#I was writing my artist's statement for a plate and just started crying over these two again

[gierosajie]

Do you think Dvalin ever felt horrible about himself, how his wounds and the poison left permanent marks on his form, left him feeling like he's lost his former lustre

And Venti reassuring him still, "you're so beautiful," always looking at him like nothing could compare

[greasygyeom]

Title: Blame it on Me [Part I: Congratulations you got promoted!]

By: GreasyGyeom

Summary: what is someone supposed to do when they have to choose between the love of their life and the career of their dreams.

Word Count: 8.2k

Yugyeom x Reader / Angst, smut..more angst. (i use noona but just pretend it’s y/n)

Warnings: Mature content please read only if 18+

Author’s Note: i am back after another year yay! hope you like it!! if you do leave an ask or write in your tags. i love hearing from you guys! tell me if it made you feel something. if there’s spelling errors, let me know hahaha. love you guys and thank you for reading.

Read Part II here

[I]

Your heart felt heavy. It shouldn’t have. You should have wanted to celebrate. You’d just been offered a promotion. After giving your 200 percent for the past four years, you deserve the recognition, you deserve the pay-scale, you deserve everything your new title has to offer you, but instead it left you with tears of melancholy. It had left you at a fork in the road you didn't ask for. A choice you didn’t want to make.

The breeze you felt on your face, standing on the roof of your office building was cold, but you could hardly process it. 

You made your first phone call, after the meeting, to your best friend; to give her the ‘good news’.

It was an unscheduled call, and those were for emergencies only, so instead of beating around the bush you chose to open with it. 

“I have….. good news, I guess. I got promoted” you said, feeling the weight of those words like falling bricks shattering a windshield. 

There was no lustre to the statement and she knew something was not right. “This is not how you tell people you got promoted bro. Something’s up. Tell me?”

“I get promoted only if I transfer to the London office.”

The news would have affected your friend only positively, because she already was miles away from you. It wouldn’t have theoretically mattered to her what part of the world you FaceTimed her from. But, she also immediately understood your unpleasant mood.

“Oh. That’s a tough spot,” she replied, “have you told Yugyeom yet?” 

“No. I’ve just told you, right now. I don’t want to tell him without making a decision. This is fucking awful.”

You were on the verge of crying, so you pulled out your pack of smokes and lit one.

“Okay, that’s one way to look at it, but from another perspective, if you go with the decision and it’s a decision he doesn’t like, it might not end well. He might feel left out?”

“Neither of the two options here have a good ending man.”

“How long do you have till you decide?”

“They gave me two weeks.”

“Look, I know congratulations is probably not what you want to hear right now, but you fucking got promoted, okay? That’s a big deal. They want you to head an entire division in one of their best offices. That’s massive. And I know you love Yugyeom, but I also know how long you’ve busted your ass for this; so I’m going to support whatever decision you make. But don’t keep this from him. Delaying this will not solve anything at all.”

“I fucking hate this universe. Can I not once have everything I want without having to make these awful decisions.”

You knew you were at a risk of being called ungrateful and by everyone who didn't have the same opportunity. There were colleagues of yours who would throw themselves at a chance like this. But it was a little more complicated on the other side of the fence for you.

You wanted the job, you so badly wanted it. For every second of every day since graduating with a degree in visual design, all you wanted was to become an Art Director. But, you were also in a loving relationship with a boy who held your entire heart in the palm of his hand. He was considerate and caring and kind and he gave you everything you had deemed yourself unworthy of. He changed the way you saw yourself and filled your life with laughter. That was the choice you had to make —between what you always wanted that you now had a door to walk through and claim and what you thought you’d never have, which you might have to give up. And the way you saw it, it would have been easier to decide between life and death.

Death, you would choose death.

Just having to go back inside and accept everyone’s well wishes and scoffs alike, was making you sick to your stomach, but you somehow managed to power through it. What you truly dreaded, was facing the love of your life. Because there was going to be no easy way to do this. 

That night when you went home, tired and distraught, your boyfriend was there to hold you in his arms. You had kind of hoped that you wouldn’t have to face him, at least today, so there was an overwhelming amount of remorse when you flopped into his arms, on the couch.

“Aww...my baby is tired?”

You’d tried your very best to remove all evidence of having mourned silently on the metro ride while coming back.

“Very very tired.” you sighed.

He pulled you closer, getting you more comfortable in his embrace.

“How come you’re home? It’s just 8pm?” you inquired.

He was the principal choreographer at one of the most prestigious dance academies in the city and usually his days ran late creating new routines for Broadway shows and idols. You were so incredibly proud of him and everything he had done for his career; especially having seen him grow as a person and as an artist for the past three years. But his long hours had led to some harsh conversations and you just found it hilarious that the one time you wished his work would run later than usual, so you wouldn’t have to face him, is the one time he was home early. 

“Heyyy... you’re making me sound bad.”

“Noooo I don’t mean it like that! I just mean, it’s not often you’re home at this time. You’re usually locking up the studio.”

“Yeah rehearsal got called off today. I thought you’d be happier than this to see me home.”

“Baby, I am!” 

Even though you had hoped for some time alone to collect yourself, finding him sitting, waiting for you on the couch, felt warm and welcoming - like the second home you were trying to escape to, because your original terrain was turning hostile.

“I'm really happy to see you.” You nuzzled his nose, “I promise.”

“Okay I'll believe you this time. What do you want to eat?”

“I don’t think I’m hungry, baby.”

“Nonsense.”

“Really, Yugyeom, I don’t think I can eat.”

“But I’m so hungry. I was waiting for you” he pouted. You stroked his cheek, while he spoke, taking in every little detail of his face and leaned in to kiss him.

When his soft lips touched yours, you felt your shoulders give up all the worries they had carried around the whole day, but your mind almost immediately started accumulating the guilt of deciding to not tell him anything for now.

You wanted to ignore it, but the more he grabbed onto your body, the louder the voice in your head became, until you forced yourself apart.

“You need to eat first. I thought you were hungry?” You poked your tongue out, playfully, faking a giggle.

“Yeah, I can eat your pussy” he replied seductively

“Yugyeom!”

He did that often — making you flush with embarrassment, while talking dirty to you. It was his favourite hobby. The more inappropriate the setting, the better.

He knew just how shy you were about dirty talk and how your sexting game was not something you could brag about. But, while with ex-boyfriends you would immediately get put-off and awkward, he had the exact opposite effect on you.

Just the way he’d say some things – always with a teasing half-smirk on his face, and that strawberry voice fluctuating between sour and sweet, sending shivers down your body – would make you go red in the face. Instead of wanting to conclude the dinner at appetisers you ended up wanting to take him home for an ‘innocent’ cup of coffee.

He used and abused this information, to his advantage, every chance he got.

The same couldn’t be said once you were engaged in the act though, because he’d heard you say some sentences that would give a sweet, old pensioner a heart attack. 

Letting out a loud laugh, he put his entire weight on you, leaving you no room to escape and truth be told, you didn’t want to escape either.

“You look distracted noona, is everything okay?” 

“Uhh...yeah…”

“That would have been believable, but you’ve been frowning for the past ten minutes” he responded, touching the crease lines on your forehead. 

“Kiss me, please.” you whispered, coiling your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. He caught your lips between his and stroked your cheeks.

When he pulled away, lips red and swollen, he smiled, “I love you”.

“I love you too, so so much.”

He sat back and pulled you up with him. “I’m going to order some food. How about you take a nice warm shower till then? I might even hop in, you know, save some water.”

“Where is this ‘save water’ philosophy when I’m running late in the morning and you’re hogging up the bathroom?”

“I never said you can’t join me. It wouldn’t be the first time anyway.”

“At 8 am? Can’t risk it.”

“Why? I can be quick.”

He’d successfully got you all flustered again.

“Oh my god, just order the chicken.” You rolled your eyes, “And I’m going to lock the door so don’t get your hopes up.”

“Aah so cruel.” He replied, dramatically holding his chest like you’d stabbed him.

All this happiness and normalcy that you were faking was emotionally draining; you needed twenty minutes of solace to silently cry it out while the hot water rained on you.

Debating on whether or not to just rip the bandaid and get it over with, you came to the futile conclusion that right now, you just couldn’t. You needed to be prepared, to weigh all the options; to play out all possible outcomes of your potential decision and find all the answers to the difficult questions that you would have to face later. All this overthinking required some time, so you had to keep the secret a little longer. 

You went into the kitchen, after slipping into your pajamas, to help Yugyeom.

“Is the food here?”

“No, I’m just setting everything up.”

You grabbed the two plates he’d kept out, only to be scolded by him.

“Noona, I’ll get everything, just pick something to watch.” 

“It’s okay, I can carry two plates.”

“I’m sure you can, but I’d like it if you didn’t?”

You chuckled and headed back into the living room.

The food delivery reached you halfway through an episode of Good Girls. So you ate your super spicy wings, while he ate the rice bowl he’d been craving, completely engrossed in the show. By the time you reached the third episode you were so full, you rested your head in his lap, sleepy beyond your control.

“I should never believe you when you say you don’t want to eat” he suddenly said, running his fingers through your hair. 

“I stress ate, I think, that’s worse”.

“What’s stressing you out, baby?”

“Rio” You pouted.

“Really. You’re telling me you stress ate because of a fictional gang banger? Actually, no, I take it back. That’s totally believable.”

“Yes, exactly, that fictional gang banger has a neck tattoo.”

“He has a fake neck tattoo. I have a real one on my back.” He sassed.

“Oh whatever, you’re just jealous.”

“Nah… I mean… He could try but I can actually kiss you.”

You laughed squeamishly when he started planting kisses all over your face, then asked you in a more serious tone. “Seriously noona, you look very down today.”

“It’s nothing just…. work.”

“You work too hard, I think you need a vacation. You wanna take friday off and go to the beach over the weekend?”

Unbeknownst to himself, his innocent remarks immediately unraveled the little cocoon you’d stitched around yourself. You wanted to trick your brain into believing, even if for a little while, that everything around you at that moment was not gloomy and dark. But as soon as his words registered, an alarm rang through your body; escalating your heartbeat and breaking you out in sweat. 

The sudden change in your physical appearance derailed his chain of thought.

“You’re suddenly sweating so much? Are you getting a panic attack?” he asked, aware of your history with anxiety disorders. 

“No, I’m fine,” you lied. 

“Then is it a fever?” He placed his hand on your forehead and then on his, to tentatively compare his body temperature to yours.

“It seems okay” he mumbled then spoke to you. “Get up, I’m going to get the thermometer.”

“I’m okay, Yugyeom. I’m sure I’m not sick.”

“I’m getting the thermometer.” 

Begrudgingly, you moved out of his way, sitting upright, your heart slowly returning to normal speed.

He came back five minutes later, and after thorough inspection, came upon the conclusion that your body temperature was no higher than normal. 

“Happy now? I told you I’m okay.”

“I just wanted to be sure.”

“Or you could have just believed me.”

“Noona?” 

“I’m… gonna go to bed” you replied, catching up with and simultaneously getting horrified by the unnecessary aggression in your tone.

“Okay.” he complied, “I’ll clear everything up here and see you in ten minutes.

The way you suddenly snapped at him, was unexpected, but only because you hadn’t behaved this irrationally in a long time.

The last time it happened was when he’d been dating you for a little while and you were terrified of accepting your feelings for him. 

In most cases, you were a rather level-headed, logical person. While you couldn’t do anything about being an emotional being, you still regulated the role it played in decision making.

However, the fear of committing to being so effortlessly in love with someone had paralysed you so intensely, it had caused your mind to lash out.

He knew about all this because much, much later you had apologised for hurting him in that battle with yourself. He’d stuck by you when you had tried your hardest to push him away. And you had felt compelled to right that wrong, even though you both had moved past it. His decision to not walk away had been instrumental in helping your relationship grow into the most magnificent forest of love.

He hadn’t experienced this unexplained, irrational irritability since that time, but he chose not to bring it up when he slipped under the sheets.

“Will you be my tiny spoon?” he asked, even though you were facing the wall already.

Without a word you turned around and scooted close enough that you could bury your face in his bare chest. He liked sleeping in his boxers. 

A small smile settled on his face. “Goodnight, noona.” 

“Goodnight baby. I’m...sorry.”

“It’s okay, I know you’ll figure it out ... whatever it is.”

“I hope so.” you replied, defeatedly, knowing full well that one way or another ‘figuring it out’ was going to break something for you.

The next two days were dull and dark. You smoked a lot, cried a lot, avoided Yugyeom a lot, amongst other mundane routines.

You were on the precipice of adding a third day to the list, but around noon you received a call from Jinyoung – Yugyeom’s senior/ colleague/ childhood friend and by extension now your friend; and he unwantedly altered your ‘gloomy clouds and violent seas’ moodboard to ‘a chill night out in town’.

Since no was never an option with Jinyoung, you ended up going for dinner and a movie with some of Yugyeom’s friends and, to be honest, it wasn’t as bad as you had expected it to be. There were so many people you hadn’t seen in such a long time, it did take your mind off of all the overthinking it had been doing for some hours and as a surprise cherry on top, kept you away from your boyfriend.

By the end of the night you were so tired and tipsy, the only memory that remained of being back home was falling onto the bed and then being tucked in. 

The hangover, experienced by you, the following morning was not something you wanted to add to your already substantial list of inconveniences for the day, but it seemed almost inevitable at that point. When you rolled out of bed, he’d left for work and kept out a hangover shake in the kitchen, for you.

“Oh goddammit why could you have not been a douchebag.” You muttered in frustration. 

You were angry at your boyfriend for being caring. That’s where you were at in your life. You were so cowardly that you were wishing he’d become an asshole so you could hate him and make it easier on yourself.

It wasn’t a pleasant place to be in.

Fast forward to the weekend, you were painstakingly aware of how little time you had with your wishy-washy-bullshit procrastination. Subconsciously you were aware of the choice you were going to have to make, whether you liked it or not, you just didn’t want to make it. 

In the past week, every time your boss called you into the office or crossed you in the corridor you felt this overwhelming pressure, like you were being an ungrateful employee for taking so long to give an answer. And since you hadn’t yet told Yugyeom, who probably was the only person who should have been made aware of the situation the day it had transpired, it made everything even shittier. 

You felt like asphalt laid out on the ground ready to get bulldozed. 

“Are you sure you’re okay noona?” He asked, worry lines strewn all across his face as he once again caught you floating in your own world, on a very sunny Saturday morning, frowning at nothing in particular.

“I’m okay. I think. Maybe anxiety is catching up with me.”

“Do you want to visit your therapist?”

“Not right now… but, if it continues for longer than a month, I will. I can handle it”, you lied.

He gave you a small peck on the forehead, his way of offering comfort before asking if you needed anything from the convenience store. 

You thought about it for 30 seconds before sighing “No, I’m good.”

He felt helpless when you got into this state of mind. But he also knew the best thing he could possibly do was give you your space and silence. You’d been together for three years and he didn’t know he could love someone so much. Even though, sometimes, it came with it’s own curve balls, he was willing to deal with them; because being with you was better than being without.

He knew in his heart that something was wrong. But forcing it out of you was not what he wanted to do, no matter how much he wanted to know or help. Throughout your relationship, you had prided yourself in the fact that you both were always transparent with each other. Sure, it had led to minor disagreements, but choosing to never hide information, out of respect for the other person, was something you both mutually believed in.

So it came as a bit of a shock to him when he ran into your work friend, while buying kitchen supplies and they divulged some information he had not been made privy to. 

Needless to say, it didn’t sit well with him, but everything he’d observed about you in the past week suddenly made sense. He didn’t know how to process the information, so he bought the groceries and went back home to find you frowning, just as he’d left you.

“Oh, you’re back already?” You faked a smile, looking at your faint reflection in the window, to make sure you didn’t look like a mess after having cried in his absence. 

“Yeah, I just went to buy some ramen and eggs.” He replied. “And I ran into Ahn, from your work.”

“Nice.” The repercussions of that happen stance didn't cross your mind.

“Yeah… yeah. He told me some interesting stuff.”

“Yeah? What did he say?”

“He told me that my girlfriend was moving to London?”

You physically felt your heart fall to the base of your gut as your chest cavity tightened and it became difficult to breathe, all in less than a span of sixty seconds. 

“Funny right. And he told me to congratulate you on your promotion since he has been out of town and hasn’t been able to do it himself yet. Apparently it’s been the biggest source of gossip this week because everyone knows about it.”

You sensed the iciness in his voice and were ready to launch yourself out of the window you were crying by earlier. 

“Yugyeom....”

“What I don’t understand is why I heard about it for the first time from some random dude I’ve met once in my life for 2 seconds, instead of you.”

“Because, I – it’s not that simple.”

Your statement was met with silence. He didn’t look angry, he looked hurt and betrayed. He had the same face when he found out Belgian chocolate shakes weren’t necessarily always made with chocolates made in Belgium.

You wanted to just casually dissipate into golden dust.

“I might not have all day for this,'' he said, standing on the other side of the countertop.

When you still didn’t talk, because you were trying to squash your tears to avoid a pour out, he moved to leave the kitchen-dining area.

“No, Yugyeom! Please don’t leave ”, you begged.

“Then talk to me.” 

“I don’t know how to talk about it. I’ve been trying every day.”

“It’s been a whole week. Seven days. You’ve known this for seven days.”

“It’s been five,” you sobbed, mutedly. “Okay… okay okay….” If you didnt let it out now, your chances of undoing the wedge that was now lodged between you two, were very low. So you began,

“I was offered the position of Art Director at the London office. I have one more week to give them a reply. And I don’t know what to do. There that’s all of it.”

“That took about three sentences and two minutes. Congratulations, noona,” he replied but his tone sounded the opposite of what encouragement would feel like.

He could feel his ears turn red and a sudden lack of oxygen in his lungs.

Without another word, he picked up his jacket and walked out, before the claustrophobia he felt in his own house worsened.

You saw his tall, lean frame close the door and your dam of emotions burst, like it was made out of twigs. There was no reason to pretend anymore — what you knew would happen, did happen. Could it have been avoided, yes, definitely; but at least, the cat was out of the bag. 

You waited for him to come back, in spite of knowing how foolish and naive it was to think he’d come back any time soon. You had sent him a dozen messages and calls, all of which he’d chosen to ignore. 

So you had to resort to contacting his friends, just to know if he was safe. Mark, Youngjae and Jinyoung were out of town on a business trip, Jackson hadn’t seen him since the movie night, Jaebeom was at the studio and hadn’t heard from him, which left BamBam. You prayed as you called him, for him to have answers regarding Yugyeom’s whereabouts

“Yeah he’s with me, don’t worry. He’s trying to get drunk, but I’m diluting all of his drinks.”

“What? It’s two in the afternoon!”

“What else did you expect? I’ll send him home in one piece.”

“Bam, I really need to talk to him.”

“I know, I know. He told me what happened. He’s… you know.”

“Yeah… I know. Thanks for keeping him safe.”

“Of course I’ll keep him safe, he’s my best friend. I’m also a bit mad at you, just by the way, but we’ll hash it out later- depending on how things go between you two.”

“I understand.”

“I’m gonna go back inside now before he hulks out and breaks some shit. Try to get some rest, okay? Don’t worry about him.”

“Thanks, I’ll try.”

You then heard a soft click and the line went silent.

At around five and much to your surprise, Jaebeom landed up at your doorstep.

Something didn’t seem right; because yes, you got along with him extremely well and had become good friends over the years, but he would never leave the studio in the middle of the day, especially when Yugyeom hadn’t come in. This was absolutely out of character for him.

“I got you some dumplings and kimbap.” He announced after you buzzed him in.

“I’m not really hungry.” You moaned, slouching back into the same position you had been in for the last several hours.

“You’ve been on that couch since morning, haven't you?”

His question was met with cricket noises. 

“Yo, listen. I’m not leaving until you have two pieces of each, at least. I will chew your ear out until you do. I know you haven’t eaten anything.”

That's when it hit you, that wasn’t him talking that was Yugyeom talking through him. 

“Jae... did Yugyeom ask you to bring this stuff?”

“Would anything change if he did?”

“For fucks sake… seriously?” You were definitely angry, but not sure at what anymore.

“He was worried you wouldn’t eat, so he told me to get you some food.”

“Even when he’s mad at me he has to be a fucking saint.”

“Are you surprised?”

“No, I’m fucking pissed. I know I was wrong but I’d much rather he fight with me than this passive aggressive shit.”

“I know.” He replied, “But…. I also know you know he’s not here because he doesn’t want to talk about it, just as much as you didn’t. Talking about it means he has to be there when you choose between him and your job. I don’t think he wants to hear it.”

“He’s just assuming I’m going?”

“Aren’t you?”

“Well fuck if I knew then I wouldn’t be crying about it would I?”

“Dude I know this is hard for you, but don’t lie to yourself about it. I know you want to go to London, that’s why this is so difficult.”

“But I don’t wanna go without Yugyeom.”

He went back into the kitchen where he had placed all the food and brought it over to the coffee table.

“Yes, but what if you have to?” he then asked.

Holding a conversation with Jaebeom was like staring at the blunt edge of a knife and hoping you wouldn’t get cut just by looking at it for too long. He was this pool of wisdom you could turn to, to reflect, but since he never learned how to sugar coat things, sometimes his words could get difficult to swallow; just like right now.

“I don’t want to.”

“Yes, but what if you have to.”

You turned to look away from him, because you knew too well what the answer to that was, you just didn’t want to say it out loud.

He read your silence and thought it best to give you your space.

“I’m going to keep everything here. Please eat and drink some water too. You’re going to get dehydrated otherwise. I’ll check up on you when I’m back at the academy. And I’ll be damn pissed if you waste any of those dumplings.”

“Fine.” You absent-mindedly replied having no intention of actually going through with it.

“It’s not for Yugyeom, it’s for me.”

You watched him leave and buried yourself under the blanket again. It wasn’t out of ego that you didn’t eat, it was more so the nausea and headache that had completely drained you and caused your body to shut down. You were asleep within minutes. 

And it wasn’t until the main door opened, at an ungodly hour, that you woke up and sat on the couch, alarmed.

“You’re still awake?” he asked, feeling just the tiniest bit of buzz from a mixture of drinks in his system.

“I wasn’t awake, I fell asleep after Jae left.”

“Oh” his eyes darted to the untouched packet of food, painting a vivid picture of dissatisfaction all over his face. He wanted to ask you to eat, but he was still incredibly hurt over the secret keeping to want to talk to you kindly.

“You can sleep inside,” he stated in a monotone, “I’ll sleep on the couch tonight. I’ll stay at Bammie’s, starting tomorrow.”

“Yugyeom please don’t do this, this is your house. Please talk to me?”

“You want to talk now, noona? Really?”

“I know I messed up. I know, okay, I know I should have told you earlier. But, every time I tried, I couldn’t. You think I didn’t want to tell you? You think this is what I want? Do you think any of this is what I want? I don’t want to make this choice, Yugyeom.”

“Do you have to make a choice?”

“Are you willing to uproot your life here and move to London with me, because if not then yes, I do. I have to choose between the only two things I love most and forgive me for not knowing how to do that. I don’t want to fight, baby. I love you and I love my job. You know how much and for how long I have wanted this. And you know I fucking love you.” 

You’d fought the tears so hard through this monologue, you could feel the strain on your throat. But it was all in vain, because you did breakdown. You didn’t want him to feel bad for you, so you covered your face with your palms, as best you could.

You wanted to scream and shout at the stars; to direct your anger somewhere, anywhere.

The entrapment that you experienced while blurting out all your emotions was a roller coaster ride you never consented to take. 

His footsteps echoed in the pin drop silence and you assumed he was moving towards the door, to leave.

Of course, it would make sense for him to want to leave. All you’d just said right now was that you loved him but not enough to make him the obvious first choice. 

So it came as a surprise when instead you felt his warm fingers run through your hair as he sat down next to you.

He didn’t say anything. He just pulled you into his chest, as you cried profusely. Fighting back his own emotions, he rocked back and forth, gently, in an effort to calm you down. You smelled of smoke. It was alarming because it meant you’d smoked enough for the smell to linger in your hair and on your clothes but it wasn’t the right time to bring that up.

“Noona, I love you too.” 

Your grip around him tightened when he said that, unleashing a new wave of tears that you were too exhausted to undergo.

“Come on, I know you haven’t eaten all day. Let’s eat something and then go to sleep.” He added, speaking softly, like he was talking to an injured puppy and was afraid to hurt it with his voice.

“Can we stay like this for two more minutes?” you managed to mutter, in between sobs.

“Okay baby, we can stay here as long as you want.”

You didn’t wake up until late in the afternoon the next day, still encased in Yugyeom’s arms. It was unusual for you to sleep in until 3PM, but your mind and soul were so spent from the past couple of days, it made sense to rest. 

Being in his embrace comforted you beyond what words could convey. You pushed your back into his torso, desperately trying to reduce any crevices between your bodies. 

In his sleep induced state he kissed your neck and tightened his hold around your waist. 

You could feel that he was just a bit turned on, with your ass pressed up against his boxers and you should have resisted the urge to move your hips against his pelvis.

The unspoken tension between the two of you hung heavy in the air but you’d been on a streak of making bad decisions this past week, so what was one more. 

His heartbeat quickened as your movements became more purposeful.

It was a confusing place to be in. You didn’t know if you were still fighting, if he wanted space, if you wanted more time. The only thing you knew with certainty was at that moment you wanted him.

By now he was fully awake and aware of your motives; and didn’t waste any time in reciprocating your pursuit either— his hands feeling up your body with an unmatched aggression.

Usually, he always made the first move, because you would get shy. So it took him by surprise when you pressed yourself up against him like that, but It didn’t take him long to get in the position of control. In a matter of seconds he had you pinned face down against the sheets with your ass protruding outwards, your clothes on the floor and his fingers slithering smoothly on your clit. 

You heaved in response when he smacked and grabbed onto your buttcheeks, with force.

“You like that baby?” he asked, roughhousing you to lay flat on your back, so he could kiss you and bruise you and most importantly, watch you gasp and pant as he manhandled your body pleasurably.

You loved it when Yugyeom played aggressive; and nodded in response.

A cocky smirk formed on his face. 

For the next several minutes he pleased you in every way he knew how to– kissing your body, sucking your nips, eating you out, pounding his fingers into you until you were begging to come. Just to tease you more he’d edge you then wait and start all over again. 

It was always hell for you when he made you beg for it.

“Baby, please fuck me.” you moaned in anguish, as he parted your legs and licked your folds again, needily. 

“Say that again, noona.” He demanded.

“Please, please fuck me. I can’t take it anymore” You dangerously tugged at his hair as he gently teased your lower body.

“Again.”

Your distress was giving him immense pleasure, tempting him to take his sweet time and get you even more desperate for his dick. 

“Yugyeom...... please.” 

The impatience in your voice was unmissable. You arched your back when he hit a particularly sensitive spot, losing all of the air inside your lungs. 

He pressed his lips against your labia even harder and licked you surreptitiously.

“Oh fuck…. baby…. oh keep doing that” you whined, but he stopped abruptly and looked up, to study your face.

“What? Why did you stop?”

“You were having too much fun.”

“It’s not my fault, you’re too good at it.” Maybe caressing his ego would get you somewhere. 

He laughed at your response and nibbled around your waist lovingly.

You sat up, messing with his hair and asked him to take his boxers off. 

He nodded and got rid of the only piece of clothing he was wearing, at lightning speed, while you got on your knees.

A small groan escaped his lips, as you grasped the base of his length and moved your fingers rhythmically, pumping him. You licked your lips thirstily and took in his tip, swirling your tongue around his skin, like tasting a new flavour of lollipop. 

It was no secret that he was turned on, but you miscalculated just how fast your manoeuvres would rile him up.

As you sucked his cock fully into your mouth, he grabbed a fistful of your hair and tugged at it, barely able to keep his composure.

You could hear him mumbling profanities when you deliberately took a long time to feel his ridges and bulging veins with your mouth.

“Noona… fuck…..” he panted deliriously, his mouth watering at the sight of you. He wanted to buck his hips and fuck your mouth harder, hit the back of your throat, make you choke, but he wanted you to initiate it so he’d know that you were okay with it.

You looked up at him lustfully, his cock still suctioned between your lips. The way he eye-fucked you spread electricity through your body; making you want even more of him. When you removed your hand from the base and squeezed his balls, he knew your intentions. It was your tell-tale sign; the consent he needed to go harder. 

He grabbed the back of your head and gained control of the way your neck moved on him. Your heart raced when he started hitting the back of your throat repeatedly, blocking your air supply every time he did so. 

Tears collected in the far corners of your eyes,  and you let out multiple muffled moans. You loved this feeling of asphyxiation, but your body’s reflex was to react against it.

It didn’t go unnoticed by him when a thin trail of collected water trickled down the side of your face.

He let go of your hair and asked “You good?”

That’s the kind of man Kim Yugyeom was, who’d stop in the middle of rough sex to make sure his partner wasn’t getting hurt.

That’s the man you were going to lose if you chose your job.

Did that possibility make right now the last time you could feel him like this?

You chuckled, licking your lips for residue, “I’ll be better when you cum in my mouth”.

“Fuck... you drive me crazy.” He exhaled sharply, finding your arms and pulling you up. 

The kiss you shared after that was sloppy and greedy, laced with a desperation you’d experience if you were running out of time.

You moved backwards towards the bed, his lips wandering on your neck voraciously. 

“Baby….baby please fuck me” you cooed, digging your nails into his flesh.

This time, you didn’t have to ask him twice.

Before you could wrap your head around it, he’d worn protection and was pounding into you greedily, ecstasy flowing through his veins.

The loud, wet sounds of his thrusts, as you writhed pleasurably under his lean form, were catalytic. Your walls clenched around his cock as he fucked you until he hit your spot.

Mesmerised by his lustful yet soft brown eyes, you let the wildfire, burning at the pit of your stomach, dictate your thoughts and move your body in-sync with his rapidly escalating fervour; making you huff and hum in relief. 

With your eyes closed, you experienced the seventh heaven. He literally made you see stars. The tension in your pelvis dissipated and you came undone, panting and sweating heavily.

You wanted to at least make him feel an equivalent amount of gratification.

“I want you to cum in my mouth, baby. Will you cum in my mouth for me?” you asked, salaciously.

“Oh god noona you’re so fucking hot” he whined, fastening his momentum. Even though he’d made you orgasm, his thrusts were getting you all riled up again.

When he was dangerously close to erupting inside of you, he pulled out; and you greedily crawled towards him, to help him finish. As Yugyeom released in your mouth and you swallowed, not breaking the heated eye contact you had going on, he sighed delightfully.

He watched you lick the last traces off of his dick and your mouth, and he couldn’t get enough of the sight in front of him. 

Catching you in his embrace, he kissed your forehead and tackled you back into bed. 

Your heart felt full and empty at the same time.

“You got me all tired now.” he hummed, pulling you into his chest.

You checked the clock on your bedside table;16:30 it read. Never in your life span had you wanted to freeze time as much as you did that very second.

Yugyeom continued to shower you with more kisses and somewhere between his touch and the faint sound of the piano being played somewhere, you fell asleep again.

Filled with anxiety and your heart beating out of your chest, you sat up in a jerk movement. You didn’t know if it was day or night, if you were late for work or if you’d just woken up from a nightmare.

Nothing seemed to make sense to you. Yugyeom wasn't occupying his side of the bed either. 

You took a few deep breaths and checked the time again. It was 8PM and you were still on Sunday. 

You let out a sigh of relief and fell back on your pillow, your heart still beating like crazy.

“What an awful way to wake up” you thought to yourself, turning towards his empty pillow. It was then that you noticed the vase placed by Yugyeom’s bedside. 

Flowers weren’t your thing, but they were his. He would get cheered up so easily if anyone got him a bouquet. He’d just shove his whole face in the petals and smell them and smile like a fool. There was a piece of paper still attached to the bunch, with ‘noona’ written on it.

Wait… did he actually get those for you? You rolled over to his side and started reading the contents, entering a panic induced state of mind immediately. It was barely five lines but it felt like an eternity to get through.

“Noona, I’m breaking up with you. You should accept the promotion and go to London, without me making you feel guilty about it. I couldn’t say this in front of you because you know I suck at this stuff. But I was more afraid that I’d ask you to stay. I love you. I want to make this easy for you. Please don’t call me…. I’m sorry.”

After the tenth read his words registered in your brain, like a ten year old typewriter running low on ink – the words were all there, just impossible to interpret.

This was fucking ridiculous. 

Immediately you sprang out of bed, took a bath and got dressed, unwilling to accept this predicament on face value. Even if it was the only foreseeable decision, you couldn’t let him take the fall for it. You were the bad guy in this situation and you had to face it. 

You first went to the academy, just in case he’d gone there to bury his emotions under a thick layer of hardcore choreography. To your dismay Jaebeom was the only one burying his feelings in the building.

“He wrote a note? Really?”

“Yeah he said he’s breaking up with me and left.”

“But… wasn’t that going to happen anyway?”

“Jae… not right now, okay? I don’t want your bitter pills at the moment, ‘cuz they will make me want to punch you.”

“You’re fucking violent. Fine. He’s probably hiding at Bambam's.”

“Yeah I was planning on going there if I didn’t find him here.”

“Cool, call me if you need anything.” You nodded and went outside to hail a taxi hoping and praying to find him.

If Yugyeom really was at Bambams, there was a good chance you wouldn’t even be let in, on account of you having hurt his best friend and all; but you still had to try.

Luckily, since his house was on the second floor and had a window facing the entry, you at least could be sure that he was at home. The lights were on. 

You rang the bell and waited. 

No answer

You rang it again.

Still no answer.

You then called his number, to see if the incoming call ringtone could be heard from outside. A millisecond later you heard his phone. There was no doubt that he was inside. And there would have been no need to keep you out unless Yugyeom was there as well.

“BamBam come on.”

The door knob melodiously clicked open and he slipped out through the tiniest gap, not letting you peek inside 

“I can’t let you in bro.”

“I know Yugyeom’s here.”

“That’s why I can’t let you in. Didn’t he say not to contact him?”

“He said not to call. I didn’t call. Just let me see him Bam.”

“Why do you want to see him. He broke up with you, didn’t he? I told you we’ll hash it out depending on how it goes between you both. Well, this is how it is. He doesn’t want to see you.”

“Bam he broke up with me to make it easy on me. So that I can leave ‘guilt-free’. Does that make any sense to you?”

“So you’re actually going huh?”

“I-”, you fumbled “I don’t know. Part of me that loves my job tells me I have to. The other part that loves him tells me I don’t want to. Let me talk to him, please Bam? It’s the last favour I’ll ask of you for a long time.”

“You know, you both are being really messy.” he sighed and punched in the code to his apartment. “I’m going to get some drinks. Make it quick.”

You hugged him before heading inside “Thank you.”

When Yugyeom saw you at the doorway, he cursed. “Fuckin hell Bam.'' He was not pleased to see you.

“He left to get some drinks.”

“Please I’m not in the mood for this, just leave. I know you came here hoping to change my mind.”

“Yugyeom did you really think you cutting me off like that was going to make me feel any differently?”

“Did you even try?”

“Try what?”

“Feeling differently?”

“Why don’t you tell me first?”

“I don’t have to. I’m not the one leaving.” That sentence stung you in the chest. 

“And what if I don’t?”

“What?”

“What if I don’t go to London. What if I don’t accept it?”

“Then you’re a dumbass.” He got up from the chair he’d been occupying, several paces away from you and moved even further away as you finally stepped out of the foyer and inside the living room.

“Excuse me?” Did you just call me a dumbass?”

“Yeah, I did. Because you’re acting like one. Why the fuck would you turn down your dream

job?”

“I don’t wanna lose you.”

“Wow, the one time I expect you to use your logic, you don’t. Remember yesterday, you asked if I would pack up my whole world and shift to London with you? And I said nothing? So if I can’t do that for you, then you shouldn’t have to do that for me. I don’t want you to have to choose between me and your career noona.”

“But I have to Yugyeom. If I choose my career, we break up. If I stay here, I lose my promotion. Let’s call a spade a spade, yeah?”

“Yes that’s why I took myself out of this equation. I know I said I’m giving you an easy out, but really, it’s for me. I didn’t want to hear you say you’re choosing your job. Because of course that shit will hurt me. And I can’t ask you to stay because that’s a selfish thing to do. You know you don't want to pass over this opportunity. Why are you making this so hard for the both of us?”

“I’m making this hard?” you questioned.

“Yeah, you are. The faster I’m trying to bury it, the more you want to dig it out.”

“So is this it? This is how you want it to end between us?”

“Do you have another way?”

“We have five days.”

“I can’t watch you leave me and not be able to do shit about it. I fucking can’t.”

“Okay.. and you have made up your mind?”

“Yeah”

“Do whatever you want then, I guess” you conceded, your words full of anger and frustration, and went back towards the door.

His heart felt so heavy. He wanted to run to you and ask you to never leave him and kiss you so badly, but held himself back with everything he had. He had to hold himself back. If he gave in right now, he’d be in a much stronger world of pain later. 

“Yugyeom, if you change your mind…. you know where to find me” you stated before slamming the door shut.  

There wasn’t much else you could really do about it other than comply with his wishes.

The sad part of it all was that you always did intend to accept the promotion and transfer to London, you were too ashamed to admit it. The decision you’d been stalling had finally reached it’s obvious conclusion and you felt nothing. No happiness, no sadness, no anger - it was like falling into a grave of white noise, endlessly, without any safety net or ground to actually hit.

During the ride back home, while you sent out messages to all the people who needed to be told; back at BamBam’s house Yugyeom had chugged two bottles of Soju in spite of BamBam’s protests. 

“You fucker, I’m gonna call everyone over so they can beat your ass, if you don’t slow down.”

“Don’t care” Yugyeom muttered, while opening a third bottle. “Let’s party. Fuck some bitches.”

“Oh you wanna fuck some bitches or you wanna fuck a bitch who just left like fifteen minutes ago.”

“She’s not a bitch be nice.”

“Oh fuck’s sake, I’m calling hyung”.

“Which one?”

“All of them”.

[hopetofantasy]

‘Wandering Romance’

- A future with child fic -

Square Filled: Future, Family, Past lovers Ship: Sander Driesen/Robbe Ijzermans   Trigger Warnings (if applicable): none applied. Created for @skamevents Summary: "A perfect, tight little family. But happy. Until one unfortunate day in May, in the year that David turned six." In the future, Robbe and Sander have a son named David. The only tie they have left with each other, actually. Because our lovers split up years ago, due to mistakes that were made in the past. So is their love strong enough to sustain a healthy friendship? Will they find their way to each other again or break all connections for good? Also available on AO3

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CHAPTER 1: 'No one knows the pain'

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“David! Your dad’s here!”

Loud thundering on the stairs, caused by tiny child’s feet, followed by a high pitched exhale directed towards the man in the door. The later one immediately wrapped his arms around his hyperactive boy. Sighing deeply. The emotion on his face revealed unconditional love, as well as a vague sadness. Hurt. Hurt for the other man standing on the opposite side.

“Papa, I missed you! OMG, did you color your hair again? I don’t see any brown anymore, I love the brown, papa, why did you change it? Oh and I -”

“David, let your father have some room to breathe, please. Go put on some shoes and bring your jacket, it’s cold out.”

The 9 year old turned towards the other part of the parental couple. The deep brown in his eyes filled with such an invigorating energy. The color was something he inherited from Robbe. The lack of stopping the chaos in his head? That was such a Sander move. David truly was a piece of both. Even though, he wasn’t truly born out of either of them, he simply belonged here.

“But, paps, I don’t want to wear my own jacket!”

“What are you going to wear then?”

“Papa’s leather jacket!” he exclaimed, like it just was as easy as one plus one. The long blonde curls bouncing off his head, while he pulled at the arm of Sander’s coat. The beach blonde couldn’t help, but laugh fondly at his son’s statement. He really loved the boy like nobody else. Well, there may be a time, where he loved someone just as much.

Gosh, Robbe, don’t think about that.

“It’s okay, Robbe,” Sander directed the flashy smile towards him, knowing all too well he couldn’t say no to the both of them if they banded together. “We’re just going to the movies anyways. The new cartoon movie is perfect for our tiny artist. Isn’t it?” A excited squeal filled the cold air between them. Apparently, he had touched David on a ticklish spot, trying to make him giggle.

Robbe couldn’t help, but feel the sting. The picture before his eyes made his heartache complete. Sander laughing along with their beautiful son, the beach blonde complementing the blond, energy matching tones, he even saw how David was starting to copy Sander’s mannerisms more and more. Reminding him, every day, of the mistake he once made.

The follow-up question made the atmosphere even more loaded. “How’s Wouter? I didn’t see his car in the driveway? I thought he wasn’t working today?”, was asked. Ah, there it was. Another cut in his heart. Exactly the question he was trying to avoid. Another crossed line through his life. Something he didn’t intended to share with his ex. Not completely, at least.

“He hasn’t been around much, lately.”, he simply stated. Knowing that Sander would probably connect the dots later, he’d rather not discuss this in front of their son. It was difficult enough to maintain relationships in these situations. Especially when you were still friends with the other dad. They needed to be. Their son didn’t ask for this, he deserved to have a strong, loving family.

Something they’d made clear from the day they signed the divorce documents.

It only took a half an hour to get David ready, which was a record in Robbe’s book. After searching the entire room for his son’s shoes and the kitchen cabinets for his backpack (don’t ask, it’ll be easier if you. just. didn’t. ask), he was finally able to hand over the week-bag, the dreaded jacket and wave them goodbye. A huge piercing smile on their little one’s face. And...

A loaded glance.

An electrified touch.

A last cheek kiss.

Before he slumped down against the back of the door.

-^-

It didn’t start out this way, you know. They were happy before. Before all the things that led up to this moment.

Wait, I’m jumping ahead.

Let me tell you a story. The story of a beautiful love shared between two boys. Boys who loved like they never loved before. They found each other, they lost each other and found each other again. Push and pull. To say that their love was a rollercoaster? That’s an understatement. It made them only stronger in the future.

Until, it didn’t.

In the week of Robbe’s 20th birthday, they decided to move into their own apartment. It was a tiny studio at the edge of the city centre. Just enough for the both of them. Their living room was filled by their bed, tossed clothes and a ratty couch, the kitchen was tiny enough to only fit a midget size refrigerator, a second-hand stove and one kitchen counter. That they didn’t use anyways. Except... for... stuff. You know.

But it was perfect.

The best time of their lives.

When Robbe came home every day after class - his last year of IT & Webdesign - he could wrap his arms around his lover, who smelled of paint, citrus and himself. Kissing Sander was like being born again. Giving him goosebumps each time. No other feeling was as fierce. This bliss, this happiness. Making love to him, was heaven on earth. Nothing could compare. Nothing ever did.

Sander was struggling to get by on an artist paycheck. He only sold one of his pieces to art collectors every other month. His talents weren’t always appreciated like they should’ve been. But he kept trying. Through his highs as well as his lows, he never gave up his two passions: his art and David Bowie. He once even made an entire collection of Bowie portraits.

Which would later caught the eye of a notorious gallery owner, asking him to join the alternative artist collective he was setting up. Filled with musicians, writers, painters. Sander’s people. But that would take at least a couple of more years of struggling. Of cheap dinners and scraping by on one paycheck. Until the year of David’s sixth birthday.

When Robbe made the mistake.

To say that their lives was perfect, was an huge overstatement though. Sander’s medication wasn’t always working like it needed to be, living together wasn’t quite the same as staying with their parents and Robbe’s studies took a lot out of him. And then came the day that Jens knocked on their door. With a statement that chilled their bones to the core.

“Noor’s dead.”

Shock.

Denial.

Sadness.

Such a beautiful soul that was lost. Never roaming the earth again. Never again her special artistic cooking, the scoffing if someone said something she considered dumb. Late night jamming sessions, wine spills on new couches, burning protests at parliaments, all saying ‘f-u society, I’m not your bitch’? All gone. The light that made all of their laughs a little brighter, was no more.

And their lives would never again be the same.

These emotions followed rapidly by anger. Because apparently, it was a drunk driver that had hit her car on the way home. On the way home to her family. A tight little group that’d only consisted of a proud surrogate uncle/roommate Jens and a small child, barely a year old. The latter one was a small detail that she’d left out of her stories of backpacking in the US of A. Something that Jens didn’t mention during the wild parties, set up by Moyo in his underground club.

The small child was already fatherless, but now he didn’t have a mom either. He had nobody to care for him. Jens had put every single cent into his new start-up in New York and was in the process of moving there. Trying to set up a different life. Possibly meeting up with Jana again. Before all of this had happened, of course. Because who could’ve know?

So the boys didn’t have any other choice.

From the moment both had seen the little, bubbly baby in his basket, crying out for his mom, they’d knew. The boy had nestled in their hearts. The sorrow was a little less harsh, when you could look into the eyes of someone so pure. Noor’s son needed them. It was what Robbe owed her. For her unconditional love. After all, she had been his voice of reason, his shoulder to cry on - even through international phone calls - when it all was too much. The harshness of life.

The Sobbe relationship rollercoaster.

So arrangements were made. A graduate job secured. A family-backed loan for a small house was asked. And the adoption process had started. It only took them a year, due to Aaron’s social work contacts, before they could call David theirs. David Ijzermans-Driesen. The only one that could call them ‘papa’ and ‘paps’. The most precious boy in the entire universe. And any other universe, for that matter. In every parallel one.

A perfect, tight little family. But happy.

Until one unfortunate day in May, in the year that David turned six.

-^-

“Schat, don’t be so nervous. It’s me who’s supposed to be nervous, right?”

Sander eyes twinkled with mischief. He was dragging Robbe along to the dress rehearsal for their ‘happening’. Yes, a happening. Like the ones in the times of hippie communes. Those kind of artsy fartsy things. The brown haired boy didn’t know what it had meant entirely, but whatever Sander was into, he couldn’t help but show it to his partner.

To be completely honest, their relationship was strained these last few months. Robbe was more tired than anything else. Their son had started his first year of primary school, so this meant that evenings were filled with encouraging to practice reading and writing, guiding through homework and all the while trying to understand the problems that had manifested into his web code. His plate was filled with more work than ever before.

He wouldn’t really blame Sander, though, since this was the first time he finally caught a break in the artistic world. Yet, unconsciously, he had counted the days that they didn’t touch each other. And they were a lot. At least, for a couple that’d got married only a year ago. They were supposed to be in their blissful period of marriage, filled with the constant desire to touch each other at any time at any place.

And that wasn’t the case.

So when he caught sight of a certain man, someone who wasn’t his husband, his heart had skipped a slight beat. His hands were starting to get clammy, his voice caught in his throat and he didn’t know how to breath anymore. Robbe didn’t remember the last time this had happened with Sander. So, his immediate next thought, was shame and disgust.

For what he felt right now.

Yet, he couldn’t seem to look away. All during the dress rehearsal, his eyes were following the beautiful man who played along with his guitar in the background. His eyes were stars of stark blue, covered by a mop of light curls. The combination of these, together with a timid, yet mysterious air around him, immediately reeled him in. Worst part? He seemed to know Robbe was staring at him. Before he exited the area, he even turned back to wink at him.

Sander, of course, didn’t caught his boy’s entire thought process that followed. He was still going on about the dynamics of the entire art installation. Even introducing his other half to a few new friends he’d made. A Spanish girl with colorful hair, a German boy with a too-cool-for-you gaze and pair of Italian guys with soft smiles. Their energy all flowed through one another, like single organism. Like they were all part of something better.

Robbe could understand why Sander was attracted to these kind of people. He however, still wanted the ask the question that lingered in the back of his mind. Who had been the beautiful model that gave him a wink? Was he still here? Did  he expect something of him? He couldn’t do anything to someone else than Sander. Right? Right. It was wrong, with the capital W. So he let it be.

At least, that what’s he thought.

All through the happenings, the same feelings manifested. His eyes pulled towards the mysterious guy, instead of what his own husband was doing. While he heard the gasps of the audience around him, he gasped at the intense stare. While the people were urging closer to see what was happening, he’d fill his mind with thoughts about what he would do with the man before him.

Laying him down on the floor.

Touching him.

Kissing him.

Making his way with him.

Sander seemed to know Robbe wasn’t really raving about the entire art thing, so he never asked why his eyes glanced over every time he brought up the performances. He seemed to wait patiently for his lover to talk about his thoughts. What seemed to bother him. But, that was the thing: he didn’t. Robbe didn’t say a word. He just... stared. Longingly.

At someone else.

On the fourth week of mutual silence, Sander spiraled. His words were reeling with pain, with agony. They still didn’t know what caused an bipolar episode. They both wished they did, though, this time even more. Because it was a really, really bad one. Never before had Sander called him names. Never before did he make Robbe cry with desperation. He didn’t even let him touch him. Sander had said about himself, that he was a waste of space, so why would Robbe even bother about loving him? Why would their son ever love him? He was broken.

And Robbe let his tears fall.

He blamed himself. Because of the thoughts he had about the unknown man. He deserved this. A loveless touch, a hollow kiss, a silenced dagger thrown at his heart. He had felt something for someone else, he deserved so much worse. This was just tip of the ice-berg. It’s what he manifested. What he cooked up in his own thoughts, that made Sander hate him. Robbe knew it was all his fault.

His rational mind knew that these feelings were ridiculous though. Sander wasn’t his MI. His lover always saw the best in him, it was just the chemicals in his brain that sometimes fought with each other. And that, was maybe even worse. Knowing that Sander would always love him, no matter what, even when his episode was at his lowest, while Robbe was looking at someone else?

It broke him.

His fault.

Toxic.

For feeling the wrong things towards the wrong guy.

Sander saw it happening. After the episode, when he climbed out of the canyon of hurt, he still tried to pull his lover out of his own spiral. He touched his cluttered mind, wanted to break through the newly built walls and screamed out in frustration to shock him. But Robbe slowly became more silent. He reverted back to his older self, his younger, less pronounced ‘me’. The one who was insecure about every step he took. About every thing he did. About their love.

And that’s when he broke them.

Fights were more the norm in their household than lovemaking. David kept running towards either of them asking if they were angry at each other. To stop crying. To stop shouting. To stop hurting each other. He wanted papa and paps to be happy again. He wanted to kiss all the boo-boos away, making their hearts hurt even more.

So, after a bunch of whispered discussions, a few stints at a crappy couples counselor - some smuck that didn’t even remember their names - and a few months of loaded silence, they knew. This wasn’t healthy anymore. Sander gave and gave and gave, while Robbe ran. He ran away from the love. They knew it had to stop. It was healthier this way. To catch a break. To breathe.

A breath that was stolen only one time more. Their lips connected, the tears flowed, their bodies felt the hurt between them, even though they were making love. For the last time. Pieces of heart exchanged, never truly whole again. Grasping at the air surrounding them. Emerald eyes lingering into brown. The touch of heaven. Never again. All over. Discarded. 

Making the biggest mistake in both their lives:

They split up.

-^-

“Don’t forget, Robbe”

“I won’t.”

“I’m serious”

“I know.”

“David won’t stop babbling on about this.”

“Yes, Sander, he’s my son too. I know this already!”

“...”

“Sorry...”

“... It’s okay.”

Robbe sighed, fidgeting with the cellphone in his hand. A headache was starting to build up behind his eyes. Why did Sander call him again? Like he didn’t know about the biggest event of the school year approaching? The school’s annual show was on Saterday, open to every parent interested in sending their kids to the school as well as the parents of attending children.

“He just wants us to be there. Maybe we could invite the rest of the boys?”

“I’ll ask them. I don’t know if Jens will get a babysitter on such short notice, though. Jana is pretty busy with her job as a lawyer, you know that.”

“Come on, try to convince them to come. Maybe Amber can babysit the kids. It’s been a while since David has seen his uncles!”

Robbe thought long and hard about this statement. It had been a while since he saw his best friends. Nowadays, their lives were filled with juggling their family lives, responsibilities at work while maintaining a healthy lifestyle with their respective partners. Not that he didn’t know how difficult it could be sometimes.

Only recently, he’d acquired the new lecturing job at the IT departement, making way more pay and significantly better hours, so he could focus his time on David. Robbe really liked this job though. Educating other young people in the world of digits and numbers, something that always made sense even if your life was insecure. Exactly why he studied IT in the first place.

“Robbe, are you there?”, Sander voice whispered soothingly. Like only an ex-lover could feel, he somehow knew every thought that passed through Robbe’s brain. “You know, you don’t have to invite them if you don’t want to. I’m sure we’ll be fine just the three of us. David will be proud to show us his performance nonetheless. He’s been raving about his Bowie song, since they made the announcement.”

“The three of us?”

“Yeah, you, me and Wouter right?”

“Ah. Yes.”

“You know, your boyfriend?”, the voice chuckled.

Since a month ago, Robbe’s free weeks were filled with unhealthy habits again. Pigging out on junk food, vegetating on the couch, binging Netflix shows. Only, his friends or Sander didn’t need to know about this. David barely met his ex-boyfriend, thank god. They didn’t need to know about the nasty fights that happened between him and Wouter.

About the black eyes, cuts and bruises.

The disgusting words.

The break-up...

But yeah,

Robbe deserved all of it anyways.

“Robbe...”, he heard the other whisper.

“You do know I don’t have a problem with him, right? I mean, it’s been ages since the two of us were ever together. You deserve a healthy love-life. Someone to call yours. Someone who loves you. You deserve someone who gives you the world. I don’t like you being alone. I want to see you happy...”

He didn’t knew why Sander said stuff like that to him. He didn’t deserve it, because all he brought upon his lovers was worry and anger. Everything he touched, would slowly turn more and more toxic. During their teenage years, Sander had said something similar to him. Right after an episode. And he didn’t believe it. He never will. Since it was him that made everything worse.

Not Sander. Not Wouter. Not any of his other previous flings.

Him.

“You know what I think about that, Sander.”

“Robbe...”

“I’ll ask the boys, okay?”

“But Robbe, I-”

“Give David a kiss for me!”

He quickly disconnected the line.

Before Sander could say something back.

He simply didn’t want to know.

Focussing his thoughts on anything else, pulling out a vague sketch their son had made. Apparently the drawing class was paying off. He’d made the outline of a tree, standing lonely in a grove. The environment around it was completely bare. No grass. Yet, at the outlines you could still see the branches of other trees. Something felt off.

Robbe shook his head. He was probably projecting his own feelings onto the drawing. It was just a grove of trees, for god’s sake. An amazing technique. Some intense colors. That truly made the sketch vibrate. Their tiny boy was filled with lots of surprises. You see, both parents still didn’t know what song he’d picked to sing for them Saturday. “Something special”, David said with a glint in his eyes, before packing his bag for his stay at Sander’s.

The co-parenting system was a bitch as well as a blessing. He’d love to see his boy more than every other week, but some ‘me-time’ wasn’t bad either. Having this free time for himself was a privilege. Time to sort out stuff in the house, work ahead for the school year or take relaxing baths. Maybe go to a bar and hook up with someone, without having a hyperactive kid bursting in.

Not that he felt up for that right now.

But he truly was happy with the 9 year old. Every moment with him was an extra day of unconditional love. A love that was consistent. A gift that kept on giving. A reflection of a beautiful soul lost. But also a mirror for Sander and him.

He was happy.

Or at least, he thought he was.

(But he wasn’t)

[sauveteen]

Stressed Shawn being ready mean when you're about to tell him some big news (like a job promotion or something)? Love you! 💞

warning: angst. dk why i put these anymore do i even write anything else lmao

Shawn’s achieved a lot in life. He’s one of the biggest faces in the music industry, a two time Grammy nominated artist, earning more in a day than she probably earns in an entire year, and she loves that he’s reaching things and doing stuff that he could only ever dream of reaching and doing. And she’s always happy for him. Fuck, she’s probably happier than him when he accomplishes a big feat or gets a tune right or just smiles, because she loves him. And he loves her back, of course.

Stands to reason, then, that she expects him to be happy for her when she tries telling him about the biggest achievement in her life. Ever. About the job she got at the firm she’s dreamed about working for for ages, and granted, it’s not as big as a Grammy and can never compare to a twice platinum album, but it’s a big thing for her. It’s huge, and she loves Shawn and wants nothing more than to share her happiness with him.

She can tell he isn’t listening from the moment she sits down next to him on the couch, tucking her feet under her legs and beaming with pride because she is. Proud, that is. She’s proud of herself, and she’s so fucking happy that her back never even touches the couch, chest bloated and cheeks flushed red. She can tell he isn’t listening but she still talks, reaching over to intertwine their fingers under the blanket Shawn’s thrown over himself. He looks over at her, and he loves her, but he isn’t listening. Her hair’s a mess and a half, baby hairs and flyaways sticking every which way, and he wants to reach over and tuck her loose strands behind her ear. Or maybe do her braid the way she likes, all loose and pretty. But he doesn’t. He only pretends to listen, sending her the occasional nod and a weak smile, hoping she doesn’t pick up on it.

She does, though. She knows him, and she was talking because she was hoping Shawn would eventually pick up on her words and jump around the room with her, but he isn’t even looking at her anymore. He isn’t even pretending to listen.

She grins tiredly, nudging his shoulder, and teases, “So about the guy I’ve been seeing…”

“Huh?” Shawn blinks, and gives her a smile, “That’s so cool, babe.”

Her smile drops, and lips part a little. He hasn’t heard a word of what she’s said so far, has he?

It’s okay, she tells herself, he’s probably just tired.

She slumps, back now touching the couch, and brings her hand up to tangle into his curls. Scratches lightly, and smiles when he sighs. But then he shifts, and her hand falls from his hair, and he fixes his gaze at the television again. Her chest tightens.

“Shawn?”

He doesn’t answer. She squeezes his hand, and it goes limp in her hold. “Shawn, baby? You okay?”

Shawn props his elbow on the back of the couch, and rests his head in his palm. He laughs a little at something some characters says, and she maybe wants to cry a little. But she’s happy, and she’s proud, and so she won’t. He’s just tired.

Cuddling closer into him, she rests her head on his shoulders, pretending that he’s kissing her because he’s happy for her and maybe he’s pouring her a glass of the wine she loves so much and they’re dancing around their living room, laughing to themselves. But they aren’t, and that’s not reality, and in reality Shawn isn’t talking to her and she’s the happiest she’s been in a long, long time, and she doesn’t know how she can fix something she doesn’t even know was broken.

“Shawn, I got the job today.” She murmurs into his shirt, and he shifts. Shawn’s hand leaves hers, and her head practically rolls right off his shoulder. Here eyes widen, but she doesn’t force herself back onto him. Puts a little distance between themselves, and brings her knees up to her chest, folding into herself. She rests her head on her knees, trying to gauge what’s wrong, but his expressions don’t let anything up. He’s still laughing in small intervals, but it isn’t the deep wheezing kind where his eyes go all squint and his cheeks go all red and she has to laugh too, because his happiness is so contagious. No, it’s more of a half hearted, put on chuckle, as if he’s trying to make himself laugh.

“Shawn.”

He finally spares her a glance, and his eyebrows are raised in clear disinterest. Her heart sinks, and suddenly she doesn’t want to tell him anymore. Shawn clearly couldn’t care less right now, so who’s to say if he ever cared? Does he even know that she’s been working towards this job for years, or were his continuous motivation and sweet words all fake too? She doesn’t know anymore. She wishes she did, but she doesn’t, and she doesn’t know the Shawn that’s staring back at her right now.

“What.” His response is sharp, and a little more of an end-of-discussion statement than it is a question, and she hates that her chin wobbles a little at his empty eyes and pursed lips. She isn’t going to cry. She’s happy, and she won’t cry.

“Nothing.” She turns her head, and curls her fingers into her legs, digging into the skin of her thighs. “It isn’t important.”

“No, tell me,” Shawn’s fingers curl around her arm, and he tugs a little, causing her to lose her balance. Her hands immediately fly out to grip the material of the couch, and her head whips around to meet his blank stare with one of her own, “You haven’t stopped blabbering since the moment you got home. Tell me, now.”

“Maybe you should’ve listened when I was actually talking.”

“Maybe,” He lets her arm go, and crosses his arms over her chest, “you should’ve stopped talking when you knew I wasn’t listening.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, okay, Shawn,” Her voice is flat and devoid of any emotion, but the pink climbing up her neck gives her away. She’s upset, but Shawn can’t bring himself to care. “Okay, I’ll ask for permission before talking to my boyfriend next time. Makes sense.”

“You do that, babe.”

Anger blooms in her chest. Anger, with the largest specks of hurt, and she gets up. And here’s the thing, you know. Shawn isn’t shouting at her. He isn’t hurting her, he’s just talking, and she has no reason to be upset with him because he’s allowed to be down and he’s allowed to be aloof. God knows he deals with her when she’s in one of her moods. But maybe, maybe, because she is — was — so ecstatic and so happy for once in her life, he could pretend to be proud of her and just give her a grin and tell her that he loves her and she’d be okay. That would do for her, honestly. But he’s being irrationally cold and she doesn’t know what she did to deserve his shoulder, but she can’t allow herself to feed into it. She has to walk away before she fights with him and completely annihilates the little that’s left of her previous giddiness.

“Don’t walk away now,” Shawn tells her, “You started this. You can’t walk away.”

She doesn’t answer. She keeps walking, and she hears him call out her name, but her feet are a mind of her own when they lead her into the bathroom and her hands work on their own accord as they latch the door. She rests her back against the tiles, tilting her head back, and breathes. Sometimes when they’re fighting or it’s leading there she can forget to breathe, and she doesn’t realise how bad it is until her chest constricts and she starts heaving. She remembers now, though, and so she spends the next minute or two just breathing, eyes squeezed shut.

What did she start? She wants to storm out there and ask him. What is it that she started? She really wants to know, but knowing would entail talking to him, and talking would entail looking at him, and she can’t look at him right now. She can’t look into cold, empty eyes when she’s supposed to be happy, because that isn’t fair to her. She can’t willingly jeopardise something that is so precious to her.

She stares at her face in the mirror, stares at the little blotches of red that stain her neck and face, and her fingers tighten around the sink. She’s happy, she tells herself over and over again, she’s happy and she doesn’t care that Shawn isn’t. It’s her job, and it’s going to be her office, and it’s going to be her money, so of course Shawn doesn’t care. She’ll probably be sitting on her ass when he receives his Grammy, and he’ll probably thank her, too, but the only difference would be that she’ll be happy for him.

He isn’t happy for her.

A knock sounds on the door, and she squeezes her eyes shut. She hates herself for hoping that he’s there to apologise, because he did nothing wrong. She’s being a baby and she knows it. “Yes?”

Shawn hesitates before answering, she can tell because she can hear the shuffling of his feet outside the door. And then he talks, and she wishes he hadn’t. “You’re not crying, are you? That’s stupid.”

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Breathebreathbreathe.

“Just doing my hair, Shawn.”

“Okay.” And then he walks away. Just like that. She guesses that hurts more than an actual fight, because when they’re fighting she actually knows what’s up. Now all she knows and can think about is that he doesn’t give a single fuck, and that he probably never did, and she rode home smiling and dancing in her car to someone who thinks that crying is stupid. She should’ve said yes. What would Shawn have done then? Tell her tears are dumb?

When she washes her face and walks back to the kitchen because she still needs dinner, she sees Shawn through the crack of their bedroom door. Lying on his front, face buried in his pillow, lazily scrolling through Instagram. She sniffs a little, then, because it has never mattered how mad either of them are at the other, they never eat alone. She can’t remember the last time she sat alone on the island, pushing vegetables around her plate without the sound of his humming or the string of his theories running in the background. Now all she hears are the looming thoughts in her head, and she gets up, scraping her food into the garbage can. She catches her reflection on a small, round mirror, and can’t believe she’s still holding it together.

It’s because she’s happy, she thinks to herself, and he’s just tired.

The letter that she was going to give to Shawn, the one about her job acceptance and the one material thing she’s ever come to love, lies on the floor. Discarded, just like her happiness. She sinks into the couch, and shuts her eyes.

Next morning, Shawn wakes up to an empty bed and a piece of paper on the floor of his living room, and realises how badly he fucked up. But he doesn’t wake her up, because she’s tired, he guesses.

They’re both tired, and God knows how many sleeps apart it will take for them to feel fresh again.

permanent taglist: @yellowitsmendes @fuckneymar @heavenly---holland @sammyrhm @sinceweremutual @fiftyshadesofeveryfandom @bluerroses @rishlo @shawnjpeg @demolitionloversss @yourwonderbelle@shawnxmendesxo @rechema @curlyfan @wallflw-r @dtfshawnmendes (just ask to be added.) 

masterlist in bio. send me requests if you’d like.

[themagicianshea]

From now until November, we’ll be spotlighting some of our MHHE registered authors. Want to make art for them? Register here! Artists who register before July 6th get early access to claims.

MHHE Author Spotlight: Page161of180

What piece of work best represents your writing style, and how would you briefly describe it?

I think that my most representative piece is one called "You're a Story (I Can Follow)". It's a take on the Orpheus and Eurydice myth, that involves Eliot rescuing Quentin from the Underworld after the events of season four-- which, *heavy sigh*, I wrote in the middle of season four, before I realized how badly I would eventually a crave a story that gets Quentin back. 

I think it speaks clearly to the things I like to do as a writer: the plot is there but not overly complex, the focus is on the characters (specifically Eliot and Quentin) and how they understand themselves and each other and who they are to each other, there are just an absolutely gratuitous number of flashbacks and memories and little moments that show the truth of any relationship (in my view), it's deep in the feels but ends joyfully, and it takes as both thesis statement and rallying cry that the beating heart of love is knowing someone really damn well and taking care of them as best you can, even if you are a full disaster every time you try to express it. 

One of my favorite bits, which takes place near the start of the story, when Eliot is trying to convince himself that Quentin is actually following him out of the Underworld, follows below. If you want to know how I see Eliot in his relationship to Quentin (that is: desperately romantic and desperately dysfunctional about it), this is all you really need to read:

He cleared his throat once. It would have been almost comically affected, except for the fact that he actually did need to clear the choking lump that had formed if he was going to get a word out. “The thought occurs,” he said, keeping his voice deliberately casual, “that if we’re going to make it up however many stairs are in the Underworld Branch without me losing what’s left of my mind, the whole ‘ascending in silence’ thing isn’t going to cut it. I know there’s not much you can do about that at the moment--”

He grabbed the banister to cover the tremor in his hand, “--so you’ll just have to suffer through my sparkling conversation. Fortunately, I’ve cultivated a real gift for speaking to imaginary versions of you recently. And on the off chance you’ve bailed on the whole enterprise already, we’ll just-- chalk this up to the stage of the grieving process where I go full season 5 - season 6 hiatus Spike.”

Eliot actually could feel Q, then, but he knew it wasn’t coming from behind him, but inside him, the shard of Q that was a part of him, always, even all the months Eliot had repressed him. The part that was always watching Eliot with disappointed (but unsurprised) eyes as Eliot pretended every little thing about Q didn’t make him want to carve a shelter out of his body for this reckless little stormcloud of a man, with his awful clothes and embarrassing earnestness and the eyelashes that Eliot honest-to-God couldn’t not kiss every. Single. Time. he’d watched them flutter while Q flew apart with Eliot’s name in his mouth.

“Sorry,” Eliot said quietly, letting out a sigh. “I told myself that I was going to be better--” braver “--if I ever . . . saw you. Again. Ever so slightly less full of my own bullshit. But this is--”

Nothing like he thought it would be , for starters. In his relentless planning for what he’d do when he was free, he’d imagined what he’d say if Q was happy, if Q was furious, if Q had already fucked off and married Alice and they had 2.5 magical prodigies and Q hadn’t even thought of Eliot in thirteen years of however the fuck much time had passed. But never had he considered coming back to find Q-- gone . It hardly would have been conducive to maintaining his sanity. Nor had he considered what it would be like to find Q but to have lost the words . To be too chickenshit to say them, sure. To fumble them, abso-fucking-lutely. But to have mortgaged them away?

“-- it’s hard, Q,” he finally settled on. “It’s just-- really hard.”

He could imagine the Q behind him, and the Q inside him, both furrowing their brows.

“Oh stop it,” he shushed, in the familiar way born of having the time to learn every one of a person’s textbook moves. “You know you’re always worth it. To me.”

And: bonus answer! While I think "You're a Story" is probably my most representative work overall, it is a bit mournful in tone until the ending, so perhaps not the best representative of what my MHHE work will be like! For that, I'd recommend, "The Honor of Your Presence," which is the fully indulgent, outsider-POV, Queliot wedding piece that my heart needed: . A snippet (and strong contender for my absolute favorite piece of dialogue that I've written) follows below:

“Fine,” King Quentin says. “Forget the whole ‘obey’ thing. What about just love and honor ? That’s-- unobjectionable, right?”

King Eliot doesn’t answer immediately, and because he is wearing one of his looser tunics today, without the high-collared jackets he prefers, Rafe can see that the pulse in his throat begins to pound at a pace not unlike the palace’s fleet of messenger bunnies.

“Seriously,” King Quentin sighs.

“It’s not that it’s objectionable , per se,” King Eliot says, his voice a note higher than normal. Rafe might say it was verging on the hysterical, were that a word that could be fairly applied to a king. “Isn’t it just-- a bit gauche to come out and say it? What happened to preserving the mystery?”

What piece of work are you most proud of and why?

While I'm embarrassingly attached to everything I've written in this fandom (because I'm embarrassingly attached to the characters themselves), I think my personal proudest moment is a piece called "A Little Disguised, or a Little Mistaken". On one level, this is all about Eliot and Quentin's memory-wipe personas Nigel and Brian meeting and falling in love like the nonsensical soulmates that they are. But on another level, it's also about the parts of Eliot and Quentin that are immutable and come through no matter what, and the way that they keep making the same mistakes with each other (and getting the same things right) across their various timelines and identities. It's also, in large measure, about Jane Austen, for reasons. If you want to know what me writing a no-magic, modern AU romcom would look like (cough cough, MHHE!, cough), the first three-quarters of this are a pretty good indication.

“What can I make you tonight? And keep in mind-- we’re celebrating.”

That was right, Nigel’s text had said he had good news. Well, at least one of them did.

“Um. Something, like, fruity?”

Nigel smirked and it made Brian want to simultaneously slide to the floor and also reach over and pull Nigel in by the collar, but he did neither.

“Okayyy,” Nigel said. “Do I get anything more to go on?”

Brian shrugged one shoulder. “Surprise me.”

Nigel’s hands, always deft and sure, fumbled the glass for a moment, but he recovered it. “Why don’t you tell me what you don’t like,” he said once he had.

Nothing you’re offering , Brian wanted to say. But instead he cleared his throat and said, “Uh. Peaches, I guess? I don’t like them.”

Nigel nodded. “What don’t you like about them?”

They hurt to eat , Brian thought. “Too sweet, I guess,” he said instead.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Nigel said, already starting to gather ingredients.

“You’ve never eaten a peach?”

Nigel shook his head as he started muddling something with something else. “Allergic. Even the smell’s kind of overpowering, though. I get how they could be too much.”

As Nigel poured and shook and stirred, Brian watched entranced and a little sad that something Nigel did so naturally was so dangerous for him. Or maybe it wasn’t natural at all. Maybe Nigel was just a much better actor than New York had given him credit for.

Nigel finished his creation and placed it on a napkin, before sliding it across the bar to Brian. It was reddish-gold in color, shading down to a deeper purple-red at the bottom of the glass.

“Gin fizz with a plum shrub,” he said to Brian’s inquisitive look. “Anyway. Brace yourself. Good news incoming.”

What tropes can we look forward to in your MHHE fic?

Let's see . . .  There's going to be about a millisecond of enemies-to-lovers, but let's be real-- these two are far too charmed by each other to stay enemies for long. Not sure any of the following are within the strict definition of "tropes," but they're among my personal favorites, so you can go ahead and expect some gratuitous cuddling of a puppy, some deep-meaningful-late-night-talks-even-though-we've-only-just-met (time is an illusion! they bond fast!), so so so much expressing of thinly-veiled feelings through artistic expression, and actively pining while also actively sleeping together. Also, am I going snow these ridiculous gentlemen in? (I'm going to snow these ridiculous gentlemen in.) 

Fuck, Marry, Kiss (under the mistletoe) with three Magicians characters of your choice!

My fully honest answer is Eliot, Eliot, and Eliot. But my even more honest answer is that I'd rather sit back with a cup of tea and a plate of gingerbread cookies and sigh with deep appreciation while Quentin handles all of Eliot's mistletoe needs.

[purplesurveys]

564

You hate these 'Are we alike?' surveys, but you still can't resist them. I don’t hate them, I just don’t like just bolding stuff. I get talkative when it comes to surveys so I like explaining myself, like right now haha. I definitely answer these types much less often, though. You are female. Indeed I am. You are eighteen years of age. I’m three years older than that. Your hair is an unnatural (but tasteful) shade of red. It’s black, and I’ve never dyed it red either. You have brown eyes. It’s either black or very dark brown, because I’m not sure if black eyes are actually a thing.

You are single. Nah and haven’t been in a while. You have one older brother. Nope, I’m the eldest in the immediate family and I’m a sister to two siblings. You are third generation Russian and Polish. I’m quite sure there is zero tinge of both bloods in me. You live in Florida. And I also live way too far from Florida. I don’t think we’re much alike, man lol. ^And it is just way too fucking hot for you. Not at the moment. Christmas weather is approaching fast, so I can actually go nights without turning on the aircon now. You are currently waiting to get a piercing. Nope. Terrified of them. You have lots of tattoos already planned out. I don’t have any design ideas other than my dog’s pawprint and a plate of nachos. You write, but don't really consider yourself a 'writer'. If I did, it would probably be an insult to writers. I’m not always confident about my writing, even though I love to do it. You love photography (and not because it's 'popular' these days). I respect the skill and the profession, but I don’t do it myself. I used to try out my hand in it though precisely because it was popular, but that was like nine years ago; I quickly realized I wasn’t any good at holding a camera. You drink tea and coffee on a regular basis. I don’t drink tea and I probably drink coffee 1-2 times a week only.

Gore generally makes you laugh. I try not to laugh at it because I know artists spend a fuckton of time working on making it look legitimate (not related to gore but I felt bad when a bunch of fans called out Bryan Cranston’s bald cap in the El Camino movie, especially knowing that Greg Nicotero, AKA dude who works on the makeup in The Walking Dead, was in the team who made the cap. They did what they could and it highkey looks pretty good, but some fans are just brutal); but if the gore was intentionally corny or bad, then I might laugh.

You basically write down everything because you're afraid you'll forget. Yep, that’s why my Notes app is a list of the most random shit. You're a 'highschool drop-out'. No, I graduated. ^And you're currently working towards your GED. We don’t have that here; I don’t actually know what that means. Am open to anyone explaining it to me! Hahaha You don't really care what anyone thinks about you. Of course I care. But it only matters most when the opinions come from the people close to me. You Tweet excessively and shamelessly. I was definitely more obsessed before (I would probably do 150-200 tweets a day and the website would usually kick me out for an hour for tweeting too much). But I mellowed down over the years when I realized making Twitter my life was a horrible habit and that I needed to get off my laptop lol. I still have the app open all day long, but I do more lurking than posting tweets.

It bothers you that almost every statement on this thing begins with 'you'. It’s supposed to be an are-we-alike survey so I don’t see why that trend should be a problem. Winter is your favorite season. Which is weird because I’ve never experienced it. But based on everyone’s stories about how winter is in their area, it sounds beautiful. You know every word to Badlands by Bruce Springsteen. I have never heard a single note of that song. ^And you're not ashamed to admit it. c: You're afraid to go to sleep most nights. Nah. I’m RELIEVED to sleep every night, especially after a long day lmao You have a blog and you're not afraid to use it. :D This is my blog. I’m not afraid to use it but I definitely am cautious about anyone in real life finding out about it. 'Cheesy', 'dorky', 'weird' and 'freaky' are all terms that apply to you. I’m sure everyone identifies with at least one of these words. You are not religious. That I am not. There was a very VERY brief moment when I was ~17 that I went back to my Catholic roots but that fizzled out quickly once I got to college. ^You are spiritual. No. You can't resist making your mom jokes. They’re old, cheap, and unfunny. Except for the White Chick ones HAHAHA ^Or 'that's what she said' jokes. These are even worse. You have a minor obsession with travel-sized objects. Not really. Hades is a BAMF. <3 Like, Percy Jackson-Hades? Idk, I’ve never seen the movie. ^You actually know who Hades is. (Lawlz.) ^ That’s the only Hades I know. You plan on getting two kittens and naming them Hades and Apollo. I don’t plan on getting kittens, and boy these statements are starting to get real specific that no one else is most likely to relate to them lmao. Serial killers never cease to both amaze and fascinate you. I mean I don’t glorify them in the way you just worded it, but I am interested in reading about them. You have a thing for anything vintage or gothic. Before, I guess. Not so much nowadays. You don't have a lot of patience for stupid people. For stupid drivers, mainly. You tell your fair share of racist jokes. ??? This is one of your are-we-alikes????????? You think neck tattoos are sexyy. I find them neither sexy nor unsexy, but I do inwardly cringe because I always imagine just how much it would have hurt to have had it made, especially tattoos on the throat. You want a mosh pit at your wedding. :D Hell no. 14 year old, punk rocking, headbanging Robyn may have wanted that, but I’m so glad she grew up over the years. The Black Cat by Edgar Allen Poe made you cry. I don’t think I’ve ever read it. You get showtunes stuck in your head on a daily basis. I don’t like that kind of music. You eat emo kids for breakfast. Ok now this is just awful. ^And then follow up with a helping of scene kids for lunch. What the hell does eating emo and scene kids even supposed to mean? You secretly want to become a zombie-human hybrid. I’ve seen enough The Walking Dead to not want this scenario for myself. You strongly believe in peace through superior firepower. No.  You hate hippies. Also no. You actually take the time to look up words you don't know the meanings to. Sure. Googling literally takes five seconds, sometimes fewer. You have a habit of calling everything 'ridiculous'. I like using it as an adverb but I wouldn’t call it a habit.

You love Skwisgaar from Metalocalypse. :D Never heard of both of those things. You wish to invest in a pair of plaid pants. Not my style. You love scaring people--literally and figuratively. Not really. You hate the Fourth of July. I don’t celebrate it so I don’t have reason to hate it. You get excited over new pens and notebooks. That’s being a college student for ya.

^And basically any other kind of art supplies. I guess, but pens and notebooks excite me most. You have a thing for Mustangs. (The car, not the horse.) No. In the Philippines, Mustangs are the most basic of luxury cars so I’ve stopped being impressed when I see them around hahaha. You shamelessly jam to 'Don't Stop Believing' every chance you get. No. You think boundaries are overrated. :D No, they’re necessary. You rarely drink soda. I hate the feeling when it goes down my throat. You always procrastinate until the very last possible minute. For certain work that I particularly don’t like doing. Your favorite font on Microsoft Word is 'calibri'. It’s far from my favorite. You enjoy talking in various fake accents. I can’t do accents. The only time you ever thought Brad Pitt was sexy was when he was in 'Troy' I haven’t seen much of his stuff but I find him very attractive in general. You can make the fuck out of some brownies. c: I don’t bake. You don't do well with change. Sometimes. You always listen to music before going to sleep. I don’t; I find it too loud. You thought this was gay. Ugh, this is awful. ^And you now want to lodge a battle axe into my brain. I’m not THAT violent.

[checkbio-i-moved-accounts]

Louder Than Words

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Words: 1.9k+

Summary: Jimin is having a hard time voicing his feelings for you, but he realizes maybe words aren’t so important.

Warnings: None. This is just straight fluff yall.

A/N: This fic has been sitting in my head for a long time and @btssavedmylifeblr said if a fic won't leave you alone, then write it. So I did! My first BTS fic. I hope you enjoy! Thank you to @themusiclife132-writing for being my beta reader for this! I love you so much.

Jimin considered himself a level-headed guy. He was never too brash or cocky, he respected others, and he tried to keep the mood light and joking. Recently, he’s been feeling a little...different. All signs point to you being the cause of it. As a friend of the band, your presence was one he was very familiar with. However, he had developed more than friendly feelings for you. He can’t pinpoint exactly when this shift happened but as he sat on a couch watching you check your texts, he could feel this emotion welling up inside of him. It was almost overwhelming but he had grown used to it. He had been debating getting up and heading over to you for the last minute or so. His mind raced with topics he could bring up but none of them seemed casual enough. His brainstorming was interrupted as Namjoon sat next to you on the couch, asking about the souvenirs you had bought today. As your face lit up and you ran off to grab one of your shopping bags to show him, that warm feeling drained from Jimin quickly and it was replaced with another emotion. One that he was entirely in denial about.

Jealousy.

Jimin was jealous. He envied how Namjoon could quickly come up with a joke about something happening in real time and make you laugh. He envied how Namjoon could flip your compliments back on you and make you blush. He envied that Namjoon made talking with you seem so easy but Jimin always hesitated. He hated that he would need a few seconds to gather his thoughts before talking to you to make sure he didn't flub any words. He hated that he started second-guessing what he already knew because he was so worried about looking dumb in front of you. He hated that he felt he didn’t have a chance because Namjoon seemed to be perfect for you, and he wasn’t. At least in his mind. He started studying harder, making sure he did some sort of English practice at least twice a day on off days and once on days they had a busy schedule. He had improved quite a bit but not as much as he wanted. He just wanted to be able to talk to you. Was that so much to ask? Did the universe have it out for him?

Jimin comes back to reality and blinks a few times to get himself out of his head. Now you were showing Namjoon a necklace you knew your friend would love. Jimin smiles to himself at the fact that you’re bouncing lightly in your seat as you talk. It was little things like that that he loved about you.

Love. A strong word and emotion. One that he hadn’t paired with you until about a month ago. You sat in on a dance practice, watching them rehearse for hours and hours on end. They had just finished the ‘IDOL’ choreography for the 3rd time in a row and tired was an understatement of how Jimin felt right now. Without much thought, he went over and plopped his head in your lap like he’s done many times before.

“Jimin! You’re staining my jeans with your sweat, that’s gross!” You whine as you pushed at his shoulder but he didn’t budge. He pouted as he looked up at you, hoping it would be enough to win you over and let him stay in your lap. When you rolled your eyes playfully, he knew he had won and a smile spread on his face.

“Lucky I love you.” You murmured under your breath as you started to play in his hair.

Jimin paused as his heart kicked into high gear. He must’ve misheard you. You definitely didn’t just drop the L word on him. Right?

“Love?” He repeats as he tries his best to ignore the loud thumping in his chest.

“Mhm.” You nod before you attention was pulled to Jungkook who was asking you a question. Whatever the question was got lost behind the elation and blood rushing through Jimin’s ears. You loved him. After a few days of thinking, he knew he loved you too. For a while he didn’t feel so hopeless. He allowed himself to love and found so many things he loved about you.

Such as your random affectionate touches. When you lean on him as you play a game on your phone or fall asleep with your head on his shoulder during long rides. Other times you wrap your arms around him and demand his attention in a playful manner. He especially loved that.

He loved the look of awe on your face when they took you somewhere new. Whether it be a place the band frequented or an entirely new country he loved seeing your eyes light up as you try to commit every little detail to memory. If he could he would take you all over the world just to see that look every time.

He loved how observant you were. You could always tell when something was wrong with someone. One day in particular Jimin was feeling really low, so much so that he kept messing up choreography. He’d go over it once, twice, three times but still he’d miss a count or forget a step. He knew this dance. He knows he does, why couldn’t he get it right? Hot, angry tears pooled in his eyes as he let out a frustrated groan. He dropped down into a crouch, gripping his hair and pulling at it in annoyance. The whole day had been a rough one and he hoped dancing would help, but it seemed even one of his biggest passions wouldn’t help him wind down. His body was trembling as he tried to stop himself from crying. He hated that he was an angry crier. Then he froze as arms wrapped around him. He could tell right away it wasn’t one of his bandmates.

“It’s going to be okay.” You reassure him in a soft tone. Unbeknownst to him, you had been watching him from the doorway for a while.

It took a few moments but slowly he relaxed into your arms and sat down on the floor. Before he could think about it, he was telling you about the shit day he had. You didn’t get mad when he stammered or stuttered. You didn’t get mad when he couldn’t find an English equivalent to a Korean word and had to rework his statement. You didn’t get mad when he would randomly break his sentences to cry a little. You just sat there with those warm eyes that make his heart soar and listened to him, only interjecting to help him find a word he was looking for. It was only about 10 minutes but he feels as if he rambled for hours.

“Better?” You ask as you give him a small smile.

Jimin nods, his eyes now dry and his mind finally clear.

“Good. Come on, I bought some food and when I left Jin and Jungkook were inhaling it all. I wanna get some kimchi before he finishes it.” You say as you stood up.

Jimin stood as well, a light blush on his cheeks as you take his hand and exit the studio. Thankfully, you didn’t see it.

What he loved most were intimate moments he shared with you. Times when everyone else faded into the background and it was just you and him. On long bus rides, you’d find Jimin sitting with his headphones in his ears watching the world go by. You’d sit next to him and he’d instinctively hand you a headphone and his phone. You two would go back and forth adding music to a queue, showing each other the new discoveries you made and new artists you liked. This could go on for hours and Jimin didn’t mind that. You didn’t seem to either. More than once you’d fallen asleep on him before the queue could finish; he would pause the music and let you rest. You could pick up where you left off later, you always did. No matter how often you told him he didn’t have to wait for you.

Jimin once again was taken out of his thoughts but this time it was by a piece of pepper flying past his face. He furrowed his brows before looking in the direction where it came from. He locks eyes with Jungkook who has a smug look on his face.

“Come eat.” He says as he nods toward the food spread out on the table near him.

Jimin stood up and walked over, nudging Jungkook a little on his way to get a plate. After a quick scan around the room, he noted that you weren’t in the room anymore. He took the empty spot you left next to Namjoon once he filled his plate.

“Namjoon?” Jimin says after a moment of thinking.

“Hm?” Namjoon hums as he chews.

“Could you...teach me some flirty things to say?” Jimin asks as he messes with his food to keep himself occupied. He didn’t have to look over to know that Joon probably had an amused smirk on his face.

“Flirty things? Why would you need me for that?” Namjoon replies after he swallows his food, “If there’s anyone here who can flirt, it’s you.”

“Namjoon.” Jimin whines. He didn’t want to say it was for you. It took a lot of courage for him to even ask Namjoon this in the first place. Namjoon takes a long look at Jimin before he relents. Jimin probably was tortured enough by his crush on you and he didn’t want to add on to it.

“Of course, but not now. Your girl will be back in a few minutes.”

“My girl?” Jimin repeats as he spares a glance at Namjoon.

“You think your crush is subtle? I don’t know how she hasn’t figured it out yet. You’re like a lovesick puppy.” Joon teases with a laugh. “Plus you get fussy whenever she gives me any sort of attention.”

Jimin looks away at that. Was he really that obvious? He didn’t think he was.

“No harm, no foul. It’s alright Jimin. But in all honesty, I don’t think you need me to teach you anything to impress her. She likes you regardless.” Namjoon continues as he opens a bottle of water.

Jimin wants Joon to explain what he meant by that but then you enter the room again and he goes silent.

“Finally done daydreaming?” You ask as you sit down on the other side of Jimin and put your legs across his lap.

He nods before picking up another mouthful of food. A thought comes to mind that makes him pause his movements. Namjoon’s words go through his head again and before he can convince himself to not go through with it, he offers you the food he just gathered on his fork. You look at the food then back to him before you let him feed you.

“Thank you.” You say before you kiss his cheek and rest your head on his shoulder.

Jimin smiles and looks over at Namjoon who gives him a look that is the epitome of ‘I told you so’. Maybe Namjoon was right. Maybe Jimin didn’t need to learn anything. Maybe he did have a chance and there was hope for him. Only time would tell.

[rjhamster]

"God doesn’t want us to rally more of our own strength. He wants us to rely solely on His strength."

Lysa TerKeurst

When God Gives You More Than You Can Handle

by Lysa TerKeurst, from

It's Not Supposed to Be This Way

Have you heard the news? Our next community Online Bible Study is It's Not Supposed to Be This Way by Lysa TerKeurst — starting August 19th  —  and we want you to join us! This study is for anyone whose life looks different than you had hoped or expected; for anyone asking, "Why did God let this happen" or "Please, God don't let this be the way my story unfolds." It's going to be such an incredible, life-changing study! Here's an exclusive excerpt to give you a preview...

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There’s no easy way to attach the word cancer to your world and not make all who love you cry. I kept thinking about that statement everyone loves to throw out in times like these: “God won’t give you more than you can handle.” But that’s not actually in the Bible. God does say He won’t allow us to be tempted beyond what we can bear and that He always provides a way out (1 Corinthians 10:13). But that’s not the same as God not giving us more than we can handle. He sometimes will allow more and more and more. I knew this. And now I was sitting in a pink chair living it. And, as I type these words, I know I’m not the only one who feels they’ve been given more than they can handle. I see the wide-eyed expressions on people all the time. Grief upon grief. Hurt upon hurt. Heartbreak upon heartbreak. Addiction upon addiction. Diagnosis upon diagnosis. Disappointment upon disappointment. The world is filled with people who are dealt more than they can handle. And, surprisingly, the Bible is also filled with people who were given more than they could handle. The apostle Paul wrote: For we do not want you to be uninformed, brothers and sisters, about the troubles we experienced in the province of Asia. We were under great pressure, far beyond our ability to endure, so that we despaired of life itself. Indeed, we felt we had received the sentence of death. But this happened that we might not rely on ourselves but on God, who raises the dead. — 2 Corinthians 1:8-9 God doesn’t expect us to handle this. He wants us to hand this over to Him. He doesn’t want us to rally more of our own strength. He wants us to rely solely on His strength. If we keep walking around, thinking that God won’t give us more than we can handle, we set ourselves up to be suspicious of God. We know we are facing things that are too much for us. We are bombarded with burdens. We are weighed down with wondering. And we are all trying to make sense of things that don’t make sense. Before we can move forward in a healthy way, we must first acknowledge the truth about our insufficiency. Cancer is more than I can handle… on my own. I closed my eyes and silently asked God to come and sit in the empty pink chair near me, Art, and the doctor. I needed God to show me His perspective so I could set my perspective. But it didn’t come right away. And that frustrated me. I was filled with fear and questions like, Why this? Why now? Why me? I could feel my emotions starting to unravel and my resolve to trust God slipping. It was too much. I didn’t want to keep trying so hard to trust God. I was tired of trying to make sense of this life that isn’t supposed to be this way. I went to bed that night seriously contemplating running away to Montana to hide from my life. I could be a waitress in a breakfast diner. I had been a waitress when I was in my early twenties and loved it. Life was simpler then. Serving up plates of bacon and eggs and toast sounded so appealing. But cancer would follow me. The hurt would follow me. And even my wrestling with whether or not I could trust God would certainly follow me whether I moved to Montana or just crawled in a hole somewhere. The story I started telling myself was that life would never get any better. My mind became fixated on all that pointed to this season of suffering being my new normal. I woke up with panicked feelings. I walked around with panicked feelings. I went to bed with panicked feelings. I knew my thinking had to change. I couldn’t escape my realities. I had to face them. I had to walk through them. But maybe if I changed my thinking I could trust God in the midst of them. Thinking about everything I didn’t know wasn’t getting me anywhere. So, I started listing things I did know. And the main thing I know? I know God is good. I didn’t know the details of God’s good plan, but I could make His goodness the starting place to renew my perspective. So now let me tell the story of all these recent events using God’s goodness as the central theme. Had things not blown up between Art and me last summer, I never would have hit the pause button on life to go get a mammogram. I would have waited. But because I had a mammogram at that exact time, the doctors caught a cancer that needed to be caught. And because they caught a cancer that needed to be caught, I had every fighting chance to beat this cancer. You see, we’re all living out a story, but then there’s the story we tell ourselves. We just need to make sure what we’re telling ourselves is the right story. And the right story is, yes, God will give us more than we can handle. But He always has eventual good in mind. We see more and more unnecessary heartbreak. But God sees the exact pieces and parts that must be added right now to protect us, provide for us, and prepare us with more and more of His strength working through us. We don’t have to like it, but maybe knowing this can help us live through it. I learned about these very necessary “pieces and parts” one day when a couple of girls introduced themselves while standing in line to get some take-out food at a restaurant near my house. Pauline and Jessica had both read my book Uninvited. We chatted for a minute about what God had been teaching them, and then the topic of what I’d be writing next came up. I told them about this book and the revelation God had given me about dust. Jessica’s eyes lit up. Her mom is a professional potter. As I shared how, when we place our dust into God’s hands and He mixes it with His living water, the clay that’s formed can then be made into anything, she smiled so big. She’d seen clay being formed into many beautiful things when placed into her mother’s hands. And then she shared something with me that made my jaw drop. She told me that wise potters not only know how to form beautiful things from clay, but they also know how important it is to add some of the dust from previously broken pieces of pottery to the new clay. This type of dust is called “grog.” To get this grog, the broken pieces must be shattered to dust just right. If the dust is shattered too finely, then it won’t add any structure to the new clay. And if it’s not shattered enough, the grog will be too coarse and make the potter’s hands bleed. But when shattered just right, the grog dust added to the new clay will enable the potter to form the clay into a larger and stronger vessel than ever before. And it can go through fires much hotter as well. Plus, when glazed, these pieces end up having a much more beautiful, artistic look to them than they would have otherwise.1 Jessica smiled and said, “C’mon, that will preach, right?!” Oh, it absolutely did. I kept thinking about what Jessica shared and how it might relate to my season of suffering. What if the clay made from all the other dust currently in my life could be strengthened by this newly added broken piece? And then I read Isaiah 45:9: Woe to those who quarrel with their Maker, those who are nothing but potsherds among the potsherds on the ground. Does the clay say to the potter, ‘What are you making?’ Does your work say, ‘The potter has no hands’? God is making something beautiful out of my life. I know that. So, why question what He sees as the necessary ingredients to make my life stronger and more beautiful than ever? Sure, my diagnosis added some more brokenness, but even this could be used for my good. I kept reading that verse from Isaiah and decided to do a little investigation into the term potsherd. A potsherd is a broken piece of pottery. Interestingly enough, a potsherd was also mentioned in the story of Job when he was inflicted with an awful disease. So Satan went out from the presence of the Lord and afflicted Job with painful sores from the soles of his feet to the crown of his head. Then Job took a piece of broken pottery and scraped himself with it as he sat among the ashes. His wife said to him, “Are you still maintaining your integrity? Curse God and die!” He replied, “You are talking like a foolish woman. Shall we accept good from God, and not trouble?” In all this, Job did not sin in what he said. — Job 2:7-10 A broken potsherd can lie on the ground and be nothing more than a constant reminder of brokenness. It can also be used to continue to scrape us and hurt us even more when kept in our hands. Or, when placed in our Master’s hands, the Master Potter can be entrusted to take that potsherd, shatter it just right, and then use it in the remolding of me to make me stronger and even more beautiful. When I understood this, I saw that in all my circumstances God was keeping me moldable while adding even more strength and beauty in the process. I don’t want to have cancer. There’s no part of my human brain that thinks cancer is fair for any precious person who receives this diagnosis. God didn’t cause this potsherd reality in my life. It’s the result of living in this broken world between two gardens. Since I do have cancer, however, I don’t want this broken reality to just be a potsherd wasted on the ground or something I keep in my hand that hurts me more. I must take even this and entrust it to the Lord. Take this, Lord, and shatter it just right, so I can be made stronger, more beautiful, and able to withstand fires as never before. I believe that You see things I cannot see. And You have eventual good in mind. This perspective didn’t take away my cancer. But it did take away the feeling I had to figure this out on my own. It took the weight of it all out of my hands and helped me release it to God. When we hit the place in our lives where we finally realize some things are truly more than we can handle, we will throw our hands up in surrender. And that surrender can happen in one of two ways. We might surrender to the enemy, giving in to those feelings that this isn’t fair, God isn’t there, and God isn’t good. Or, we can surrender to God. This kind of surrender isn’t giving in; it’s giving up! Giving up carrying the weight of all that’s too much for us to our God, who not only can carry it but use it for good. When we know the truth about the amazing things God can do with the dust and the potsherds of life, we won’t surrender to the negative lies of the enemy. Instead, we will lift our hands to the Potter. 1. Conversation with Jessica Leavitt. Excerpted with permission from It’s Not Supposed to Be This Way by Lysa TerKeurst, copyright Lysa TerKeurst.

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Your Turn

Are you dealing with more than you can handle? Does it feel unfair, and wrong, and scary? God absolutely does allow us to be encumbered with far more than we can handle alone… because He never intended us to hand it over to Him! What would happen if you have your potsherd to Him? Come share with us on our blog. We want to hear from you!

[jozalynsharp]

Mo'Nique and Why She Should Be an Inspiration to Comics Everywhere and My Ex Who Told Me I Wasn’t Funny

      It's December 30th and my fiancee and I are filing into the MGM Garden Arena for the John Mayer/Dave Chappelle show. The energy in the room is vibrant. John comes out, plays some songs, and speaks on music with an expertise that made me fall in love with him as an artist all over again. Then Dave comes out. You can taste it in the air. Everyone in that room knows that someday they'll be telling their children about this experience. Dave tells 25 minutes of jokes then brings up the Netflix pay scandal. And he says to a sold out arena that "Mo'Nique is a legend.". After this weekend, I don't see how anyone can disagree with him. 

      I have been a fan of comedy my whole life. I have quite a few influences, but very few female ones. One of the biggest reasons I could even picture myself doing stand-up at all was Mo’Nique. When my friend found out what Mo'Nique meant to me he got me a ticket to see her new residency at the SLS.        Some of you are reading this confused because you don't know what she means to this metal music loving, comic book collecting, video game playing, raw comedian. If you can’t really wrap your head around it, it probably means you have never seen Mo'Nique LIVE in her element. And shame on you for having preconceived notions about me.

      When I was in my early 20's I was in a bad way. I had lost all self worth, was gambling in excess, and had garnered myself an opiate addiction. I was in a relationship that had me so down on myself, had me believing I was so worthless, I had begun to live my life as such. I stole Vicodin from wherever I could find it just so I could numb myself to the fact that I couldn’t find anything to love in the mirror anymore. I was adrift and I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life, but I knew I loved comedy. I would watch hours of stand-up comedy and it would be my reprieve from the constant barrage of negative inner thoughts. I had been telling stories with my girlfriends one night, doing my best to make them laugh, and my oldest and dearest friend interrupted me. Her tone of voice would have made a lightbulb spontaneously appear over her head if we had been in a cartoon she sounded so revelatory. She pointed at me and said: “You should do stand-up comedy!”. And it clicked. That’s exactly what I wanted to do. Once I figured out how to make people laugh, I was always chasing the next punchline way before I even recognized what I was doing. I wasn’t ever the pretty girl or the popular girl. I was the smart girl. I hated being the smart girl. People just want to cheat off your paper and they only want to be your friend in class in case there’s a group project. And no one especially wanted to dry hump the smart girl, and that’s all I wanted out of a Friday night at 17. I knew that people that made me laugh made me want to dry hump. I knew that people who made me laugh made me feel butterflies. I also knew the feeling of making people laugh was like being dry humped by the whole offensive line on Homecoming night. I wanted people to see me and say I was the funniest girl they knew, but I was horrendously shy outside of my extra-curricular theater activities. Although I wanted to be clever and tell stories and make everyone laugh, my severe lack of confidence meant I only showed that side of myself to my closest friends. Add a unibrow and some very poor fashion choices to that mix and I wasn’t exactly screaming anything but “dork”. My friends loved me though. My family loved me. There was always someone around who would laugh at whatever commentary I was spewing or story I was re-enacting. So when my dearest friend, my most practical and level-headed friend, looked me right in my eyeballs and said: “You should do stand-up comedy.”. My heart exploded. The gears in my head all felt like they clicked into place. Not only had someone validated me as funny verbally for one of the first times in my life, but someone had also presented an idea so out of the realm of my reality that was exactly what I wanted out of life. Make people laugh every night onstage for my job? Um, YES PLEASE. Where do I submit my resume? Unfortunately in stand-up, there is no application. It is a sea of possibilities of ways to start and each one is more daunting than the next. So I decided to present this new dream to my boyfriend at the time. We had an extremely unhealthy relationship due to him being too young to take responsibility for the fact that he pressured me into a relationship he didn’t actually want to be in anymore, and I didn’t want to look myself in the mirror and admit just how wrong we were for each other. I had allowed myself to come to a place where one man had torn me down emotionally so severely that I didn’t even realize how abusive it was until I relayed the stories to people who loved me later. Now, don’t jump to crucify him. We were young, and everything about our relationship was wrong from jump. But that’s a story for another day. I remember looking across the table of a BJ’s Restaurant & Brewery at him. This was someone I thought I loved, and I was still so naive and young to think that people will behave the way they’re supposed to and not the way they are going to. As I’ve gotten older I’ve realized these are two very different things. I pushed my fries around on my plate and finally worked up the courage to say it. I couldn’t really bring myself to look at his face. I knew in my heart of hearts that whatever came out of his mouth following whatever I had to say would hurt me, because after a year together, I was finally starting to realize the difference between “supposed to” and “going to”. I faked nonchalance and spoke as if it was a silly idea I was presenting for conversation’s sake. “I’m thinking of trying stand-up comedy.”, and I laughed nervously waving my fork around to punctuate “stand-up comedy”. He didn’t even look up from his food. His body didn’t react. He only shoved another forkful of food into his mouth and said through a twice baked potato: “Why? You’re not funny.”. And then I thought to myself: “Well he must be right. He’s spent everyday with you for a year. Surely, if you were funny he’d be the one to know.”, and I moved on with my life.

I moved on right up until I came across a comedy special called “I Coulda Been Your Cellmate” from the star of one of my favorite movies: “Phat Girlz”. The concept of this comedy special alone shook me to my core. Mo’Nique doing stand-up for hundreds of inmates inside of a women’s prison. How could someone make people laugh in that situation? It seemed impossible.

Then the special started, and she could have done a funny sketch or just launched right into the jokes. However, as I have since learned, this is not her style. She spent the first part of this comedy special giving a voice to these women who will spend most of their natural lives behind bars. Mo’Nique took her time in the spotlight right then to highlight what is broken about prison and the so-called rehabilitation system. At one point an inmate asks her why she came there, and what she said next forever changed the way I looked at our prison system. It also forced me to confront my own inner prejudices against those who’ve been or are incarcerated. I hadn’t opened my heart to their humanity. Growing up in a conservative small town, I had only thought of them as less than decent people, and hadn’t considered how they got there. What tragedy had befallen their lives to drive them to where they were today? My heart ached with a newfound sympathy. Her statement was so profound to me I haven’t forgotten it in ten years: “We live in a society that threw you away, and they said you weren’t worthy and you weren’t valuable and that you were trash. I don’t believe that.” Soon the shot transitions to a stage built outdoors and a crowd of female inmates all wearing different colors to designate their danger or security threat. Mo’Nique then came onstage and took control. She would bring you right to the point of a real “a-ha” moment about us and our society. Then she would hit you with a punchline so funny and so unexpected, I was snort laughing by myself in my living room. Slapping my leg and cackling like an old prospector who just found Gold and couldn’t believe his luck. Now, I could write a massive amount on this special alone, but I’m here to talk about the NOW. I took this trip down memory lane to paint a picture of who I was when Mo’Nique’s stand-up got inside my craw. Because shortly after seeing this, I packed my bags and left. She had said right into that camera that she had been told she wasn’t good enough over and over, and yet here she stood more than good enough. There she stood, a success in her own right. So I loaded myself and my dog onto a plane bound somewhere far away from the man who told me I wasn’t good enough both in life and in my ambition.

Fast forward a few years and I move to Las Vegas, Nevada. My first friend (and still to this day friend) was none other than Bobby Wayne Stauts. He introduced me to a world of amateur stand-up that I didn’t even know existed. I wanted to be a part of it so badly, that I spent three weeks just going out to shows and open mics and befriending comics. Some of my friends who are reading this are like, “Jozalyn, you SURE did ‘befriend’ some of those comics.” and to them I say: Go Befriend Yourself. Then a friend put me on stage one night for 3 minutes and the rest is, as they say, history. Now, let’s jump ahead in the timeline one last time to last week. My friend takes me to see Mo’Nique at her new residency at the SLS. I’m euphoric at the thought of seeing the woman who taught me how to clap back at bullies in “Phat Girlz” and inspired me to shut out the people saying I wasn’t going to be good at stand-up. Her opener Correy Bell had me laughing so hard I almost lost a strip of eyelashes because I was crying. Then, Mo’Nique came out. Gorgeous and statuesque, her smile lit up the whole room, she danced her way to that microphone and before we knew it we were all on our feet dancing with her. Just sharing in a moment of pure joy. No judgement, no pretensions, just everyone in a room feeling unbridled joy at exactly the same moment. She did exactly what I fell in love with her for from the beginning. She made us laugh, she made us cry, and she made us think. She challenged her own belief systems, she challenged our belief systems, and she challenged how we treat each other. She told stories so raw and so real, I couldn’t take my eyes off of her because her pure vulnerability was beautiful.

Then the meet and greet comes. I am sweating and nervous. You don’t often get to meet personal heroes, but I can tell you when I do I want to vomit. Did I do that? No I just cried uncontrollably while standing in a line full of people drinking and dancing. I realize now that Mo’Nique being the thing that pulled me out of traumatic experience also meant that she would take me back there for a moment. And the tears that flooded down my face, the same tears that threaten to fall as I write this, were tears of gratitude. This woman inspired me to chase my dreams in a very real way. It comes my turn and she hugs me deeply and says some things into my ear that I will keep with me forever. I will to write them here, or anywhere because they are mine. When she speaks to you, you just know some things are for you and that moment. Then she pulls away and lets me tell her my story. I walked away knowing I’d never forget this experience. As lucky as I felt then, I then am lucky enough to be invited to do a guest set a few days later. She sends for me when I arrive. I walk into her dressing room and she smiles at me. She squeezes my hand and says “Hello, baby.” and I remind myself that if I cry in front of Mo’Nique again she’s gonna think I’m a crazy person. So I choke back those tears and smile and say hello back. Her energy is palpable. I feel so positive and comfortable, I just know the night is going to be fun. And it was. It was one of my favorite performing experiences to date. I got to watch her bring the house down and I went home that night giving a middle finger to all those people who said “Never meet your heroes.”.

I will save a lot of the memories of that night for me. They are special to me and I don’t believe everything is meant to be shared. I believe some things are meant to be cherished and don’t need repeating. However, there are some things from that night that made me think that a lot of comics, not just female comics, I know could take a page out of the Mo’Nique handbook. Here’s what I took away from this experience:

Don’t be afraid to be real. She showed us her heart and it made those laughs feel so very good. It felt like laughing with your favorite cousin who you only get to see once a year for the holidays. It felt like laughing with that person in your life who you laugh so hard with every time you hang out and only you guys think each other is funny. It felt so very good. A pure laugh that sits in your belly and came from your heart.

Be good to people. All of her messages can be summed up in one message: “Be better to each other”.

And love those who love you. She spent real genuine time with each of her fans that stayed for the meet and greet. She hugged us like she lost us in the grocery store and thought we got snatched up. She didn’t fade. She gave every one of those people 110% of her right up until the moment she walked offstage. Hell, for all I know she was back there hugging the staff and giving them all those positive vibes she seems to be made of.

The fourth thing that I took away was how much she cared that the experience was good for me. She check on me FOUR times before my set. She even apologized for interrupting me while I was reading my notes. She checked on me and made me laugh and showed me love before I even touched the microphone. She didn’t need me to prove that I was funny before she treated me with kindness and love. She did it because I was, as she says, her “Sister in Comedy”.

Comics can so often can ascribe their personal feeling on a comic’s “talent” to how they feel about a person. Deigning them to be “hack” or an “open micer” or “not funny” somehow making them less worthy of kindness it seems. How many of us check on someone we’ve never seen go up even once before they do a guest set on our show? And no I’m not counting you saying “Tight five. Be funny and I'll light you at four.” as checking on them.

And finally, the last thing that I will hold with me for as long as I am in this crazy industry was what she said when I thanked her for the opportunity. I will hold onto this as a principle in my life. It is the kind of person we should all aspire to be. She took my hand and said: “Just promise me that when you’re where I’m at, you’ll reach your hand out to the next little girl trying to make her way and help her up.”.