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kimyoonmiauthor · 1 year

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The Lie: You can only make a story around character or events nothing else~~

USian Lit professors ruining writers again and World Lit with it. This isn’t one of those posts where I say, “If you start with character or events you’re wrong.” It’s about my core philosophy OPTIONS~~~ Options. The ones that everyone railed against after the 20th century and people turn their noses up at because, ya know, questioning status quo as PoCs, Women, queer people, disabled people–i.e. the majority of the writers and readers when you put the market together, yet somehow the publishing industry doesn’t want to cater to us... were told flat out if we do it, we’re being snobby, Literary, or Ohhh... insurrectionists. (Or whatever, mostly called “inferior”) And if you don’t believe me, go read Robert Scholes’ writing book where he thinks that only white straight men can write... (OK, maybe I’ve read too many of these bozos.)

My exact problem is being told we’re wrong for doing it another way. And that this way is too snobby, when it’s probably one of the oldest methods in the history of literature. So strap in, let’s get into it.

I get it, some people are going to act like victims at this point and say are you saying that it’s wrong? Or even, what do you mean this method was invented by a bunch of prejudiced white men who often tried to take credit from less privileged people? I cover that in the other series of posts so you a see how we got here (and I warn you I found it super depressing. Especially slapped with blatant racism, sexism, anti-queerness, etc.)

What I think is you can accept the origin story of where “It’s either events or character” comes from (Great Man Theory, BTW, which is imperialistic), delve and QUESTION it heavily, and then challenge the origin more deeply by thinking about it critically and how you would like to overcome that and make their story.

Questioning what’s handed to you critically is the whole point of the Worldbuilding and Worldwide Story Structures post. Doesn’t say it is wrong. It just gives you more options to think about and engage in.

Morals

Honestly, when it has the answers and is reinforcing the status quo, rather than questioning it, it is often boring.

Pros: It engages directly one of the two tenants (when done well), Makes people think. The secondary is then makes them feel.

Cons: When done badly, it can feel preachy, rather than introspective. And people often hate their morals being questioned so may refuse to engage. It’s also prone to getting banned.

Authors who stated they use this: Ursula Le Guin (Who gets hated by Structuralists)

Toni Morrison (Who said so on Charlie Rose--why would you think it’s conflict?)

Star Trek... most of it.

Some of the early writers of Star Wars.

A lot of Sci-fi writers including Octavia Butler.

A Tree with Deep Roots (K-drama) also engages in this.

As a secondary, Outlander often asks questions about Morality (Diana Gabaldon)

Making a story around this would look like finding a central moral question and then breaking that moral question into parts and then finding characters and events to address those parts.

You start from the widest point down and deliberately make it so.

Ways to Live

More common with Indigenous Peoples of N&C&S Americas, not all tribes/nations of course. And particularly with Plains tribes such as Zuni. Also common to Aboriginal people. A tad bit to some Polynesians, and parts of Africa (scattered)

Pros: When done well it makes you ponder on it for days, because often there is a central value, which is not a moral, and you’re turning it over in your head over and over again.

Cons: You have to craft the story very, very carefully, and it may take some time before you get it to land just right. This may not go over well for people who improvise their writing. Because when the story is well put together it suddenly has this clicking feel to it which is difficult to achieve.

Also kinda better for shorter stories (or I’ve never seen it done in novels yet--if you have one, drop it in the comments please~~) and made up folktales...

Themes

Thematic plotting is where you take a central theme and then kind of snowflake it out from that, similar to morality plotting. Often thematic plotting and morality plotting has overlap, meaning they often are done together.

But a theme can be anything like fairies, divorce, marriage, disability, etc. And then you’d break it down for each of the parts and figure out how to represent that through character and events.

So, let’s say your central theme is disability. You might break off Neurodiversity and put that to the side and ask if it is a disability. Then you might want to find someone to represent that and the views about it.

You might also then take someone who is a wheelchair user and then decide you need a character for that.

But you also may want someone who is in a walker.

Then you might decide that you need someone who is disabled, but doesn’t “look” disabled.

Then you might think about what does disability mean for each of them and how are you going to address disability rights in your story. So say the Neurodiverse person you’ve made has Sensory Processing Disorder. You might ask, “Is this really a disability?” And about ableism and disablism. From that, you might formulate an event to demonstrate this.

You can also do it from events. So for example, you think that a disability rights rally about X issue is needed to show the different views. But overall, it always loops back to the theme.

Pros: Engages the reader to think, primarily. Feel is kind of second on the list, if the theme is teased out well and focused. Generally the ones that do well are philosophical and delve deeper on an idea. Say motherhood. What does it mean to be a parent. Something with an endless well to talk about that interests the author. I love theme babies and when done well it can do things like make you cry over a damned potato. Or even rocks on a cliff. Damn you both. I’m tearing up thinking about it. WHY!? Why am I crying about rocks with googly eyes with text on the screen?

Cons: Themes that don’t grow beyond the base idea often feel stagnant. It’s better to let your themes evolve over the course of the story. If you choose a theme you don’t have a lot of ideas on it can feel too sparse. And if you over pack it without any kind of organization, it can feel chaotic, rather than organized.

Generally people who use milestones--or set out event points in the road do better with this one. Pure improvisers tend to dislike this, though it can work if you’re sure you can hit the points in an organized fashion.

Authors:

Divorce Testimony by Na Hyeseok (Theme is divorce and marriage, and a memoir)

Hong Sisters (especially Greatest Love. Crying over a potato...)

Everything Everywhere All at Once (Primarily theme first, then tone).

Tone

I have to say Japan does it best... but I’ve also seen tonal theming from Indigenous peoples, Magic Realism, as a secondary on other East Asian drama regions, in Horror, as a secondary in some African Lit and West Asian Lit. It is really difficult to nail if you start with character+event. And honestly USians, in particular, have a really hard time nailing tone, in general.

Pros: Emotions come first and hits you directly in the feels first, which might make you reel in your head for quite a while. It’s much, much harder to guess plot points from the outside looking in. The bubble effect I refer to often in Japanese dramas which makes me envious is much easier to achieve. Because tone takes a while to develop over the course of the story, guessing ahead becomes near to impossible. You don’t know what the final effect will be until it hits you square between the eyes. And then the emotions are overloaded, when done well.

Cons: Tone takes a while to develop. It often dies a quiet death because of the whole “I NEED EVERYTHING ON PAGE ONE” mentality from US pressuring other regions to do the same. It does not work well with impatient people. Also, it takes a high amount of skill to do well, and usually command of tone on all levels is a last, not first skill for writers of all regions. Hitting people in the feels the same way across the board is HARD. Really hard, which is often why it’s paired with thematic and moral plotting.

Authors:

Natsume Soseki Botchan is a master class in this.

(Central Story driver)

Sometimes, some regions just go by the central story driver which then dictates the rest of the events and character. Honestly, I think conflict is probably the worst for this because people don’t generally love it. Conflict is not on the list of things that makes things go viral. People LOVE cooperation, for example. But often people will go by a central tenant of the story driver and choose from there. Absurdists might think about ways to subvert the conflict to make a joke.

Other methods

For example, Diana Gabaldon takes pieces from her research, makes a scene from it, and then writes characters around it, and then slowly stitches it together. She started out originally with character, however, the bulk of her writing, according to her is done through research then write method. The downside of this is huge word count since integration is not the first concern.

Some people start with interesting subjects they’ve found such as Guy Gaviriel Kay. He starts with research, then works on integration. Similarly, Ordinary People by Judith Guest was started from a newspaper clipping.

Some authors start with a sharp image, rather than event or character.

Some authors start with setting. Since there are so many parts to “What makes a story” theoretically you can start with any of them. The only thing I would think you really have to think over is how will it hang together.

The point is, while starting with character or event is not wrong, finding other methods to plot might make your story stronger depending on how you command the tools. And let’s not forget that writing is a craft, so why not utilize as much of the toolbox as possible?

#writing advice #how to start a story #debunking

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positivelybeastly · 3 hours

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Astonishing X-men Beast, if someone were to ask you what’s the main issue with the X-men/ Professor X philosophy what would you say? Not from anyone else’s experiences just yours and events that have taken place. While I take you as someone very loyal to the dream of Xavier, even though Scott is the poster boy/boy-scout of the team, you’ve surely have diverged at some point. Not completely, but slightly. Maybe. I don’t know.

". . . Have you ever noticed something a little odd about the First Class of X-Men? Charles' handpicked selection of mutants with whom to shock, astonish, charm, and woo the world?"

"Professor Xavier had access to Cerebro, the most advanced mutant locating technology ever devised, working in conjunction with one of the most powerful and well trained minds that's ever graced this Earth. He had his pick of an entire planet's worth of mutants whom he could have chosen to elevate, to show the world, to use to prove to the human race that we were not to be hated and feared.

And he chose five white young Americans with non-threatening powers.

Sometimes I wonder - if I looked back then how I look now, would I have made the cut? Would the Professor have deemed me worthy of being a flag-bearer for his dream? Perhaps. Perhaps not."

"But that is the issue, isn't it? The dream requires infinite patience. It requires infinite understanding. It requires an infinite capacity to be smacked in the face and turn the other cheek. It requires certain qualities. It requires certain people, includes certain people, excludes others, if only by proxy.

It requires a seventeen year old boy to be nearly beaten to death by an angry mob and decide, no, I'll continue to fight for you."

"That's quite a thing to ask of a child. That's quite a thing to ask of anyone, don't you think? There are those who might say that when it comes to survival, the moral high ground merely ends up being the six foot of earth separating you and the top soil. I don't agree, obviously, but. It's not a life for everyone.

Sometimes, I think it's not a life for anyone."

"But, in the end, I do believe. I believe in co-existence. I have a mother and a father who have loved me from the instant they saw me, no matter how unnatural my appendages.

They remind me that, no matter what else happens, there are always humans who make the world better. Humans who will like us, love us, break bread with us, protect us, nurture us. Even though it may seem like all you ever see are the sneering faces calling you a gene-freak, the other kind of person exists, too. It helps, to break the surface and take a deep breath every now and then. Remind yourself what you're fighting for."

". . . The Professor himself has admitted that the dream may well be just a dream. That it needs to change if it's to become reality. It needs to include the physically mutated, the violent, the dispossessed, the unhappy, the unruly, the different. The strange.

The uncanny.

But the problem is that dreamers aren't made. They become. In some ways, maybe we're all just waiting for the new dreamer to come along to tell us what the next big idea should be.

For a time, I wondered if that might be me. But, I don't think it is. I'm excited to meet them, however. Whoever they may be. And when I do, I just hope they recognise that even if their dream is better, the Professor's dream are still the shoulders upon which they stand."

". . . Heady stuff, no?"

I'm also going to copy over my thoughts about a particular scene in Astonishing X-Men that you might find interesting, both in relation to your earlier question about body language, and about Hank and Xavier's dream. I originally posted this analysis on Reddit.

Something I really appreciate about this scene is that it highlights how different Hank and Scott are in their relationship with Xavier.

Perhaps because Scott grew up with an abusive parental figure in Jack Winters and Hank grew up with very loving parents, Scott was able to recognise Charles' toxic behaviour and break away from Xavier - it might also have had something to do with the fact that at least one of Charles' biggest fuck ups had to do with Scott's brother Gabriel? Hard to say. But Hank, who Charles very carefully isolated from his parents by mindwiping them for years of Hank's whole existence, never really managed to break free of him, and it shows here.

Hell, it arguably never went away, even into the Krakoan era - a more interesting version of X-Force would have really dived into the kind of fucked up dynamic they have, where Chuck keeps covering for Beast's moral transgressions for seemingly no reason, because in some respects, he's responsible for them. He gave him the power, he gave him no oversight, but even more pressingly, he wasn't there for him emotionally. He pulled him into this life and didn't prepare him for the toll it would take, how much it would ruin Beast by the time he gets to Krakoa. Beast needed someone to help him there, and no-one did, which is part of why he went on the skids, I think.

But anyway, Whedon does a lot of moments where Hank is present for scenes but doesn't speak, which is important for a character who's well known for not shutting the fuck up. This, the initial cure conversation, the whole conversation about Piotr - Hank clams up. He doesn't feel like he can talk about it. He's off in his own head, his thoughts are his own, he doesn't feel the need to share them.

And here, it's especially important, because this is a big moral violation that Charles has committed in their name. I know it may be hard to remember, but back in the day, Hank had a moral opinion that was worth something, so the fact that he doesn't say anything here speaks volumes about just how much he feels capable of calling out the Professor, i.e. not at all. He craves Xavier's validation, his approval, he feels a kinship with Chuck. So he doesn't criticise him like he should.

It's especially interesting given that this would continue through the Utopia era. Every time Scott distanced himself from Xavier, Hank was there to comfort Charles, and I feel like that's just something he feels like he has to do. He feels like the devoted brother to Scott's more radical, more willing to criticise brother, and if Bendis had any interest in Beast as a character, he would've played on that in All-New X-Men - the fact that Scott killed their toxic father figure, and Beast feels both free of an influence he didn't know was choking him, but outraged that Scott would break their 'family' like that.

I find Beast compelling because of his flaws, and this is an interesting moment when you take all of that into account. I don't even know if that was the intention of this scene, or if Whedon just wanted to give Scott the speech, but it's interesting.

I definitely feel as though Hank agrees with Scott in the scene, for the record, but doesn't feel able to express it. Is that better or worse? Hard to say. The way that Cassaday draws him as he tells the other X-Men that their ride is here, it communicates shame and disappointment - but not just in Xavier. He's ashamed of his fear. He's disappointed in himself, that he didn't feel capable of speaking up.

And the reason that has real weight is because of his original X-Man status - I don't feel inclined to judge Kitty here despite the fact that she's silent as well, because it's a different dynamic. I don't really expect her to, you know? But Hank, I do, and I think he expects that of himself.

I doubt that Scott or the rest of the team judges Hank for staying silent, either - it's not as if he was complicit in Danger's abuse, after all - especially since it doesn't come up in the conversations Hank and Scott have after this. But Hank, I feel, would judge himself.

I also wonder if this might have played into why Hank got so much more vocal and active in opposing Scott's actions on Utopia - because he felt ashamed by his passivity here, and felt obligated not to let that tendency to repeat. But also, on some level, because he felt more like a peer to Scott, and less like a child, compared to Xavier.

In those instances, Hank is often morally correct, but, in some respects, naive and unhelpful, and he recuses himself from making what we might perceive to be the correct decision because of his ethics. I feel that there's a tendency to call him a coward or obstinate because of that - but is it really cowardly to make a moral stand? And, especially given what Hank would do as time went on, would we not have rather he kept making those moral stands, rather than desperately trying anything he thought would work?

I genuinely don't think he opposed Scott because he didn't like him or didn't love him, because I feel like he very clearly did, but because he felt it was the right thing to do for the both of them. In Hank's mind, he's fighting for the X-Men's soul, for Scott's - for his own. Scott, meanwhile, feels like it's all worth it so long as mutantkind makes it through. They're both right. They're both wrong. That's what makes it a worthwhile conflict.

#water-god19 #outofmuffins

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aura-acolyte · 7 months

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hey girl want a trolley problem? there is a button. if you press it 50 people will be rescued, you have no idea who these people are but they’ll be fine. if you don’t press the button they all are screwed over.

another 50 people you don’t have any way of knowing will be screwed over if you press the button but if you don’t press it, they’ll be okay.

what does marie lilligan birch do with no clue to who these people are?

This is why everyone hates moral philosophy professors.

#pokeblogging #pkmn irl #pokemon irl #irl pkmn #mare responds #okay but for real though there's no right answer here #that's the entire point of the trolley problem.#anyways third choice I save everyone #also it's Lillian #if you're gonna try and piss me off by using my full name at least spell it rigjt

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teddyoverthinks · 2 years

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What is Little Women about?

JO: I want to have genius, and I think I do, until a good man makes me see it's only lurid trash and gently guides me to write instructive uplifting stories suitable for little women who want to have genius and can be led to see how it's okay to want genius and end up writing instructive uplifting stories for little women who want to have genius and there are two burning silences at the heart of this book and one is my genius, is me daring you to say I had no genius that this book has no genius that a Morally Instructive Wholesome book for GIRLS is not a work of genius; Marmee's loving lessons force the patriarchy down our throats at every chapter's end but it's not like Dickens doesn't, really, is it? Mr. Angry little girls should hold their tongues and count to twenty-five. And he's in the pantheon; his face is on the cover of the Oxford Anthology; he's got genius. And everybody knows It was the best of times it was the worst of times but a damn lot of people know Christmas won't be Christmas without any presents, and it just so happens that most of them are women, but

...

BETH: You said, two silences in this book. I am the other silence. I have a little brown hood, and no wish, except to be good. You are a tomboy and Amy is a goose and Meg is a doll, but I am just – loved. You all love me. I love you all. I have a little brown hood, and no future. I make slippers and sleeves and socks. You can pick them up and hold them and feel them and use them until they wear out. This is a book about death. About how when someone dies, you can remember what they loved and touch the things they had, and you can remember that you love them, but you can't remember them right, them as people, because they will never surprise you again.

JO: Beth –

BETH: I have never fit in this story because I have always been over, before it began.

She goes off. Pause.

JO: This isn't a book about death. It is not. It's not about women's worlds, because there are chapters where I go into smoke-filled offices and make rude editors pay me to write for them, and chapters where Laurie and his grandfather negotiate how much emotion and sympathy they can show each other without upsetting their masculine pride, and chapters about educational philosophy, for goodness's sake; it is not a book about death. It is not a book about loss. It is a book about rebellion, and doing the wrong thing, making the wrong choice, and learning better, and then doing the wrong thing again, because you're a human, you're just a person who does things wrong; this is not a book about death; it is not; even if other people want you to be an angel of beauty and the keeper of their consciences, you're just a person, and you make mistake after mistake after mistake and you keep thinking you've improved but then you make another mistake but you KEEP TRYING TO BE BETTER

Amy comes running on and shoves her, hard.

AMY: This is a book about never getting what you want. You or Meg or me or the reader. Everyone wants you to marry Laurie! Nobody wants you to marry the bearded German who smokes a pipe and hates fun! And is FORTY. You wanted to be a genius but your German professor will look over your shoulder and keep your imagination on a leash so you don't corrupt the young. Meg wanted to be perfect and loved by everybody, and she's not, no matter how hard she tries; she's the boring one; she's the mom; she's the unwelcome reminder that housework and motherhood are hard, hard work that nobody really appreciates and no one really wants to do! And no one remembers anything about me except that I slept with a clothespin on my nose and I STOLE LAURIE. But I wanted to be a genius too! I wanted to be a great artist! The height of my aspiration wasn't lower than yours, but it's your book, your book, so there's nothing I can say for myself; I just quietly drop my pencils and my ambitions and marry a man who wanted to marry you.

Pause.

JO: He does love you.

AMY: He does. But I'm not what he wanted.

—LinearA, The Big Little Women’s Book

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hearkensentinel · 2 years

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so linguistics is, in some ways, still an emerging field, so there are a bunch of arguments, right

but my favorite linguistics argument isn’t even one i learned in linguistics class. it came up in my Japanese history class

cuz see the earliest written histories of Japan are outside commentaries from China b/c they had writing first. so there’s a certain “oh, well, the kids over there on the island did this and this and this but just remember we’re definitely better” tone, as one might expect. and even after Japan adopts (and adapts) writing, it’s still helpful sometimes to supplement with an outside perspective.

At one point, a Chinese scholar wrote a pretty scathing essay about how those barbarians in the kingdom of Wa (traditional Chinese name for Japan) were all selfish, immoral, licentious heathens, as evidenced by the fact that the Japanese language didn’t even have words for basic moral concepts (in Confucianism, at least) like filial piety and social responsibility and so on, and had to borrow theirs.

To which at least one Japanese philosopher responded that of COURSE Japanese didn’t have words for such things, because correct behavior was so ingrained in their society that there was no need to discuss it - only reprobates like the Chinese, who had difficulty following moral precepts, would need the vocabulary to spell them out in detail.

(please note I have no opinion on the truth of the conclusions reached, I’m sure everyone involved is/was lovely, etc. I just think the arguments used are hilarious)

#linguistics #ethics #philosophy #history #international relations #this is why everyone hates moral philosophy professors #also for the record #there was this one guy musui who was definitely not a lovely moral person #the intro to his autobiography is basically #if you can't be a good example you can at least be a horrible warning #which makes for FAR juicier reading than your average historical text #japan #mine

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jomiddlemarch · 4 years

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So, we were already full on Biden/Harris here but Biden mentioning Kierkegaard and Heaney in his acceptance speech took it to a WHOLE NEW LEVEL for me. Especially since we are re-watching The Good Place and I could imagine Chidi’s reaction.

#election 2020 #the good place #seamus heaney #soren kierkegaard #a president who reads #chidi anagonye #everyone doesn't hate moral philosophy professors!#vote #register to vote #us politics

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jknapier · 4 years

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So here’s a thing I’m learning about in my Master’s program:

Kohlberg’s Stages of Moral Development.

This theory is usually illustrated by The Heinz Dilemma (similar to The Trolley Problem, or Jean valJean from Les Miserables).

youtube

People (usually small children) in the first stage of development usually adhere to the basic “good/bad” rules that are taught to us at a young age. Stealing is bad. Therefore, Heinz should not steal the medicine because then he would be bad. People in this stage are incapable of considering that there might be some grey area.

In the second stage (most adolescents and adults), people are able to consider that it is unfair for the medicine to be so expensive and that letting someone die when it could be prevented is bad. But they also still adhere to the concept of basic good and bad and realize that Heinz would likely be punished for his actions, even if it was to save a life. This is called the Conventional Stage and is where most people stop. At this stage, people want to be perceived as good by others, but also want to maintain social order. When answering the question, “What should Heinz do?”, most people will consider what others will think is right and make their decision based on the perceived judgement of others.

Remember, this is where most of our society resides.

The final stage (post-conventional morality), is a higher level of thinking only achieved by about 10-15% of the human population. People who are capable of this level of thinking take all of the above into consideration, but also include moral/social contracts and universal principles (such as “basic human rights” and “equality”). They realize that it is unfair for the drug to cost so much and feel that Heinz should not be punished, but are also aware that our society does not allow for this solution and it would probably never come to pass.

Again, 10-15%. That’s it.

That means, it is basically impossible for someone who is capable of empathetic and universal thinking to both run and be elected for office. Because that success relies on someone in this small percentage actually making it to the ticket and a majority of the population going against their moral capabilities and voting for this person. 85-90% of the population would have to suddenly develop the ability to think outside the moral box. Impossible.

So while it’s not necessarily forgivable or excusable (and I believe people should be challenged to reach this level of thinking), it may not actually be possible for laypeople and politicians alike to consider what is morally best for the world. They are stuck at level two and will almost always choose to remain inside the boat rather than rock it.

Sources: https://www.simplypsychology.org/kohlberg.html

The Adolescent: Development, Relationships, and Culture (14th edition) by Kim Gale Dolgin (2018).

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aquamarinescarlet · 3 years

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We can’t have everything

Pairing: Professor!Wanda Maximoff x Student!Reader

Word count: ~8.8k

Warnings: high school AU (reader is 18 though), fluff, angst, small mention of religion, implied smut

Summary: Wanda Maximoff challenges your patience every week during philosophy class, now it’s your turn.

Author’s note: So I over-thought this story waaaaay too much, I considered not posting it several times, but I really liked it so here it is. Let me know what you think, and enjoy!

Taglist

Liberty consists in doing what one desires.

That’s what John Stuart Miller used to say. The english philosopher might’ve explained the main reason why humanity desires liberty so much, and why we can never have it.

Consider liberty as being a synonym to freedom. Everyone desires freedom, praises that it is the definition of living, freedom walks hand in hand with success, with happiness. In theory, that is a great line of thinking, and not necessarily wrong, just utopic.

No one is willing to deal with the consequences of total and complete freedom. After all, we’ve never experienced total and complete freedom before, not a single living soul. There are laws we must follow, laws that control our freedom, mould it to the best way of controlling us.

How would the world be with total freedom? No economic laws that define how money and basic exchange of products work, no juridical laws that punish those who risk other people’s safety, no social laws leveling the general understanding of human interaction, not even physics laws that rule the entirety of the universe. Do we know what a life without these would be like? Are we willing to figure it out?

“... Ms. Y/L/N?” You turned your attention to the professor, not feeling even slightly uncomfortable by the sudden attention.

“What was that, Ms. Maximoff?” She would’ve rolled her eyes if she could, but held herself back for the sake of professionalism.

“I was asking if you’d like to give us your opinion on the matter since you seem to be so deep in thought, certainly you have something interesting to say.”

“I wasn’t thinking about the topic of discussion, in fact, I’m not even aware of what that would be.”

Professor Maximoff was hands down your favourite professor to piss off, and that was simply because, different from the others, she was stubborn, she never cut you mid discussion, she’d let you take it till the end, no matter how mad or humiliated she got. It was fun.

You always had a bad reputation amongst the professors, being the most hated kind of student anyone could have, the one who always messes around, doesn’t pay attention and is always disrupting the class, but somehow does well in school and never gets an answer wrong no matter how little attention you were actually paying.

After you moved for a year to Brasil, where your parents are originally from, you were held back a grade, and since all your friends already graduated, and your new classmates are a big bore, all that was left was to pick on the professors, and you had a lot of fun doing it. Boarding school can always be full of pricks.

“Mr. Jansen was just pointing out that if we suppose there’s a God responsible for the creation of humanity, and we’re all made in his image, then man is born good and society corrupts us.” She explained.

Man is born good, interesting intake.

“And I assume Ms. González defends that man is born evil and all goodness comes from morals that are bestowed upon us by religion.” You pointed out.

Man is born evil, another interesting opinion.

“So you were paying attention,” there wasn’t even a hint of surprise in her tone.

“Just stating the obvious.” Those two always disagree on debates like this.

“Then what is your take on this?”

“My take is that no matter what take you have on this you’ll always come back to the same problem.”

“That would be…,” she urged you to continue.

“That if God was, in fact, responsible for creation, and he and evil coexist, then he’s either not omnipotent, or he’s not as good as it is believed.” Of course your words erupted a few murmurs from the most religious kids in class, which Ms. Maximoff was quick to shut down.

“Continue,” she said, with some curiosity, once silence settled again.

“If evil exists then either God isn’t powerful enough to get rid of it, hence him not being omnipotent, or he can do it he just doesn’t want to, making him an accomplice to the pain it causes to humanity, not so good on his part is it?”

“Evil is inflicted on us by Satan.” Otto Jansen countered.

“Ah, then God is not omnipotent since he can’t overpower Satan, see we go back to the same problem.”

“Alright Ms. Y/L/N, but in the christian religion it is viewed that the Earth is some sort of, middle plane, a test, of sorts, to decide what’ll happen to you in the afterlife. Doesn’t that cancel out your statement?” Discussing with your peers was fun, but it was a blast when Ms. Maximoff added her own opinion to it, and when it involves you, she always does.

“Quite on the contrary, you can even approach that in two different ways. If this is some kind of purgatory, so it can be decided if each individual person is good or bad, it leaves space for you to assume that man is born either evil or good, and if we’re all made in God’s image, then that leaves open the possibility that there’s evil in God himself.”

New grunts of disapproval, which only fueled your confidence.

“And the other approach?”

“Right,” you almost forgot, “why would God need a purgatory in the first place? Assuming heaven does exist, it is a perfect plane where there’s no evil. So if something like that can exist, why does he need a middle plane in which both good and evil coexist? Did he make man in his image, which contains evil somehow, and now he needs to figure out who can fight the evil and who succumbs to it? Or is he not powerful enough to make all men good?”

The room fell dead silent. Mrs. Maximoff was considering your words carefully, unable to hide the anger in her face. You had just completely destroyed the point of her debate by turning it all towards a problem with no clear solution.

A quick glance to the clock showed there were only a few seconds for the bell to go off, so you decided to fill that silence and close your line of thinking.

“What I’m saying is, when looking at this from the perspective of religion, the real question is not whether man was born good or evil, it’s if God is not omnipotent or not all that good.”

Perfect timing. You started to pack your things as everyone started to make their way out of the class. Soon enough only you and Ms. Maximoff were left.

“You could pay more attention to class y’know.”

“Why? Weren’t my remarks good enough for you?” You retorted.

“You didn’t answer the question.” She sent you a subtle glance.

“I thought we were supposed to defend our point of view,” you said while walking towards the exit, “I think that’s exactly what I did.” You didn’t leave her time to respond, only hearing a huff coming from the classroom.

As much as you hated school, you also hated missing classes, it gave them ammunition to punish you. So you ran, your bedroom being on the other side of the building, hoping you’d make it on time.

You didn’t. Although that was not surprising, you had, in fact, woken up almost 20 minutes after class had already started, only a miracle or a wormhole that took you back in time could’ve saved you.

Standing by the closed door to philosophy class, you had an idea. Not a good one, but it’d have to do for now.

The room where Ms. Maximoff taught, just like all the others, had windows. On the other hand, it was on the second floor, thankfully your tree climbing skills were up to date. Your backpack was light, making the whole process much easier, what made it difficult was when Otto looked out the window, almost catching you.

Expertly you made your way to the branch which gave you access to the very back of the class. If it was full you’d be able to sneak in without calling attention to yourself. And you were successful, for the first few steps, being careful to not make any noise, slightly crouching down… it was all useless when Ms. Maximoff finished her speech.

“Ah, Ms. Y/L/N, how nice of you to join us.” You stopped dead on your track, shutting your eyes closed at your failed attempt. “Do you have any morals?”

That was a weird question, nonetheless you straightened yourself, turning towards the woman, acting like being caught hadn’t affected you at all.

“Oh, I see we’re back to the same topic of last week.”

“How so?”

“Well, discussing morality takes us back to the very point of ‘are humans born good and further corrupted, or are they born evil?” All the attention turned to you.

“Very good, you still didn’t answer my question though, do you have any morals?”

“Don’t we all?”

“I don’t know, you sneak into the classroom late knowing that it’s against the rules.” Fair point, although uncalled for.

“You’re a constructivist then.” You pointed out, matter of factly.

“What leads you to believe that?” She questioned curiously

“You don’t believe I have morals, or at least you consider the possibility, which leads me to assume that you don’t believe we are born with morals, they are given to us.”

“And what do you believe?”

You thought about it for a few seconds, her intense gaze making you nervous and somewhat confident.

“I believe all points of view are problematic.”

“Enlighten us.” She urged you on.

“Constructivists believe that morality is a result of evolution, basically we have morals due to our commitments towards society, but if that’s so, how did morality come to exist in the first place? Society wasn’t there since the beginning of time, it was created, so this line of thinking proposes that morality was created too, but how? And by whom?”

“So you’re saying that humans would have to be born with morals?” Robyn Byrne, another one of your classmates, pitched.

“Not quite, that’s what the realists believe, but that has some problems of its own. Think about it, if humans are born with morals, how did they acquire them? And what are they? Are they different from person to person? Because from what we can observe, my morals are clearly different from Ms. Maximoff’s,” you mocked, earning a glare from the professor.

You paused, pleased with the silence that took over the room, no one knew how to counter your argument. Yet again you had put an end to one of Ms. Maximoff’s debates.

“Thank you for your input Ms. Y/L/N. You can go now.” She gestured towards the door and you gave her a confused look.

“Excuse me?”

“You were late for my class, and according to my morals, it is against the rules, so you’ll have to leave.” She explained with the most annoying victorious grin you had ever seen.

You grunted in defeat and walked out of the room. Thankfully this was her last class before Winter break, and you couldn’t wait to get a break from this place and spend your quick vacation sunbathing on the beautiful beaches in Rio de Janeiro.

“It’s fine mom, I’m fine.” You tried to reassure her through the phone.

“I know you’re not, you don’t have to lie to me.”

“Of course I’m not fine, I’ll miss the period of application to college in Brazil. Now I’ll have to wait a whole year, even more if I don’t get in,” you let out all your frustrations.

“I’m sorry Y/N/N,” the pity in her voice somehow made it all worse.

Going to the same college your father attended had been your dream since you were very young. That dream was crushed momentarily when your mother was transferred and you had to move countries, but you devised a plan to make it work. The universe seemed to be playing against you, and now you had to watch it all crumble down again.

“There’s no point in crying about it,” you shrugged, not wanting to spend anymore time on the subject, “there’s a storm coming, my flight was cancelled…” you trailed off.

Not only was it killing you to miss your chance in Brazil, but it was unnerving that you were stuck in school for christmas and new year. The worst part being that everyone had already left, everyone but half a dozen professors, and you. Safe to say you weren’t looking forward to being stuck with them for two whole weeks. But as you said, there was no point in reminiscing on it since there was nothing you could do.

“I’m so sorry,” she sounded genuine, even over the phone, “we’ll make it up to you.” You chuckled softly at how sweet she was being.

“Don’t worry mom, it’s not your fault, plus I don’t think there’s any way to ‘make up’ for this,” your tone exuded confidence, “I’ll be fine, I can even go to college here,” you tried to sound excited but your mother’s silence proved you weren’t fooling anyone. “Worst comes to worse and I’ll just play pranks on the professors that stayed behind too,” you joked trying to lighten the mood.

“Behave,” she warned, although you could hear slight giggling on the other side of the line.

“Bye, mom.”

“Bye, I’ll try to call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Sure.” You hung up and walked back to your room, passing through the empty hallways.

Once there, you let your body fall back on your bed in frustration. You wanted to scream, you wanted to cry, you wanted to break every piece of furniture inside your room. It was going to be two very long weeks. A knock on the door didn’t give you too much time to think about that.

“Hey dear,” the old woman greeted, opening the door.

“Hey, Mrs. Chren.” Your math professor.

“I just came here to warn you that me, Mrs. Song,” your music professor, ironic isn’t it?, “Mr. Avery, Mr. Griffin and Mrs. Breman are going to town for a few hours, gotta sort out some things before the storm hits, so you’ll be alone for a couple of hours,” you stared at her blankly, “or you could come if you like-”

“Oh, no, Mrs. Chren,” you spilled, already enjoying the idea of being by yourself, “that’s alright, I can survive for a few hours,” you both laughed lightly.

“Alright, here’s my phone number,” she set a piece of paper on the desk, “call me if you need anything, and keep an eye on the telephone down the hall, I’ll call you there if we have any delays.”

That phone was the only way to communicate with the rest of the world, the school being too isolated for your cell phone to get any signal, and no wifi was available since they wanted the students to do their research in books rather than the internet. So, basically, you were completely out of reach but for that one old piece of technology, which was shared amongst everyone.

“Okay, have fun,” you pitched and she thanked you before leaving.

Half an hour later and you finally had the whole place to yourself, so you decided to do all the things you couldn’t do when someone was watching. It was better to have some fun than to spend the rest of those weeks moping around.

You blasted music on your portable speaker while walking around the building. First things first, look into other people’s rooms, you’re nosy and curious, what else could you do?

And it was the best idea. Some of the rooms were locked for these two weeks, but others weren’t and you made some interesting discoveries. Like the fact that the quietest boy in your grade has a huge bag of condoms hidden in his drawer. Or that the girl that claims to hate sports has a football magazine under her bed.

Of course there was also the classic booze and cigarettes hidden away, which wasn’t a surprise, and a hell lot of dirty socks. What is it with these people and not doing their laundry?

The sound of the phone going off in the distance startled you, but you quickly recovered, turning off the music and rushing to answer it.

“Hello.”

“Hi, Y/L/N, it’s Mrs. Song.” She sounded nervous.

“Everything okay?”

“Not quite, it seems like the storm is coming earlier than expected, they closed all the roads which means we’re stuck here in town until further notice.” You took a second to let the information sink in, but she took your silence as incentive to continue. “Anyways, we’re going to stay at a hotel here in the area, and will try to get back as soon as possible. But I’m afraid it’ll be a few days until then.”

“Oh.” Was the only thing you could think of.

“Y/L/N?”

“Yeah, sorry, that’s fine, I have food and a central heating system, so I’ll be fine, are you guys going to be okay though?” You really didn’t know what else to say.

“Of course, don’t worry about us, just be safe and don’t go outside, we’ll keep in contact if you need anything, okay?”

“That’s great, good luck there Mrs. Song.”

“You too dear.”

You couldn’t decide if that was good news or bad news. On one hand you could do whatever you wanted and not have your professors calling you out on everything all the time, plus there would be no dealing with awkward meals just the six of you. On the other hand you would be alone in this huge building for days with mostly nothing to do, it could get lonely.

“Well, gotta make the best of the situation,” you said to no one in particular.

With that idea in mind, you ran back to your room taking out something you’ve had hidden in your room for a few months. A skateboard. Strategically placed on the back of your dressing drawer. How you sneaked that in without anyone noticing was a question you didn’t have the answer for.

You and your friends would always find a way to take your skateboards and rollerblades into town, they did have a great lane there. This was before they graduated, now you had expected to do it again, but never found anyone who’d be willing to risk getting caught and slowly you lost interest in doing it all on your own.

But being all alone was the perfect opportunity to take it for a ride. You couldn’t go outside but the long empty hallways were a perfect place to do just that.

So you did, unbothered by the storm going at full force outside. Unnaturally loud music blasting on your speakers while you sang along, trying different tricks or just trying to go the fastest possible on the smooth wooden floor of the old building.

The next chain of events happened way too fast for you to register. You were speeding down the hallway on your skateboard, which was darker than usual for that time of day, a bird hit a window right as you passed by it, a loud bang echoed through the place and a dark figure suddenly appeared in front of you.

Losing completely your balance, you tripped and, due to the speed, was thrown a few feet across the floor.

“Are you okay?” You were barely able to hear the voice approaching you since music was still playing on the speaker.

You were quick to turn it off, turning to the person in question.

“Jesus fucking christ, are you trying to kill me?” You said, trying to calm your rapidly beating heart as Ms. Maximoff knelt beside you.

“You did set yourself up to get hurt.” She stated referring to all the rules you were breaking.

She helped you sit up, a stinging pain shooting through your shoulder.

“Well, I wasn’t really expecting anyone,” just then your mind caught up with the fact that she was here, when she wasn’t supposed to be, “shouldn’t you be, like, miles away from here?”

“Ouch,” she feigned offense, but you didn’t care, between spending days in there alone or having to be stuck with her you’d rather be alone, “my flight got cancelled, I was lucky to get here now, or I’d die frozen in that storm.”

“I thought the roads were closed.”

“I was already halfway through when I heard on the radio they were closing everything, I thought it would be better to keep going than to turn around.”

“You should’ve turned around,” you weren’t sure if you said that for her good or your own.

“Why do you say that?” She tried to hide the disappointment in her voice, but you caught it.

“Don’t get me wrong, but the other professors are all stuck in town until they reopen the roads, and there’s nothing much to do here.” You tried to get up, but the pain on your shoulder didn’t let you.

“You’re here, we can keep each other company.”

She helped you up, and you begrudgingly accepted.

“And what are we going to do? Debate the morals and ethics of all the rules I’m breaking?” Your tone laced with sarcasm.

“I’m also a human being y’know, not only a philosophy teacher.”

“Oh, really? And here I was thinking you were a robot sent by the government to alienate us students.” That logic didn’t even make sense, but your mind wasn’t able to think straight with the pain and the shock of the whole situation.

She stood in silence, almost analyzing you. Being under her gaze like that made you uncomfortable, and yet you couldn’t move, your legs not wanting to obey your brain. So you stared back at her instead.

The sound of the telephone going off again broke the contest.

“Yeah?”

“Hey Ms. Y/L/N, it’s Mrs. Chren, just calling to see how you’re doing.” The voice answered on the other side of the line.

Your eyes fell on your professor, and since you weren’t really in the mood to talk you decided to pass this on to the woman who had disrupted your peace.

“Great! Actually, Ms. Maximoff is here.”

“She is?”

“Got here a few minutes ago.”

“Oh my, let me talk to her then.”

You passed the phone to her, and turned around looking for your skateboard and speaker. Thankfully the fall hadn’t caused any damage to either of the items, now your shoulder would be a completely different story, hopefully it would be better after a good night of sleep.

Since you weren’t paying any attention to the call, you didn’t see Ms. Maximoff had approached you and almost jumped at the sound of her voice.

“She said the storm might create some energy problems, so we’ll probably lose communication with them.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t.”

With that you ran off to your room, locking yourself in there. You didn’t see her for the rest of that day.

You also managed to avoid her for the next day and half of the one after that. But that couldn’t go on for much longer.

“What are you doing?” You asked, walking into the kitchen and seeing Ms. Maximoff cooking something on the stove. Your nostrils being immediately invaded by a delicious smell.

“Lunch. It’s almost ready.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to do this.” Her being nice really wasn’t helping your hate for her.

“I don’t mind, I like to cook,” she turned towards you, “I know you’re not very fond of me, but I won’t let you starve because of that.”

You didn’t know how to respond. It was a nice gesture and a very out-of-the-blue confession. Maybe not a confession, but a statement. Sensing your silence she focused back on the pan still cooking.

“Why though?” The question startled you.

“What?”

“Why don’t you like me? I would risk it’s because I kicked you out of class last week, but I feel like it’s been going on for longer than that.” Her voice was firm, sure of her words, although her body language said the complete opposite. How she kept shifting her weight from one leg to the other, playing with her hair, you couldn’t see her face but you could sense she was dreading the answer.

“Don’t you hate me?” She stopped completely, considering your question before turning back towards you.

“Why would I?”

“Everyone does, at least all the professors do,” that fact didn’t affect you, you had given them reason to hate you.

“Well, I don’t,” she kept her eyes locked on yours, “you didn’t answer my question.”

“Why do you care?” You re-assumed your classic nonchalant demeanor, taking a seat on the kitchen table.

She didn’t say anything as she served you both a plate of pasta with tomato sauce. Slowly you brought a forkful of it to your mouth, mindlessly moaning at the taste of it.

“Holy shit this is amazing,” she smiled shyly, looking down at her own plate and you quickly felt self conscious about your actions.

Could she blame you? How did she turn such a simple dish into something so good?

“Thanks,” she replied, still avoiding your eyes.

Lunch went on silently after that, the sounds of metal clinking on glass was nearly deafening. In all fairness you were afraid of saying anything else, which was unusual.

“You still didn’t answer my question,” she blurted out suddenly, causing you to look at her.

“What question?” She let out a dry laugh, almost like she was mocking you, which only made you despise her a little bit more.

“You know which question.”

“Because you can be quite a prick sometimes.”

“Excuse me?” She looked at you with disbelief.

“Like that time you kicked me out-”

“Oh no, you were late, those are the rules.” She interrupted you.

“See, you’re always too caught up on the rules, live a little.”

She just shook her head in amusement, she was enjoying this, but so were you. She gave you the green card to give your opinion, and you damn well were taking it.

“What else?”

“There was that time you took away my necklace for no reason.”

“You weren’t paying attention in class.”

“I’m never paying attention in class,” you argued.

“And yet you always have an answer at the tip of your tongue don’t you?”

“It’s a talent.” You responded full of pride, earning an eye roll from her. “You also love to pick on me.”

“How so?” She played dumb, she knew what you were talking about, the mischief in her eyes, the way she leaned on her elbows with interest, it all gave her away, you could read her like an open book.

Nonetheless, you responded.

“You always call on me when I’m clearly not interested in participating in the debate.” You challenged, yet her expression didn’t change one bit. You were aware of how insulting this was to her classes, implying they were boring, but you didn’t care.

“And, somehow, your opinions are always on point,” she softened her expression catching you by surprise, “that’s what I like about you, you challenge me, make me think outside the box, that’s why I always call on you.”

The confession was unexpected, and you were completely speechless. It would’ve never crossed your mind to consider those discussions like that. She was enjoying your shock, your confusion, and since you didn’t say anything she took the liberty to clear both your empty plates, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

It took you a good few minutes to come back to reality and head to your own bedroom.

Thinking back to the past few months, some details started to come to light and make you question everything. You hated Ms. Maximoff, just like all the other professors, but you did stay around for longer than necessary after class was done. You never paid attention to the debates she proposed, but whenever she called on you, you didn’t give half answers, you gave full, well developed ones.

You kept thinking if your hate for her was just a consequence of your general hate to this place, to the rules they impose on you. Was the fact that all of the other professors weren’t particularly fond of you so ingrained in your mind that you projected that into everyone?

Guilt flooded you. Guilt from being so rude to her. Guilt from insulting her. Guilt from being a complete asshole during her classes, while all this time she enjoyed your presence there.

Throughout the rest of the afternoon you tried to brush the feeling off by occupying your mind. Calling your parents while the power wasn’t cut off yet. Organizing your room. Raiding other people’s rooms.

None of that helped, so that’s how you ended up with a stolen bottle of vodka in hand trying to get the old TV in the basement to work. The fact that it’s the 21st century and this damn school only has one very old television hidden away is shocking to you. On the bright side you didn’t cross paths with Ms. Maximoff again.

Which is different to say that she hasn’t been crossing your mind every few minutes.

After three rough sips of the alcohol, a few frustrated attempts at getting the damn image to stabilize and many thoughts about your philosophy professor, you found yourself stumbling to the professors’ wing of the building.

It was a completely new and unexplored area for you. The place was forbidden for students during the school year. Thankfully this was a situation to which that rule didn’t apply.

Stumbling on your feet, finding her room wasn’t a challenge, the light seeping through the cracks, contrasting with the darkness of night, gave it away. With some hesitation, you finally knocked on the door.

“Y/N?” There was some surprise in her voice, but you interpreted that as an invitation to come in, so you opened the old wooden door being faced with her soft figure sitting in bed, a book in lap. “Is something wrong?”

“Uhm… no, not really,” you weren’t quite sure why you even came here in the first place.

“Then what is it?”

“Do you wanna watch a movie?” You blurted out, surprising the both of you.

“A movie?” She quirked a brow at you and you couldn’t help this shyness that took over you all of a sudden.

“Yeah,” you practically whispered, “I’ve got booze.” You lifted the bottle still on your hands, trying to lighten the mood.

“Where did you get that?” She said, her body tensing slightly.

“Does it matter?”

“It’s against the rules.” You rolled your eyes at that, gaining your confidence back.

“Rules and more rules… throw the rules away, there’s no one here to catch us, live a little.” You challenged, her expression becoming something unreadable. “So, movie?”

She put her book aside, her face something akin of enjoyment and displeasure, if that was even possible. A smirk grew on your face as she walked past you, taking the bottle with her. Once you realized she might not be giving in to your persuasion but could actually be confiscating the bottle you ran after her.

“Hey, what are you doing with that?” You tripped, almost falling face first into the floor, earning a chuckle from the woman.

“Catching up to you,” she said, taking a sip of the alcohol, the ease with which she did it erupted unwanted thoughts into your mind, and you were quick to brush them off.

She kept going, leaving you behind, still lost in a daze.

“How do you know where to go?” You shouted again, this time being more careful when running towards her.

“There’s only one TV in this whole place,” you gave her a surprised look, “what? You’re not the only one who likes to snoop around.”

This was a side to her you never expected to see, but certainly weren’t complaining. You walked side by side in silence, although it wasn’t an uncomfortable one.

Reaching the basement, you were quick to throw yourself on the old couch, and she just stood on the doorway.

“I thought we were going to watch a movie,” she referred to the flickering image on the screen.

“Yeah, well, I couldn’t get it to work,” you admitted, suddenly questioning why you even invited her to do something you couldn’t do.

“Did you just call me here to fix it?” She asked playfully, making her way to the apparatus.

“Maybe,” you played along, watching as she tried to fix the image, moving some of the wires behind it.

Eventually you got to the conclusion that she did all that handyman work for theatrics, since a firm hit of her hand on the side of the device caused the image to stabilize. Was she trying to impress you or was it just damn luck? No matter what it was, the whole scenario erupted even more unwanted thoughts.

“It’s not perfect, but now it’s watchable,” she mocked.

“Oh, thank you, great Ms. Maximoff, what would I do without you?” You added dramatically as she flopped herself by your side.

“No, don’t call me that, it makes me feel old.”

“You are old.” It was just a playful comment, and thankfully she didn’t take it personally.

“I’m twenty four.”

“See, old,” you earned a light slap on the forearm.

“At least I’m a professor, you’re almost nineteen and still haven't graduated high school.”

You scoffed indignantly, shoving her slightly.

“Hey, that’s not my fault, the stupid school wouldn’t let me transfer my grades from Brazil,” you countered.

“Oh, now it’s the school's fault.”

“Of course, my grades there were excellent,” they weren’t, “all I needed was for them to validate them,” also a lie. In truth, your grades in Brazil sucked, the curriculum was completely different and you hadn’t bothered enough to figure out what was going on. You would’ve been held back a grade either way, but changing schools gave you the chance to blame someone else, and you always took it.

“I don’t believe you,” annoyingly enough, not everyone bought into the lie.

“What do you believe then?” The movie played in the background, completely forgotten.

“That you weren’t smart enough to keep up,” her green orbs stared directly into yours, stirring in you this feeling of anger or desire, something you couldn’t quite place.

“Ah, você fica aí se achando toda espertinha mas- (ah, you think you’re so smart but-),” you were interrupted by her lips crashing into yours in an almost desperate, hungry kiss.

It didn’t take long for you to respond, as if you expected her to kiss, although you couldn’t quite understand how. Your hands moved up her sides, tangling themselves on her hair, as hers dropped to your waist, pulling you to cradle her lap.

The kiss wasn’t sweet and delicate, but needy and nearly aggressive. You pushed her impossibly close, feeling her hands doing the same. You craved her, you needed her, like you’ve been severely dehydrated and she was the last cup of water in the world.

Your body responded to her, every touch, every sound. She laid you on your back, hovering over your form, movements calculated to match yours. Her lips touching your skin, exploring every piece of flesh she could find left you burning with desire.

It wasn’t a battle, it was a dance. And you danced together, making each other see stars, reaching heaven and hell in minutes. Everything about her drew you in, the taste of her tongue sliding with yours, the heat her body radiated, the patterns she drew with the tip of her fingers and the places her mouth took you.

Why is it that we crave freedom so much, and yet, when we find ourselves face to face with it, we turn away, pretend it’s not there?

You woke up to silence. Complete silence. Wanda’s naked body laying underneath yours on the couch.

The events from the night brought a smile to your face, which didn’t last long when you lifted yourself up and was hit with a massive headache, the exercise also making your bruised shoulder slightly sore. As quietly as possible, you looked for your clothes scattered across the floor, leaving the woman to sleep for a little while longer.

The hallways to your room were unusually dark considering it was no longer night, but you didn’t think too much about it. Changing into clean clothes, you decided to make some food since you didn’t have any medicine.

It was no surprise that the kitchen was, also, unusually dark, and you were slightly thankful, the light wouldn’t make the pain in your head any easier to deal with. Didn’t take long for you to figure out why.

Opening the fridge in search of some eggs you were surprised the lights didn’t go on immediately. Investigating further, you flickered the lightswitch multiple times and nothing happened. Great, you were out of power.

That explained why the TV had turned off on it’s own. At least the stove still worked, you’d just have to be quick to finish the refrigerated food so it wouldn’t spoil. You frustratingly tried to find a pan to cook those eggs, still kinda shook from the headache.

“Hey,” Wanda’s voice called your attention from the doorway.

“We’re out of power,” you simply responded, crouched down on the floor, searching the bottom cabinet.

“We need to talk,” she ignored your previous statement, and, to be honest, you didn’t pay too much attention to hers.

You stood up with the pan in hands, a breathy yes leaving your mouth in celebration, only to find her standing a few steps from you.

“Oh, umm, what do you want to talk about?” You knew the answer, you just hoped you were wrong about it.

“Last night.” And you were right.

“Okay.”

“It was wrong.” She started sternly, you expected it, but it doesn't mean it didn’t hurt. “We shouldn’t have drank. I shouldn’t have kissed you. You shouldn’t have kissed me back.” With every punch to your gut she also took a step closer. “I shouldn’t have done it. Shouldn’t have let it get too far.”

Her body was now mere inches from yours and you fought the urge to reach out for her.

“But you did,” you breathed out, “and so did I.”

“You are my student.”

“Only for six more months.”

“Still…,”

The closeness didn’t let you think straight, her green orbs bore into yours with a glint you couldn’t decipher. You felt suddenly better, the headache no longer mattered, your shoulder wasn’t a bother. All you could concentrate on was her breath so close to your face.

“I don’t care.” You held your breath in expectation.

“Good, neither do I.”

She connected your lips on a kiss. Soft, passionate, different than the one from last night, but just as good. She lifted you up on the kitchen counter and you wrapped yours legs around her, not wanting the moment to end.

Safe to say that breakfast was delayed.

The next two days were filled with just about that, the lack of power didn’t leave that many options to pass time. Although you weren’t complaining, there was no way of knowing for how long this thing between you and Wanda could go on, and you would make the best out of every second of it.

“I think I owe you an apology,” you were sitting by one of the windows, your back leaning on her chest, a blanket draped over both of your laps.. The sky was clear for the first time since the storm, giving the perfect view of the night.

“You do?”

“Yes, I projected all my… uhm… negative feelings for- for everything, I guess, on you, and that’s not fair. So, I’m sorry.” A weight was lifted from your chest as you relaxed in her embrace.

“Thanks, but I don’t mind, it’s all in the past... It’s in the past right?” You chuckled softly.

“Depends on your concept of ‘past’.” She fell silent, both of you enjoying the clear night sky. “You see, light takes time to travel through space, and since the stars are millions of light years away from us, that means that the light we see from them right now was emitted a long time ago. We’re seeing how they were years ago, some of them might not even exist anymore.”

“That screws with our whole concept of time. Past, present and future.”

“O passado é história, o futuro é mistério, o agora é uma dádiva e por isso se chama presente. (The past is history, the future is a mystery, today is a gift, that’s why we call it the present.)” You mindlessly muttered, feeling Wanda’s hands going underneath your shirt.

“It’s so hot when you talk to me in portuguese.” Her voice was husky against your ears, sending shivers up and down your spine.

“Stop being so horny, that was from a children’s movie.” You managed to get out, turning around to face her.

“Still… it was hot,” her breath against your skin was making you crazy, her hands caressing your bare skin underneath your garments making you dizzy.

“Isso porque você ainda não viu as coisas que eu posso fazer com você(That’s because you haven’t seen all the things I can do to you),” you teased and her hands squeezed your hips, pulling you closer.

The feeling of her lips on yours wasn’t new, but still knocked your breath away everytime. Or maybe this time it was the sound of someone clearing their throat that caused that reaction.

“Mrs. Chren,” you quickly pulled away from Wanda, your heart rate going a thousand miles a minute.

“I tried to call, but I see the power hasn’t been restored yet.” Her expression was stern, serious, not what you expected.

Wanda was frozen in fear, eyes wide and mouth agape. She had put everything to lose because of this, her job, her reputation. It was like watching her wait for all the things she built for herself to crumble. This broke your heart.

“Mrs Chren, I- ” you started but the words died on your throat, not sure what to say.

“I won’t say anything,” she started and you felt your entire body relaxing, “but this stops now. We’re all in the kitchen by the way.”

She didn’t say anything else. The woman just came in to scare the fucking shit out of you, and then walked away like nothing had happened.

Wanda was still deeply lost in her turmoil of thoughts.

“Hey,” you took her hands in yours, feeling them still trembling, “it’s okay.”

“It’s okay,” she repeated in an attempt to convince herself it was true. It seemed to work when her eyes met yours, no longer filled with fear, but with hurt. “What about us?”

“It’s just for six months,” you reassured her, although you still felt like you’ve just taken a punch to the gut.

You brushed the initial shock away, Wanda did the same, as you both got up and made your way to the kitchen.

“There you are, how was spending a whole week on your own?” Mr Griffin asked as soon as you stepped into his line of view.

“It was great,” you answered, “I assume the roads are finally clear?”

“Yes, it took a while but they are,” Mrs Song complemented. “Well, I’m exhausted, I’m happy you’re both okay,” she pitched to you and Wanda before leaving to her room. Soon after, all the other professors did the same, leaving you and Wanda alone again.

“What now?” You asked, she was the one who had to make that decision.

“We stop?” She let out a dry chuckle. “We sneak around?”

“I like that.” You approached her, pecking her lips.

It wasn’t a permanent solution. It was most likely the worst solution you’d come up with, but if she wanted this, then you wouldn’t deny it.

Nonetheless, as you laid on your own bed, in your own room, alone, you couldn’t help but think if this was really a good idea. If it was worth the risk of sneaking around, the risk of potentially getting caught.

You didn’t dwell too much on the meanings of that, you just let yourself enjoy it, enjoy her.

The whole secret thing wasn’t as fun as you’d expected, but it was quite an adrenaline rush. Every little moment had much more value considering all the trouble you’d go to get them.

With a school full of students and teachers, sleeping in each others’ rooms was impossible, so you stuck to… other locations. The supplies closet at night, her classroom at the end of the day. You’d hide in the forest, that surrounded the building, during the weekends and try to have lunch together in town every now and then.

As the months passed, certain thoughts started to invade your mind, thoughts you’ve been trying to ignore ever since your first night with Wanda. What would happen when the semester did, in fact, end?

You would no longer be a student, but that also meant you’d no longer see Wanda every day. You’d go to college, who knows where, and Wanda would stay there, living in this old school, at least an hour away from anything, with no means of communication other than that telephone she’d have to share with hundreds of students and teachers.

“Hey, I’m so glad you called, we have good news!” Your mother spoke excitedly through the phone. You had been calling them every two weeks, mainly discussing what you would do after the semester was done.

“That’s great, I’ve been needing some of those.”

“Is school getting to you?” You hadn’t told them about Wanda, they knew she was your professor, and it would’ve just been weird.

“Yeah, the usual, so what’s the news?” You shrugged it off, trying to cheer yourself up.

“Right, so, I know you missed the vestibulares back in Brazil, but your father made some calls and the board has seen your grades and they agreed to give you a spot starting in August!” She exclaimed, letting out a little squeal at the end.

It was like the universe was finally starting to work to your advantage. For the past six months you’ve been trying to ignore the fact that you would no longer have the chance to go to the college you’ve always wanted to, Wanda helped a lot by occupying your mind with other things, but now the it was right there, in front of, you just had to take it.

You matched your mom's excitement, talking details of flights, living situation and all. It wasn’t until you hung up what this meant for you and Wanda.

Being only hours apart was already problematic, but studying in a different country, that’s a whole new kind of problem. Different time zones, different schedules, completely different lives. Nonetheless it was your dream, there wasn’t a decision to be made, only a truth to be told.

Wanda didn’t make it easy though. She was testing you every single day, driving you crazy and there was nothing you could do about it. It hadn’t hit her yet what was waiting at the end of the semester, and you didn’t have the heart to tell her.

So you kept that up, for the whole semester you kept that realization hidden from her, never building up the courage to have this conversation. You held off for so long, until you couldn’t anymore.

Everyone had just stepped out of philosophy class, leaving you and the woman alone.

“You know,” she started to walk towards you with hunger in her eyes, “you’ve been awfully quiet during my classes.” You were dazed by the wholeness of her, almost giving in and ignoring those thoughts you didn’t want to say out loud.

“Também, com as roupas que você veste, fica difícil concentrar em qualquer outra coisa. (With the clothes you’re wearing, it’s kinda hard to concentrate on anything else.)” You relished on the effect the words had on her, how her eyes turned a shade darker, her eyes fell immediately to your lips at the sound of them.

It took everything in you to stop her when she gave an indication of connecting both your lips, realizing that the longer you waited the more it was gonna hurt.

“Wan…”

“Oh, c’mon, you’re graduating in two weeks, are you really gonna stop because of the rules,” she mocked, “what did you tell me that one time? Live a little?” You weren’t falling for her teasing and challenges.

“It’s not about the rules…,” she gave you a look of confusion, “I’m going to college, in Brazil, and you’re staying here, we’ll be-” the words pained to come out, “it’s… a whole different continent, how are we going to make this work if we’re miles away from each other all the time?” Her demeanor changed, the weight of the future falling onto her. “How are we going to be together if I won’t even be able to reach you for months at a time?”

There was an internal battle taking over her. It was the first time you had uttered those words to her, maybe even the first time that problem had ever crossed her mind, she needed time to think it over.

In respect of that, you picked your back and started making your way to the door. It hurt, but that was on you. You fought back tears and tried to ignore the ever growing pain on your chest. There was no way this was going to end well, and you knew from the moment you started it.

You were stopped by a hand wrapping itself around your wrist, you turned to meet those beautiful green eyes of hers.

“I don’t give a shit, we’ll make it work,” with that she attacked your lips, and you didn’t stop her.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” was announced, and you walked up on stage to take your diploma. Your blue cap'n gown flowing behind you.

Your parents were in the middle of the audience, taking pictures like crazy, and you smiled at them, happy they could be there to share this moment. Wanda was sitting on the first row with the other professors, and you couldn’t help but let your eyes drift towards her.

As you walked back to your place you caught her discreetly leaving the auditorium. You quickly followed behind, leaving the mess of sounds and entering the peaceful and silent outdoors

“Hey,” you called after her, but stopped dead in your tracks when she turned around, trying so hard to contain her tears.

And you weren’t far behind, tears of your own pooling on your eyelids. This was the moment you’ve been dreading for the past two weeks. This made it all real. You were officially out of high school, you weren’t going to see her everyday anymore, you’d be miles away.

“We can’t make this work, can we?” She said exasperated and you let out a deep sight.

“Wan…”

She didn’t let you say anything else, engulfing you in a passionate kiss. The taste of salt on your lips was obvious, you just weren’t sure if it was because of your tears or hers.

Against your will, you parted for air, resting your foreheads together. Neither of you wanting to let go of the other.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, not sure what you were apologizing for.

“It’s not your fault.” She reassured.

Still your heart ached. Your chest felt heavy, like a whole piano had been resting on top of it. This was the end.

“For what it is worth,” you opened your eyes only to be met by her green ones, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

You took a moment to take one last look at her. The last time you’d see her. Her beautiful green eyes, her plump lips, her soft brown hair. You took in everything. How her eyes were filled with pain and adoration, how her lips formed a smile, one that no longer held hope, how her hands kept you close, how her body comforted yours perfectly.

“I do hope you and I, somehow, end up happy together.” You gave her one last kiss. “Goodbye Wanda.” You let go. Tears streamed down your face as you walked back inside, not looking back.

Perhaps that’s why humans fear liberty so much, we are scared of the pain our own decisions can cause.

#wanda maximoff reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff imagine #mcu #marvel imagine #fluff #angst

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watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees · 2 years

Text

ive discovered another layer to the plot of the good place its about classism

when we find out that Eleanor and Jason doesnt belong, who are half of the humans we see on the show, we dont even suspect Tahani and Chidi for a second, and im tired to phrase this normally but it ties into classism a lot, bc what we know about them Chidi is a professor, very high education hes a respected person (apart from the fact that "evrerybody hates moral philosophy professors"), and Tahani is royalty. We see their flaws just as much as Eleanors' and Jasons', Chidi's indecisiveness, Tahani's " im better than everyone" attitude but we dont think they dont belong. Eleanor and Jason on the other hand, we see Eleanor struggling on earth, working her ass off and Jason barely having any education and stealing shit bc he has to. And its interesting to think about how noone questions Tahani's and Chidi's place.

And even despite most stories we read with similar moral lessons, we usually see the poor being the good person and the rich are doing bad stuff

and whats amazing in this show is that they show people are equal, you can get into the bad place from Tahani's status just as much as you can from Jason's

thanks for coming to my ted talk

#the good place #tgp #eleanor shellstrop #chidi anagonye #jason mendoza #tahani al jamil #tahani the good place #jason the good place #chidi the good place #eleanor the good place

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bobohu4eva · 3 years

Text

Pink Lace - Chapter 3

Characters: Baekhyun x Reader

Genre: College AU, stripper AU, fluff, smut, slow burn

Summary: Baekhyun, a philosophy professor with mysterious wealth, got himself completely fucked over a girl who can’t let him into her life.

Word count: 5k

Warnings: mentions of sexual assault, sex work, adult themes/situations, eventual smut

Tag List: @smolbeanmika @leave-me-in-the-summertime @totallynerdstuff @bbhmystar @nana-banan @kimyhappy @thegreatandi @geniusloey @deligxt @baekwifey @rockerbbhyun @lovebuginlove @bellamendoza

Masterlist

Class on Friday was less terrifying. You arrived earlier than you had Wednesday, and sat with Lucas as you’d promised.

You told yourself that Baekhyun was just another one of your professors, and you needed to get your head on straight and pay attention, especially since the class was already more challenging than you’d thought. You were starting to get worried that you’d embarrass yourself by doing poorly, and you definitely didn’t want Baekhyun to think you were stupid. You knew you weren’t, but you also knew that this class wasn’t your strength.

You noticed Baekhyun walk in and take a seat at his desk. He looked happy to see you back in his class, and this time without you trying to avoid him. You gave him a shy smile, still feeling fairly awkward around him.

“So that party’s tonight, any chance I can still convince you to come?” You heard Lucas say next to you, flashing you a smile.

“I told you I’m not really a fan of parties, sorry.” You responded, avoiding his eyes and fidgeting with the things on your desk.

You were acutely aware of Baekhyun listening to your conversation from his desk a few feet away.

“Aw come on, even if I’m there? I promise it’ll be fun.”

Baekhyun was listening. And he felt his face harden and fists clench at the boy’s pushiness.

“I have homework, I don’t have time to go out.” You looked at him now, trying to get the point across. You just really didn’t want to go.

“But it’s the first party of the year! I promise you won’t regret it.” He continued anyway, now grabbing your hand. Baekhyun narrowed his eyes.

Panicking slightly, you blurted out “I can’t anyway, I have work” as you pulled your hand away from his.

Baekhyun cocked up an eyebrow, wondering what’ll happen next.

“Work? Where at?”

“I’m a waitress, at a bar across town, you wouldn’t know about it.” You stammered, building on your lie.

Baekhyun quietly chuckled to himself, now obviously amused. Especially when he knew what your real job was.

“But what if you got someone to-”

“She said she didn’t wanna go, so drop it.” Baekhyun suddenly interrupted, voice calm but stern. Before you and Lucas even had time to react, he was getting up from his desk and starting the lecture, and you found yourself opening your notebook.

As the class went on you understood less and less of what Baekhyun was saying. You were quickly learning that philosophy meant reading lots of things that were old as hell, and nearly impossible to understand. Your own notes weren’t even really making sense to you and you knew you’d have to go back over them later if you really wanted to understand the material. Who knew philosophy would be such a bitch of a class.

Near the end of class, Baekhyun started handing out a short pop quiz and you felt yourself getting nervous.

When he handed you yours, he mouthed “good luck” with a smile. When you read the question you cursed yourself for having been so distracted the first few days. You had no idea what the difference between moral relativism and objectivism was anymore, nor any of the other things he’d talked about. Despite taking notes, it was just too difficult for you to make sense of the things he taught with so many other things running through your mind.

Baekhyun noticed how stressed you looked as he watched you stare down at your paper. Every time you’d start to write something, you’d stop and erase it. Time was ticking by and you didn’t have much left until he’d collect everyone’s papers.

This wasn’t like you at all. Usually you could remember things easily and ace pop quizzes without a problem, but Baekhyun was too distracting. Especially when you knew he was watching you and you knew he was waiting to see what you’d write.

Eventually you started scribbling down something incredibly vague and almost definitely incorrect, but at least it was something.

Although Baekhyun could tell you were struggling with the assignment, he still found it amusing to watch you as you tried to figure it out. He lost count of how many times you brushed your hair behind your ear, only to have it fall right back in your face again. He could almost see the gears turning in your head as you mulled over the question and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen something so cute.

When he got up to collect everyone’s quizzes you were still frantically trying to finish your paragraph. When he got to you you were almost finished. You looked up at him, silently begging for more time, and he gave you a soft smile. He went to take the papers from the rest of the students in your row first before eventually coming back to you. Yours was the last paper he took, and you cringed as you saw him start to read over it immediately as he made his way back to his desk, brows furrowed.

Once he’d collected the quizzes from the students they were free to go, making you the last one in the room with him again.

“Thank you.” You said. “For giving me more time. I promise I’m not stupid it’s just been hard for me to focus.” Baekhyun was glad you seemed comfortable enough to talk to him like this, and couldn’t fight the smile that was creeping onto his face.

“I know” he looked at you with sincerity “you can go home” he looked over at the door “I’m not gonna make you stay again. I’m sorry for Monday. That was mean.” You could tell by the way he looked down at his desk after he finished speaking, he really was sorry.

You felt a small smile start to form on your lips.

“It’s okay, I shouldn’t have freaked out so bad.”

“No, I shouldn’t have talked to you like I did. You were obviously uncomfortable, it was a dick move to make you stay.”

You giggled, pleased that he could admit he acted poorly. “It’s okay, really. I was just in shock.”

“Well it won’t happen again.” He gave you a smile so full of warmth and you couldn’t help but smile back. “Don’t forget that essay is due Wednesday night.”

“I can remember a simple due date Baekhyun. I told you I’m not dumb.” You rolled your eyes, walking towards the door.

“It’s still Mr. Byun when we’re here!” He yelled after you playfully.

“Okay Baekhyun!” You yelled back, waving as you walked out the door.

Baekhyun’s face hurt from how hard he was smiling, very much pleased by how you seemed more comfortable today. He silently patted himself on the back for it, relieved that you wouldn’t be a nervous wreck every class anymore. Your answer on the quiz hadn’t been too bad either, despite how stressed you’d looked.

Hopefully, just maybe, this meant you would start opening up to him more.

You spent Friday night doing homework as planned, and when Saturday morning rolled around and you started getting ready for work, you started to worry about whether or not Baekhyun would show up. You both hoped he’d show up just for the money, and dreaded the awkwardness if he did. You decided to just assume he wouldn’t show and go about the night as if he didn’t matter.

You added some last touches to your makeup, opting for something natural and glowy to go with your glittery pink outfit you’d packed for the night.

“I like the outfit tonight” Dave said, winking at you as you checked in. “New shoes?”

“No. I got these a few weeks ago.”

“Come on Candy, loosen up.”

You cringed but gave him a smile anyway, not wanting to get on your manager’s bad side.

For the first time in months you were going to have to spend a Saturday night trying to talk to random guys to sell dances, something you hated. Half of them would likely waste your time anyway, the other half would give you money but you never knew what bs they’d try to pull when getting their dance.

You stood by the bar, facing into the room looking for someone who didn’t seem too bad. Eventually a group of guys around your age came in and you sat down with them.

“So what’s your name gorgeous?” One of them asked you, already slightly drunk.

“I’m Candy” you told them, asking for their names as well. They all introduced themselves and soon went back to laughing amongst themselves, until a waitress showed up.

“Shots of patron, and two for the lady” one of them ordered, and you didn’t object. In the back of your mind you were still worried about Baekhyun showing up, and drinking would easily help you forget.

You took the shots. And then two more. Your stomach felt pleasantly warm, and you kept laughing at whatever the men around you were saying, though you didn’t really listen. You could hear your words slur together when you spoke, but the comfortable haze felt nice to you and you let yourself get lost in the feeling.

Eventually they ordered a 3rd round, at which point you were thoroughly tipsy and probably shouldn’t have had any more, but with the thought of Baekhyun still in the back of your mind, and the alcohol clouding your judgement, you swallowed down the fifth and sixth shots with little thought. Although by then you weren’t counting anymore. They went down like nothing, body already numb to the sting.

You were laughing at something someone said, mind going hazy from the liquor as everything around you began to go blurry. You tried to stand up but nearly fell, having trouble standing on your heels on your own. You sat back down, closing your eyes, and the room felt like it was spinning out of control. You vaguely heard the chatter of the men around you saying something, but before you had time to process their words everything went black.

Next thing you knew, your head was on Baekhyun’s lap and he was staring down at you.

Baekhyun wasn’t sure if he was going to go that night. As much as he wanted to see you, he wasn’t sure you’d want to see him there again.

As the night went on he tried to distract himself, grade some papers, watch some TV, but nothing worked. No matter what he did, you were stuck in the back of his mind. He wanted, needed to see you again. As long as he paid you, you wouldn’t be too mad to see him there, and two of you could just act like it was any other Saturday night, right?

Not wanting to think about it too much, he got his shoes on, grabbed his wallet, and walked out the door.

When he arrived, he didn’t see you at the bar where you usually stood and waited for him. Upon looking around the main room of the club, he didn’t see you either, and his heart rate started to go up. What if you were stuck in a VIP room with some creep who was making you uncomfortable?

Baekhyun started to wander around the room to look for you. He checked every booth and could see every table, you had to be upstairs in a room. He hated to admit it to himself but even just the thought of you being up there with someone who wasn’t terrible bothered him. Thinking about you grinding on strangers at all made his stomach churn.

To calm his nerves he stood by the bar and ordered himself a drink, and not even a minute went by before there was a girl standing in front of him.

“Hey handsome, what are you doing here? You’re awful cute to be in a place like this.”

She started to touch Baekhyun’s arm and he slapped her hand away, turning around and gulping down his drink.

The girl frowned, but persisted anyway.

“So why are you here? Looking for some fun?”

“I’m looking for my friend.” He replied, eyes still scanning the room, ignoring her.

“I’m sure I can show you a good time too you know..” she stepped closer, blocking his view of the rest of the room.

Baekhyun dug in his pocket and pulled out a 50, holding it up with an annoyed look on his face.

“It’s yours if you leave.”

She took the bill, scoffing and turning around to walk away. Baekhyun faced his back towards the room and kept his eyes on the stairs, waiting for you to come down.

10 minutes went by, and then 10 more. Baekhyun couldn’t help but get more and more nervous. He knew it was pretty rare for people to spend that much time up there. He ordered himself another drink and started getting fidgety, trying to distract himself from worrying too much.

A few more girls came up to him, but he quickly sent each one of them away.

After about 15 more minutes you finally appeared, and Baekhyun’s worst fears were realized when he saw you nearly unconscious, basically being carried down the stairs by 2 men. Immediately his mouth went dry and he felt his stomach do a flip.

You had your arm around one of the men’s shoulders, and the other had his hand on your lower back as you clumsily made your way down, nearly falling several times. You hadn’t even put your top back on, probably too wasted to notice it was missing anyway. The two men sat you down in an empty chair near the bottom of the stairs and went back to their group across the room with disgustingly smug looks on their faces. Baekhyun would’ve loved to walk right up to them and deck each of them in the face, but the last thing he needed now was to get himself kicked out while you were alone, completely incoherent, and surrounded by strange men. He cursed himself for not being able to do anything about them, but you were more important now.

He quickly made his way over to you, crouching down in front of you and grabbing your hand between his as he desperately tried to get a response from you.

“Hey, it’s me, say something.”

You could only mumble something incoherent.

“Can you open your eyes and look at me?”

You just shook your head slightly, brows furrowed.

“Fuck” Baekhyun whispered. He saw other people beginning to give him weird looks, and decided to take you to a room upstairs. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.” He slung your arm around his shoulder and kept a firm grip on your waist as he got you to stand up.

He helped your mostly limp body up the stairs, and into the room. He let go of you for a second, and immediately you fell onto the couch, hitting your head on the wall in the process. He flinched, hearing the impact.

“Shit” he heard you say and saw you rub your head where it made contact with the wall.

“Sorry.” He knew you couldn’t process his words in your drunken state, but he said it anyway.

He handed you your bra, which had been dangling off one of your arms when you came down the stairs and he helped you get it back on. He helped you out of your shoes as well and laid you down on the couch. He sat down and you put your head in his lap, curling up against him and quickly passing back out. He gently rubbed the bump on your head, and heard you hum at the feeling. He looked around to see your money bag discarded on the floor and when he picked it up to set it on the small table in the corner he noticed it was empty. Those creeps had stolen your money and left you without paying.

Baekhyun looked at his watch and took his wallet out of his pocket. 10:04pm.

He stuffed $800 dollars in your bag, and looked down at you asleep in his lap as he stroked your hair.

The whole time you slept Baekhyun couldn’t help but run his fingers along the lines of your jaw, lips, and brows. Although he hated that those guys had gotten you like this, now, peacefully asleep in his lap, he thought you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He ran his thumb across your cheek and noticed your eye twitch, and then open. As you looked up at him, he knew you were still too far gone to understand what was happening.

“What’sgoingon” you slurred, rubbing your eyes and sitting up.

“Some guys got you way too drunk, and then you hit your head.”

“Ohhhh” you sighed absentmindedly, not really having heard or understood what Baekhyun said.

“Come here, you’re still drunk.”

You seemed to listen, laying your head back in his lap and dozing off again. Another hour went by and he looked at his watch. It was after midnight, so he put another stack of cash in your bag. The movement seemed to be enough to wake you up this time, and when you opened your eyes you were a bit more aware of your surroundings. You shifted to lay on your back, looking directly up at him.

“Baekhyun” you groaned, still fairly drunk “why are you here?”

“I’m here every Saturday night.” He replied simply, smiling down at you in his lap. Gently he moved a strand of hair out of your face, and you felt yourself go red. Although you were now sober enough to know something was very wrong, with the way he looked at you in that moment, with so much warmth and admiration, you couldn’t help but feel warm and fuzzy inside.

You closed your eyes again and smiled, enjoying the feeling of Baekhyun caressing your cheek with the back of his hand in your drunken haze. No matter what shit had gone down earlier in the night, and why you were here with your head in his lap, this felt like bliss. You could’ve stayed like that for hours, just enjoying his gentle hands admiring your face.

“What time is it?” You asked lazily.

“12:15.”

“Fuck.” Your head snapped up and you sat next to Baekhyun, immediately feeling dizzy due to your intoxication. Head pounding, you rubbed your temples to try to relive some of the pain. “It’s that late? You never stay this late.”

“You’ve been sleeping for a while now.”

“Huh?”

“How are you feeling?

“Kind of drunk... and my head hurts. But what happened?” You slurred your words slightly, alcohol still apparent in your system.

He looked at you with sorry eyes. “Well, some assholes got you fucked up out of your mind. After I got here they came down the stairs and basically just dumped you into an empty chair and left, so I took you up here to sleep it off. You hit your head too, so be careful.” He rubbed the lump on the side of your head again, making you groan.

The terrified look on your face told him all he needed to know. He was about to see you cry for the first time, and he felt his heart drop.

“W-what? They took me upstairs?” A tear escaped, and more followed. “Who?”

“I don’t know. Some younger guys. I’d have beat the shit out of them if it wouldn’t get me kicked out.” You sensed the anger in his voice as he spoke. “Your bag was empty too by the way.”

Slowly you started piecing things together in your head, stomach churning with disgust and now fully crying.

“W-what, h-how did I-”

“No. This wasn’t your fault.” He interrupted, afraid this would happen. Afraid you would blame yourself. “They were assholes. They knew what they were doing.”

In reality, Baekhyun blamed himself. He knew you’d probably been nervous about whether or not he would show up. He should’ve been there earlier. But all that mattered now is that you were okay. At least physically.

As you sat next to him, head in your hands crying, he felt helpless. All he wanted to do was hold you tight and tell you all the things he was too scared to say out loud. But all he could manage was a comforting hand on your shoulder.

Your sobs got more intense and he was caught off guard when you threw your arms around him, head buried into his chest as you kept quietly crying. Reluctantly, his arms found their way around you as well, holding you as you shook in his arms.

“Hey hey, it’s okay, I’m here, you’re okay now. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.” He said softly, rubbing soothing circles onto your back.

“Thank you” you choked out between sobs. Embarrassed, but still too drunk to stop yourself, you held on to Baekhyun tighter and tighter. You hated to admit it but you already felt much better with his arms wrapped around you. The gentle feeling of his chest rising and falling against yours, compared to your erratic breaths, felt like heaven. “Thank you, l-I’m sorry.”

“Shhh” he said, stroking your hair. “You don’t need to apologize.”

“B-but you stayed here with m-me the whole time.” You sobbed.

“That’s okay, I came here to spend time with you didn’t I?”

“Why are you like this? W-why me?” You asked, leaning back to look at him.

Baekhyun sighed.

You’d avoided the question when you were sober for a reason. You knew Baekhyun liked you too much, more than he should, and you didn’t need to know the details. It would only make you feel more guilty later. But now, with alcohol to give you courage you didn’t hold back.

“You know how much I like you.” He responds quietly, giving you a soft smile. “It’s stupid, I know.”

Another tear fell, and Baekhyun was quick to wipe it away. Even with makeup running down your face he looked at you with a tenderness that made it difficult to feel anything but a comforting warmth.

You stared at him, trying to find some form of deceit in his eyes, some hint that he was just messing with you, but all you saw was his admiration and care for you.

Another sob rolled through you and you wrapped your arms back around him. He held you like that for a while, and slowly the tears lessened and you calmed down a bit.

You pulled away from him and looked around the room, realizing where you were and thought to yourself how silly it all was. You were in a dance room, just sleeping on the couch all night as Baekhyun stayed and made sure you were alright. Every other time you’d been in here with him, your ass was on his lap grinding on him.

“Do you want a dance or anything?”

Baekhyun just laughed, “Don’t worry about me, I’m just as happy doing this. As long as I get to spend time with you.”

“Okay.” You said, but you made yourself comfortable on his lap anyway, legs stretched across the couch. You wrapped your arms around him again, and rested your head on his shoulder. He put an arm around your waist and you just sat like that for a while, enjoying each other’s embrace.

He hadn’t been lying, he’d take this over a lap dance any day. To have your arms around him like this, not because he paid you, but because you wanted to, for him nothing could beat that. The skin of your waist felt so soft beneath his palms, he thought he must be dreaming.

The sober part of you wanted to scream at you to get up. But when Baekhyun’s hands felt so warm and comforting on you, the drunken haze took over and you just basked in the feeling. In the back of your mind you knew you’d regret tonight’s events later, but now it felt too good to ignore. With your head resting on his shoulder and the sound of his heartbeat in your ear, you just felt right. Like this was where you were supposed to be.

“Do you want me to take you home soon? I don’t think you should be driving yourself tonight.” Baekhyun asked, and your lips pulled into a pout.

“Can we stay like this a little longer.” You lifted your head to look at him, and when you made eye contact, Baekhyun couldn’t help but grin.

“Of course sweetheart, if that’s what you want.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the pet name. That was the first time Baekhyun had called you anything like that before. He usually just called you by your name (or in the past, your stripper name). You didn’t mind, but you couldn’t help but find the word heart fluttering nonetheless. You laid your head back on his shoulder, and watched as he slowly ran his hand up and down your thigh.

“You have such pretty hands.” You told him, reaching for the hand on your thigh. He didn’t respond, only laced his hands into yours, rubbing the back with his thumb. You kept silencing the voice in the back of your mind that was screaming at you to get up, to push Baekhyun away. But when his presence was this sweet and comforting you just couldn’t bring yourself to do so.

“Everything about you is pretty.” Your face burned red at his words. “So, so beautiful.”

“You’re pretty cute too.” The alcohol did a good job of bringing the words out of you that you’d usually know better than to say out loud.

Much to your dismay, Baekhyun moved you off his lap and got up, putting his hand out for you to stand up as well.

“Let’s get you back home, it’s late and you’re still drunk.” At first you pouted again, but you eventually agreed. You grabbed his hand and got your shoes back on, following him back down the stairs. Your manager saw and gave you a strange look, but you ignored it. You went back to the dressing room to change and met Baekhyun again in the parking lot. Being seen leaving with customers looked bad, and after being upstairs for hours with him you didn’t want to raise any more suspicions.

You spotted him leaning against a black Audi, and you let him open the door for you and got in. You told him your address and he pulled out of the lot. For most of the car ride home you were silent. You still felt bad that Baekhyun had come to see you just for all of this to happen, and now he was having to drive you home too since you had gotten too wasted.

“I’m sorry, for everything. You just wanted a fun couple of hours and you got stuck babysitting my drunk ass.”

“You know I don’t mind, I’m just glad you’re safe now.” He said as he was pulling up to your place. He parked, but looked over to you before getting out. “Can I give you my number? You don’t need to use it if you don’t want to, but I just want you to have it so you can call me if you’re in trouble again.”

You looked him in the eyes again, looking for some sort of ulterior motives, but found them filled with nothing but care and warmth. “Okay.”

He looked surprised, but you just handed him your phone and let him put in his number.

“I don’t want you to think you have to text me or call me or anything, I just feel better knowing you can contact me if you need someone.”

You smiled. “I know.”

Baekhyun got out to open the door for you, and when you stepped out you found yourself wrapping your arms around him again tightly. “Thank you. Seriously, I don’t even wanna think about what could’ve happened tonight if it weren’t for you.”

“You don’t have to keep thanking me, it’s no big deal. You know I’m happy as long as I’m with you.”

You didn’t want to let go. The feeling of your head resting against his broad chest and his arms around you felt too sweet, too good to be true.

He’s the one who breaks away first. You could see his eyes scan your face, spending especially long on your lips. Your face heated up as you noticed the proximity between the two of you.

“I, um.. I should get inside. Thanks for the ride.” You said, grabbing your bag and quickly walking to the door. Baekhyun waved you goodbye and waited until you were inside to get back in his car and drive himself home.

You almost immediately threw yourself into bed and passed out, but Baekhyun couldn’t stop thinking about your words and actions from earlier. The way you clung onto him as you cried, how happy you seemed to be sitting on his lap cuddled up to him, how you’d called him cute. His mind raced with the possibility of you maybe, possibly, being able to like him the way he liked you. He told himself it was just the alcohol, that you would never have acted like that sober.

But he couldn’t help hoping he was wrong.

As the night went on he only found himself falling deeper and deeper into thought. With nothing but the darkness of his bedroom to keep him company, he felt hyper aware of the emptiness around him.

Baekhyun hated sleeping alone already, and with the thoughts of your sweet words and actions running rampant in his mind, it felt impossible. How was he supposed to relax when you had just called him cute? The night drew on and on, but Baekhyun didn’t sleep. Not when the feeling of your hands around his body was still so fresh in his mind.

He was so close to what he yearned for more than anything, yet still so far.

Next Chapter

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