#Professional Simultaneous Interpreting | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gardenschedule · 7 months ago

Note

could you elaborate on your tags from that "writing about white walls" post?

I don't think this is a very unique take here but basically I believe that John was trying to achieve certain goals via Yoko's presence, and it was an intentional and purposeful disruption of the Lennon-Mccartney relationship. John, Yoko and Paul, as well as many fans and authors, treat this disruption as an inadvertent, inevitable side effect of the johnandyoko love story, that they were just so obsessed with each other Paul naturally got pushed to the side and it couldn't be helped, but I really think that was the whole damn point. I wouldn't go so far as to claim that was their point of J&Y's *relationship*, but I certainly think it was the reason John refused to physically separate from her while he was still active in the beatles.

I mean, the thing about John and Yoko is that their relationship was just kind of bizarre and confusing, right? You can, in fact, be in love and also be in separate rooms, you can have a job and a wife at the same time, you can have a creative partner and a romantic partner simultaneously. For some reason John couldn't, and the way he/Paul explain it is so weak and unsatisfactory. Like:

“. . . I mean, I think really what it was, really all that happened was that John fell in love. With Yoko. And so, with such a powerful alliance like that, it was difficult for him to still be seeing me. It was as if I was another girlfriend, almost. Our relationship was a strong relationship. And if he was to start a new relationship, he had to put this other one away. And I understood that. I mean, I couldn’t stand in the way of someone who’d fallen in love. You can’t say, “Who’s this?” You can’t really do that. If I was a girl, maybe I could go out and… But you know I mean in this case I just sort of said, right – I mean, I didn’t say anything, but I could see that was the way it was going to go, and that Yoko would be very sort of powerful for him. So um, we all had to get out the way.”

I mean, that shit is insane?? It makes no sense for a platonic partnership. For Mclennon shippers, it can be interpreted in a way that makes some sense. But the rest of the world can't make sense of it, so they latched onto blaming Yoko for decades. And while it's partially racism and misogyny, it's mostly because people intuitively know there's something really weird about the way things went down and the best explanation they can come up with is that she manipulated or bewitched John somehow. I don't think that's the case. John can be pretty gullible and he loves a guru, but he's not so delusional he wouldn't foresee the conflict and tension that being joined at the hip 24/7 and trying to bring her into the immediate beatles circle would cause. I don't believe he could be manipulated into thinking it would be tolerable or positive for the group. He would never have accepted another beatle doing the same thing, he acknowledged this himself:

JOHN: But I understand how they felt, because if it had been Paul or George and Ringo that had fallen in love with somebody and gotten totally involved, suddenly… It wasn’t like, you know, somebody – George coming in and saying, “I’m going to work with Eric Clapton in a band now, and screw you.” It wasn’t that kind of thing at all. It was just suddenly this involvement.

I think he knew perfectly well it would be received badly, but there were beneficial outcomes he hoped for. On that post I said it could be taken as both an aggressive or defensive move, I reckon it's probably a mix of both. It could be seen as a power grab. He's got himself an ally in the studio who will unconditionally support him, increased artistic credibility (notably in a type of art Paul was also into), the implicit threat that he doesn't need Paul or the group, the leverage that comes with needing the others less than they need him, and the ability to induce creative, professional and personal jealousy in Paul specifically. After all, that's exactly how Paul most effectively hurt John:

JOHN: [Paul] even recorded that all by himself in the other room, that’s how it was getting in those days. We came in and he’d – he’d made the whole record. Him drumming, him playing the piano, him singing. Just because �� it was getting to be where he wanted to do it like that, but he couldn’t – couldn’t – maybe he couldn’t make the break from The Beatles, I don’t know what it was. But you know, I enjoyed the track. But we’re all, I’m sure – I can’t speak for George, but I was always hurt when he’d knock something off without… involving us, you know? But that’s just the way it was then.

On the other hand, John at the time was particularly vulnerable and sensitive. Yoko must have been a protective mechanism, a barrier between himself and the person most able to hurt his feelings and his confidence, she made him feel good about himself and his art. He may not have been able to cope with the pressure unless she was there to believe in him and create some distance between him and Paul, to give him some physical and emotional space from the intensity of their relationship and competitive rivalry. And if we put our tinfoil hats on, we can certainly speculate that showing off a shiny new partner is an effective way to deal with unreciprocated feelings or romantic/sexual rejection.

Truthfully, sometimes I feel like John wanted Paul to be badly hurt by this situation so much that he kind of convinced himself of it? I have a tonne of quotes about how Paul reacted to Yoko here, and one thing I notice is that John seems to exaggerate how much Paul hated her, and Yoko's a lot less accusing. That's not to say Paul wasn't jealous, but he clearly made efforts to hide it. We have evidence that Paul tried his best to be accepting and kind despite how negatively it affected him. He went out of his way to help and defend them on multiple occasions, and yet John still thinks that Paul was singing 'Get Back' to her directly or he can't stand them being in love or whatever. It seems almost like wishful thinking on his part, which makes perfect sense if you think his goal was to hurt Paul in the first place.

#the beatles #john lennon #paul mccartney #mclennon #ultimately i don't blame yoko #i blame john's utilization of yoko #her only real crime is not being enough of a beatles fan to prioritize lennon-mccartney over herself and fair enough tbh

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jungkoode · 4 months ago

Text

THE 25TH HOUR | O5

“𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐒”

“Your body knows exactly how many steps it takes to reach him in the cafeteria. Yoongi keeps running away from you. And with one touch, he can repair reality itself—but he won't explain why he avoids your skin like it's toxic. Time to get some answers.”

next | index

— chapter details

word count: 3,5k

content: cafeteria confrontations, Yoongi avoiding questions like they're a temporal disease, Namjoon being the only adult in the room, Y/N's unexplainable need to count steps to reach Yoongi, glove repairs revealing golden powers.

— author’s note

kicks down door with chaotic enthusiasm

Y'ALL. This chapter has been LIVING in my brain for WEEKS. Do you know how long I've been waiting to write about the cafeteria scene?? The TENSION. The COUNTING. The way Yoongi just EXISTS like a walking temporal paradox and Y/N's analytical brain is like "THIS DOES NOT COMPUTE BUT I'M GONNA FOLLOW HIM ANYWAY."

Let's talk about how Y/N's body just KNOWS there are exactly 25 steps to reach him. TWENTY-FIVE. Like the hour that doesn't exist except it does. Her subconscious is out here doing MATH while she's just trying to get lunch and I am LIVING for it.

And Yoongi??? The way this man is maintaining professional distance while simultaneously counting her steps?? The way he catches her without even thinking about it?? That "Be careful" in the deadest tone while his knuckles are white from gripping his tray?? PEAK REPRESSION HOURS.

Also can we appreciate Namjoon basically being that friend who sees the disaster unfolding but just sits back with his sad broccoli like "well this should be entertaining"—I LOVE HIM. SO MUCH.

Special mention to Y/N finally connecting the dots about abilities! My girl went from "what's happening" to "I'm gonna chase this man down and DEMAND ANSWERS" in the span of one lunch break. The character development! The audacity! The way Yoongi's brain short-circuits every time she challenges him directly??

Fun fact: The tear in the glove scene was supposed to be like two lines long but then Yoongi's control issues said "no❤️" and suddenly I'm writing three paragraphs about him fixing fabric with his powers while having an existential crisis.

Anyway, get ready for some quality revelations featuring: precise measurements of mutual pining disguised as analytical observation, Yoongi's desperate attempts to maintain Protocol 47.3 crumbling in real time, and Y/N's brain finally connecting some of the golden dots that have been right in front of her all along.

yeets self back into writing cave to continue enabling this mess

— read on

ao3

wattpad

Twenty-five.

That’s the number your brain provides the moment you step into the cafeteria. Not consciously, not intentionally—it’s just there, ticking in the back of your mind like an unsilenced metronome. Twenty-five steps.

You don’t know why it seems to matter. What matters is the hum of activity around you—the murmur of voices, clinking trays, the faint, almost tinny drone of the ceiling’s fluorescent lights. Everything is bright here, too bright, almost designed to contrast the dark-coated corridors and the oppressive training rooms.

Fifteen.

You glance toward the queue winding its way toward the food station. The air smells faintly of something savory—a surplus of sodium, probably. It isn’t appealing, but it doesn’t have to be. 12:00 PM is precisely the right time for caloric intake, and your body has already started to calculate the nutritional deficit from this morning’s training session.

The golden flare from your hands lingers in your peripheral awareness, though. You can’t stop replaying it: the way it surged, uninhibited and wrong, the way Taehyung—stoic and precise—had exchanged a silent glance with Jungkook.

Concerned, satisfied? Something in between?

Their nonverbal communication is maddening. It leaves too much interpretation on your part, which your methodical nature doesn’t appreciate.

You don’t want to think about it right now. You’re exhausted, hungry, and somehow—

Five.

Your body recognizes him before your mind does.

It’s his presence, tactile and immediate, that hits you first. There’s a static charge in the air, subtle but undeniable, the sort of temporal feedback that makes your skin prickle even through your uniform. The color mint registers next—bright against a sea of neutral tactical gear.

Him.

Agent Min.

You blink, your thoughts fracturing as your feet take you toward the queue before you can consciously decide.

He’s the last one in line, steel black tactical gear still wrapped around his frame, his tray balanced neatly in one hand. The sight is so precise, so undeniably him, that something tightens in your chest.

Recognition? No. Memory. Or maybe the ghost of one.

Your steps falter but don’t stop entirely. You position yourself just behind him in the queue without fully understanding why, though the part of your brain that craves answers is already cataloging:

Three.

The faint goosebumps scattered along the back of his neck. You shouldn’t notice them—they’re subtle, nearly invisible—but you do.

The tiny hairs on his nape aren’t lying flat like they should; instead, they curl at the ends, rebellious against the crisp lines of his otherwise engineered self-presentation. It’s absurdly human in a way that catches your attention, though you’re not sure why.

Two.

He scratches the back of his neck then, his hand moving unhurried but deliberate, like he’s aware of your gaze prickling along his spine. You see his fingers curl just slightly before pulling away, his knuckles brushing against the edge of his collar. His jaw tenses—barely noticeable—but it’s enough to make your stomach… shift.

One.

He moves one step forward in the queue.

Two.

Your body reacts automatically, legs bringing you forward in tandem, the distance closing by exactly the same measurement as his step. You don’t think about it because there’s nothing to think about. But.

One.

You realize you’ve been cataloging how many steps there are to reach him.

To meet him.

Or maybe just to be near enough that you notice things—like the way his fingers tap softly against the edge of his tray.

You don’t know how or why you know that it’s been twenty-five steps since you entered the cafeteria. How each of Yoongi’s moves has synced with yours in this exact, unexplainable pattern.

It doesn’t make sense.

He moves another step.

Two.

So do you.

One.

By now, you’re painfully aware of the stretch of silence between you. The cafeteria buzzes with conversations and clinking utensils, yet it all feels muffled as your focus narrows. His movements are too precise. His reactions are too contained. It’s infuriating and fascinating all at once.

Your analytical mind catalogues, observes, takes note of all the small inconsistencies:

- The goosebumps that shouldn’t exist, not here, not while the rest of him is perfectly composed.

- The subtle curl of his hair at the nape of his neck, just unruly enough to feel deliberate.

- The way his fingers tap against the tray like they’re marking time—or delaying it.

Then he turns.

The motion is so sudden, so sharp and decisive, that your breath catches somewhere in your throat. His dark eyes lock onto yours immediately, narrowing like he’s already reading your next move before you’ve even thought about it.

You freeze, caught between instinct and confusion.

And that’s when everything collapses into motion.

Your body trips forward before your brain registers the stumble—feet misaligned, weight tipping dangerously toward him. The typical response time for a human, even a highly trained one, is 0.72 seconds.

Agent Min doesn’t need that long.

His left hand is there before you fall, fingers curling around your hip with a pressure that’s both firm and startlingly gentle.

Too fast to be human.

The contact sends a jolt through you, gold sparking faintly at the edge of your awareness, but not enough to manifest. Not this time.

Seconds pass—or maybe fragments of seconds. All you know is the weight of his palm against your hip, the way his fingers tighten just slightly to steady you. It’s a feeling you shouldn’t recognize, one that doesn’t belong in your current timeline.

And yet.

Your body knows it.

His eyes meet yours, smoky and unreadable, and yet they tell you more than they should. They pull, not in the way gravity does—but in the way the edge of a cliff beckons, daring you to take one more step, to risk the fall just to see the view on the way down.

The moment holds too long, too heavy, until a shiver whispers down your spine like static electricity, freezing you in place.

His fingers—gloved, always gloved, your mind notes—almost twitch as they slide away from your hip. The absence they leave feels as sharp as the contact was brief.

Why gloves?

He is the only one apart from you always wearing gloves.

He clears his throat, the sound clipped and low, grounding you back into the present.

“Be careful,” he says, voice monotone. The kind of tone meant to shut down conversation, not start it.

Then he takes another step forward, his tray clinking against the metal railing.

You follow.

He doesn’t look back, but the way his grip tightens on the tray betrays him. His knuckles whiten against the reinforced edge, but his lips stay pressed together, withholding words you’re sure linger on his tongue.

He gets his food quickly—a precision to his movements that tells you he’s done this a hundred times before—yet something about it feels hurried, like each motion is shaved down to its most efficient possible form.

Then he steps away, leaving the queue—and you—behind.

You barely notice the woman placing food onto your own tray; her voice murmurs something about mashed potatoes and protein options, but the words are white noise against the pounding in your ears.

Once the lady is done, your feet are already moving before logic catches up, trailing after him with a determination that even you don’t fully understand.

It takes you a moment to realize what this feels like.

Chasing.

But why should you have to chase him?

He was the one who recruited you. He was the one who woke you up, who brought you here—who apparently needed you here.

And yet, the way he moves now, hurried and precise, almost like he’s… fleeing?

The absurdity of it makes your jaw clench, your pulse spike. Your pace quickens to match his.

He rounds the corner, exiting the cafeteria altogether.

So do you.

“Are you going to follow me to my room too?”

His voice cuts through the air like a serrated blade, halting you mid-step. When you look up, he’s already turned to face you, his expression drained of patience.

There’s warning in his tone, but it doesn’t hold.

Not for you.

“Yes,” you say simply.

His dark eyes narrow, and for the briefest second, his jaw twitches—but not in irritation. No, you recognize the tell now, like clockwork machinery clicking into place.

His tension isn’t frustration.

It’s restraint.

“If you follow me, I won’t be held accountable for what happens.”

The words are clipped, deliberately sharp.

You know he means for them to sound like a threat, but they land off-kilter, like a puzzle piece forced into the wrong slot.

You tilt your head, observing him—the way his shoulders stiffen, the way he shifts his weight onto his back leg like he’s bracing for something.

“That doesn’t sound like something you wouldn’t enjoy,” you reply evenly.

The reaction you get is visceral. His entire body tenses, his fingers curling tight enough to strain the seams of his gloves. His throat works around a swallow, and something flickers in his expression before he locks it down again—an instinctual response buried beneath years of self-imposed control.

He spins around without a word and starts walking away so fast you almost have to jog to keep pace.

Interesting.

Because the contrast between his words and his body is glaring.

His voice commands distance, detachment. But his posture, his pace, his refusal to look at you directly—they scream something else entirely. You file the observation away for later analysis, though it nags at you like a loose thread begging to be unraveled.

He doesn’t try to stop you when you follow him into the lounge. You register the familiar sound of Namjoon’s voice before you fully step inside, his cadence soothing and measured as he pokes at a plate of broccoli with visible dismay.

Namjoon’s gaze flickers up when Agent Min enters, his brows lifting as he takes in the scene.

“Stay,” Yoongi says abruptly, the word low and clipped, almost pleading.

Namjoon blinks, fork halfway to his mouth. “I wasn’t planning on leaving, but by all means, make it sound like a hostage situation.”

Yoongi doesn’t respond, but you see the corner of his jaw tighten as he moves toward Namjoon, positioning himself on his opposite side so you can’t sit next to him. His eyes flicker to you once, a brief glance that barely lasts a second, before he leans casually—too casually—against the table.

You follow, your gaze trailing him like a shadow.

Namjoon sighs loudly, like he’s bemoaning some preordained fate, and sets his fork down with deliberate care.

You sit down in the vacant chair in front of them.

“Let me guess. Training didn’t quite go as planned?”

You turn toward Namjoon, drawn by his deliberate tone, and note the subtle shift in Yoongi’s posture the second your attention leaves him. His shoulders relax by exactly 1.7 centimeters. His lips press together less tightly. It’s like watching a pressure valve release.

“Training was fine,” you reply, though your voice carries a slight edge. “I’d say the problem started after.”

Namjoon’s lips twitch, though he tries to school his expression into neutrality. “Is that so?”

“Yes. Apparently, Agent Min has a very selective version of accountability.”

Yoongi’s eyes snap to you, dark and sharp, but he doesn’t interrupt.

Namjoon hums thoughtfully, his gaze darting between you and Yoongi. “Interesting theory. Though I’d imagine accountability is quite difficult when dealing with…” He pauses, his smile widening almost imperceptibly. “Unpredictable variables.”

You narrow your eyes at the implied jab, though you can’t fault the accuracy. “If that’s the case, perhaps a more thorough debrief is in order.”

Namjoon laughs softly, and though the sound is pleasant, there’s an edge of knowing amusement to it. “Oh, trust me. I think some variables are better left unexplored.”

Yoongi exhales sharply from his corner, though it’s unclear whether it’s relief or irritation. When you glance back toward him, his gaze skates away, fixing somewhere past your shoulder as if the ceiling tiles are suddenly fascinating.

You turn back to Namjoon, curiosity bubbling to the surface. “And what would you suggest I do with unexplored variables?”

Namjoon leans back in his seat, cradling his chin in one hand as if considering your question with great care. “My advice? Be careful where you tread. Some variables have a tendency to spiral.”

From his corner, Yoongi mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like “Spiral my ass.”

But Namjoon’s smirk only deepens.

You don’t miss the irony of the advice—and the way Yoongi bristles every time Namjoon speaks. For someone who insists on distance, he has a terrible poker face when it comes to reactions.

Namjoon, ever the mediator, shifts his attention back to you. “So, how’s temporal adjustment treating you so far? Any strange sensations? Unusual reactions? Uncontrollable urges to…” He glances at Yoongi pointedly. “…poke the bear?”

You blink, caught momentarily off-guard. “Is that an official diagnostic question?”

Namjoon chuckles, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Purely casual observation. Though I’d wager it’s not advice you’re likely to take.”

His tray clinks against the table, forgotten, as Yoongi suddenly moves—too fast, too fluid. His fingers wrap around your wrist with surgical precision, raising it up to eye level over the table. The motion carries a familiarity your mind refuses to process, but your body... your body doesn't even flinch.

"What are you—"

"Skin."

The word comes out like an accusation. His jaw tightens as he nods toward a small tear in your glove—barely visible, probably from when Taehyung had you practicing defensive maneuvers. The scratch exposes a sliver of flesh no larger than a paper cut.

"It's just a small tear," you say, analytical mind already calculating the negligible percentage of exposed skin. "The statistical probability of it affecting temporal signatures is—"

"That's not the point." His voice drops lower, edges rougher. The grip on your wrist tightens fractionally—0.3 newtons of additional pressure.

"Then what is the point?" You watch his face carefully, cataloging the micro-expressions that flash across it. "You're exhibiting signs of extreme agitation over 0.47 square centimeters of exposed epidermis."

His eyes snap to yours, dark and sharp. "Do you ever stop analyzing?"

"Do you ever start explaining?"

Namjoon suddenly becomes very interested in his broccoli.

Yoongi's attention returns to your wrist, his focus narrowing to the tear with an intensity that seems disproportionate to the situation. His thumb brushes over the fabric—not touching skin, never skin—and golden traces begin to appear, like time itself is being rewoven into the material.

The tear seals itself, threads knitting back together until the glove looks pristine. New. Like it was never damaged at all.

Your analytical mind immediately starts calculating the energy requirements for temporal manipulation at a molecular level.

“How did you—"

“Don’t let it happen again, A-735.”

He drops your wrist like it burns, stepping back with careful precision.

"The probability of maintaining completely undamaged gear during combat training is statistically—"

"I said," his voice carries an edge that makes your skin prickle, "don't let it happen again."

You flex your fingers, examining the restored glove.

“Your reaction seems excessive for standard protocol compliance."

A muscle jumps in his jaw. "There's nothing standard about this."

"About what? A torn glove? Or the way you're looking at me like I've committed temporal treason?"

His eyes darken dangerously. "A-735—"

"Oh, we're back to employee IDs?" You tilt your head, curiosity overtaking caution. "Interesting shift in familiarity considering you were calling me ‘Noma’ yesterday."

Namjoon's fork scrapes against his plate with deliberate noise.

"This isn't a discussion," Yoongi says, voice clipped. But you notice how his gloved fingers curl into his palms, how his breathing has shifted to a carefully controlled rhythm.

"Clearly not, since discussion would require actual answers instead of cryptic warnings about exposed skin." You lean closer, watching how he immediately tenses. "Tell me, Agent Min, what exactly happens if—"

"Don't." The word comes out rough. "Don't finish that sentence."

"Why? Because you might have to explain why you're treating a millimeter of exposed skin like a temporal bomb?"

Yoongi scoffs, the sound low and derisive, before turning his attention back to his tray. It’s a deliberate dismissal—one you recognize instantly. The conversation is over, at least as far as he’s concerned.

Fine.

You pick up your fork, stabbing absently at the food in front of you. The silence that follows is weighty, punctuated only by the occasional scrape of utensils against metal trays. Namjoon chews methodically, gaze flicking between you and Yoongi like he’s waiting for someone to break first.

Neither of you does.

At least, not in the way he expects.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch something subtle—too subtle. A shift in the way Yoongi’s jaw moves, the near-imperceptible twitch of his fingers against the edge of his tray. His body is angled just slightly toward Namjoon now, and when he speaks, it’s under his breath.

Low. Coded.

You don’t catch the words. But you don’t have to.

Namjoon hums in response, a quiet acknowledgment, and something about the exchange makes your hackles rise.

You set your fork down. “Should I be concerned that you two are conspiring right in front of me?”

Namjoon glances up, expression mild. “Would you believe me if I said no?”

“No.”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he picks at the remnants of his meal. Yoongi remains silent, focused on his food with the kind of detachment that only makes you more suspicious. His movements are too even, too measured, like he’s performing the act of eating rather than actually doing it.

You shift your focus, letting them keep their secrets for now. Because something else is gnawing at you—something infinitely more important.

Your glove.

Or rather, the fact that it is no longer damaged.

The memory replays in perfect clarity—the soft brush of Yoongi’s thumb against the fabric, the way golden light wove itself into the fibers, stitching reality back together at a molecular level.

Your mind turns over the possibilities.

Was it matter manipulation? No, the material didn’t shift—only repaired.

Atomic reconfiguration? Too precise. Too controlled.

Something else?

Your gaze flickers toward Namjoon.

“What’s your ability?”

The question halts whatever conversation he and Yoongi were about to resume.

Namjoon blinks, fork stopping mid-air. For the first time in this entire exchange, he looks genuinely caught off guard.

His eyes dart to Yoongi.

You track the movement.

“What?” you press, narrowing your gaze. “Is that classified too?”

Namjoon sets his fork down with a quiet clink. “You know about abilities already?”

You blink. “Taehyung and Jungkook can interface.”

A pause.

Yoongi doesn’t move.

Namjoon watches you, carefully. “Interface?”

You are certain the voice you heard in your head earlier was Jungkook’s. And the golden sparks from your skin during training—Jungkook had seen them. So had Taehyung. Neither of them had looked surprised.

You sit back in your chair, folding your arms. “Yes. Jungkook was in my head earlier.”

Namjoon doesn’t react right away. His expression remains neutral, contemplative. But you’ve seen enough microexpressions today to know what hesitation looks like on him.

It confirms something.

Namjoon is very aware of what Jungkook and Taehyung can do. Which means—

Yoongi already knew, too.

You glance at him, searching. But Yoongi’s face remains unreadable, eyes fixed somewhere past your shoulder. Like he’s already miles ahead in this conversation, calculating something you haven’t caught up to yet.

Your fingers tap idly against your arm.

“You’re not surprised,” you note.

Namjoon exhales through his nose, a quiet hm. “No, I suppose I’m not.”

Yoongi still doesn’t look at you.

Your stomach twists.

They all know more than you.

Namjoon finally leans back, stretching his arms behind his head before exhaling deeply.

“Well,” he muses, voice light, but you don’t miss the sharp consideration in his gaze. “Since you’re clearly already putting things together…”

He lowers his arms and levels you with a small, knowing smirk.

“My ability,” he says, “is temporal analysis.”

You wait, expectant. When he doesn’t elaborate, you raise a brow.

He smirks. “You’re going to make me explain it, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

Yoongi exhales sharply through his nose. You’re fairly certain it’s a laugh, or the closest approximation of one he’ll allow himself.

Namjoon shakes his head but obliges. “I can read temporal signatures—patterns, shifts, inconsistencies in time’s movement. If there’s a disturbance, I can analyze it, figure out the mechanics behind it. It’s why I can see through most of CHRONOS’ bullshit.”

You process this. “So you don’t manipulate time—you interpret it.”

“Exactly.” Namjoon taps his temple. “It’s all data. Time leaves a fingerprint, and I just happen to be able to read it.”

Useful.

Incredibly useful, actually.

Your mind races through the implications—how Namjoon could track shifts, pinpoint weak spots in CHRONOS’ system, even predict when anomalies might occur based on recurring patterns. It also explains why Yoongi deferred to him in strategy yesterday.

Your fingers tap idly against the table as you consider the broader picture. If Taehyung and Jungkook can interface, if Namjoon can read time, if Yoongi can—

Your thoughts halt.

Restore.

Your eyes flick to Yoongi, something slotting into place with sudden, perfect clarity.

His touch. The way your glove mended itself. The way the cafeteria feels too real around him, like time itself refuses to misalign in his presence.

He doesn’t just exist outside CHRONOS’ control.

He undoes it.

taglist: @cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @somehowukook @stuti2904 @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @ktownshizzle @yoongiiuu93 @billy-jeans23 @annyeongbitch7

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

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gabrielsbubblegumbitch · 1 year ago

Note

asking for Velvette Dx and/or head canons if it's not too much hassle! Plz and ty!

tw // suicide

I would like to preface all my posts on headcanons related to psychology and mental illness with a disclaimer: diagnosing mental conditions, especially personality disorders, can be extremely challenging. It's a complicated process that relies heavily on a psychologist's interpretation of facts, making it susceptible to biases. Personality disorders cannot be diagnosed based on surface-level observations and are not just labels that we can assign to people like in the case of MBTI. Additionally, I am not a clinician with any expertise in diagnosing people. Therefore, the following post should not be taken as a reliable professional opinion. It's simply my interpretation of the internal mechanisms that may be responsible for the behavior of certain characters in my fan fiction. Furthermore, I want to make it clear that I have no intention of stigmatizing people with personality disorders by associating them with villains. A personality disorder does not determine someone's character or make them a bad person. Some characters may be evil because of the choices they make, not as a result of their mental conditions.

So, as I mentioned, I headcanon Velvette as having an Antisocial Personality Disorder. It is characterized by lack of sympathy or empathy for the rights of others, while simultaneously acting charming and interpersonally manipulative.

❤️ Throughout her childhood, Velvette lived exclusively with her father in the impoverished and sketchy part of the city. Her father worked a lot to earn them living but at the same time he drank a lot and while drunk tend to be aggressive. Also he surrounded himself with bad people. In my mind Velvette can deal with Vox and Val's shit so well because since she was little she was surrounded by unpredictable and violent men. At this point she couldn't be less scared of them.

❤️ She endured relentless bullying during her school years due to her inability to afford stylish clothes and gadgets. This was particularly hurtful for her, given her deep passion for fashion. Velvette devoted all her free time to design stunning looks, harboring a fervent desire to be able to wear them.

❤️ Around 12, she figured that following rules was pointless, being in a disadvantaged position due to her family's poverty. The sole way to boost her social status, in her view, was to break those rules. This extended beyond minor offenses like stealing groceries; she engaged in more serious crimes, such as taking money, clothes, and jewelry from stores and individuals. She never felt any remorse for these actions; to her, they were merely a means to achieve her goals, regardless of the harm inflicted on others.

❤️ She never finished her education because sticking to school rules wasn't her forte. She had the smarts and charm to sidestep juvenile detention. Despite concerns from a few individuals, we all know how well the system deals with "troubled teens." Besides, her father wasn't bothered by psychologists' opinions as long as she was bringing in some cash.

❤️ As a young woman she used her charm to manipulate men and take advantage over them. While she contemplated sex work as an easy money-making avenue, she found men too repulsive to engage in it. Instead, her preferred method involved blackmail – she seduced married men, particularly the submissive ones drawn to her aggression and coldness. Through this, she gathered intelligence and skillfully weaponized it against them.

❤️ At some point, she blew up as this super popular influencer. It kicked off with her sharing cool, low-cost looks on the internet. People loved her sassy attitude and creative stuff. But as she got more famous, it stopped being about creativity and turned into a power trip. She built a cult-like following around herself and started abusing her power. Being openly mean worked in her favor online – people ate it up, especially when she got into online fights. No matter how wild it got, no one could successfully cancell her. Actually, I think Vox really admires her talent for stirring up drama. He pushed her several times to get on some reality show, thinking it'd make the ratings explode. But the darkest stuff Velvette pulled wasn't out there for everyone to see. It all went down in her DMs. She justified it as "finally getting justice from rich white brats," using her influence to get teens to pull off crimes and risky stuff. She even manipulated at least two depressed kids into taking their own lives. When shit hit the fan, and she knew prison was coming, she took it as one last chance to torment people. During a "live stream apology," she commmited suicide in front of thousands of people.

❤️ In the show, it's evident that she's downright rude. Not just to Carmilla and the other overlords, but also towards Vox and her own employees. The lack of sensitivity and respect for others, coupled with a strong sense of superiority and being extremely opinionated, are typical traits associated with Antisocial Personality Disorder (APD). My girl literally got song called Respectless.

❤️ She disregards any kind of authorities and when someone tries to impose their will onto her, she's going berserk.

❤️ She genuinely couldn't care less about what people think of her; she despises people that much. In fact, being hated now excites her because she knows she's untouchable and influential and it makes everyone even more angry.

❤️ She's extremely reckless, even if she knows it could hurt her – another trait associated with APD. While we observe Vox and Valentino able to behave when necessary, Velvette storms into overlords' meetings guns blazing and starts with insulting everyone, even though she aims to convince them to align with Vs.

❤️ She struggles to form genuine connections with other people. Still, she's got a soft spot for Vox and Val, sort of considering them her friends. At the same time, she sees them as just a couple of guys she can easily play to her advantage.

Vox hc | Valentino hc

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel velvette #velvette #vox hazbin hotel #valention hazbin hotel #vox #valentino #character analysis #headcanon #ask

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hephaestuscrew · 1 year ago

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“This has both our names on it”: Viewing Fleet and Clara’s relationship in Victoriocity through a queerplatonic lens

TL;DR: By Season 3 of Victoriocity, Fleet and Clara have developed a committed emotional partnership that certainly moves beyond the purely professional. Whilst very much operating as a duo, they can be interpreted as often rejecting or subverting romance-coded elements in their relationship, instead embracing a unique dynamic that can be read as resonating with the concept of a queerplatonic relationship (QPR).

Buckle up because this is over 2,500 words long! If you'd rather read it as a document, you can access it here: Fleet & Clara QPR Google Doc

Disclaimer: I'm not making any claims about creator intent, nor about how anyone else ought to interpret Fleet and Clara's dynamic. It's also worth acknowledging that queerplatonic relationships are inherently defined by the people in them and any attempt to apply such terminology to a story set in 1887 is obviously anachronistic (although whether that should matter when said story also contains a cyborg Queen Victoria is up for debate).

With that said, if we define a QPR as a committed personal partnership which is not entirely captured by the typical expectations of either friendship or romance but may contain some elements typically associated with either (other definitions of QPRs are available), I enjoy viewing Fleet and Clara's relationship through a QPR lens, and I want to talk about some of the reasons why I think this reading works.

***Spoilers for all three seasons of Victoriocity and the novel High Vaultage***

Detective duos

Even before we actually get into Fleet and Clara's particular bond, detective / crime-solving duos as a general concept have QPR energy to me (which probably predisposed me to this interpretation). It's the Holmes-and-Watson legacy. It's the use of the word 'partner' in a non-romantic context (‘associate’ or ‘companion’ can also serve a similar purpose). It's the intense trust and reliance on each other. It's the sense of being a recognisable pair, always appearing together, known as a duo, with skills and attributes that complement each other.

Romantic assumptions

Moving on to Fleet and Clara specifically, one aspect of their relationship that can be read through a QPR lens is how they are often in situations where other people believe or imply that there is a romantic relationship between them. Sometimes this is a deliberate strategy of theirs, and sometimes it’s imposed upon them by others. But I’d argue that there’s never a point where they both simultaneously seem entirely comfortable with that romantic narrative for their relationship. Usually one of them will actively deny the assumption or react negatively to the implication:

When Mrs Hampshire interprets Clara and Fleet as a couple experiencing “young love”, Clara might be happy to adopt this as an effective cover story, but Fleet seems unsettled and keen for them not to be perceived this way: “No. No. You’ve misunderstood, we are not, that is to say I am…” (S1E2)

When Warden Hughes assumes Fleet is the new Warden and Clara is the new Warden’s wife, Clara says “I am certainly not”, with emphasis on the ‘certainly’. (S2E2)

Fleet definitely doesn’t sound enthused when he realises Clara has gone for a married couple as their cover story at the Grand Salcombe: “I am sure I’ll regret asking, but by any chance am I [Mr. Theasby?]” (S2E2)

When Titus Byrne tells the pair “I take it you're happy sharing [a room]”, Clara responds with a horrified “What?” (S3E4) (Obviously sleeping in the same room isn’t inherently romantic, but it is often perceived that way.)

Of course, fake dating and external assumptions of romance are very common tropes in romantic will-they-won't-they dynamics, and these moments could definitely be interpreted that way for Fleet and Clara. But I prefer to read these instances as reflecting a different kind of closeness between these two characters. They have a sense of emotional partnership that allows a marriage cover story to seem plausible to others and that other people sometimes automatically assume to be romantic (obviously with some period-typical heteronormativity at play). But to me, it doesn't seem like either of them are fully comfortable with their relationship being perceived in a directly romantic way. Perhaps they are a couple in a different sense…

Proposal via door plate

The way that Fleet asks Clara to be his business partner has always seemed to me like a platonic version of when people find personal ways to surprise their romantic partner with a proposal:

CLARA: You bought me a door plate for your office? [...] This has both our names on it. FLEET: What do you think? CLARA: I like it. (S2E7)

Fleet could have just asked Clara outright, without going to the trouble of buying a sign that would have been useless if she’d said no. If it was purely a professional business proposition with no emotional meaning behind it, I think he would have just asked verbally. But instead, he gifts her a sign with their two names paired together: Fleet-Entwhistle Investigations. There's something so intimate about that to me: about Fleet asking Clara whether she would like to be a duo with him in a more formally-defined but still non-romantic way; about him choosing to present this offer in the form of a gift; about the way he presents her with their two names joined together etched into metal and asks what she thinks; about the significance that this gesture attaches to their partnership; about him having enough trust that she'll say yes that the effort and vulnerability of presenting her with that sign seem worth it for him. And the gesture means an awful lot to Clara:

She thought about the door plaque he’d had engraved with both their names on it as his way of inviting her to be his business partner – typical Fleet, refusing to tell her so much as his favourite breakfast food and then to go and do something like that. It was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for her. (High Vaultage, p187).

Anniversaries

In the special episode ‘Murder in the Pharaoh's Tomb', Clara says “And you know what else is a big occasion Fleet? It's our one-month anniversary.” She wants to celebrate the anniversary of Fleet-Entwhistle Investigations. Their partnership holds a significance for her that means key dates associated with it are worth remembering and remarking upon.

When Clara first mentions their anniversary, Fleet nearly chokes on his drink, which seems like an instinctive reaction to the usually romantic connotations of an anniversary (see my point above about Fleet not being comfortable with their dynamic being perceived as romantic). But when Clara clarifies what she means, Fleet seems much more cheerful about the notion of their anniversary: “Ah, so it has.”

“Miss Clara Entwhistle, my partner”

I get extremely strong QPR vibes from this moment, when Fleet introduces Clara to the sailors at Grave End:

FLEET: This is Miss Clara Entwhistle, my partner - in business, my business partner. CLARA: I'm also his friend, but he doesn't like to say it. (S3 E3)

Fleet and Clara are partners, but not in the way the average person might assume from that word, which Fleet realises mid-sentence here. This is another instance of Fleet reacting negatively to the idea that their relationship might be interpreted romantically (see above). And yet, 'partner' (rather than, say, ‘colleague’) is the word that comes naturally to him in this moment to describe who Clara is to him. He then frantically emphasises the professional element of their relationship so as to avoid the romantic implication, but Clara is keen to proudly assert that there is a personal, emotional aspect to their dynamic too. They are first-and-foremost partners, and they are friends, and they do not want to be seen in a romantic light - this post basically writes itself...

“Her ridiculous detective.”

When Clara fears for her life at the display of the Lanterns, the narration tells us:

“she thought of her brother, her sister, her parents... Her ridiculous detective.” (High Vaultage, p172)

The fact that Clara thinks of Fleet in this moment of fear clearly indicates his importance to her, but I think the phrasing of this quote is particularly interesting. The narration lists Clara's immediate family: two of whom are dead (her sister and father), one of whom is publically mourning Clara's life choices (her mother), and only one of whom we have any real evidence of her having a positive relationship with (her brother). And then, separated from these complicated familial relationships by an ellipsis, the narration tells Clara also thinks of Fleet, “her ridiculous detective”.

Parents and siblings are familial relationships that tend to come with established expectations, in which the use of a possessive pronoun (i.e. her brother) to indicate the relationship is a norm. ‘Detective’ does not fall into this category; unlike ‘brother’, ‘sister’, ‘parent’, ‘friend’, ‘partner’ etc., ‘detective’ is not a word that inherently implies a relationship or that we'd usually expect to see preceded by a possessive pronoun. The idea of ‘her detective’ therefore stands out, giving the sense that there is a unique relationship being indicated here. The way in which Fleet is ‘hers’ is something that Clara has chosen for herself, something that they have shaped together. Who they are to each other can't necessarily be fully expressed using standard phrases that traditionally describe relationships between people. But Fleet is Clara's detective, of which she only has one, and who she'll think of in the midst of “the screaming of the heavens at the end of the world”.

Fleet is also the only one in this list of Clara's loved ones who gets an adjective - her love for him has detail. And while “ridiculous” might often be perceived as negative (it's certainly not a classic romantic endearment), it seems to me like there's such fondness in it in this context: the recognition of and affection for eccentricities, the idea that his importance to her is not (purely) based on his professional strengths but on Fleet as a whole - perhaps at times ridiculous - person.

“Settled”

When Clara and Fleet talk about Clara's mother’s expectations for her, they have this exchange:

"She's still living in hope that one day I'll settle down." "You're not settled?" asked Fleet. "I am." (High Vaultage, p259)

By ‘settle down’, Clara's mother of course means ‘marry’, ideally into “at least a minor baronetcy”. But Clara already considers herself "settled", just not in a way her mother would understand or appreciate. She's not looking to "settle down" into a lifestyle other than her current one. She is settled in a situation where Fleet is certainly her closest personal connection in London (and perhaps anywhere), and where the two of them work closely together, operate as a duo, and then go back to their separate homes. And this partnership with Fleet is a comfortable set-up that feels right for Clara exactly as it is, rather than being a precursor to, or a distraction from, the marriage ambitions that her mother wants for her.

I think this exchange also contains an implicit sense of the commitment between the two of them. Fleet wants to check that Clara is ‘settled’ in her current situation, of which working closely - and platonically - with Fleet is obviously a major element; Clara confirms she is. There's a subtle indication of their shared intention to be in this for the long haul.

As a sidenote, Fleet and Clara’s implicit assumption that their partnership is a long-term one can manifest itself in joking contexts as well as serious ones. Look at this exchange from S3E5:

FLEET: We're not bandits, we're just going to flag it down. CLARA: We'd be terrific bandits! FLEET: Let's just see how our current line of work goes.

I think it’s notable that, in this joking speculation, both Fleet and Clara use ‘we’ and ‘our’. The joke could have been phrased just as effectively if they were imagining only Clara becoming a bandit. But the suggestion is that, if either of them was a bandit, they’d be bandits together. Even if they changed their lives entirely, they'd still approach life together.

Inseparable

Fleet and Clara have become a nearly inseparable duo in a way which is noticed by others. For example, after Clara and Fleet fall out in High Vaultage, Fleet meets with Keller, who says:

"You're here with me instead of barrelling across town with her, so I'm just assuming there is some thickheaded puffinry for which you need to apologise to Miss Entwhistle" (p335)

Keller, hardly the most emotionally perceptive man in Even Greater London, automatically infers from the fact that Fleet is on his own that he has had a falling out with Clara, rather than that they just happen to be in different places. When all is well, Keller expects to see the two of them together, whether or not they are in a position to be actively working a case.

Going back earlier in their partnership, Keller makes a similar assumption about Fleet and Clara being inseparable in S2E6. When Clara shouts her name amidst Keller's anti-Vidoc booby traps, Keller asks "Entwhistle? Which means… Fleet?" Again, there's this idea that if one of them is there, the other is likely to be there too - they come as a pair. (It's worth noting that this scene takes place less than two weeks after they first met.)

“Like a friend might?”

At the end of S3E7, Fleet suggests that he and Clara go to the theatre together. It would have been easy for this invitation to have been explicitly framed as a romantic proposition, or even for the nature of the offer to have been left more ambiguous. But Clara says "Archibald Fleet, are you inviting me to a social activity? Like a friend might?" The use of the word 'friend' directly labels this as a platonic interaction. And it's with that platonic lens on it that Clara is extremely excited to spend non-work-related social time with Fleet.

“Maybe it'll just be my good luck charm.”

CLARA: My grandmother's ring, I don't suppose you managed to hold on to it? [...] FLEET: Oh, it's been crushed.. I'm sorry Clara [...] CLARA: No, you keep it. FLEET: What? No... CLARA: Keep it. Maybe it'll remind you not to run towards trains. FLEET: Maybe. Maybe it'll just be my good luck charm.

In S3E7, Clara gives Fleet a ring, which - as a gift from one person to another - is traditionally a symbol of a particular, legally recognised, kind of personal commitment. But when Clara tells Fleet to keep the damaged ring, down in the Underground tunnels after the destruction of the beast and Fleet's latest brush with death, it is quite a different situation to a wedding or a proposal. A married man would traditionally wear his wedding ring on his finger for all to see, but Fleet won't ever wear this ring like that. The ring itself has been bent into a different shape between the wheels of their misadventures, subverting the usual associations of a ring given from one person to another. (In a heteronormative world, those associations are particularly strong when the two people in question are a woman and a man.)

That ring is not an engagement ring, but it is Clara’s grandmother's ring, an inheritance from the blood family she never really felt she belonged in, now given to the man who might be a very different kind of family for her in London. That ring - with which Clara saved Fleet's life - is a symbol of their bond. And it therefore serves as a reminder for Fleet “not to run towards trains" and as a “good luck charm”. I like to think he'll carry that ring with him, perhaps in his jacket pocket - a little piece of his partner, kept close to his ticking heart…

Thank you for reading all of this!

If you’ve read all of this, I'm assuming you also enjoy the concept of Fleet and Clara as a QPR (unless you're really a glutton for punishment) and that makes me very happy! This was long because there's so much to say about them… And I wrote all of the above without even getting into: the potential to headcanon Fleet and/or Clara as aspec (which I don't think is necessary for QPR headcanons, but which is also fun); Clara's baggage around and discomfort with marriage in general; the speed with which Fleet and Clara become a ride-or-die duo; and the many other demonstrations of care, understanding, trust, respect, and affection between them that didn't feel as directly QPR-coded to me but are nonetheless wonderful. Please do feel free to share your own thoughts!

#victoriocity #clara entwhistle #inspector fleet #archibald fleet #high vaultage #I'm not really trying to persuade anyone who doesn't already vibe with Fleet & Clara QPR as a concept #I just enjoy digging into that interpretation #I don't have any lived experience of QPRs myself #I'm just an aro who occasionally yearns #which tbf is probably the demographic most likely to obsessively interpret fictional duos as QPRs #I tried to avoid straying into anything like ‘they are too important to each other to be *just* friends’#when writing this #because I deeply dislike that outlook #That's not what I'm getting at here #Friends can be that important to each other without being in a QPR #I just think Fleet and Clara are important to each other in a particular way that can easily be read as a QPR or QPR-adjacent #Ngl for me personally I was very happy that there was no explicitly romantic Fleet and Clara moments #in S3 or High Vaultage #I’m sure I would still love their dynamic if they did explicitly take it down that route #I’m sure it would be done well #But the fact that Fleet and Clara are platonic (or at least ambiguous) means a lot to me personally #A related thought to that bit on romantic assumptions is that under amatonormativity #even the denial of romance/attraction is so often treated as evidence for it #which can mean that there's no way to escape that implication #so that's another reason why I enjoy taking characters at their word #when they express discomfort over a dynamic being interpreted as romantic #I finished writing this on Wednesday and I've been so impatient about waiting until S3 is fully out to post it lol

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officiallordvetinari · 6 months ago

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Below are 10 articles from Wikipedia's featured articles list. Links and descriptions are below the cut.

On Saturday, May 1, 1920, the Brooklyn Dodgers and the Boston Braves played to a 1–1 tie in 26 innings, the most innings ever played in a single game in the history of Major League Baseball. Both Leon Cadore of Brooklyn and Joe Oeschger of Boston pitched complete games, and with 26 innings pitched, jointly hold the record for the longest pitching appearance in MLB history.

Clarence 13X, also known as Allah the Father (born Clarence Edward Smith) (February 22, 1928 – June 13, 1969), was an American religious leader and the founder of the Five-Percent Nation, sometimes referred to as the Nation of Gods and Earths.

Henry Edwards (27 August 1827 – 9 June 1891) was an English stage actor, writer and entomologist who gained fame in Australia, San Francisco and New York City for his theatre work.

The law school of Berytus (also known as the law school of Beirut) was a center for the study of Roman law in classical antiquity located in Berytus (modern-day Beirut, Lebanon). It flourished under the patronage of the Roman emperors and functioned as the Roman Empire's preeminent center of jurisprudence until its destruction in AD 551.

Minnie Pwerle (also Minnie Purla or Minnie Motorcar Apwerl; born between 1910 and 1922 – 18 March 2006) was an Australian Aboriginal artist. Minnie began painting in 2000 at about the age of 80, and her pictures soon became popular and sought-after works of contemporary Indigenous Australian art.

Ove Jørgensen (Danish pronunciation: [ˈoːvə ˈjœˀnsən]; 5 September 1877 – 31 October 1950) was a Danish scholar of classics, literature and ballet. He formulated Jørgensen's law, which describes the narrative conventions used in Homeric poetry when relating the actions of the gods.

Legends featuring pig-faced women originated roughly simultaneously in The Netherlands, England and France in the late 1630s. The stories tell of a wealthy woman whose body is of normal human appearance, but whose face is that of a pig.

The Private Case is a collection of erotica and pornography held initially by the British Museum and then, from 1973, by the British Library. The collection began between 1836 and 1870 and grew from the receipt of books from legal deposit, from the acquisition of bequests and, in some cases, from requests made to the police following their seizures of obscene material.

Qalaherriaq (Inuktun pronunciation: [qalahəχːiɑq], c. 1834 – June 14, 1856), baptized as Erasmus Augustine Kallihirua, was an Inughuit hunter from Cape York, Greenland. He was recruited in 1850 as an interpreter by the crew of the British survey barque HMS Assistance during the search for John Franklin's lost Arctic expedition.

Sophie Blanchard (French pronunciation: [sɔfi blɑ̃ʃaʁ]; 25 March 1778 – 6 July 1819), commonly referred to as Madame Blanchard, was a French aeronaut and the wife of ballooning pioneer Jean-Pierre Blanchard. Blanchard was the first woman to work as a professional balloonist, and after her husband's death she continued ballooning, making more than 60 ascents.

#Wikipedia polls #people said they liked the summaries-first format but it got fewer votes in total so i think I'll stick with summaries-after-the-cut #i would recommend checking out the readmore before you vote though. or don't I'm not your boss

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yuechihua · 5 days ago

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Pspspsppspspsp I have. Made more art LMAO.. Your Section 6 Reader and Harumasa just make my hand move on its own.. It's very funny how these two are making me venture out of my comfort zone and try new things bc my current skills are not enough for the visions I have of them. Hfjwjsnxnan..

^^ This was purely self-indulgent... And idk how you'd feel abt this one JFJFNSXN so I'm putting it first so you can look at the other art that's more on the cute side

Down here was when I started to draw like.. childhood au where nothing went wrong bc I thought too hard about the Reader and Harumasa and got sad 😔

I do think that they're both more compelling with their Not That Great upbringings (love the Reader crumbs abt their family life [rather lack thereof] and how they put all their self-worth onto academic achievement in their youth.. and how that's now transitioned to a constant need to be Put Together as an adult that makes interacting with Harumasa in the beginning of their relationship so fun!! (See: stressful and irritating for them) But also. Sometimes I want to see them happy :(

Love your writing again Liya!! <33 It's so so good and it's a go-to for my brain to chew over for fun :]]

oh my gosh!!! thank you so much for drawing the sillies again!! i love your interpretation of section six reader and harumasa and their dynamic together, so it's such a pleasure to see them pop up in the inbox again <3

tbh i love the self-indulgent drawing, haha! i think the pose is sooo fun and i love the little drawing of harumasa waking up (appropriately titled loser lmfao) like he can't quite believe what he's dreaming of... ofc his subconscious will make him admit yearning he can't admit in person lmfao.

it's so cute to see harumasa get super flustered after the dream, esp because he's cycling through "is this my friend. my coworker. jk they're my partner (this doesn't have any other meaning outside of professionalism)" meanwhile reader is just :3c haha! also the tender face touch in the first pic... is this part of his dream, or something that happened irl that's making him flustered? either way, it's cute to see him looking more nervous!! i love how harumasa looks smug that he bagged a baddie in the third pic, while reader looks simultaneously done and endeared by his shenanigans! also their wing wrapping around him... they're not beating the down bad allegations lol!!

childhood friend aus is a personal favorite trope of mine, so i love seeing them as kids!! they're so small and adorable... and reader is slightly taller than harumasa, which i love lol. i like reader's little hair ribbon and how them looking sweet as kids contrasts harumasa annoying them in the first pic lmfao. it's really their dynamic summed up in one picture!

i'm glad you enjoy reader's backstory! i feel like i haven't capitalized on it enough, but i'm flattered you remember it, hehe. but reader really embodies the "he asked for no pickles" vibes as kids, and them latching on to harumasa so hard is so cute... that is their best friend forever! also omg the art of them kicking the ball at harumasa, while he's sitting oblivious... harumasa watch out!!!! (i adore the little blep he's making though... silly kid...)

thank you for the compliment and the cute art! i think your art is tickling my brain in the same my writing tickles yours <3 !

#liya.answers #liya.arts #chara.harumasa #also i know you said this is outside of ur comfort zone in terms of art #and i think they look fantastic!!! so ur doing great #reader's little skirt and buckled shoes/sock combo vs harumasa's overalls #its sooo cute #they should be the protagonists of a silly children series #this makes me want to write a childhood friend au omg....#growing up in the same orphanage or foster home #going to school together.........

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wanderinghedgehog · 1 year ago

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By now, y’all might be familiar with that poll I posted awhile ago about different actor’s interpretations of a certain line in the Les Mis musical. Well, now I’m gonna talk about it. Hooray!

”Forgive me, sir. I would not dare” is such a fascinating line to me partially because of how it takes the place of an entire series of monologues from a chapter in the novel. For time’s sake, the musical condenses the runaway cart incident, Javert voicing his suspicions about the mayor, and the result of his suspicions into one scene which puts it in a different context. Instead of reporting Madeleine and then gaining information about Valjean’s lookalike as he does in the novel, Javert instead finds himself suspicious of Madeleine despite already knowing that “Jean Valjean” has been recaptured. Surprisingly, this doesn’t significantly change Javert’s motivation for taking such an apologetic tone. In both cases, he chided himself not for being suspicious of the mayor, but for being so in a way that trusted his own feelings more than that of the law. “Forgive me, sir. I would not dare” is not only a fumbled apology, but a testament to how rare it is for him to disregard his superiors. It’s a moment to understand his philosophy pre-Stars. Not only that, but it provides different information than Stars. It shows how the strictness of Javert’s moral code doesn’t only make him seem authoritative, but can also degrade him.

But an apology is not inherently degrading. So why is it in this case? This is where actor interpretation becomes important. The effect comes from the tone, not the words.

I’ve noticed a few different ways actors tend to portray this line. The first involves more of the pleading present in the novel. This interpretation comes across as somewhat panicked, trying to convey a plea for forgiveness and being appalled by his own actions simultaneously. This is beneficial in the way that it can clearly draw the audience’s attention to the difference between this line and the more composed lines surrounding it. Additionally, this particular version of the line tends to split into two subcategories. One is more reserved, contrasted with the previous, more confident lines and effectively communicates abashment. The other is more distressed and makes the apology seems urgent. Both subcategories serve the same purpose though.

The second interpretation is much more even-toned than the first. With this one, Javert maintains his composure and the apology rarely comes across as anything other than the result of a momentary lapse in judgment. This version of Javert tends to prioritize professionalism over any kind of charisma. My opinion of this interpretation varies depending on the actor.

The third interpretation is probably my least favorite. It has little to no sincerity and makes it clear that Javert is still quite suspicious of the mayor, but simply doesn’t want to alarm him. The apology has absolutely none of its original meaning. This interpretation irks me because it takes away an aspect of this character I find very interesting (the fact that Javert is a bootlicker in the most genuine way possible).

Anyway, I’m not sure how to end this. I’m might‘ve not really had a point here, but that’s okay. I just really like this line.

#well I sure typed for awhile here #hope this was coherent #les mis #les miserables #inspector javert

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sensualnoiree · 8 months ago

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astro notes: daily transits & horoscopes 10/21

Monday’s astrological atmosphere starts with a lively Moon-Eris sextile, inspiring assertive communication and the urge to speak your truth. However, by midday, distractions arise as the Moon squares elusive Neptune, causing scattered thoughts and potential confusion. While a Moon-Sun trine in the afternoon opens up lines of communication, a simultaneous Mercury-Neptune sesquiquadrate warns that perception is hazy—what seems real may not be grounded in fact. Adding to the intensity, a volatile Mars-Eris square peaks, triggering impulsive, dramatic reactions. As the Moon enters sensitive Cancer in the late afternoon, emotional highs and lows are likely. Fortunately, the day ends on a more stable note with a Mercury-Saturn trine, offering mental clarity and grounded insights.

Rising Sign Delineations:

Aries Rising The day begins with assertiveness, as the Moon-Eris sextile in your 1st house encourages you to speak your mind confidently. However, by midday, the Moon in your 10th house squares Neptune, creating confusion in professional communication. You may struggle to stay focused or have trouble interpreting others’ intentions. The Mars-Eris square in your 4th house of home and family could spark emotional outbursts, particularly around domestic matters. As the Moon enters your 4th house, you might find yourself feeling more emotionally sensitive or reactive. The Mercury-Saturn trine in your 8th house offers deep emotional insights, helping you process complex feelings by evening.

Taurus Rising With the Moon-Eris sextile in your 12th house, you may feel the urge to express hidden thoughts or secrets early in the day. However, as the Moon squares Neptune in your 9th house, philosophical discussions or travel plans may lead to misunderstandings or distractions. The Mars-Eris square in your 3rd house could trigger impulsive words or arguments with siblings or neighbors. When the Moon enters your 3rd house of communication, you may experience heightened emotions in conversations. Thankfully, the Mercury-Saturn trine in your 7th house of relationships stabilizes your mental outlook, allowing for clearer communication and deeper understanding in your partnerships by the evening.

Gemini Rising The day starts with strong opinions, thanks to the Moon-Eris sextile in your 11th house of friendships and groups. You may feel eager to express your ideas, but as the Moon squares Neptune in your 8th house of shared resources, financial matters or emotional exchanges could become confusing. The Mars-Eris square in your 2nd house could bring impulsive spending or heated debates over money. As the Moon enters your 2nd house, emotional fluctuations may center around your values and material security. The Mercury-Saturn trine in your 6th house of work and health will help you regain focus, offering practical insights to stabilize your routine.

Cancer Rising With the Moon-Eris sextile in your 10th house of career, you may feel motivated to assert your authority or make bold moves in your professional life early in the day. But as the Moon squares Neptune in your 7th house of partnerships, misunderstandings with colleagues or partners could derail progress. The Mars-Eris square in your 1st house could trigger impulsive reactions, especially when it comes to personal boundaries or emotional outbursts. When the Moon enters your sign, expect your emotions to become more intense. However, the Mercury-Saturn trine in your 5th house of creativity will help you gain clarity and offer constructive solutions to emotional dilemmas.

Leo Rising The Moon-Eris sextile in your 9th house encourages you to speak your truth and explore new ideas early in the day. However, the Moon-Neptune square in your 6th house could make it hard to stay focused on daily tasks, leading to confusion or mistakes at work. The Mars-Eris square in your 12th house might stir up subconscious frustration, triggering impulsive reactions or internal conflict. As the Moon moves into your 12th house, you may feel more introspective or emotionally withdrawn. The Mercury-Saturn trine in your 4th house of home brings stability, helping you work through any family or domestic issues with wisdom and patience.

Virgo Rising The Moon-Eris sextile in your 8th house of transformation encourages you to confront deeper emotional issues and speak openly about sensitive matters early in the day. However, as the Moon squares Neptune in your 5th house, romantic or creative projects may become muddled, with expectations and reality not quite aligning. The Mars-Eris square in your 11th house could lead to conflicts within social groups or disagreements with friends. When the Moon enters your 11th house, emotional fluctuations within your social network are likely. Thankfully, the Mercury-Saturn trine in your 3rd house of communication provides a grounded perspective, allowing you to navigate misunderstandings with maturity.

Libra Rising The Moon-Eris sextile in your 7th house of partnerships may inspire you to speak candidly in relationships early in the day. However, as the Moon squares Neptune in your 4th house of home, emotional confusion could cloud family dynamics or domestic decisions. The Mars-Eris square in your 10th house of career could bring impulsive actions or clashes with authority figures. As the Moon enters your 10th house, your emotional focus shifts to your professional life. The Mercury-Saturn trine in your 2nd house of finances helps stabilize your mindset, providing practical solutions to any work or financial issues that arise.

Scorpio Rising With the Moon-Eris sextile in your 6th house of work and health, you’ll feel eager to voice your opinions and take action on tasks early in the day. But as the Moon squares Neptune in your 3rd house of communication, misunderstandings or distractions could derail your focus. The Mars-Eris square in your 9th house could bring impulsive decisions related to travel or education, so be mindful of acting too hastily. When the Moon enters your 9th house, emotional intensity may increase around philosophical or spiritual matters. The Mercury-Saturn trine in your sign helps you regain clarity, providing insightful solutions to any confusion you experience.

Sagittarius Rising The Moon-Eris sextile in your 5th house of creativity and romance inspires bold self-expression early in the day. However, as the Moon squares Neptune in your 2nd house of finances, confusion around money or personal values could arise. The Mars-Eris square in your 8th house may bring impulsive actions related to shared resources or emotional confrontations. When the Moon enters your 8th house, expect heightened emotional intensity surrounding intimacy and transformation. The Mercury-Saturn trine in your 12th house of the subconscious offers deep insights, allowing you to process complex emotions and gain mental clarity by the evening.

Capricorn Rising The Moon-Eris sextile in your 4th house of home encourages open dialogue and assertiveness in family matters early in the day. However, as the Moon squares Neptune in your sign, your sense of self may feel unclear, making it hard to navigate personal relationships. The Mars-Eris square in your 7th house could trigger impulsive actions or conflicts within partnerships. As the Moon enters your 7th house, emotional focus shifts to relationships, where mood swings may occur. The Mercury-Saturn trine in your 11th house of friendships helps stabilize your mindset, allowing you to resolve any tensions within your social circle with maturity.

Aquarius Rising The Moon-Eris sextile in your 3rd house of communication makes it easy to speak your mind early in the day. However, as the Moon squares Neptune in your 12th house, distractions or confusion may lead to unclear thoughts or miscommunications. The Mars-Eris square in your 6th house of health and routine could trigger impulsive actions or conflicts at work. When the Moon enters your 6th house, emotional fluctuations may affect your work or health. Fortunately, the Mercury-Saturn trine in your 10th house of career offers mental clarity and practical solutions to any professional or health-related challenges that arise.

Pisces Rising The Moon-Eris sextile in your 2nd house of finances encourages you to take bold actions regarding money or personal values early in the day. However, as the Moon squares Neptune in your 11th house, confusion or misunderstandings within friendships or group dynamics could arise. The Mars-Eris square in your 5th house could lead to impulsive actions in romance or creative projects. As the Moon enters your 5th house, emotional intensity may increase in matters of the heart or creative self-expression. The Mercury-Saturn trine in your 9th house of higher learning helps you regain focus, offering clarity and wisdom to navigate any emotional or philosophical confusion.

follow for more astro insights like this and head on over to @quenysefields or my etsy --> sensualnoiree to grab my new astrology guidebook on reading your own natal chart :)

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interlangueinter · 2 years ago

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exquisiteserotonin · 2 years ago

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Precious Possessions

Next Chapter

The day is here! The one I hope some of you have been waiting for, the first chapter of my first Dave York fic. I hope you love it as much as I love writing it!

Series Summary: Defense intelligence conferences are always the same informative but also always boring. You didn't expect anything different for this one, but an unexpected meeting with a man named Dave York, changes the trajectory of your conference experience and maybe even more.

Rating/Warnings: This chapter is MA, no smut yet, build up and tension are the name of the game

Word Count: 3.5K

A/N: Also used this song for a little bit of inspiration -

Chapter 1: When He Sees Me

“If you have any more questions or comments, I’ve got my official contact information here,” you spoke clearly as you pointed to the screen behind you, “thank you for your time.”

You shouldn’t have been surprised with the number of attendees at your breakout session. The use of AI in defense intelligence continued to be the hot topic in the intelligence community especially for this year’s conference. You hadn’t spent years of nearly sleepless nights and exhausting mornings with development and research to not be considered one of the foremost experts on the subject.

Professionalism and a line of people eager to speak with you prevented you from leaving when you wanted. You scanned the room full of individuals in stuffy business suits and some in even stuffier medal-decorated uniforms. If you didn’t hold your breath, you’d pass out from the stench of testosterone-fueled arrogance.

“So when I think about AI, the pattern analysis and the information clusters---I kind of get how it makes our jobs easier, in theory,” you heard a voice laden with contemplation but also with condescension say.

You were crouched on the ground packing up your laptop, power cord, and briefcase eager to leave. You stretched your fingers and then closed them into tight fists before opening them again. Tension filled your shoulders, chest, and back as you zipped your briefcase. You took a deep, cooling breath through your nose, holding it in and letting it expand in your lungs until swirling notes of calm slowly began to circulate within you.

“But?” You looked up, slowly releasing the calming air from your lips. When you stood up, you were taken aback by the sight of a roguishly handsome man.

He stood before you, both hands on his hips in a posture that aimed to imbue you with intimidation at his authority. You held his brown-eyed stare with your own, always looking for an excuse to use your well-honed observation skills. He wore a well-fitting, but simultaneously well-used navy blue suit, worn just enough that you assumed he reserved it especially for conferences. You concluded that he be must upper-level management with a defense contractor, but more likely a high-level manager at an intelligence agency.

“I think AI’s shortcoming is its innate lack of understanding of human behavior,” he stated with a shrug. “A lack of human perception means you can’t analyze and decipher intent and it can’t interpret how we make decisions based on feeling, based on interpersonal communication.”

“You assume that this is a problem that’s not being taken into consideration,” the urge to defend your work was palpating in your veins. “More funding and support is needed for human analysts; how else do you think innovation would move forward?”

He took his right hand and rubbed the side of his face, while smoothing the side of his brown hair. His expression was full of collected calm paired with a confidence that you somehow suspected was well-earned. That pissed you off the most. He clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth and lips curled up into a smirk, revealing a dimple on his right cheek on his clean-shaven face.

“Hmm,” he murmured, keeping his eyes on you like it was a challenge he had to win, “your misplaced hostility speaks volumes.”

A tightness grew in your shoulders and rose to your neck from the nerve of his words. You clenched your jaw, your tongue pressing tightly at the roof of your mouth behind your teeth.

“But not quite as loud as your misogyny,” the words left your mouth before you could stop yourself. “Enjoy the rest of the conference.”

You glided away, disallowing him the chance to introduce or explain himself. You shook hands with attendees while giving away dazzling smiles as you made your escape. It was easy to weave through the crowd, as most people found ways to linger and speak to good friends and long-lost acquaintances. That was just how international conferences worked.

Fortune was in your favor as you found solace in an elevator. You backed yourself into one of the corners, continuing to people watch as more conference-attendees entered. You noted a man in his mid-to-late 50s, his graying blonde hair cut close to his head and his blue uniform filled with rows of medals and insignias. He was followed by a couple, who appeared to be trying their hardest to hide their intimacy with each other through closed-off, professional postures. But you knew better. The way they looked at each other screamed at you that they used this annual conference to conduct their long-standing affair.

A groan nearly escaped you, when you saw the same man who approached you after your presentation. His eyes were alight with intense determination and his brows knitted towards each other, creasing the space just above his nose. A tight intensity settled over your chest and neck as you backed yourself further into your corner of the elevator. The unremitting concentration that inhabited his eyes gave you the distinct feeling of being hunted. You tried as fast as you could to avert your eyes away from him. The dimple that revealed itself in the errant grin he gave you when his eyes met yours told you that you failed.

You made every attempt to affect disinterest, placing hyper focus on your phone, examining the cuticles of every single one of your nails, even staring at the floor. You barely paid attention as the people you shared the elevator with exit at their floor. Not even the surreptitious couple, who you assumed left the elevator at the same time. Inevitably, the handsome and arrogant stranger was the only one who remained.

“I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot,” you heard him say.

“Hm?” You could feel your brow beginning to furrow as your attitude fought against your level-headedness to gain control. “I’m sorry?”

“You called me a misogynist,” Dave reminded you with a smirk, speaking of it as a badge he wore with honor.

“Oh yes, that’s right,” you sighed the sarcasm dripping from every word, “and I’m hostile.”

“No,” the voice he spoke with was calculating and unmoving, “I said you had hostility, and you took it upon yourself to assume that I was a misogynist.”

“Semantics,” you said your voice was quick like it was jumping from a trap.

“I’m not the kind of man stupid enough to belittle someone’s life’s work,” he raised his hands up as if he was conceding to you, “especially when she’s clearly brilliant.”

You narrowed your eyes at him as he spoke those words, trying to decipher if there was some kind of hidden meaning or intent behind them. There was an air about him that commanded your attention. Perhaps it was the dichotomy that he seemed to present the further you observed him. He was competent yet personable, casual yet professional, and guarded but disarming. You worked through these thoughts in your mind as the whirring of the elevator took over as it continued upward.

“Well, at least you’re smart enough to know when you’ve made a mistake,” you said with a nod of your head.

“Are you going to the networking social?”

You weren’t certain if he was simply curious or was inviting you.

“Oh god no,” you were quick to answer with a loud groan, almost too loud, “that’s just not my thing.”

The handsome stranger shrugged, “They’re usually filled with self-righteous assholes, anyway.”

The accuracy and the irony of his statement bubbled up laughter from your belly. A feeling made of confusion, guilt, and absurdity came over you as you felt yourself beginning to let your guard down. He wasn’t supposed to apologize. He wasn’t supposed to be interesting or intriguing. He should have just been a one-dimensional, arrogant asshole.

“Well,” you spoke, an unexpected grin forming on your lips, “looks like we might actually be on the same page this time.”

He held his hand out and offered you a smile full of purpose. “I’m Dave, Dave York, D.I.A.”

The immediacy with which you gave him your name surprised you. As he shook your hand you noted a slight awkwardness to his grip, though you could tell he was making every effort to give you a strong handshake. The skin on the inside of his palm and his fingertips were slightly weathered with scar tissue. You noticed the cold feeling of metal on his left-hand ring finger and took note of the wedding ring, trying not to frown. A corner of your brain wondered about the stories that could be found in the lines of those weathered hands.

“Hmm, D.I.A.,” you murmur to yourself. “Was following me to the elevator just your creepy way of getting me to talk shop with you?”

“You think I’d be that obvious?” His voice lowered an octave when he turned to face you and a chill tingled all over you.

“Well I don’t know you,” you replied with a shrug, “but I’d say if you were, you’d be pretty shitty at your job.”

“You’ve got a mouth on you don’t you, firefly,” he said, his brow lowering as he took one step toward you.

His hands tightened on his hips as he stepped toward you and he squared his shoulders behind him. Your brain took stock of each movement, at each attempt to make himself seem bigger and you seem smaller. A wicked little laugh brewed inside your abdomen as you accepted his challenge, moving one inch forward. You were close enough to breathe in his scent and your gaze moved from his neck, up to his lips and then to his eyes.

“When you’re a woman in the IC, you’ve got to find ways to adapt; it’s nothing personal.”

An unremorseful apology.

The elevator bell rang out with a loud ding.

“This is my stop,” holding your gaze to him, neither of you moved

“Maybe we’ll run into each other again sometime this week.”

“Maybe,” you agreed with the tilt of your head, that felt almost too flirty to you. “Enjoy the rest of your conference.

“You too,” he affirmed as he pulled his phone from his pocket, quickly becoming engrossed by a text message that you suspected was from his spouse.

Slight disappointment set in that you could not continue the conversation, but your exhaustion was quickly winning out. Your eyelids and muscles felt heavy as they screamed louder for rest. You ambled to your room and as you opened the door you immediately kicked off your high heels and shook your arms out of your blazer, tossing it on the bed. You walked back to the bathroom and reached into the shower, turning the dial towards hot. Mindlessly, you began unbuttoning your light coral blouse when you heard a knock at your room door. An audible sigh of frustration left you as you quickly turned the water off.

Who could possibly have any reason to bother me right now, you thought to yourself, using the peephole to look outside.

“Hey, it’s me,” you saw and heard your coworker from the other side of the door, “Brad.”

You took a deep breath, making your annoyance before opening the door.

“Hi, Brad,” you greeted tentatively, “everything OK?”

“Oh yeah, everything is fine,” he replied with a grin that was too perfectly and polished. “Heard you did a good job on your presentation.”

“Heard?” You said with a raised brow.

“That’s the word from all the guys I’ve run into who attended,” he explained leaning against your doorway. “They were really impressed with you.”

A wave of exhaustion immediately took over your shoulders and you stepped back. You felt inconvenienced and nearly disgusted as you observed Brad’s eyes meet yours but travel down the length of your body. Every word that left him wrapped you in disgust. The perfection that he displayed reeked of privilege. He was the typical aging former college frat boy and it did nothing for you. The entitlement he wore on his shoulders might as well have been a flashing, neon sign shouting out that he could get away with anything.

“That’s cool,” you say quickly, inching closer and closer to shutting the door. “Well, I’m going to finish up some reports and turn in; I am beat.”

“What?” he stared back at you in confusion. “It’s not even 6 yet, and happy hour’s just started.”

“And you are much better at rubbing shoulders with the bigwigs, B,” you compliment hoping it would make him leave faster. “Work that magic of yours. Happy-hour it and let me know how it goes?”

You shut the door quickly hoping that you left him dumbfounded.

With him gone you were able to return to all the things you planned to bring you relaxation. You returned to the shower, the water warming quickly. The warmth of the water encompassed you, easing the tension of your neck, shoulders, and back muscles. You stepped out, wrapping yourself in a towel. The next hours were perfectly mundane. You wrapped yourself in a hotel robe, had a light dinner, read for fun, and basked in your nightly skincare routine. Before you knew it you had fallen asleep in your bathrobe with the tv on.

You woke up with a start, your brain hazy with confusion. Rolling over, you were greeted with the bright light of the alarm clock sitting on the nightstand. 12:12 AM. You weren’t even sure what time you had fallen asleep. You nestled yourself back into the bed, trying to will the white noise of the air conditioner and soft fullness of the down comforter to lull you back to sleep. Instead, you found yourself tossing and turning and very much awake.

With frustration, you pull on a pair of high-waisted sweatpants and a yellow tank top, layering your navy-blue blazer over it to appear at least halfway decent. You took one last look at yourself in the mirror, brushing fingers through your hair before securing it into a messy French twist with one of your hair clips. A puff of air left from your lips as you chuckled at yourself.

Don’t be ridiculous, you thought to yourself. You’re not trying to impress anybody.

The silence of the empty halls amplified the echo of your light footsteps towards the elevator. You waited patiently, with arms crossed until you found yourself on the ground level of the hotel. Relief washed over you when you noticed that the hotel bar was less busy than you expected. The bartender attended to you quickly filling your order of a whiskey, allowing you to find a quiet corner booth to enjoy your drink. The bar was open to the lobby and allowed you to people watch as you took slow sips of your drink. You glanced at your watch.

12:57 am. No one interesting is going to walk through those doors at this hour.

You took another sip of your drink, letting the smokiness coat your lips, tongue, and the back of your throat with sweet burn before you looked up again, noticing a familiar, handsome face walk through the lobby doors. Dave. He was rubbing his hands from the cold December air and his brown hair was covered in a dark gray beanie. You kept your eyes on him, thinking he wouldn’t notice until he locked eyes with you and raised his right arm with a wave. He stopped, shuffling his feet beneath him with indecision until he began to walk towards the bar, towards you.

“We meet again,” you greeted, gesturing for him to take a seat across from you. “Back late, I see.”

“Ah, yeah,” he acknowledged his arrival as though it were an afterthought, “sometimes you get caught up with colleagues and you just don’t have a choice.”

“True,” you agreed, “I get it.”

“What about you?” He inquired, pointing towards your drink. “You’re up late.”

“Oh, yeah, I couldn’t sleep,” you admitted, taking another sip of it, “that’s why I look like this.”

You waved your hands towards yourself, trying to emphasize how completely unimpressive your appearance was. A chill overcame you as his expression changed, his brow furrowing almost scornfully.

“I don’t know about that,” his eyes reading every inch of you from your head all the way down to your toes, “you look…good.”

Goosebumps tiptoed up and down your arms, like little finger tips tapping and teasing you. You unconsciously crossed and uncrossed your legs, feeling the fabric of your underwear rub against you, your entrance welling with your own sweet dew. Your eyes took a split-second glimpse of his wedding ring. Against your better judgment, you allowed yourself to smile at his compliment. You traced the rim of your whiskey-filled lowball glass, thinking how to respond.

“Congratulations, you have eyes,” you quipped, coaxing a low, growling laugh from him before you continued. “So, I couldn’t sleep, and I came down here to people watch.”

He leaned forward at your comment, his brown eyes round and wide as he raised his eyebrows with interest. His shoulders loosened and his newly relaxed demeanor invited more conversation.

“You like that?” He asked, his brows raised with curiosity. “People watching, I mean.”

The double entendre that left his pouted lips electrified you, feeling his electricity unexpectedly flick at your nipples and then at your core. The dim lighting of the hotel bar, the light jazz music playing over the speakers, and your hushed voices amplified the mysterious ambience around you. All of it together seemed so perfect that you couldn’t help following his lead, so you leaned in closer. Even in a beanie and wearing a thick jacket, you found him nearly irresistible.

“It’s a favorite pastime of mine,” you answered, keeping your eyes on him, “I like to think about people’s stories, people’s personal stories.”

“Is that why you were looking at me, observing me?” His tone dipped in a thin layer of accusation coupled with intense interest. “Trying to figure out my story?”

You stare back at him with a deep breath, wondering why you kept engaging when you knew you should stop.

“I’m not surprised you noticed,” you stated nonchalantly, “as unsurprised as you probably are about me wondering about your wedding ring.”

He strained his left hand open and closed, looking at his own ring as though it was a triviality. To your surprise, he leaned toward you even more, like a challenge.

“You know there’s a lot more to people’s stories than what you can piece together from a fleeting observation,” as he spoke, it felt like his charisma was vibrating off him and floating towards you. “Life, relationships are messy, complicated.”

You read the unspoken words that uttered from the moves of his body. One hand resting open in the empty space between you in the booth. The fingers of his other hand rubbing at his chin and lips, which curled into an enticing smile. These movements and these words lingered in your brain, until you understood that they were filled with intrigue and desire. You breathed them in and mirrored them.

“So what about your story Dave,” you inquired, leaning in but making sure you kept your eyes to his, “your life, your relationship?”

You found yourself involuntarily licking your lips. The whiskey along with the heat of embarrassment flushed your cheeks and neck. It had you finally admitting to yourself that this man was really fucking attractive. He tilted his head towards you, smiled, and damn near melted you as he traced the bottom of his pouty lips with his thumb. Your eyes tracing every move of his immense, sinewy hands, as he checked the time on his gold watch.

1:47 AM.

“It’s too late right now to tell you that,” he teased, drawing a slight huff of frustration from you, “Ask me tomorrow night, here at the bar. 7:30.”

“How presumptuous of you to assume I’d be available,” you said, tipping your whiskey towards him, impressed by his ability to avoid answering a hard question.

“Oh firefly, you’re not the only one who’s good at reading people,” the words left his lips luring you and trapping you like a vice. “Nothing about this tells me you’ll say no.”

Dave gestured at the narrow space between you, his hand almost cutting through the warm air like a sharp blade. The innuendo of his words threatened to set you ablaze. You took another sip of whiskey, allowing it to warm and loosen your muscles, allowing it to calm you.

“Well then,” you willed yourself to hold your tongue lightly against your lips before breathing out the last word, “tomorrow.”

With a nod of confirmation, he stood up and swaggered towards the elevators. An audible gasp that had been saving itself in your lungs escaped you when you knew for sure that he was gone. You chased it with a final gulp of your whiskey, feeling its exquisite burn as it moved through you. Leaving a tip on the table, you stood up and made your way towards the elevator.

Tomorrow night. Your brain spoke to you again.

At that moment the elevator doors opened, and you entered. You returned to your room, discarding your blazer and sweat pants, before plopping into bed. You grabbed the fluffy comforter up to your chin, inviting in and surrendering to sleep.

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