroo”
“Y/N”
You say simultaneously, he pauses for a second to let you speak “I’m sorry I was being so stand offish when we were at Yaku’s I just wanted you to see I could do it on my own, and when you called me stupid I really took that to heart since you and I both know that Chemistry wasn’t ever my best subject” 
“I’m sorry too, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad, and since it was only a practice test I didn’t think you’d take it to heart but I am sorry I know you aren’t stupid.”
Before you got to say anything else, your Chemistry teacher exited the room with your chemistry paper in hand. Kuroo grabbed your hand anticipating your nerves and gave it a gentle squeeze.
“Miss L/N” said your teacher “Well done on your chemistry test” he turned your test around to sure a perfect 100%. Both you and Kuroo gasped, you were elated to say the least you wanted to jump up and down in excitement but a PERFECT 100%.
“I’d also like to add that you have now got the top chemistry score in the school beating the previous title holder Kuroo Testurou” said your teacher, this made Kuroo open his mouth even wider in surprise nearly making you giggle at his response. 
Your teacher took his leave, leaving you and Kuroo in the hallway “ I guess i’m the chemistry whizz now “ you say wiggling your eyebrows just as Kuroo did to you before at Yaku’s this made him chuckle as he came to put his arm around you.
“Y/N don’t get ahead of yourself now, you may have won this battle but I will win the war” he said smiling
In the final exam, you continue your winning streak also getting a near 100% and still beating Kuroo which didn’t matter to either of you, now you’re just like him cracking chemistry puns and jokes all the time which none of your friends appreciated but atleast Kuroo found them SODIUM funny.
AN: Please kill me for the last line of Kuroos, I didn’t really like Kuroo’s since it was a bit self indulgent with my hate for chemistry but what do you guys think?
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3K notes · View notes
wincore · 4 years
Text
runway (m) | jung yoonoh
pairing: model!jaehyun x fashion designer!reader
words: 18.7k
summary: there are some things that come with dedicating your life to fashion: a taste for finer fabrics, a splash of love for art, and an appreciation of the human body. none of these are supposed to include the hottest model you have ever laid eyes on, or the fact that you completely, utterly hate his guts. 
genre: enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, light smut, comedy-ish
warnings: sexual content, mentions of anxiety
a/n: woohooooooo she’s finally here!!!! i cant believe this!! everything aside, i do not have first hand experience working in the fashion industry so please do take this with a grain of salt. i’m also going to pass out. good night <3
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A list of things you appreciate: colours, satin, comfort.
A list of things you do not appreciate: Jung Yoonoh. Jaehyun. Whatever.
The hum of the car engine has little effect on you; you travel like this almost every day. Tall buildings, scorching pavement, the blare of traffic—it’s Seoul, after all. You sigh, more of a short expression of annoyance, scrolling down with your thumb and back up again. Since when did he get permission to post pictures from pre-fittings? And one of your works, no less. 
His feed is so messy. You click your tongue. For a model, that is. 
You open the story again and consider messaging him. It’s your cherry red coat, or rather the collar of it, golden thread sewn in swirls of patterns, and a sheer floral shirt extending all the way up to cover Jaehyun’s neck. You frown. It’s meant for showcase, not teasers. Even if the picture extends just from the curve of his shoulder to his parted lips, you can’t stand the sight of it on him. It’s not bias, you try to tell yourself. This is business. You tap your fingertips rapidly against the back of your phone. This is obviously business. 
Seoul Fashion Week is the height of your anxiety, which means you have little regard for anything else decorated around you. With a new frenzy arising in every minute of your day—you don’t have time to think, a sense of madness in the way you keep busy. Your Elixir collection is more than what you had hoped for it to be, a twinge of satisfaction sitting at the pit of your stomach. It nicely puts together everything rich and extravagant, humanity’s first love—everything you despise really, so Jaehyun wasn’t a bad choice for a model. 
You backspace on your text. Is this rude? Should you care if you’re being rude? How unprofessional, you imagine his voice saying. It wouldn’t be the first unprofessional thing you’d done.
The final text reads ‘Glad you’re enjoying my designs, but they were not meant to be publicly displayed before the official show, as common sense predicts.’ 
No, of course you’re not trying to be snarky. It’s perfectly formal. All that time writing professional complaint letters to companies for ripping off your designs paid off, you suppose.
You exit the Uber, thanking the driver quickly before you rush into the building, checking the time on your watch. It’s sunny, and hotter than you anticipated. You can only hope it’s cooler tomorrow so the heat doesn’t suffocate your models.
The company building is another madness in its own. Joohyun greets you with a quick smile, a bunch of fabrics being handed to her before she can make any conversation with you, and the rest of the workers bow in greeting before getting back to their own individual windstorms. You step over a few boxes on the grounds, beelining to your workspace so you can settle down your bag.
You’re team leader, you tell yourself, a short breath tumbling out of your mouth. Even so, you don’t do very well under several pairs of eyes on you at once. Some part of you is still the timid fashion designer, packing your entire identity into a small sketchbook.
The sunlight is blaring out of control in the place—it’s meant to be spacious and sunlit, of course, but the heat makes you adjust your collar before you can move forward. The bustle of the style and design team along with the production team in the same place is akin to a nightmare, and you trace your steps quickly.
“Guys,” you begin, fidgeting with the leather strap of your watch as you continue, “Firstly, good job.”
There’s a bunch of short cheers and clapping to interrupt before you can continue. 
“As for tomorrow…stylists, I need you to touch up the collars in all the Western-style coats. The detailing needs to be kept clean and sharp. I want the audience to be able to see it.”
You pause, your tone still neutral. “And let’s not start again on the lacing. We had that discussion yesterday.” 
There’s some nods and sounds of affirmation. 
“Production team…I don’t think I can say much to you without Doyoung getting on my case.”
There’s collective laughter and you crack a smile. With a few more rapid words, you dismiss yourself, walking over to your colleagues to help them out. You’re team leader, the one with the final say in all the designs, but you can’t possibly imagine completing it without Joohyun or the others. 
“Good pep talk there, (name),” Joohyun says, walking over to you as her hands sharp and steady as they go through the clothes rack. 
“They think I’m an asshole,” you say, breathing out. You know your words are too direct. Drunk co-workers on a Friday night are not the best place to discover facts about yourself. Sometimes even you think you sound bossy. You check the key parts for each item, knowing you’ll be doing this once again before the show.
“We wouldn’t be going anywhere without direction,” Joohyun responds, laughing as if you’d said something silly. “We’re all glad you’re here, (name).”
Words like these are so easing for a mess like you, not that you’d admit it. Joohyun has always been a sort of mother figure to you after you entered this company, followed by Doyoung. A good few years senior to you, she started out as a model before she moved on to designing. 
It’s her last year working in this place. But of course, it’s a given when she’s starting her own label (mom clothes and children’s apparel, she’d called her clothing line, rolling her eyes) and one of the most well-known names in South Korean fashion not having her own label is sacrilege (according to your colleagues anyway). She’d said to contact her when you start your own family, and maybe she’ll send a congratulations package for both you and your baby. You’d laughed. Out of all the insults you could ever receive, that was perhaps the loveliest one.
Ridiculousness aside, you’ll miss the comfort of her presence. You were still in school when your designs led you to a showcase in New York Fashion Week, your sponsor more than generous. You stepped into it too soon, too eager. It was breath-taking and awful all at once—and the first time you saw a world outside of your own. It was overwhelming. There are few people in this new world as kind as Joohyun.
The sound of your notification snaps you out of your thoughts. You swear you kept it on vibrate, a little irked at having to search for your phone when your hands are full. The notification itself brings on a stronger wave of vexation.
_jeongjaehyun:
My manager told me it was good publicity
But I could take it down for you
The ‘for you’ adds an unnecessary effect, you think as you hold back a scowl. And what does ‘could’ mean? A miscommunication with the sales team isn’t even on the list of things you need to worry about. Honestly, you don’t have time to fight him, quickly typing out a ‘whatever. it’s okay’ before looking back up.
You jump, the look on Joohyun’s face a little suspicious for what might come out of her mouth.
“It’s not a crime to text people.” She shrugs, shuffling through the rack one more time to take the clothes for transportation. 
You’re quick to jump to your defence. “I have nothing to do with him.”
Joohyun looks at you, amused. “He’s not a bad person, you know? How long are you going to keep hating him for one thing he did?”
“It’s not one thing,” you groan, averting your gaze to the clothes so as to help her. “I just- he’s so- so- oh come on. You know how I feel about him.”
“I’m just saying you don’t have any reason to. Everyone’s different from what they appear to be. Especially in this line of work.” Joohyun balances the clothes you give her across her forearms.
“So he’s fake. I hate that even more.” You sigh, pulling out the blue silk overcoat, the colour matching Joohyun’s work dress.
“You mean unreal? Models tend to be that way—don’t be so harsh on him, honey.”
You simply shake your head, words entering one ear and out the other. Joohyun presses her lips into a line but lets it go soon enough. She knows you’re capable enough to separate professional from personal and that should be enough. You’re not keeping a tab on something as warming as spite. 
You can’t believe you’d ever been within five feet of him without turning your nose. You can’t believe you’d smiled at his jokes once, even if it was just that one night. He was the godsent Prince Charming, just perhaps not yours. Paris surely had a distressing effect on you that year. 
You don’t make the same mistake twice.
You walk back to your desk to take a seat and scavenge through your belongings, most of the people already outside. Fashion Week, which once upon a time was a faraway dream, now is part of life—exciting and exhausting. It’s almost always over in a flash, your love for it whisked in peaks of bittersweet. (“You work your ass off for six months and it’s, what, fifteen minutes long?” your mother had asked after you’d brought her to one of the shows.)
This line of work is a nightmare without mental preparation. You have a degree, you have experience and yet it doesn’t feel enough, confidence easier to drain in a person than blood. And you’re not very fond of pale cheeks.
It came to asking yourself if you really have it in you for a few months—a test of sorts everyone puts themselves through at least once in their lives. At that time, your favourite professor, a bald man nearing his retirement years with the wrinkliest face you’d ever seen, had asked you just one question. 
Do you love it? 
Of course you fucking do. 
You couldn’t say that to his face, sure, but you know he saw it in you—either the effort you put out every day of the semester or the way your hands moved across fabric like a machine, your designs made with the persistence of nature. Your final year project landed you an internship at one of the largest clothing brands in Seoul and your internship landed you a job at the same. Your job, well, lead you to Jaehyun, among many other things. 
You scowl at the image of his face that appears when you close your eyes, massaging your forehead—it’s hard to not see it everywhere already, from Cosmopolitan to Vogue.
While you were biting your nails in New York, Jaehyun had flown out to Paris with Saint Laurent, one of the younger male models to show his face for the first time. He’d taken the whole place by storm, you had heard from a friend. To say half the world had fallen in love—either with his dimples or his confident walk—would be an understatement. A privilege, to be gold-plated in a mercenary world.
You’d briefly made eye contact at the airport the first time you saw him, a year later, when you were arriving in Incheon and he was leaving it. It was London, that time. For him, Milan. As much as you couldn’t believe living a fashion student’s dream, Jaehyun’s face was truly, unironically much more unrealistic. Your classmates’ gabs and gossip in sewing class had suddenly made sense. You taught yourself to not be swayed by faces, even if they look like they’re stitched together by Aphrodite and Apollo with their bare hands—friendly advice from seniors at the orientation night ‘party’. 
You’d met him formally in Paris, after you’d graduated from fashion school. He was certainly the most beautiful face in the room—and you weren’t the only one aware of it. The entire night you’d been starting conversations you couldn’t relate to, till he came along with his charming dimples and a faux connect. You were naive, and a little tipsy. The attraction was obvious, and it had been you by the bathroom pulling him in for a drunk kiss till he’d snapped out of the daze—as if it were some joke you’d been playing. He’d apologized before leaving, like it wasn’t a big deal, with silken lips parted in a gesture of remorse and a short, firm bow. It didn’t settle very well alongside the merlot in your gut.
You. You’re a big deal. 
You were alone in a room full of painted faces and he sat atop the throne they worshipped. Why had you expected any more from him—in the understanding nods or the few kind words that escaped his lips? You felt stupid. He made you feel like smiling for the first time that night and you hated him for it—you’re sure he doesn’t care either way. Or maybe he does, with the wonderfully irked responses he graces you with. 
Jaehyun made something out of himself in these nine years, just as you have. Runway supermodel to the face of South Korean men in fashion to an entrepreneur, he might as well have a documentary on him—and he would if he didn’t evade paparazzi and reporters like his life depended on it. Enigmatic, the articles wrote. You scoffed. Conceited, more like. After the initial years, he decided to settle in New York, frequently flying to Seoul and other fashion capitals for business and contractual events. Some of those occasionally include your shows.
Having Jaehyun gets more attention but it’s not like you’re a new, doe-eyed kid. Your works have been featured for popstars and foreign celebrities, and you’ve been invited to several interviews with big magazines. You’ve gone global (albeit under the brand’s name) and you’ve been to places you’d only seen pictures of in the very same magazines you looked up to. They can describe your work as unique all they want—and you don’t mean to sound fucking pretentious—but your job is nothing more than an expression of the self. It’s a part of you; you first started sewing patches onto things simply because your closet lacked colour. And eventually, you found yourself searching for more—colours, fabrics, dreams. You’re devoted to your job because you love it, you want to do it. You’re allowed to be a little arrogant about it. 
If only trying desperately to be arrogant did something about your insecurities.
You hope your works redefine themes, your need to stand out contrasting with your fear of it. Eye-catching is always your forte; this time it’s fairy tales and royalty in a mix of East meets West. 
D-1. Same feeling, new season.
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The press is here, you take note. Photographers. Models. Students. Vloggers. It’s a burst of colours down there.
You hate running late, rushing down the stairs to the plaza through the crowds of people. Some recognize you, as they make their way to you but you end up walking a little faster to minimize your presence.  You curse yourself for wearing the jacket. It goes nicely with the rest of your outfit and March isn’t supposed to be this hot. You wipe the sweat from your hairline, hoping the makeup is waterproof like it said.
You consider stopping at the café for a fix of coffee but stop when you notice Joohyun holding a bunch of cups by the venue. She doesn’t look too happy about the sun, or the burdening errand of fetching coffee. You adjust her little red beret at her request, smiling at her annoyance but trying your best to keep it hidden. You don’t want to get cussed out by Joohyun. 
“Someone tell Doyoung to get his coffee,” Joohyun complains. “I’ve been waiting for half an hour.”
“I’m sure that’s an exaggeration,” you say, sipping your coffee. The taste fills your senses with a pleasant dose of energy and you hum out a satisfied note. “Why are there so many students out here? Influencers? Did we sponsor this many kids?” 
Joohyun shakes her head.  “Jaehyun just got here.”
You suppress an eye-roll. “Wonder why he still comes back for Seoul when he’s booked full for New York.”
“It’s his hometown.” Joohyun shrugs. “I’d come back too. Even if I’m paid more out there.”
You finish your coffee and duck into the fitting room, much to Joohyun’s displeasure as she’s left alone again. Doyoung’s in for an earful, you chuckle thinking about it.
It would look like a hell of a mess to anyone not accustomed to this. Everyone is a flurry by themselves alone but if you mix them with the eclectic crowd you find at a Seoul Fashion Week backstage, it’s more of a disaster. A colorful one, at the very least. 
New York was worse. You were too young, in a world that was too big. It’s a miracle you even received an opportunity from so big a name. But, you suppose, it hardly matters now.
You no longer live in a world where Seoul is far from Paris. Fashion and art are things unmarked by place of origin.
It’s easy to spot Jaehyun in a corner, two people adjusting his coat for better fitting at the waist. His makeup’s done, you notice as you get closer. Good, you think. If any makeup were to get on the fabric, you’d go feral (although you do have full confidence in the makeup artists here and their choice of product).
“Jaehyun,” you greet. Your co-workers give each other a look before excusing themselves. You raise an eyebrow, too late to stop them. They didn’t finish the looping of the belt properly, you take notice. You wrinkle your nose. Sloppy. 
“(name).” He responds with an equal lack of amusement. 
You pull the belt at his waist, Jaehyun stiffening at the contact.
“What are you doing?” he asks, looking down at you with a raised eyebrow.
“My job? What do you think, genius?”
Jaehyun presses his lips together and lets you complete the altercations. The chiffon shirt allows you to see the hazed definition of his core, a rather flustering thing to be exposed to for anyone with eyes. When you look up in a moment’s mistake, you’re reminded of why his face is everywhere. Flawless, almost. You hate it. Averting your eyes, you fix the collar so the pattern stands out more. You can feel his eyes over your outstretched hand all the way to your face, subtle as ever. If Jaehyun thinks you’re bothered by it, he’s an idiot for believing so. 
You take a step back to analyse the coat. The golden threads are flawlessly detailed, spiraling in patterns of different flowers and vines around the collar, gradually getting larger as they twine at the base of the neck. They meet the polished rhinestone buttons a little lower. You almost smile. You’d sewn each thread and each button in yourself the first time. It hardly looks the same now.
Bright red is an eyesore if you look at it longer than five minutes, you realize. The frown that’s been itching to show up finally does. Suddenly, you’re glad Jaehyun is modelling this piece. You shake your head and look back at his face, from his deep-set brown eyes to his full, tinted lips before pausing. The little Swarovski pearls line strands of his hair in a starry display, perfect in every angle of it. It’s easy to appreciate the human beauty when you see his face, and even if you claim your vehement dislike for him, you’re not a liar nor an idiot. 
How infuriating it is, to let things be. Bad blood can only dry to an ugly, unusable brown.
You narrow your eyes at the thinning layer of glitter on his peach-blushed cheeks. He doesn’t exactly need much more of it but the unevenness bothers you.
“Your makeup needs retouching,” you say, frowning. “Did you touch your face? I thought you were a more...professional model than this, Jaehyun.”
“You walked in,” he replies, casually. “I was distracted.”
You feel your cheeks colour. “That’s- that’s not a reason.”
He smiles politely. “I suppose I’ll leave you then. You must have other work to do.”
You hold back a biting remark. His playfulness doesn’t sit well with you; he’s polite just enough to annoy you and straightforward just enough to make you want to throw something at him. He could’ve directly told you to fuck off maybe—but oh no, it’s Jung Yoonoh, seamless and radiant, with only the sweetest collection of words on his tongue. You think of the first time you met, something warm in the corner of your heart. You’d mistaken it, of course. 
He didn’t care for you, or any of the people trailing after him and his silver flute, or the rest of the shallow carcass of a world so undeniably obsessed with him. It didn’t hit you till he’d left you hanging, mangled memories of something close to hurt. You’re glad you didn’t kiss him. You wouldn’t be able to get over the embarrassment, the blow to your pride had it escalated any further.
And of course, the one thing he did to make you absolutely certain of his distaste—was simply choose another designer’s work over yours when given a choice. It seems silly, unprofessional even, but the lack of response to your Fall/Winter ready-to-wear collection had been embarrassingly low, someone else’s designs sold out at an equally awful rate. You—your insecurities—wanted to blame your own failings—maybe it was the lining of the coats, or the colours maybe— the fabric? Perhaps, you hadn’t focused on comfort all too well. But it was clear, a word from Jung Yoonoh could change the minds of a fashion-forward youth as easily as his face and physique scored contracts with the biggest brands and labels. And it was clear he didn’t like you very much.
You walk over to the other models, eyes scanning down to the T. You glance over one of Joohyun’s designs, a modern men’s hanbok. The blood red paired with yellow is certainly easing on the eyes, though the shades vary from top to bottom, like a sunset. The dark grey chunky shoes fitted under dark tights complete the entire future oriental look you suppose she was going for. She’s only showcasing two of her designs this year and they’re just before the centrepiece. You shake your head, clutching the fabric of your jacket sleeve. You hate seeing other designs before a showcase, even if they’re a friend’s. 
You turn your head to make eye contact with Jaehyun across the room. It takes a few seconds but you snap your head in another direction to break the spell. 
How strange. You haven’t had nearly enough coffee to feel jittery under his gaze.
You’re forced to take a breather away from this jungle of liveliness. 
The amount of people outside the venue gives you yet another headache. Excited college students and fashion vloggers stand outside expectantly, and you give a short bow and polite ‘hello’ to anyone who approaches. You desperately want to be left alone. Even if it’s for a few seconds.
You walk quickly, your feet soundless against the floor. Your mask performs considerably (and surprisingly) well in hiding you. You consider visiting the Design Market to enjoy a seat alone and charge your phone before it’s show time.
Open spaces. You need open spaces. Suddenly, the DDP seems to be suffocating you despite its tremendous size.
“Hey!” You’re greeted with a sudden force to your right side, an arm wrapping around you. You look up to see Johnny, a wide grin on his face and you let yourself mirror it, shaking your head.
“Big day,” he says. “Want me to take some pictures? I’ve got some time between shows—lovely outfit, as usual.”
It’s strange how Johnny’s the photographer and not the model—you’ve heard he receives a lot of requests to get on the other side of the camera though he always refuses. He doesn’t visit Seoul as often, but he has much to do in uplifting the mood with his strangely effective sense of humour. The coffee-coloured shirt he’s wearing goes well with the plaid grey coat, reminiscent of Fendi’s Spring collection, and sometimes you wonder whether a job as a fashion photographer ever had much to do with his style. Johnny has always been effortlessly impressive. 
You politely decline, your mind still focused on the smooth running of things. Nothing’s ever on time when it comes to Fashion Weeks—yes, it’s called fashionably late but it just makes you annoyed. You consider ducking back to your venue, adding some final final touches and any more last-minute altercations. Years have passed and you’re still not used to it, fingers itching to do something about everything. You’re grateful the company gives you your creative space but it only makes you wonder just how far the limits are. 
Johnny accompanies you to the charging station till he’s distracted by some of the children in the latest Fendi kidswear and you make a mental note to never bring your kids to Fashion Week, if you ever choose to have them.
You breathe in and out for a few moments, feeling lightheaded before the sense of reality touches on you. People walk in and out of the stores lining the pathways, a soft buzz of conversation in the air as your eyes follow their movement. You wonder if you’ll have your own stores opened in plazas like this—here, in Seoul, and on brightly lit streets of the world outside. After all, colourful dreams are the hardest to get rid of. You sit quietly till you get a text from Doyoung asking you to get your ass over there quickly with several exclamation marks. You smile to yourself. Joohyun might have had a sour effect on him.
You arrive back at the venue, trying to tear your eyes away from anything that might want to make you fix it. You avoid Jaehyun’s eyes even more so, like you’ll jinx something right before it’s showtime. 
The buzzing reaches a peak before everything is drowned out.
The show finally starts. And it’s over. Twenty-two minutes, this time.
That’s the way it goes. You hold your breath till you’re sure it’s safe to let go, blind to everything that goes on in between. Sometimes it’s underwhelming, sometimes you can’t give a fuck when you love doing this anyway.
You breathe a sigh of joy when everyone gathers backstage, Johnny making all the models pose together for one giant group photo. It’s like a ritual for him, always finding time for a backstage picture with the models goofing off.
Jaehyun looks at you instead of the camera, a nervous shiver running through you. His gaze is not something of inconsequence, eyes piercing into you with words hanging in the air that you don’t care enough about. You think he sends you a smile, cockier than you’d like. Despite your efforts, you have to look away.
Now, what should your dear Fall collection look like? You exit by yourself, relief humming through your veins when you think of getting back to your apartment, papers to be sketched on in your hands, soft fabric to be sewn on your table. Maybe they’ll display your works in the front rows of the stores, maybe you’ll even have displays outside of Seoul. You’re not a student anymore and your job has taken you enough places. 
Even so, Paris and Milan sneak into your dreams often. You used to dream of them so much that it was hard to consider them reality—finding yourself in those streets, in between all those beautiful picture-book monuments.
You prefer Seoul, you decide after conscious thinking. You don’t have to worry about the world outside. 
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Afterparties are not your thing. 
You somehow still find yourself in them, hoping to catch a drunk video of Doyoung for blackmail or make eye contact with an attractive stranger only to stop at exchanging numbers because you never find the time. 
It’s a social event. You’re supposed to be doing social things. It’s exhausting.
The last person you expect to bump into is Jaehyun, drinks in hand as he looks down at you with a greeting of surprise on his tongue. He’s wearing a simple dark Oxford button-down, two buttons at his chest undone, and tucked neatly into his pants. His hair looks untouched since afternoon, parted in messy waves, minus the pearls. The music changes to something with slower beats as you stare at each other for a few moments.
“What are you doing here?” You raise an eyebrow. There are other afterparties he could be attending. Big ones.
Jaehyun tilts his head, cracking his neck before smiling. “Charming, as always. I’m here because I want to be here, obviously. So does everyone, I’m sure.” 
“Fucking narcissist,” you mutter to yourself. You think Jaehyun might have heard you because you get a dirty look thrown your way, masked with the signature apathy across his relaxed lips.
“That’s a little rich from you,” he mumbles.
The muscle by his mouth twitches but he doesn’t say anything more. This is probably the most emotion he shows, you think. Wouldn’t his lovestruck magazines relish seeing him riled up like this? They’d still find a way to fall in love with him.
You could have, too.
No way. You tell yourself that’s ridiculous. 
You’re aware he’s booked for at least three other shows this week. It’s a miracle he agreed to yours, considering your mutual distaste for each other. You suppose it had more to do with his agency than himself but it wasn’t like you were the keener one. Jung Yoonoh is the face professionals look for and your company loves the publicity, although you keep telling yourself your designs would still shine without him. 
Jaehyun excuses himself before you can get on with any unpleasant conversation you might have. At least you have something in common—that is, trying to avoid each other as much as possible.
A few minutes (and uncomfortably snaking through swarms of bodies) later, you find Doyoung, unfortunately sober and intending to remain so, people congratulating him with claps on the back for securing the position of PR Head. You think it was supposed to be a secret, but someone higher in the ladder must have spilled early. Joohyun never attends these, and honestly, good for her. 
Afterparties are not your thing.
You shouldn’t have taken those shots but you’re on the dance floor now anyway—what more could happen? It’s easier when you’re not paranoid about all the eyes on you, dancing against a stranger with a lion tattooed against his neck. Maybe you’ll go home with him, maybe you’ll leave at the first signs of attraction. Romance isn’t quite on your to-do list, but an occasional intoxication with the skin works just fine. You could live like this for a few moments.
Your back runs into someone else’s rather forcefully and you turn around, apology bubbled up to your tongue already, mixing with the alcohol.
“Oh look.” You roll your eyes. “It’s the prince of high fashion. What can I get you today, sire?”
Jaehyun drives his tongue over his lips, quite definitely over your antics. Soft breaths leave his mouth in a rhythm irrelevant to this box of laughter and blaring music called a party. You love how he never knows how to respond—what new words will he choose to keep false dignity? If you think about it, he’s the embodiment of why you always thought everything was so out of your reach—big names, exclusive parties, not for kids like you. They were never for fashion students too honest to know their own worth.
“Jealousy isn’t a good colour on you,” he says, just loud enough for you to hear.
You scoff, a pang of annoyance sizzling through you. “Jealous? Of who? You?”
You sneer at the last part, Jaehyun’s frown deepening. Some days you just like to think you’ve won. A few moments pass between you two, the sound of pop music filling in the gaps. 
Jaehyun presses closer to you, your chests almost touching as your breath hitches in your throat.
“Do you know what makes success?” he says, head dipping lower to look you in the eye. The smell of alcohol disturbs you for a second before your heartbeat gets loud enough to drown it. You try to not focus on how his mouth is so near yours—and perhaps if you were drunk enough, you might commit a mistake against the very core of your being, something you’d been dangerously close to once.
You stay quiet, the pulsing in your ears too loud in the shallow distance between the two of you. You swear it’s always the two of you pressed up like this once you’re drunk enough, the dislike growing stronger and stronger with every breath exchanged. You’ve intertwined each other into a strange garden of contempt, easy to forget when you're facing him. Jung Yoonoh has the prettiest face in the industry, and the only one you can’t bear seeing. 
“It’s confidence,” he answers, as slow and steady as ever. “And there’s a thin line between confidence and arrogance I intend to keep. I’m not so sure about you.”
The rest of the night passes without conflict and you retire early, Jaehyun’s breath still hot against your face. Only when you collapse on your bed do you get an urge to shout, yell, anything that doesn’t make you call him up and scream at him. You have your precious dignity too, something he seems to look past. The effect he had on your breathing, the crawling over your skin—God, you hate him. You’re too stubborn to not continue doing it.
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“What’s this?” you ask, your eyes darting in between the director of design and Lee Taeyong.
To say you were surprised to see him would be an understatement. You note the simple dark rimmed glasses in contrast with his light dyed hair, the mellow blue of his cashmere sweater sporting his own label’s logo—Lee Taeyong is a household name. You feel yourself shrink the tiniest bit.
This industry’s all about names, you think miserably. You meet people and you remember the ones who can get you ahead. It’s tiring.
Taeyong started his career even earlier than you did, and before he had changed his major to fashion. He’s a little older than you, though he doesn’t look it and he had begun with working exclusively on jackets. Several rejected designs later, he had popped up as one of the designers to look out for in Seoul Fashion Week. Now he has his own global label slowly turning brand, several worldwide stores and everything dreamers in the same place as you look up to. You think you’re fine here, you tell yourself despite that.
The director smiles at you, her hand gesturing rapidly at you to come forward.
“You’re going to be so happy,” she says, signalling Taeyong to continue.
“Uh, hi,” he greets.
A little awkward for a world-class designer, you think.
“I’m Lee Taeyong. You might have heard of me—”
“I know who you are,” you interrupt, ignoring the disapproving look of the director.
“Oh, that’s good!” He smiles. “I’ve seen your work—I’ve been following your work for a few years now…and, well, I’d love for you to work under my label—in a collaboration of sorts. You’ll have full creative freedom, of course! I’m just there more or less for supervision, really…”
You think you feel your heart stop for a few moments, Taeyong’s sudden stream of information fading out. The pinnacle of your career, you believe, had been Paris Fashion Week four years ago and you’d been dreaming of it ever since. This is a business contract, you’re sure, and you don’t know if you have a real choice but maybe you could take that step forward you’ve always wanted to.
“Isn’t that great, (name)?” The director interjects. “You get to work under the Lee Taeyong label. And…surprise! You’ll have your work presented at New York Fashion Week in September. They’ll hit the stores a week later.”
You freeze. 
“New York?” you manage to squeak.
“Yep!” Her voice a notch away from annoying. She’s not the first person you’ve met who sounds so goddamn manufactured. “Pack your bags, darling. You’re flying next weekend.”
You must be looking like a deer caught in the headlights because Taeyong opens his mouth to say something, alarmed. You speak before he does.
“Okay,” you say, more to yourself than them. It should be a good thing. It’s supposed to be a good thing. Even so, you feel the anxiety in your ribcage threatening to overgrow into thorns. 
“I’ll- I’ll do it,” you clarify. Looking from your manager’s bright yet stern face to the hopeful smile on Taeyong, you don’t think you have much of a choice.
New York, huh. How long has it been? You shudder at the memories, your focus a little off for the rest of the day.
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Joohyun visits you a day before you leave. She places the box of chocolates on the coffee table, that Doyoung apparently sent for you. 
“You know, I’m really happy you’re getting this chance,” Joohyun says, crouching down beside where you’re splayed, trying to count the travel essentials and everything else on your messy checklist.
“He gets promoted and now he can’t even come visit me, huh?” you say, shifting to grab the box and tear off the clear wrap.
Joohyun laughs. “He’s certainly enjoying his duties. I can’t wait to boss him around again after I leave.”
Your shoulders hunch, a sigh leaving your lips. “Great. You’re leaving. Doyoung’s too busy to annoy. And now I’m a part of this godforsaken project for almost six months.”
Joohyun softens a bit, running her hand through your hair. “I heard you accepted it. All by yourself. You’ll do just fine, don’t worry.”
You feel yourself turn pink, a feeling of warmth you’ve been missing for a week. It’s cozy in your apartment, always the right temperature with a tinge of happy memories. You wish you could find comfort in people as easily as others do. Everything happened so fast, you can barely remember the conversation you had with Lee Taeyong. A few moments pass, Joohyun and you picking out chocolates before you can rummage through your suitcase again.
“I hate New York, Joohyun. Just what else can you throw into the mix to make me hate it even more?”
She freezes for a fraction of a moment, pressing her lips together before clearing her throat. “Oh. Uh. I probably shouldn’t tell you what I was about to tell you then.”
You turn your head to her, eyes narrowing. “What?”
She shrugs, eyes not meeting yours. “You know. New York. Fashion capital of the world. Lots of things to love.”
“What are you not telling me, Joohyun?”
She sighs, defeated. “A certain someone might be on the same flight as you. I was about to give you his number in case you needed help.”
You pause to think, curling your lips. “It’s Jaehyun, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
You groan, dropping your head back and yelping when it hits the coffee table. Joohyun moves to rub your head and ease the pain as you let out a stream of complaints.
“You really thought I’d call him for help?” you yell. “Him? Of all people?”
“I think you’d rather have a known face there. Besides, he’s a good kid,” she reasons, looking you in the eye. “And stop yelling.”
You quieten a bit at her glare, gulping. She adds the number to your contacts, saving it with a professional ‘Jung Yoonoh’ before she helps you clean up, advising you on how to manage your finances abroad. You know she’s trying to ease you, but how could she—after dropping this awful news on you like it shouldn’t matter at all? She doesn’t even know what happened—almost happened in Paris, or the fact that your honeyed feelings had turned bitter so easily. She’s worked with him before, you know this, when he was a much younger model and she trusts him more than you ever could. 
But maybe, just maybe she can’t see what you see—after all, she’s also part of the elite, crème de la crème of this industry, more so in this country. It’s frightening, and so vague what goes on up there, at the top of the chain; and whatever you have—it might never be enough. 
You’re you. Sometimes, that isn’t enough.
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You jump at the water rushing from the shower, too cold for skin and scramble to twist the knob the other way. This time, the water’s too hot and you yelp, shutting it off altogether.
You press your hand against the shower glass, breathing heavy. You’re trying—you’ve been desperately trying ever since you landed a week ago. Change is not something you can take lightly. You miss the dim lights of your apartment in Seoul that Joohyun always warned would get you some brand new prescription glasses. You miss walking down the streets to your favourite convenience store at three in the morning to get honey butter chips. You miss picking fights with Doyoung over which detail to scrutinise during your project discussions. This project seems to have torn apart several things that belonged to you.
You can’t seem to get your head into it either—even spacing out during the meeting you had with Lee Taeyong among several other things. You can’t remember a single design detail he’d specified or what the theme was even supposed to be—a bunch of bright foggy lights replacing whatever fuzz was growing in your head. A twenty-something-year-old shouldn’t be letting homesickness affect them like this. 
You finish the rest of your shower with a heavy heart and a clouded head. 
Taeyong booking a luxury suite for you was a bit…much. Not that you’re complaining, but it gives more fuel to the profound sense of emptiness you keep drawing. There’s no intimacy to this place, no love. It’s a little hard to create things without love, and comfort.
Still, you grit your teeth and get dressed into something more comfortable for the night. If not today, then tomorrow. Something will have to give, even if it costs you—whatever the hell your parents keep telling you when you’re going through problems. What if you don’t want to be cost things? Compromise isn’t as delicate as it sounds. You try to comfort yourself, rocking yourself on the much too large couch, hugging a pillow close and trying to think of things that don’t immediately make you want to throw up.
The memories of your first visit are a little less than pleasant. You think you cried after the entire ordeal because you thought you did a bad job of talking, socializing, the most ordinary things. There are some people who are good at wearing masks—good at making copper look like gold, good at shining under dim lights, and good at using words that don’t have much meaning to their existence other than being pretty. 
You were not one of them. 
The intense need for everything to be perfect was still there, even when you couldn’t possibly have achieved it. You wanted to make things and show them to the world—what was so wrong with that? Why did being there make you feel like you could never even touch your dreams? You were so out of place, feeling completely out of touch with yourself. There were people from the top there, established and famous. It felt out of your grasp. You felt fake.
The city lights twinkle with life but there’s no sound, the windows shut tight. The ambience of the room is kept to a caramel minimum—the best you can do to honour your sweet little home back in Seoul.
The hatred for everything pretentious was born with your first step into this place, into the game that the big boys play. It showed in your designs, your choice of fabric, your distaste for certain people. You wanted reality—you wanted a taste of life in your everyday clothes. You wanted that flavour you feel on your tongue in a room full of strangers or the one on a quiet night by yourself at your apartment rooftop. You didn’t want dignified fur coat ensembles, you wanted the naive chaos you feel every day and you wanted to make it look good. It’s driving you insane just how much you feel like you’re losing now.
You take out your phone after what seems a few minutes of contemplation. 
Jung Yoonoh. Your finger hovers over the call button. What would he say if his night is interrupted by your voice?
You’d met at the airport after landing, though you were only two seats away in the plane. You’d made no error in acknowledging his presence, browsing through the inflight magazine half-heartedly. Truth be told, sometimes you couldn’t really seem to get over him. Sometimes the thought of him made you so pissed, you had no idea what to think of it. 
“Welcome to New York,” he had said shortly after you’d exited, a giant crowd of people greeting out-goers, holding up placards with names of people, in numbers you’re unaccustomed to. Or, used to be accustomed to.
You hadn’t talked since—and really, you weren’t expecting to.
You press your home button, any lingering thoughts of him vanishing at the force with which you tell yourself it’s not worth it. How is Jung Yoonoh better than anyone else you know here? He might have been living in New York for quite a few years now, and he’s probably the only one you’d feel comfortable enough to swear at—that doesn’t mean you’d actually ask for help. That doesn’t mean he’d actually help. Joohyun must have had her hopes far too high to have convinced you for even a moment.
The couch feels colder all of a sudden, and you turn down the air conditioner. This place will never adjust to you, and your stubborn little self won’t either.
You think of Jaehyun from the afterparty, loose shirt and knowing eyes, and you wonder if he feels just the same frustrated agony, if not more. You think of his parted lips and breathing words close enough to be provocative, discomfort growing at the base of your stomach. Who does he think he is? He might have the airs and dignity of someone way up in the hierarchy of society but you know what people can be like. You know envy, you know malice, and you know lies. He has to fit in there somewhere—and perhaps you would have hated him less if he did.
Even if you’d scoffed at the idea of jealousy, that might very well be the closest to what you feel, what you keep hidden in the darkest corners of your locked chest. When you first met at that star-spangled dinner, you’d felt what it’s like to watch a fireworks show or a big musical opening; but the fireworks are being blocked by skyscrapers and you’re only the helping staff at the theatre, watching from a balcony at the very back. Jaehyun was impressive with barely any words. It annoyed you so much and somehow, the only solution you arrived at was the tremendous need to understand him, pick him apart and see what made him.
No. That’s wrong. You were annoyed because you still wanted to kiss him after he’d pushed you away, his dislike steaming clear. It strikes you as gently as lightning that the only reason someone would have to hate Jaehyun is being attracted so violently to him. God, you hate making a fool out of yourself.
You pass the night in quiet contemplation, promising yourself a better tomorrow. After all, no one else is going to do it. 
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You walk with your chin up as if you don’t feel the weight of the world on your shoulders. You picked out your black Harrington jacket to look at least a little more professional, but you might have miscalculated the size and the material in the equation because you look completely and utterly ridiculous in it. No one would look at you and think you even work in fashion, much less be competent in that line. 
(To be fair, you wear the same beige sweater and black corduroy pants to work and if your coworkers choose to judge you, you wouldn’t blame them.) 
It’s only been a month and somehow, it translates to forever to you. You think you’re adjusting better now, and you pat yourself on the back for it. It’s not raining today at the mercy of the skies, a tidal wave of sunlight splashing through the buildings every time you take a turn. The city doesn’t scare you all that much anymore. It’s a good day, for once.  
You lean your head against the car window, eyes trailing up and down the reflective blue of each skyscraper. You can barely see any clouds, and the sky’s endlessly the same, comforting blue. Just like back home, you think for a moment. Your eyes move back to the sidewalk, people passing by—mothers with their babies in strollers, kids clutching the strap of their school bags as they run, men and women in all levels of professional clothing. No one stops in this city. Except the fucking traffic apparently.
You sigh, glancing at your watch. Only moments ago, you were moving and yet again, you’ve stopped. The cycle keeps repeating and you’re trying to keep patience focusing on things around you that you can appreciate. 
Maybe you jinxed it when you said it was a good day.
You reach Taeyong’s studio just in time (not that you’d get yelled at or anything, he’s too nice of a guy). Your eyes fixate on the numbers that light up on the elevator one by one till it finally reaches the first floor.
You walk right into someone’s chest, an apology tumbling out of your lips as you bow out of habit. 
“(name)?”
You look up to find Jaehyun in the elevator of Taeyong’s building, a casual white shirt clinging to his frame that’s tucked into his jeans to look somewhat formal. A pink overshirt hangs at his forearm and from the windswept styling of hair and his perfected dark locks, you’ll assume he’s here for a shoot—even without it, he looks like something from a teen magazine, someone people would see and instantly daydream of. Best known for high fashion, Jung Yoonoh is still a spectacle in casualwear. 
“I can’t believe I have to see your face here too,” you mutter, getting into the elevator. You’ve had your share of moments with him.
“Good to see you too,” he says, bemused. 
You make a sound of acknowledgment, taking out your phone to turn the damn notifications off so you don’t feel it vibrate in your pocket every few minutes. You feel eyes on you for a moment and snap your head to the side.
Jaehyun has his eyes focused on the door, quiet breathing fresh against his lips and you hesitate before concluding you might have been mistaken in your perception. 
“You’re here for a shoot?” you ask, curious about his relationship with Taeyong. 
“What else can I be here for?” He says nonchalantly. 
“Sarcastic. Very nice.”  
“It’s a little weird, you trying to make conversation with me. You’re usually raving about me too much to actually talk to me.” He smiles, the dimples provoking and eyes the familiar beguiling brown. 
“I’m not trying to make conversation,” you hiss, crossing your arms. “I’m sorry, I forgot you’re only a person in front of cameras.”
Jaehyun takes a sharp breath before turning to you, a not-so-happy look on his face despite the calmness over his features. You’ve seen it enough times.
“How long are you going to keep up the pretentious this and pretentious that before you face it, really?” He looks at you with tight lips, poisonous implications in his question. “Why you love to get up in my case all the time?”
The words take time to settle in. You shake your head when you realize, a sardonic laugh leaving your lips. Of course he’d think that.
“Oh my god,” you scoff. “You’re so full of yourself. You think I’m interested in you? Don’t let what happened years ago get to your head.”
“That’s not what I—”
“Oh, what did you mean then? Pray tell.”
“First of all, stop cutting me off,” he says, taking a step towards you. A certain feeling of uneasiness runs through you when you detect annoyance in his quiet statement.
“Secondly,” he says, taking a another step forward just as your back hits the wall of the elevator, “Stop treating me like I’m the bane of your existence. I have nothing to do with you.”
He’s right, of course, but the words sting where they hit. Asshole, you think. He has no business telling you what to do and what not to do. But in this moment, you can’t fish for the correct words—you don’t have the strength to when you’re so close to each other like this, the scent of his cologne syrupy and sickening. His tall stature is intimidating, with his straight shoulders and proud jawline.
The elevator dings at the seventh floor, Jaehyun stepping away from you without a glance or care, striding out just as smoothly as on a runway.
You take a moment to breathe, unsaid words burning holes into your tongue. You wish you could’ve said something better, anything that didn’t make you feel so pathetic. Maybe you should’ve told him to stick his words up his ass, sounding vulgar being the least of your worries. You wait patiently to reach the last floor, each ding souring your mood little by little. 
You are so glad you didn’t call him that night. To think he’d ever help you knowing it’s mutual, the whole hating each other’s guts. You just can’t believe the audacity of him—to accuse you of, what, romantic feelings? In an industry where you can’t tell apart gold from copper? Where all the people warming up to you are fair weather friends and competitors? He must have let all that attention get to his head. Runway faces aren’t as easy to fall in love with as he thinks.
“(name)! Come quick!”
Taeyong’s voice urges as soon as you enter and you settle your bag down, rushing to him. His smile drops when he sees your seething figure place your bag on the desk with a loud thud. You turn to him, without a hint of sweetened formality and ask him the day’s schedule.
Taeyong gulps before responding, undoubtedly afraid of your lips, a twitch away from a scowl, but he explains nicely nonetheless.
“Can you do a rerun of these designs for me?” he says, arranging the papers on the desk. That’s how he says these need improvement. No wonder the interns love him.
Taeyong’s in his usual attire, still too chic for you but strangely comfortable to look at. You nod, immediately scrutinising them, your (almost pointless) years of training trying to give you hints as to where you went wrong. You’re not really expecting to find big flaws or anything—just details you can enhance. You’ve learned enough about Taeyong in a month and it’s that his sense of style encompasses comfort, even in the most abstract of concepts. You respect him for that. It doesn’t change the fact that you think it’s a little overdone maybe.
Taeyong laughs, breaking you out of your daze. You raise an eyebrow.
“Is- Is something wrong?” You look at him, perplexed.
“It’s just that- It’s just you remind me a lot of the fashion students.” He smiles at you.
Your shoulders droop. Amateur. New. Unprofessional.
“Oh.”
Taeyong rephrases himself quickly, waving his hands about. “I don’t mean it as a bad thing! It just means you still…love doing it.”
It sticks with you longer than you’d expect, as you work throughout the day. You think Taeyong is too nice to criticize you properly but he eventually gets the point across—stick to the theme, written in Taeyong’s dainty handwriting and pinned to the softboard. 
Secrets. 
What an atrocious concept. Firstly, it makes no sense apart from sounding like a fucking lingerie collection. Secondly, when you went over Taeyong’s designs with the layers and patches, you supposed he wanted to focus on the inside of things because everything he’d drawn was inside out. Thirdly, when you heard him explain it, you were a little taken aback to hear it was going to be all about you, us. The designers, the models, the photographers, the magazine editors—there are millions and millions of people working to make sketches come to life, for a few items of clothing in someone’s closet. It feels nice to hear that from him. You promise you’re going to perfect it. 
And perfection is your dear old friend. 
It’s what you always strive for, but end up with something else that’s a little less beautiful. You take slow breaths, removing and adding details (after all, art is in the details). But perfection can easily grow tiresome. It makes you increasingly frustrated and you don’t think you have the heart to tell Taeyong everything in his studio stresses you out.
“So, you’re working with Jaehyun?” you ask, trying to look less antsy.
Taeyong blanks out for a moment before responding. “Yes. Why? Is he- Is he making you uncomfortable?”
Uncomfortable wouldn’t even begin to explain what he makes you feel. 
“No,” you deny. “Just curious.”
Taeyong smiles. “We usually work on summer shoots together. It’s like tradition.”
“That’s…nice,” you say, trying to reciprocate his smile.
“Oh, but we’re having terrible weather so the shoots keep going longer than planned. That’s why I’m having to compromise planning time with you. Sorry about that.”
You try to keep your posture despite the mild annoyance brewing at the back of your head. Great. Now you have to see Jaehyun’s unbelievably annoying face every time you walk in. Maybe if you plead enough, you’d get permission to leave early and not want to throw some insults at him. 
You decide to walk, despite Taeyong insisting his driver help you get home. He doesn’t act like it but he’s a busy man, with side projects and interviews coming up so often you lose count. It’s no wonder he had to, and you hate using this word, hire someone for the label’s next venture. You think articles like Lee Taeyong loses touch and hires designers instead of doing his job would make him upset but he seems to genuinely not let it bother him. It’s about ideas to him. His label, almost large enough to be a brand, is for ideas; what a pretty thing to base your business around. While you thought you were a big shot back in South Korea, you’re almost nothing more than Lee Taeyong’s co-designer—assistant here.
You feel drops of what you felt years ago trickling down your throat. Overshadowed. Powerless. Imposter. Something about New York makes you want to pull all your hair out. You wish you hadn’t been here in the first place, maybe then this would seem more of a fun trip than memories weighing you down. But then if you hadn’t been here, you might not have even started.
You hug yourself at the sudden downpour, clouds kind enough for it to be nothing more than showers but you’re soaked anyway. Kind, but still a little cruel. Running under the eaves of a store, you curse yourself for not bringing an umbrella the only day you needed it. You stand there for a while, just breathing.
Real life is never like movies, is it? Cameras lie. Pretty faces lie. Sometimes you end up stuck in New York rains without an umbrella or a friend to call or a lover to protect you. You end up getting an Uber, taking awfully long to arrive due to the traffic the rain had ensued and try your best to ignore the disgruntled driver mumbling about you wetting his seats.
You still don’t know how the goddamn shower works. 
You manage to complete without either scorching your skin off or freezing it to Greenland and back—a feat much more successful than whatever you had going on for today. You slip into the absurdly soft mattress, pillows and covers swallowing you into a state of sleep.
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You start the day almost pouring coffee onto Jaehyun’s spotless white shirt. And you might have were it not for immense self-restraint, and the fact that Taeyong’s eyes were trained on the two of you.
“So…are you two…a thing or something?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed.
“No,” Jaehyun responds calmly while you sputter it out.
Taeyong apologizes, a laugh following. “You seem to have worked together before. Jaehyun, you never told me that.”
“I…I thought you knew,” he answers, leaning back against the tabletop.
“Ah, well,” Taeyong shrugs. “Thanks for helping me out with this, (name). Maybe- maybe we can draw some inspiration for the collection from outdoors.”
“Of course,” you say as you smile wide, trying hard not to break the coffee mug in your hand.
If you’re being honest, you had a gut feeling you’d be asked to help with Taeyong’s (apparently) infamous summer shoot. He walks into his studio every morning with hair in a disarray, talking to more people than he might enjoy and the entirety of New York weather against him. There’s only so much time a man can have and under pressure, he’s going to have to choose. It’s easy to feel sorry for someone like him.
This should be the stylist’s job. Jaehyun stands with his chin up as you adjust the fitting, smoothing out creases and making sure the cerulean shirt is pinned right, satin feeling cool and nice under your fingers. Sleeveless is back in trend this summer, and so are low-cuts.
“Careful there,” he says when you hand brushes a little lower, just below the full-grain leather belt.
You hope your face isn’t steaming from the rush of heat but you manage to limit your emotions to a sound of discomfort, remembering the horrendous accusation he’d thrown at you. “I don’t care about your dick, twit.”
Jaehyun laughs, bending a little to whisper. “I wouldn’t mind if you did.”
“You look like you’re having a wonderful time making me uncomfortable.”
“You’re just so easy to work up.”
His dimples are getting on your nerves. You reach up to button his collar, perhaps a little too harsh because he chokes, an uncharacteristic sound leaving his mouth as he winces. You suppress a smile, glad you managed to do something about the look on his face.
The sunlight over this park feels like Christmas come early, with the way Taeyong is flitting from model to model and stylist to stylist with the intensity of a five year old after an ice-cream truck. 
“Is he- Is he usually like this?” you ask, eyes on the makeup artist getting directions from Taeyong.
“I just assumed all of you are this way,” Jaehyun, responds looking at the same sight.
You roll your eyes. “We’re not all crazy.”
Jaehyun raises an eyebrow.
“Okay, maybe a little bit,” you correct yourself, watching Taeyong almost trip over someone’s bag in order to greet the magazine’s style director. 
Jaehyun chuckles, eyes meeting yours for a moment before the two of you go about your own business.
You like magazine shoots for the most part. You never find a glass of water anywhere, but some intern or the other will definitely be there to fetch you Starbucks. There’s at least three people fussing over each model and at least two exasperated photographers trying very hard to snap clean shots. The stylist and designer look as though they might explode any minute, although the relief on their faces after it’s all over is something worth looking at. The skies are so bright and blue, you think, for a cosmopolis. The trees and shrubs lining the park are in a state of tranquility compared to the chaos it encircles.  
Magazines might not be as important in an age of social media advertisement, almost part of nostalgia now—but maybe some of you are not yet willing to deny kids the thrill of reading a magazine under their blankets in the middle of the night. It often gave hope to little boys playing dress up and little girls sewing their own clothes. 
You’d forgotten just how exhausting shooting with magazines is. The models must be having it worse but their masks don’t come off easy. If you had ever underestimated their job difficulty, it comes back to throttle you at full speed every time you’re at a shoot.
 Looking good in front of a camera is pretty damn hard. 
They don’t even get to keep the clothes, unless some asshole of a designer decides to pay them in apparel instead of actual money. Most models leave New York in debt. Men are paid even less than women. You’re surprised Jaehyun is as celebrated as he is—or the fact that he was clever enough of a businessman in launching his own high fashion-themed restaurant. You’ve heard he barely visits it, like a careless afterthought. But you’re not one to get carried away by sketchy articles on the internet. All you’ve needed are more reasons to hate him.
You sip the iced coffee, its effect pretty much worn out during humid afternoons. It’s time for a break, but no one’s willing to break momentum. You find yourself feeling a little awkward, as nothing more than a guest with creative advice, and so you sit under the comforting cool of the giant green umbrella at one of the tables. You could sink into your chair were it not so damn uncomfortable.
Jaehyun takes a seat right beside you to your surprise, offering you a box of diced mango before you fervently decline. You still think he’s an asshole. It doesn’t make any sense—why accuse you of unsaid affections and then flirt with you like he never said it? It’s not like you’re even friends, how ridiculous. There are quite a few jerks you’ve met in your life, but Jung Yoonoh really takes the cake.
“What?” you snap when his gaze gets on your nerves.
“I didn’t say anything.” He raises his hands defensively, eyes still on yours. “You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself.”
“I enjoy the air conditioned suite Taeyong booked me more than this, yes.” You sigh, leaning back. “I don’t really have anything to do.” 
“I’m assuming he booked you the luxury suite on the fifteenth floor,” he says, chuckling.
You furrow your eyebrows. It’s not impossible that Jaehyun knows Taeyong’s favorite suite to book for guests.
“The view’s pretty nice from there, right? Oh, and you must be enjoying the silence.”
“I actually like the outside sounds,” you defend. “It’s calming.” 
“Not when you’re on the third floor,” he says, shoving a piece of mango into his mouth with a fork. “All you hear is middle aged men screaming.”
You rest your elbow on the table, placing your chin against your palm. The shade is separated from sunlight by a thin line against his chest, pale blue satin glimmering where the sun meets it. Jaehyun’s eyes shine a darker hue of honey under the shade, moving to the box in his hands occasionally before trailing back to the background noise again. Taeyong really does love pretty fits, but this might just be one of the most gorgeous pieces you’ve seen this summer (and you’ve already been through all the ready-to-wear lookbooks you possibly could). A thought passes you in a breeze, that maybe it's the model making it seem that way.
“You’re talkative today,” you note quietly, the sun harsher on your cheeks than before.
Jaehyun shrugs, hurrying to finish all the pieces. He suddenly pulls a face, one you don’t see very often in high fashion websites and Instagram pages. It’s almost cute. 
“Sour.” 
You find yourself laughing, a gentle influx of peace filling the inside your chest. You quickly recover, looking back up to see Jaehyun simply staring at you, breathing. He looks caught off-guard, no camera to warn him. You straighten, your cheeks flushing with heat.
“Is- Is something wrong?”
He immediately shakes his head, more to himself than you. There’s a pause before the two of you are happily distracted. The style director appears to be gesturing at him from the other side and Jaehyun responds with a curt wave.
“You’re doing two different concepts today?”
“Three, actually.”
You raise your eyebrows. Well, they’re definitely taking advantage of the good weather. They could just photoshop it, in your opinion, but authenticity is everything when it comes to magazines nowadays. 
“Well, don’t let me hold you back,” you say, your tone dismissive. “Go get changed into whatever pretty shirt Taeyong has up next in his collection.”
“The next shoot doesn’t have a shirt,” he says, the corner of his mouth quirked upward.
You almost choke on your coffee, blaming the heat for your weak state of mind. You’re just having one of those strange days—just that, nothing else.
You finish the rest of the coffee, cup resting in your hand till you find the energy to get up and find a trash can.  
Jaehyun was right. This time the shoot’s a little too wet and a little too much skin for you to enjoy. The only thing added to Jaehyun above the waist are a dainty red scarf knotted over his neck and a small, flat hoop earring on his left ear. The velvet fingerless gloves, although you’re not very fond of them, complete a rather rugged yet soft look. You didn’t expect Taeyong to come up with something like that. 
Jaehyun’s well-developed physique, while you’ve seen it in other shoots and online articles, is completely different when you’re a few feet away from it. The dark blue cargo pants, silken, are a signature style of Taeyong but the details don’t distract you easily enough. Funny, this is the first time you’re feeling somewhat flustered in a place full of half-naked models. 
You suddenly think of reds and oranges, lilac shrubs and a hint of Burberry men’s perfume. In a way, it reminds you of the strums of the guitar your roommate used to play while you stayed up late, coming up with concepts. Cherishing, soothing—and special, just enough. The corner of your lips twitch and you take out your pocket sketchbook. It’s never too late to add a design to the collection, right? After all, you have secrets too. Maybe Taeyong was right about the outdoors for inspiration. 
Something sets into motion, subtle but sharp.
The next time you walk into Taeyong’s studio, you feel the sun on your face better. Everything seems to be fitting into place, as you smooth through designs at a pace your student self would be jealous of. When Taeyong praises your work, you feel a rush of pride smearing the inside of your chest and you finally feel like everything’s not falling apart. It feels good. It feels like you’re someone.
The days go by in what seems like barely seconds—you know what they say about New York minutes. The mustard cloth draped over your desk to the cottage blue of your curtains, the colours around you change as quickly as the wind. Sometimes they’re abstract—and other times, well, they have more to do with a stranger’s eyes, or the swirls within a coffee cup. It’s the way in which transition occurs around you, that you often forget it moves something within you too. 
You’ve put together some samples with Taeyong, most of them by yourself; the process of making is ever comforting, fabric even more so. You’ve sent the revised designs for production, feeling giddy about whatever is to come like it’s something new. (It shouldn’t be.) 
You fucking hate how different this is. Seoul is nothing compared to New York. The anxiety is nearly ten times worse, the streets are far more attractive when it comes to inspiration and the figure of Jung Yoonoh is no longer as easy to ignore. 
Even after the summer shoot’s over, Jaehyun often comes by to hang out at the studio, dressed in what you would call the simplest fucking thing you’d ever seen and still managing to look just as gorgeous. He blends in well with university students, often wearing the ugliest baseball cap you’ve ever seen, and the look of his face feels much, much worse than ever before. It’s at ease, smug even, but never failing to smile at you when you’re trying to focus. You don’t care how good of friends Taeyong and Jaehyun are—you want to tell him to leave. 
But you just can’t bring yourself to. It’s not that you don’t trust yourself, you certainly do, but whatever New York has done to you, includes making you feel a different way about him. Sometimes you find yourself pressing your legs together harshly, stiffening at any proximity with him and a pool of warmth at the base of your stomach you’d rather not feel.
It’s embarrassing to even think about it—the fact that he makes you feel that way, so hot and bothered like it’s your first time. You blame your lack of going out these few months because after all, anyone could fall in love with runway faces. It doesn’t have to mean it’s him you want. You carry on doing what you’ve been doing for the most part of your career, your best to avoid him. There are more pressing matters, and your head might just implode if you keep on worrying about things (a man, of all) you need not. 
Time passes even faster when all your thoughts revolve around the same thing.
One month. D-30. Whatever the hell you call time before the end of the world.
Your palms sweat a whole lot easier here. It’s a little weird, considering you don’t find much difference in humidity between Seoul and New York. Your heart often catches up in your throat too. Not a great feeling, your heart choking the breath out of you, but you’re used to it. You cope and you learn, that’s what it means to be human.
You pull your hand down before it reaches your teeth. The day ended in a meeting with Taeyong’s production team—everything’s running smoothly so you need not worry, he said. 
Why are those the words that make you worry the most? 
You check the time on your phone. 23:05 and a whole month to go. You better get some sleep for all the meetings you have scheduled tomorrow. You close your eyes and for a while, everything falls quiet.
You dream of New York Fashion Week. People come here to feel included. Everyone wants to be a part of something they don’t understand.
The models walk down the runway in increasingly uncomfortable outfits. You didn’t design any of them. Where are the ones you worked on? You can’t move from your seat, or turn your head from the runway, anything at all. Something’s wrong, everything’s wrong. You don’t belong here. Thunder strikes outside the venue and you wake up with a gasp caught in your throat, and the clock on the bedside table flashing 2:14.
You’ve had enough. You swear you’ve had enough.
You get up out of bed, pacing the giant bedroom, the empty spaces making you feel more and more miserable. The city twinkles with innumerous stars beyond your window, curtains half drawn so they can comfort you whenever you need—but these lights don’t shine for you, or anyone else. They shine for themselves. That’s what it means to be in New York again. 
What time is it in Seoul? Could you call your mother? Joohyun? Everyone must be busy right now—you don’t know what to do. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt so helpless. There’s a reason you’ve been avoiding New York for this long and now it’s come crashing down on you. 
This was a mistake. All of it was a mistake.
You look down at your phone, the light hurting your eyes despite being set to the lowest brightness. You think a little, and then some more. There’s no one else you can call. Even if he’s busy charming all the other employees whenever you see him, even if half the world is in love with him, there’s no one else you can call. This time you don’t stop yourself.
You tap the call button beside the Jung Yoonoh saved neatly. Tapping your foot against the floor nervously, your mind goes blank for a few seconds or so. He answers when you’re just about to hang up, breath hitching in your throat at the sound of his voice.
“Hello? Hello? If this is a reporter—”
“It’s me, Jaehyun.”
The line goes quiet for a moment and your voice overlaps his before he can begin.
“I- I didn’t mean to call so late. Sorry…uh.”
You scrunch up your face at your own voice. This is not getting you anywhere.
“Is everything okay?” he asks, voice lower.
You fall silent, unable to answer without breaking down into tears. You did not call Jung Yoonoh for that. 
“Yeah,” you choke out. “Fine. Completely fine. I just…”
You trail off, trying to get yourself to breathe.
“I’ll send you an address. Be there in an hour.”
You blink back tears, confusion adding to the burning pile of worries inside your head. 
“What?”
“Address. I’ll text you. Be there. One hour.”
“I’m not stupid, Jaehyun,” you snap, strength refilling your voice. “Why?”
“I’m not answering questions, just be there.”
With that, the line goes flat and an embarrassing amount of ‘hello’s get you to realize that he hung up. A notification pops up a minute later and you’re too groggy to decipher it, logging it to Maps instead so you can follow. It’s fifteen minutes away, you realize with a sigh of relief, so you can at least present yourself within the given constraint. 
You can’t grasp what you feel in the moment, the night air and warm streets beckoning you to leave the clamped apartment soaked in fear. You think this is unlike Jaehyun, what he’s doing, but you’re too shaken to care. You need some respite, even if it comes from somewhere you can’t picture.
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“You…wanted to meet me at a Korean barbecue restaurant?”
Jaehyun’s ears turn red, as they often do when he doesn’t know how to respond to you.
“I-It’s not that I…Never mind,” he tries to explain, fidgeting with the cloth over his shoulder. “We can go somewhere else if you want.”  
We? You think, eyes scanning his face in confusion. If you want? Where’s the uncaring Jaehyun you’ve known, foreign eyes and impassive lips? He hardly looks the part he’s meant to play—a billboard face with a confident jawline and nothing more behind it. Outside of work—you don’t even know what else to call this—Jaehyun looks hardly intimidating, or abrasive. He seems different, gentle almost, although the dark circles under his eyes might have something to do with it. Maybe he’s too tired to say anything more and that’s it.
But he still came all the way here.
“Aren’t you a little…overdressed?” 
There comes the remark you were hoping to not hear. You just wanted to look nice; you’d hardly call this overboard. The loose, mustard-colored chiffon shirt cinches at the waist, paired with your nicest (only not faded) pair of light blue jeans and shoes that haven’t seen the light of day since you arrived here. You barely ever design clothes for yourself anymore but you thought you looked good in this.
“No,” you defend quickly, feeling your face grow warm. “You’re underdressed.”
You say that, but he clearly looks good in anything he wears. Could you expect any less of  a supermodel? He doesn’t seem to have dressed in as much a hurry as you had. Clad in a plain black T-shirt that’s half tucked into skinny jeans, he’s added his hideous baseball cap and a pair of navy blue shades which looks just as ridiculous as it sounds. You really think he shouldn’t be leaving his house without the help of a stylist. 
“I…I just mean you don’t wear anything other than the same sweater and pants combination to work, so… please excuse my surprise.”
Jaehyun's eyes flicker over your figure before masking it with an awkward cough. You reach out and pull the shades over his head, the look bothering you more than anything else. He doesn’t respond to it, at least not in a way that’s obvious, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to do—you fixing his hair and unquestionably awful sense of style.
“There’s a soju place a few blocks ahead. Or if you’re not into that, there’s a noodle shop just at the edge of K-town,” Jaehyun rambles on, not meeting your eye. “If you’re looking for something inexpensive—"
“You came all the way here to give me directions?” You raise an eyebrow. You might even be enjoying this, although your inner voice bites back at you, denying it.
Jaehyun shakes his head, the red in his ears pulsing back up. “No. I…I needed some fresh air.”
“You…have someplace to be then?”
Jaehyun might not realize it, but the answers he gives always have room for teasing. Aloof. Vague. Yet somehow sweet.
“And you’ll go alone? At this hour? No, I’ll accompany you,” he says out loud, trying to play off the sudden vocal inflection. You sigh. Boys will be boys, as they say. Even if they’re twenty-six.
You let him keep you company. Though the first few minutes are painfully quiet, neither of you knowing quite what to say without starting a disagreement, you continue your walk through a city that never sleeps. It’s awkward even, being side by side without you seething at his charming, (undoubtedly) fake smile. He feels real, for once, and you don’t know how to react. There seem to be some gold-tinted cracks appearing in your reality, slowly but surely, and you’re not very good at patching anything other than fabric.
“You know, it’s actually a little relieving to see Korean letters here,” you say, sighing. You never thought you’d be so corny, but it really does feel good being here. 
Or is it him? 
“Thanks,” you add quietly, hoping he doesn’t hear. No, maybe you do. You can’t tell at this point.
“I…I know what it’s like,” he says, so softly that it almost gets carried away by the wind. He clears his throat, an ‘ah’ escaping his lips as he stops abruptly.
“We…We missed the turn,” he declares, a little sheepish as he scratches the back of his head.
You look at him in disbelief. “Jaehyun, how long have you lived here?”
“Oh, I was born here actually,” he says, tilting his face to look at you, blunt sarcasm evident on it. “How many times have you lost your way to the convenience store in Seoul?”
“Literally zero times.”
Jaehyun puffs a cheek before going back to normal and turning a hundred and eighty degrees down the street.
“Hey, wait up!” you huff at his increased pace, half jogging to keep up.
You reach the acclaimed noodle shop, your breath barely within your lungs and swearing at Jaehyun who looks like he wasn’t bothered one bit. He reaches his hand out to help you and you swat it away, chest still heaving with your hands on your knees.
“Dickhead,” you hiss.
“I don’t think I deserved that,” he responds with a widening smile. 
“Asshole,” you say, standing up straight to glare at him.
“What would Seoul say hearing their beloved designer swear like this?” Jaehyun looks almost amused, as if you hadn’t shared an awkward time together, like two teenagers who were forced to walk home together from the bus stop.
“They can go to hell,” you retort. “As can you.”
Jaehyun laughs, a strange sound to hear and you blink a few times, unsure of what to do. You wonder if it’s the night playing tricks or if Jaehyun really is an actual person, not the basket of preprocessed insults you were used to. The cracks are widening—you’re not sure if they’re meant to be patched.
Perhaps you were a little eager to enter someplace warm, but you feel immense relief in this little shop, despite the smell of chili paste and noodle soup wafting through the air. It’s a little empty; in fact, you two seem to be the only people there apart from some students at the other corner, but you sit there in your own bubble, talking with Jaehyun of all people about which singer is better. He laughs occasionally, still managing to catch you off-guard with how honest it sounds and you wonder for a moment, how nice this feels. For the first time in a month, your heartbeat seems to have settled at a normal rate.
“What?” you enounce, a little offended. “What’s so wrong about my love life?”
“You just- You just don’t seem that type,” he explains, his ears as red as the bowl.
“I don’t have time for commitments, Jaehyun,” you sigh. “It’s what happens when you’re good at your job.”
Jaehyun nods, something akin to agreement in his response. 
“So, your, uh, what is it? Training camp? What’s that about?” you ask, in between blowing your food.
“You could really Google things once in a while, you know?” he replies, bringing his chopsticks close to his mouth.
You roll your eyes. “I’m sorry I’m not one of your creepy stalkers, Mr. Jung.”
“Nothing to do with that,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s for kids interested in fashion, modeling, photography—stuff.”
“Oh? How so?”
“I just sponsor them. You know how difficult it is to get noticed in…this industry,” he explains, like it’s not a big deal. Nothing ever seems to be a big deal to him.
You nod, unable to help the smile. Maybe it isn’t a big deal, but you’re sure now that you were mistaken. Just a little bit. 
“I was lucky,” you mumble. “I can’t believe they saw those ugly embroidered patches and decided to sponsor me, oh my god. That sweater was hideous.”
Jaehyun laughs loudly. “They saw me cleaning outside my school and decided to pick me up and ship me straight to Paris.”
“Nothing’s worse than the first day.” You take another mouthful, the taste savoury and filling. 
“You know, I’m pretty sure they photoshopped my ears out in the first magazine shoot I had.”
You laugh, leaning in a little closer. “Your first year was rough, huh?”
He hums, his eyes flickering from your nose to your lips. It makes you a little self-conscious, blood rushing to your cheeks at an unexpected pace. Who knew Jaehyun could have such an effect on you? 
Your eyes flutter over his face once again.
He’s handsome. But it’s the sort of handsomeness that tells you, you don’t know much beyond it. You look back at your bowl, sobering up and completing the rest of the noodles.
It’s still midnight blue in the faraway sky as you walk down the streets. Most of the people you see out and about are those drunk off their faces from club hopping or a particularly enthusiastic group of tourists. The watermelon soju, while better with budae-jjigae and arguably the best soju flavor, somehow had little effect on you with the bitter aftertaste still settling in. The crowds in other places would make for great people-watching but you walk in a lonely street that calls for proximity. Beside you, Jaehyun sneezes, the sound of it making you jump on the quiet sidewalk.
“Jesus Christ, Jaehyun,” you huff, wincing at the sound, “you sounded like a fucking tractor.”
Jaehyun laughs, looking down at the pavement. When he looks back at you, the circles underneath his eyes seem to have darkened and you wonder if yours are the same. Yours can’t possibly be as important as his, though, and you wonder if it’s appropriate to laugh at how dorky he looks.
You find yourself not wanting to walk back into the safety of your suite. Jaehyun has a look of calm across his features, drawing over the landscape around you. New York lights don’t faze him, they only reflect in his eyes. 
The way his soft breaths fan out against his lips remind you that he is human, after all—he has a soul and body, thoughts and its beautiful intricacies. When he turns back to you, you feel those criminal feelings all over again, except this time it’s even louder. It feels so wrong, and yet you can’t help but think of the liberation that could come with his lips on yours. 
You could swear out loud, all the colorful words ready at the tip of your tongue.
“Your collar’s…”
Jaehyun’s voice trails off, his hand moving to fix your flipped collar, and when the heat of his skin brushes your neck, you try to not think of where else his hands could be, his lips could be. 
In fact, there’s a moment within where it’s perfectly reasonable for him to kiss you, the taste almost on your tongue. But Jaehyun moves away, an indecipherable look across his face.
“I should get going,” he says, “I have a- I have a shoot early tomorrow—today.”
You nod, cheeks coloring at your own unsaid thoughts. Just what have you done to yourself? Why is your skin searing, why does your stomach feel upside down and why were you so ready to give in to him? To Jaehyun? You’ve never felt want like this before, this need to press skin against skin in a manner so illicit. 
You part with a short goodbye, the sudden loneliness in your path making you want to backtrack, ask if you can go somewhere else again—maybe there’s a club nearby so you can see him through a round of shots as you usually do. Maybe the bitter feelings will return then. 
When you think of the words you exchanged over the course of so unusual a night—your former unforgiving words contradict you. You hate the realization but being so obscure in front of a camera doesn’t have to mean he’s pretentious. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe someday you’ll even admit it.
You feel a flash of heat in your face. You are not running to Jung Yoonoh—what an embarrassing thought. If the very core of your being isn’t repulsed by it, there’s something wrong with you. 
There’s something definitely wrong with you, love.
You breathe sharply, trying to organize your thoughts. As if the paparazzi wouldn’t have a treat out of this meeting you had with him if they got to know. You’d better limit it to the only one.
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You bite your nails out of force of habit. It’s not going to help. You know. But there’s hardly anything else to cool your nerves.
Front row tickets to New York Fashion Week—the most mortifying dream out of all the ones you’ve ever had. The way Taeyong fidgets, you want to believe he’s in the same boat as you—it makes you thankful even. 
Even outside of New York, Lee Taeyong is known for booking out exclusively intimate spaces. There are some props for the pre-show photography, including inked sketches on giant vertical banners stuck to the walls and tables with a messy collection of coffee cans, pencils and a sewing machine. Diverse types of fabric roll off the table in long strips, gently lining the floor till they end midway to another table. It’s a mess—a mess you made look good.
You’d left that and the backstage behind now. All eyes are on the sparsely lit runway, your aspirations coating the air in a thick veil. Are you ready? You won’t know till the first model steps out and till you can elicit a response from the audience.
Jaehyun’s at another venue—career before friendship, or, heaven forbid, attraction. You’d seen the fitting, cape skirt doing daringly well with his long legs clad in black pants, and a classy vest over a ruffled white shirt. You hate seeing other designs before a show, but god, were you glad you’d visited Givenchy to meet Johnny. 
But you’re relieved even, that Jaehyun isn’t here. You don’t have the strength to face him anyway, all your energy directed into this chasm of whatever you’d call six months of effort. You want to call yourself accomplished. You want to be proud of yourself.
So this time, you remember all twenty-six minutes of it.
God, they look so beautiful up there, when they’re being looked at, seen for what they are—you’ll never get over it. There’s still hardly much to remember, except this time you’re happy to do it all over again. Effort only exists if it’s acknowledged.
It settles in quite a while later, the weight of all you’d done. You could almost cry, but that’s better left to pillows and the unrelenting skies above a midnight-coated rooftop. This is your moment. For once, you’re anything but afraid. 
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Afterparties are still not your thing. 
However, you had your nicest outfit picked out and Lee Taeyong’s fancy, themed afterparties are something notorious among your colleagues. You’ve heard designers tend to go all out, wearing the best things they’ve designed even if it makes them a little embarrassed to be wearing their own work.
You feel a sigh leave your lips as you finally find a place to sit, your earlier conversations leaving you drained of social energy. You don’t feel alien—it’s strange—and their compliments feel almost warm. The music playing over the speakers is something, you’re sure, from a 60’s American movie, and while it has its own strange allure, the champagne gives you a larger dose of relief. 
In fact, if you’re not mistaken, it’s quite like the ballroom in Paris, although significantly smaller. Burgundy wallpaper and lit up crystals hanging in hexagonal shapes across the ceiling—it’d look lovely on a dress too.
Taeyong’s speech, of course, gives you a spike of anxiety with the sudden announcement of his label’s future, a brand now. He smiles on the small podium, everyone admiring his radiance when suddenly he gestures at you, the glass in your hand feeling hotter and hotter.
“…I couldn’t do this without the only designer I felt was up to this—the first designer to work under my brand, as of now…” 
You try not to blush under all the pairs of eyes that turn to you. 
“(name), thank you.” 
Success feels good. Gratitude feels even better.
Everything feels natural, as if a dream gone right. You’re no longer afraid of the world you stepped into, or the accumulation of feelings that molded you into the person you are now. The confidence you so chased after as if it were morphine, you’re going to be keeping an eye on it before it can run away again.
There’s still one little problem to your night of triumph, though. 
Jaehyun hasn’t taken his eyes off you ever since you entered, a conversation yet pending. You already know he looks good in the plainest of T-shirts, so it might be a no-brainer that he looks absolutely stunning in a suit. The crystals lining the lapels of his coat glimmer amidst the crowd he’s gathered. It’s hard to come in contact, however. He’s magnetic, almost formidable in the way he attracts attention, and you know it’s something that comes with being a man of few words. 
“You’re not enjoying the party?” you ask, taking in Jaehyun’s figure on the veranda overlooking the garden. He sits on one of the mahogany chairs, swirling the glass of champagne with a look of indifference coating his eyes and lips.
“I am,” he says, turning to face you. “Needed a short break.”
“I suppose being the most attractive man in the room needs a break,” you say, taking a seat beside him.
A wry laugh leaves his lips, as he lays his eyes on you. “You don’t seem bothered by it though?”
“I believe that pretty is as pretty does,” you say, your lips twitching.
Jaehyun smiles, furrowing his eyebrows yet still. “You think multimillionaire companies are built on things like inner beauty?”
He’s right. What’s inside is beautiful—it’s too idealistic a phrase. You sigh, adjusting your sleeve. It’s a difficult life, walking the runway no one dares to step on. 
I think you’d make that cut too, you want to tell him.
“You know the best thing I got told today?” you ask, diverting the stream of conversation. You think he’s a friend. Even if it could be the champagne talking. Even if you want something more than the innocence of friendship. 
Jaehyun raises an eyebrow. “Did Cristóbal Balenciaga’s ghost show up to compliment you?”
“No,” you emphasize, laughing at his pronunciation. “It was this girl. A student. Said she wrote an essay about me.”
Jaehyun hums, dimples marking his cheeks. “I didn’t know a student could get you so giddy.”
You laugh, looking down at your hands before resting your gaze on him again. He leans forward in his seat, strands of hair falling over his face from the rest and a contemplating look over his features. He looks much, much different from when you first saw him, and even handsomer, if that were possible. He’s grown up from the awkward boy you saw in the press release pictures of the Saint Laurent Fall Collection—he looks sharp and valiant on front covers, his shoulders broad and his eyes darling. Jaehyun is still unironically the most breathtaking man you’ve ever met. He might even be one of the sweetest, inside out. 
You look to his lips, full as ever. Perhaps you have something to confess. Secrets aren’t meant to be kept so long.
“Jaehyun,” you call, bringing his attention before faltering. It’s not like you’re the only one fawning over his smile. You get up instead, excusing yourself. “I’ll see you inside I suppose.”
“You know I like you, right?”
You turn around. “What?”
Jaehyun gets up, brushing his suit and fixing the lapels. The gentle night haze and the contrasting calls of the brightly lit party inside brush over an effect you’ve never felt before. “I…I like you. It’s pretty straightforward, I think.”
You deny it, or rather, some repressed little emotion inside you denies it vehemently. “Jaehyun, really. I admit I was a complete asshole to you and- and...it was…kind of you to accompany me that night but—”
“Stop. Don’t- Don’t call that kind. You’re not seeing the full picture.”
You stand there, unsure of what to do as you feel your chest grow warmer. Jaehyun turns his head upwards, letting out an audible breath. You can see conflict on his face, the struggle of someone still mulling over the perfect words.
“I don’t hate you. I never really hated you even if I wanted to.”
You suppose it wouldn’t be the right time to say that you might have indulged in that.
“I did,” you confess. “I hated you for a very, very long time, Jaehyun.”
“I know,” he whispers, looking straight at you. “I didn’t mean to leave you hanging—”
“Jaehyun, I don’t care about that,” you say, your voice rising, “You told me you felt suffocated in bow ties and laughed when I asked if you wanted to run away with me. I just ended up thinking you were a goddamn liar.”  
“Fine,” he says quietly in his baritone timbre, sounds of the chatter from inside numbing away. “Then let me be honest.”
“When I met you, I thought there was someone like me doing just the same—so…suddenly in the midst of everything. Even if you were a complete asshole to me. You were still real.”
He phrases it delicately, lilting, as if that hasn’t been your whole purpose here.  He’s only a breath away from you, but you don’t want to push him away this time. There’s a moment’s pause.
“Between work and myself, which is more important? For once, I thought I could answer that question.”
Your breaths are soft and shallow as they fall, trying to understand his words.
“And then you just fucking stopped. You stopped flying out and I’d barely see you outside of Seoul like you- like you gave up or something. I didn’t understand—what happened to you?”
Jaehyun looks at you with a hardened expression, ears turning red as if he hadn’t expected this outburst of truth. He gulps, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. It’s not like him to open his mouth and let out words that are raw and honest; it makes you feel the weight even more. You were still kids that night. You’re not anymore.
“Jaehyun,” you whisper before reaching your hand out and placing it against his cheek.
It’s so hard to not take in the details. The prominence of the muscle by his mouth when he speaks, the fine lines by his nose which appear sporadically or the look of complete reverence in his eyes when he’s staring at you like this—everything those runway shots can’t possibly capture. Your eyes trail to his lips, your own drawn to it with a desire you don’t know how to comprehend—and don’t quite wish to, either.
You want to believe he made the first move but you give in so easy, it’s alarming. Your lips move against his in a rhythm new and frantic, his hands gripping you with full strength at the waist and you part your lips to allow a deeper kiss. Your hands are free to roam his perfectly styled hair, tousling it in a fashion that makes him groan, only to push you harder against the wall. 
“I should’ve- I should’ve let you kiss me that night,” he mumbles against your lips. “Maybe I…I wouldn’t have made you hate me.”
“Maybe you should shut up and kiss me right now,” you respond, your tongue pressing against his, effectively doing the job.
It’s not difficult to see stars when his hips press against yours, his hand resting on one thigh to pull it up slightly. You feel the impact of it head-on, almost moaning out loud when his fingers press harder against the back of your thigh.
“Tell me- Tell me you want this,” he breathes out when he breaks the kiss.
You respond with reconnecting your lips, your tongue sliding against his in fervent affirmations. You’ve already forfeited your modesty, there’s no reason to stop.
You leave early, getting into the car you’d booked for the night. It would be far more embarrassing were it not for the separation between the front and backseats, when Jaehyun’s hands are up your clothes and his lips rough against your neck. The lip colour has smudged by the side of Jaehyun’s lips, a short giggle escaping you when you notice. It’s not enough to halt the kissing, or feeling each other up —something that feels long overdue. You try to keep your sounds to a minimum but Jaehyun seems to not care about things as worthless as shame, at least for the moment.
“Well, you’re about as graceful as a sea lion when you’re off the runway,” you hiss when Jaehyun’s teeth prick your skin.
“I haven’t done this in a while,” he responds in a low tone, the rest of his retort pushed away by his lips against your mouth.
You don’t have time to take in the details of Jaehyun’s apartment because he’s already carrying you to the bed, your legs around his waist and continuing to kiss you as if making up for something. All those years, you could have been doing this. Maybe you do have some regrets.
The material of his dress shirt feels expensive but clothes are not what you need right now. His phone rings once but he drags a finger over it to reject the call, his mouth still pressing against your collarbone. The only sounds you hear are rugged breathing and you fumbling with the buttons of his shirt as you pull it over his shoulders. The city lights below you reach through the drawn curtains, all the unrelenting complicacies left behind in those faraway streets.
Jaehyun makes a sound of annoyance at the phone ringing yet again. He breaks apart from you, receiving the call while his fingers massage his temple.
“Hyung, I’m fine. I’ll talk to you later—”
“I was just wondering where you disappeared and you don’t even grace me with a hello?” Johnny’s voice rings clear in the all too silent bedroom.
“Hyung—”
“Wait a minute.” There’s a pause within which Jaehyun seems to tense up. “Are you fucking? Like did you leave the party to get la—”
“Hyung. I’m hanging up.” 
The coral pink spread over his ears is almost as pretty as the look of pure annoyance over his face.
“That—”
“Didn’t happen,” you complete, giggling. If someone were to tell you’d be seeing Jaehyun like this a few months ago, you wouldn’t know whether to be embarrassed or exhilarated.
You place your hand at the nape of his neck, pulling him into another kiss.
Sex is barely ever beautiful—even if it’s Jung Yoonoh over you, planting kisses from your mouth to jaw, neck to chest and whispering sweet, delicious words against each part. He certainly knows how to use that tongue of his, better than you’d expect from a boy so pristine.
It doesn’t matter if it’s not beautiful, when it’s just like a slow dance—in shared solace and love out of time. You bite your lips to stop smiling too often for it to feel as serious and indifferent as all the other times. Sometimes you feel Jaehyun grinning into the crook of your neck, the giddiness of love taking over the movement of your hips against his. The perfect anatomy of his, paired with his candied words makes you think that maybe you do fit together.
Jaehyun pushes into you at a steady pace, your fingers digging into his back and over his shoulder blades only to draw out sounds more pleasing to your ears. You let someone else take charge for once, his praising whispers of ‘that’s my baby’ or ‘you just look so good’ far too teasing but he follows through, your body barely able to respond apart from shaking and shuddering till you reach your high. 
The sound of skin against skin dies down well into the night and you get cleaned, still blissed out from making the summit of all your senses. It’s warm inside, despite turning the air conditioner on.
“Jaehyun,” you call, lowering yourself to press a quick kiss to his lips. 
“Hm?” He gives you a drowsy smile, arm under his head and hair sticking to his forehead funny.
“Did you really not hate me? Not even once?” You rest your cheek against your palm as you lie beside him.
Even under the dim lights, it’s not hard to spot the blush on him when he positively glows. Jaehyun reminds you of warm auburn and the touch of cool satin—it’s easy to make things, find inspiration in love.
“Oh my god, you were lying!” you accuse, sitting up straight. “There’s no way you didn’t hate me. I called your modeling as good as a coconut’s!”
“As you so love to remind me,” he mumbles.
There’s a brief moment before the two of you crack up, his deep laughter perfectly mismatched with yours. There’s hardly many sounds on the eighteenth floor, but maybe you’ve always been yearning for this privacy—this proximity in shared laughter and warm touches. 
“No, I didn’t,” Jaehyun answers your question after it’s quiet once again. “I thought...I think you’re…”
Jaehyun trails off, his eyes flickering over your face before fixing on your lips as his own tug into a smile. He gulps. “I think we’d be in trouble if the paparazzi saw us throwing choice words at each other, don’t you think? You were barely out of school then.”
“Me?” You laugh. “You were thinking about me?”
“And a little bit about me.” 
You fall asleep against Jaehyun’s chest with the certainty of kinder tomorrows, a thing he teaches you through whispers against the pillow and fingers playing with your hair. There’s something private in the way he holds your face, something delicate and homely running from his long fingers to his flushed knuckles and the rest of his hand as it presses against your cheek. It’s warm here, and safe, and maybe home is where the heart is, after all.
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“Really? You’re not even a little bit sad I’m leaving?” you ask, placing your hand over your heart. “Who’s going to help you when you’re getting bullied in the workplace now?”
Doyoung huffs in annoyance, placing the box down beside the moving truck. “You’re the only one who bullies me in the workplace.”
You adjust the ugly baseball cap on your head, the one Jaehyun had pulled over your head in an attempt to stop you from complaining about his messy apartment. You hadn’t realized you’d worn it all the way to Seoul till the articles about your questionable choice of accessories had surfaced.
“Your boyfriend’s calling,” Doyoung says, making a face as he picks your phone up from the box near him. “I can’t even believe this. All those years of flirting and—”
You snatch it from him, glaring at him for the choice of words. He raises his hands defensively, rolling his eyes at your sudden movement.
“Are you sure you don’t want me flying to Seoul?”
“Unless you’re planning to work in a truck rental.”
You hear Jaehyun laugh on the other side of the line. Is it normal to have blood rush straight from your chest to your ears at the sound of laughter? You hope that doesn’t change.
You’d visited him a day before your flight. It hasn’t been all that long but Jaehyun certainly makes it out to be, just so he can use his cheesy one-liners. You try not to smile thinking about how he had flung his hair band out, immediately tousling his hair back into a pretty mess and struggling to keep a straight face when you’d visited out of the blue. Jaehyun wakes up at one in the afternoon when his schedule is empty and it had appalled you enough to help him out with basic chores before you left. (It didn’t end well. He kept putting his chin on your shoulder and sneaking his arms around you while you did the dishes.)
“(name)? (name), are you daydreaming again?” 
You sigh. “You can’t wait three more days, Jae? It’s, what, one in the morning there!”
“Do you want me saying something cheesy?”
“Absolutely not.”
“I don’t think I can sleep without waking up to your face.”
You pinch the bridge of your nose, unable to grace him with a response. The dreamy languor in his voice is more than recognizable and if you’re not mistaken, he’s going to be saying something highly inappropriate.
“Do you know what dream I had last night?” he asks, the smile almost evident with how suggestive it sounds.
“Jaehyun, no,” you warn before lowering your voice. “I swear if it’s another dirty dream—”
“Come home and I’ll tell you all about it. With demonstrations.”
This time you can’t help the laughter, trying to mask it with a cough only to fail. You push the back of your hand against your cheek in order to soothe the involuntary blush. Your perfume smells just like him, and you realize suddenly why he’d gifted it to you.
“That definitely makes me want to leave faster,” you quip.
“I certainly hope so.”
It’s different now, especially if you remember your feelings just last February. Change feels easy for the first time in your life. You check off your list of items, counting the boxes as they’re lifted onto the truck. It took a good amount of thinking, and a bunch of fights before you could decide. New York isn’t so bad. Not when you have reason to be there. You’d like to call it love.
A list of things you do appreciate: Jung Yoonoh. Jaehyun. Whatever.
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