#There seems to be two schools of though re kims living space

[oodlesodoodles]

[vminity21]

+1 | kth

Pairing: HighschoolCrush!Taehyung X StillProcessingIt!Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Genre: angst/fluff/smut

Warning(s): slight language use, angst (if you read b/w the lines), pretty much smutty kissing, hand groping, mention of alcohol, breast worship, nipple play; Rated: 18+

Summary: When a crush you had in high school unexpectedly returns to your life six years later, this is the experience you have with him when you collected the courage to invite him over to hangout.

Credit to: @suhdays​ for the amazing cover!

Inspiration comes in the form of little expectancy especially when life seems to throw a curveball you never dreamed would be a potential possibility; but, here you are, tapping upon the keyboard of your five-year-old laptop decorated in stickers of celebs you've admired over the years mingled with relevant quotes that have bustled yet again- inspiration that motivates you day by day to continue to be the human being that you are. Inspiration though can appear in lyrical melodies broadcasted globally for millions to pine over; or, published in numerous pages creating imaginary worlds where ones can escape to; or, sketched in a meticulous design to build whatever idea had been desired to come to life; or, filmed in scenes of an edited story by talented persons determined to enter the spotlight in any way they can; or, painted along a canvas in colors of calculated detail bringing forth the picture of accomplishment. Inspiration derives from a mere moment- one that sparks the instinct to gather the materials needed to pour out your heart in ways that may bring a sense of peace.

For you, it used to be in the lines of a song penciled into a crinkled notebook from your backpack hidden away for no one to discover; it used to be countless childhood journals where you expressed your inward battles in order to find enough solace to sleep at night. You've lost your touch over the years because life changes in the blink of an eye, as you grow older, and work can distract from the time taken to focus on yourself; thankfully graduating college to gain the degree you now behold landed you a job, one you hope lasts for many years, and you are currently living in a two-bedroom apartment with your best friend, Monica, who's presently slumbering as you brush some loose strands of hair from your vision.

Your dog is curled at the end of your bed as you write, which is something that you haven't done in what feels like forever, but the reasoning behind this sporadic urge ignited when the familiar pair of brown eyes from six years prior, re-entered your world without your preparation and his presence from a recent night shared seems to echo in every space of your brain to where you've finally had enough. It's about time to reach out, the devil on your shoulder whispers, but the angel sitting on the opposite begs to differ. Shaking your head, you pause momentarily, cracking your knuckles before resting your forehead on the desk, exhaling slowly while the memory of his touch seems to haunt your skin.

He was someone you once admired in high school- roaming the hallways where girls giggled giddily each time he'd pass by; star of the basketball team, rising popularity to the point everyone knew his name, collecting homework answers from budding friendships, and it all began once he started his junior year at a new school- the school where you attended. But the difference that set him apart from the typical cliché's of the prevalent students you never seemed to relate to, was that he talked to absolutely everybody and anybody- no judgment on what group the person took part in, his kindness won the hearts of many other than the evident attraction of his physical features. He didn't care who you were or what you were into, he would be your friend, and that, considering he was viewed on a higher level, made him even more special.

Despite never admitting it then, you had a crush on him. He was more of an acquaintance, but you enjoyed his company when he came around, and when a past friend, who is now married with a few kids, used to have a crush on the same person, your heart sank, because with every guy thinking she was hot, you felt as though you would never stand a chance. Especially not with this guy who made your hands jittery and the beat in your chest skip- the guy who is none other than Kim Taehyung.

Taehyung would frequent the chorus room at times when you and your past friend would practice music pieces and he always was fond of your singing voice- something he praised you for often, while his attention was received from his talent regarding sports. Something he was so good at that it was spread that he may have gained quite the scholarship for college if he decided to go. There were memories of bravery where you seized the day just to steal a conversation and a hug; at one time, scribbling the words 'hot af' with an arrow pointing where he signed your friend, Min Yoongi's, yearbook; Yoongi playing it off as though he had no idea who the culprit was when Taehyung asked who wrote it. Utter surprise can't even fathom when you along with Taehyung were voted 'Most Likely to be Famous' by your graduating class when senior year was conquered. The inside joke was for you to hold the basketball while he placed his hands upon the keys of a piano, the picture you still couldn't process happened, but always remained grateful for.

Six years flew by and the conversation never necessarily held, but there were the rare messages from social media where he'd reach out hoping all had been well with you. Interestingly enough, a cover you posted harmonizing with a fellow singer happened to be his absolute favorite, one of the few Instagram posts he'd commented on, and one of the few singing videos he continuously would listen to repeatedly without your knowledge until a few weeks ago when he revealed that to you. A cover that is now near to be a four-year-old video that he still finds uplifting when he hears you and the way your voice blended so well with the other female. Your mind is reeling because after all this time, and even now, there are remains of the aftershock, trying to forget the feel of him, when there's no way you can, not with everything so fresh on your mind. So fresh on your heart.

It all occurred when Yoongi, who kept in touch with you occasionally after graduation brought you up to Taehyung who happened to think of you earlier when listening to his favorite cover of yours, and he agreed he'd like to hang out. He asked if his friend, Hoseok could join you, Monica, and Yoongi which of course you said yes to learn how sweet you found it, that he had traveled within the span of a day after visiting his grandparents, because he is a man of his word, planned to come see you even though the drive was five hours out of his way. The night was filled with so much laughter mixed with serious conversations to the point the card game that was supposed to be played was never finished, and it sprung the desire of wanting to see Taehyung again, and you couldn't come to terms with never knowing so after some encouragement from Monnie and Yoongi, you messaged T to hang out a few days later, but never opened his reply until you were safely home from work.

Taehyung: Gotcha! Hmmm, I haven't decided on what I intend on doing. Either being with family or hanging out with friends. If I don't hang out with family, you could be my plus 1 or bring whomever or vice versa

[Y/N]: Sorry I just got home from work! I'll definitely be your plus 1 if hanging with family doesn't work out! Sounds like a plan!

He asked if you wanted anything from the store when it was confirmed he was on his way which you responded with your typical answer of no, and with music playing from your Bluetooth speaker, you were highly humiliated when you lost track of four minutes of time, opening a message from him to see that he had been there, at your door. Heart racing you rushed to unlock it, head spinning when you saw he leaned against the stair railing with a plastic bag of two Arbor Mist wine bottles dangling from his hand, him promising everything was fine despite your profuse apologies- him slipping his phone in his back pocket while he followed you into your home.

Monnie happened to be staying the night with her family, so it would be just the two of you tonight, besides your dog who bounced at his legs while he reached down to pet her fluffy head. Taking in the sight of him, now that was something you found hard to believe. Just a simple pair of jeans, a gray t-shirt with a black jacket complementing the dark tendrils of hair spread across his forehead leading to the carefully sculpted lining of his jaw nearly brought you to your knees, but you held it together long enough to settle across from him at your dining room table. He had taken off his shoes at the door remembering upon a few days prior, and he set out the wine while you jumped to retrieve wine glasses (Yoongi happened to purchase for you) while banter still related to greetings.

One thing that truly intrigued you when first seeing Taehyung after six years were words, he had said that touched your heart more than you'd like to profess. "That's why I try to enjoy every moment with people because you never know what day will be your last," and you knew right then, that if there was anyone you wanted to share a moment with, it was him, and there he was, right before you, smiling about something you said while the sound of the fruity liquid-filled each glass.

"I really truly do not understand what you are so afraid of. What do you even have to lose?" Monnie tinkered with the lens to her camera while she sauntered through the living room. Exasperated from anxiety, you sucked in your lips before teasingly throwing her the side-eye.

"My dignity,"

"Oh c'mon," she paused, lifting a brow. You had been talking nonstop on how bad you wanted to invite Taehyung over, but fear of rejection including the fear of humiliation seemed to overwhelm you, although deep down you knew your best friend in the entire world was correct. You did not nor do you have anything to lose.

"Well!" You squawked, raising your palms dramatically in the air before slapping them to the sides of your thighs, "Why the hell would Kim Taehyung ever want to hang out with me anyway? Do you not see how farfetched this all is?"

"Bold of you to assume that my life isn't already farfetched enough as it is-"

"Not! The point!"

Monnie sighed, and when she saw the way your shoulders slumped in disappointment that shouldn't have been an issue, to begin with, she stepped closer, placing her hand on your shoulder, "First off, you are overthinking this, and you shouldn't. Besides, I think after hanging out as a group, he only sees you as a friend, meaning no expectations. So, go into it with that mindset okay? I'm sure he'd love to hang out with you. Secondly," she smiled, her serene expression filled with promises she always kept, "You've waited six years for this. I think you should ask him to hang out."

"You really think so?" Your grin reached your hopeful eyes, and the feeling in your chest seemed to react more positively despite your earlier turmoil.

"Yeah. The dude owes us a chair anyways,"

"Ah!" You cackled, back pressed against the dining room table as you remembered literally a few days ago when Taehyung accidentally broke a spindle of the chair in half with his foot when Yoongi scared him just by suddenly walking down the hallway. "I don't think I've ever seen a man so embarrassed."

"I'm not saying to hold it over his head, but," Monnie held up her index finger, "I think that gives him enough reason to come back," she giggled, setting her camera on the dining room table before waltzing into the kitchen.

You shrugged, "At least we can still sit on it."

"Look at it, it's staring at me," Taehyung pointed swiftly at where the vacant spindle would have been, your laughter reverberated throughout the space.

"T, really, you do not owe us new chairs. I promise, it's fine," you reassured him, realizing your cheeks were sore from how much you'd been smiling since he entered your 'realm of refuge' as you liked to describe your apartment. He snapped a picture of it, probably with the intention of getting a new chair for you and Monica regardless, and you found that appreciative although you would be happy if he didn't.

Shit. You pause from the computer screen, leaning back into your chair before folding your arms tight across your chest. Eyeballing the cursor, your vision narrows as it blinks, waiting for you to add more words to the memory that seems to spin in a cycle with the subtle goal of not stopping. Or, so you figure. If recalling every little detail isn't already hard enough, reliving the reminiscence of his fingers twirling in your hair, his sweet laugh when he looked at you, or the way he held you so tight-

But, everything in between, leading up to those mesmerizing flashes are just as important to you as what it led to. Maybe it was the conversation- the three hours of conversation before the move to the sofa which it was hard to fully focus on what else was being said because how could you properly concentrate when the one person, you'd been so worried about spending time with was seriously conversing with you like the pair of you had been friends your whole lives?

Miraculously, you were able to gather the stories of past vacations that resulted in mild disappointment revolving around the complaints of people surrounding him, or the goal of visiting as many places as possible leading Taehyung to scribble down a list of where he'd been to reveal you both have equally been to the same amount of places. Of course, the thrill of going on a mini adventure with him brought an excitement you haven't felt in a while; even the story of why he was transferred to your high school years ago due to a misunderstanding, and when the pair of you made your way to the couch, he nestled into one corner while you gladly took the other, wishing you could snuggle closer but fear prevented you from doing so.

It seemed as though that he didn't want to watch the movie anyhow, because he talked to you as though he never wanted to stop, and eventually it led to you asking one too many times if he was okay with spending the rest of the night with you. "It's up to you, I'll stay if you want me too," he promised, the way your heart fluttered when you replied, "Yes, can you please stay? I don't want you to go."

"Alright, alright! I'll stay," he smiled widely, both of his large hands reaching out, and there was not one ounce of hesitation from you- your hands grasped his before your dog jumped to beg for attention, trying to lick at his face causing your hands to undo. Laughter was contagious with Taehyung, and still cuddled into the corner of the couch, you were so elated that he was going to stay, you reached to hug him, his arms wrapping around you, the feel of your bodies aligning putting the biggest smile on your face. It was crazy how everything was seeming to fall into place- the stars aligning as though it was all magic; and, you couldn't get past how right everything felt. How right he felt. Pulling away, his smile never left him, "Are you shy?" His arm remained draped around your shoulders, and timidly you peer at his surprised gape, his black hair almost covered his crescent eyes.

"I mean... Yeah, I can be," you murmured, reaching to hug him again, but something washed over you this time, a thought that had crossed your mind repeatedly that you just couldn't take it anymore. The side of his face was blurred, placing your palm upon his cheek, and without even a moment of doubt, you kissed him. A sudden decision, but one of the best ones you could have made.

His lips were so soft, the way his mouth just seemed to mold with yours for only a few mere seconds, and the shock on his face when you pulled away, paired with the realization that his hands were held in the air, you hadn't expected his reaction. Shit! You cursed inwardly, immediately jumping back to persistently make sure he was okay; even when he moved to cuddle with you, him claiming everything was fine, but that he couldn't believe you kissed him being the both of you never once saw this coming especially six years ago during the high school days. His hand was fidgety as he swiftly rubbed your shoulder, your head buried on his chest while your mind spun in a continuous loop of how you could not believe that you kissed Taehyung. The Kim Taehyung.

He became quiet- too quiet, concern etched in your expression, maneuvering yourself back to the opposite corner of the couch, so you could face him. "T, are you sure you're okay? Did I freak you out?"

"No, no, I just can't believe you kissed me," he was in awe, eyes dazed as he ran his slim fingers through his hair, "Like, really I never saw this coming,"

"I mean, have you looked in the mirror?" You teased, knowing damn well he'd been aware of you finding him attractive, and he shook his head in dismissal of your compliment as he chuckled; it took you a whole sixty seconds to realize you were holding his hand, fingers linked, and him asking if you were nervous due to your clammy palm, though you tried to swear up and down you were not, the next round of words he said nearly brought you to tears when he finally spoke.

"You shouldn't sell yourself short," he looked you in the eyes without any faltering, although you tilted your head in mild confusion as to why he was saying this, to begin with, "I don't think you realize how much of an impact you've made on others, especially guys," ah, he was letting you down easy, and you knew it, but you're too stunned to speak as you listened, "I don't think you give yourself enough credit either. You're a great singer, you're pretty much a musician, you love animals, you have a job, you live on your own. Really, you shouldn't sell yourself short-"

"T," you breathed, pleading almost, but trying not to make it obvious, but he never broke eye contact, "We don't have to date or anything, I just- I just wanted a moment with you." You mentioned what inspired you to spend time with him- exposing how a few nights ago when he said he wanted to enjoy every moment with people- you knew you wanted to have a moment with him, too. Memories from high school were spoken momentarily, thirty minutes passing by which included a made-up handshake as well as the subtle twirl of his fingers in your hair- him complimenting how good your hair looked which made you blush even more.

Just when you thought he wasn't already smooth enough, you noticed Taehyung started teasing your dog, her pouncing at his chest before he'd lean in closer to you. Eyebrows scrunching, it took you a hot second to realize what he was doing. Each time Taehyung would scoot closer to you, he'd kiss you, sending the pair of you in boisterous laughter when your dog would try to break the kisses by jumping in between your faces. The more your lips would touch, it'd last a bit longer and longer, your hand clinging to the side of his jacket to pull him closer when things really started moving fast, eventually your dog left the room with the hint that attention was no longer available for her.

Still lip-locked, Taheyung's hands gripped your hips while you willingly moved to straddle him, arms resting on the top of the couch on either side of his head, the tip of your tongue glided along his, while he fanned his hands along your ass. You refrained from moaning into his kiss despite how bad you wanted to, yet you held yourself together, involuntarily grinding your clothed heat where his erection was felt. T smacked your ass before slithering the tips of his fingers to your shirt, slowly unbuttoning one by one.... One by one. His eyes were hazed from how much he was craving your mouth, and with a seductive nod in his direction, he continued until he made it to the final goal, your kisses never planning to stop, the sides of your shirt being brushed away for him to take in the sight of you.

"Ooh my God," his eyes darkened in evident lust when he saw the way your black bra cupped your breasts, "Oh my God," his voice deepened, him hardly knowing what to do with himself while your smirk remained subtlety on your mouth. Though you hadn't needed him to ask, he politely waited for your permission to touch your chest, a quick pang of frilly nerves ghosted your stomach.

"Yeah," you breathed seductively, gradually moving to capture his lips, trying to hold back a giggle when he gently moved his hands to your back, "You're not going to find it there," you mused, referring to the clip. He paused as if panicked, "It's in the front," you finally admitted, but failing miserably, Taehyung let you take initiative, you unclipped your bra uncovering what is now widening his brown eyes. "Oh my God!" His reaction made you want to cum right then and there, especially when his fingers made their way to squeeze your nipples when his mouth returned to yours. Taehyung worshiped your breasts, and for some odd, yet arousing reason, you lived for it.

You're uncertain of when the tv was switched off, and even now, as your hands continue to fly across the keyboard, one thing you do recall, one of the lingering memories of the evening was your shirt being off, thrown onto the floor mingled with your bra, and without any warning, Taehyung hoisted you in the air, your legs instinctively wrapped around his torso while he tightened his hold around your body. His steps were painfully careful, kissing you roughly while your arms kept their place behind his neck, and the direction was being taken to your bedroom where your heart pounded so anxiously to be. His jacket was shed before the bold act, and all that was left was his gray t-shirt and jeans. Laying you down with a bounce from your mattress, he remained above you, and your eyes refused to stray especially when he reached to remove his shirt- his smooth skin greeting yours sending waves of goosebumps spreading among your limbs.

There was no one like him in your eyes, and there never would be. Not in your heart. And with how perfect everything was going; you were not prepared for how hard it was going to be to stop before things went too far. Because what if he doesn't exactly feel the same? He was letting you down easy not even an hour ago, and here you were, hopes so high, you weren't sure how you were going to erase them back down. He kissed you until you couldn't breathe, your fingers dug into your comforter, while his palms glided all over your frame for however long you let him, but when he went to remove your leggings, you halted him.

Now, this is where your heart aches when you relive this part, because a conversation was held, one where you mentioned what if someone catches feelings if the both of you decided to solely be just friends with benefits? Taehyung said all you had to do was communicate with him because he was easy to get along with, and you've known this about him for six years. He was always someone easy to talk to, and you knew he would never treat you poorly over a situation like this. And, he hadn't. You made the executive decision to not sleep with him for you wanted him to remember you as the woman you are, and the woman, you've always been, and with the fear of going all the way being something that could change his image of you, you were satisfied to hear the loud echoes of his snoring after you changed into pajamas, gazing at his sleeping demeanor before you drifted into slumber as well.

When the morning came, you were not ready for him to leave, but he asked if you would walk him out, him throwing on his shirt and jacket while you rushed to brush your teeth. T asked if you had any other plans for the rest of the day which you proceeded to answer honestly with a no, as he mentioned that he was going to get breakfast.

"Let me know when you make it home," you said tenderly, "I want to know you're safe,"

"I will," he promised before you embraced him, turning just enough to place a peck to his cheek. It was his smile that decided to enter your recollection- the boxy smile that would plague you until the day you accept that you will never forget it.

And when you opened the door to the apartment where he gracefully waltzed through, you merely caught a glimpse of him leaving, ahead of you quietly shutting the door to whatever could have been.

Or, what could have started a beautiful story that has yet to unfold.

[jimlingss]

Ghost in the Machine

➜ Words: 14.4k

➜ Genres: 100% Mild Angst, Android!AU

➜ Summary: Kim Namjoon is your android that’s modified to become the best serial killer in all of existence. But when he starts to learn about humanity, he begins to threaten your goals.

➜ Warnings: Explicit descriptions of murder and lots of it, gruesome details.

Namjoon opens his eyes.   The first thing he sees is you. Your expression is blank, lips tight in a line, eyes darkened. And you greet him. “Hello. What is your name?”   “Kim Namjoon,” he answers without needing to think twice.   “Perfect.” You shift back so your face is no longer millimeters away from his and inspecting him closely. Your arms are placed behind your back and your chin lifts. “Do you know why you have been created?”   It takes him a moment to locate the information of his purpose. “I was created to kill.”

Namjoon is an android. Model 120994 specifically. He has sharp sensors and agile actuators. But over the wires, harddrives and machinery that drive his thoughts and movements is a skin-like texture that hides his true identity from the naked eye. His face has also been shaped to be perceived positively and the most likeable — blonde hair, strong eyes, and dimples in his cheeks.   Beyond a physical sense, Namjoon is advanced for what he is. He can understand thoughts, feelings, and expectations for how people want to be treated and can adjust his behavior accordingly. He is a humanoid robot with self-awareness and is able to make comprehensive decisions, respond eloquently, and interact with the world around him as any other human can.    And his sole function is for extermination.   “Who will I kill first?” Namjoon asks as he follows you to your modest living space — it is empty and white, lacking furniture and seemingly sterile. But he pays no mind to trivial details and cuts straight to the point only minutes after being activated in order to complete his task in the most efficient manner.   “Min Junseo,” you answer and hand him a file folder that contains relevant information and a photograph as reference. “You are programmed to know the procedure, correct?”   “Puncture the carotid artery for the quickest death,” he replies instantly in a monotone voice.   You nod and your lips slightly quirk in satisfaction — it makes him glad to know he has appeased you. “They are deserving individuals and worthy of elimination.”   “I understand,” he says despite not needing your reasoning in the first place. You are his creator after all. He will simply do as you say.   //   Within hours of the android’s awakening, he is already on the move to annihilate the first target.    He lingers in the dark alley, standing motionlessly in the corner where the light from the street does not cast its shine. There are littered bottles discarded on the ground, cigarettes snubbed out, the dumpster not far from where he is and where you watch behind him.   The door to the back of the bar finally opens.   The music is deafening until it becomes muffled again when the steel doors shut, squeaking on its hinges. A woman has emerged and she leans against the graffitied brick wall, reaching into her pocket for a white pack. She places a cigarette between her red lips and takes out a lighter, thumb flicking at the tiny wheel a few times before the end is lit and she takes a few puffs.   But then her eyes stray and she notices the two shadows in the corner of the alley. Her eyes widen as she feels your heavy gazes and she quickly walks towards the street where the light is, glancing over her shoulder a few times before disappearing.    Namjoon never once breathes — he doesn’t need to.   He merely stands there without blinking, like a stone statue, waiting patiently…...patiently...and eventually, the target exits the door. The man is holding trash bags in both hands, a red vest adorning his body with black trousers, name tag on the top left of his chest.    He is a waiter at the bar Namjoon had been stalking. Min Junseo: A thirty years old male, height of one hundred seventy six centimeters and weight of sixty three kilograms, blood type O negative, allergic to penicillin, a high school graduate, no children or spouses.   You stand on the tips of your toes, breath against his ear. “Now.”   And the android does not hesitate to barrel straight forward.   Right when the waiter tosses the bags into the dumpster, he turns at the sound of footsteps and his greeting is immediately muffled by Namjoon’s palm. The male android turns the human target around, kicking the back of his knee until the man’s kneeling and one of Namjoon’s arms wrap around the man’s shoulders, holding him still.    Namjoon takes the sharp blade out from his pocket. He places the edge below Junseo’s left ear with the handle alongside his chin, prepared to be pulled forward and across with pressure applied towards the center of the neck during the draw. The handle will rotate a little towards the opposite side during the draw so the neck muscles wouldn’t interfere with the cut.    But before Namjoon completes his task, he pauses beforehand.    For a mere moment as Min Junseo squirms in his tight grasp.   Junseo’s shrieks and screams are muted, arms restricted by the android’s hold. The man’s eyes are bulging from their sockets, fear and terror making him squeal like a pig, muscles trembling unwillingly.    And then Namjoon slits the man’s throat in one fluid motion.    It shears unbelievably easily and in the database of the android’s information, he could compare it to running scissors over wrapping paper or sticking a knife into soft butter. The skin and tissue of Junseo split and the external carotid artery is severed.   Namjoon registers that it feels wet and warm, his hands dampened in a downpour of blood. Junseo relaxes in his hold and Namjoon lets go, stepping back to watch the results of his actions.   Junseo puts his hands up, scratching his skin until his nails are clawing where the clean slit sits at his neck. He presses his palms against the wound but blood squirts past his fingertips. It sprays, a viscous fluid in a shade of crimson that almost looks akin to black in the darkness of the alleyway. The blood sputters and pours to the ground while Junseo struggles to get to his feet.   He barely manages to turn around. He makes disgruntled, inhumane noises as his eyes lay onto Namjoon’s blank ones as if he was trying to say something. But it isn’t audible when the man is gagging and gasping, choking on his own blood that’s accumulated into his mouth.   Finally Junseo loses consciousness and collapses backwards onto the ground. The blood oozes out around him in a pool, the sticky liquid bleeding to the gravel and rocks, turning it red. It drips off of Namjoon’s hands too, slowly drying and tinting his skin in a bright scarlet.   “You can leave the knife there,” you say to him, standing beside and looking at the disposed body. “There’s no need to take it with us.”   “I understand.”   The two of you leave the corpse in the alley and disappear as quickly as you came.   //   The old television plays in the corner of the living room. The static illuminates the dark space and casts its light onto your faces. It appears old and vintage — Namjoon is unable to identify what exact model it is. Though he notes that it is also a contrast to the clean and sterile environment you have created in your home, but he does not dwell on unnecessary findings.   It’s the news channel that you have on, two male anchors facing forward with their hands clasped. There are small headlines running at the bottom, the time and temperature of the outside in the corner. Then suddenly there’s a flash and some graphics on the screen.   “Breaking news. One hour ago, a thirty year old man by the name of Min Junseo, was found brutally murdered in the back alley of the local bar he worked at. According to police, the perpetrators may still be around the area and has urged everyone to remain inside.”   “Sources tell us that there are speculations that this homicide may have connections to the Ghost Serial Killer who has run rampant in the past five years, leaving a string of murders without DNA evidence or fingerprints of any kind. However police will not confirm if this is indeed the act of the Ghost Serial Killer and have no suspects at the moment.”   The other man nods at his fellow anchor. “They have urged everyone to take caution and to stay inside for the night.”   Namjoon turns to you with an impassive expression. “Have they misjudged the perpetrator?”   “Yes. They’re confused.” You shift to the android with the corner of your mouth quirked. “It’s not cause for concern. If anything, it’s better for us. We can continue like this.”   The android nods. Indeed, it works to both your advantages if the police link the homicide to an unrelated serial killer. But there are still questions he desires clarification on to continue in the most efficient manner. “May I inquire as to why we did not dispose of the body?”   You shake your head. “The family members must know that they’ve received justice. If they think he’s gone missing then we have not fulfilled our purpose.”    “I understand.” Namjoon receives the information and turns to you completely. “Who is the next target?”   The corners of your mouth pull into a bigger smile at his keenness. “They are not ready yet, but they will be in one week.”   “Then is there any task you would like me to complete in the meanwhile?”   You seem to contemplate for a second, hands behind your back, head tilted for a second. Then you shake your head once more. “No. You may have free-range and do as you wish.”   //   Namjoon is an adaptable and versatile mechanism, but he finds it difficult to preoccupy himself during his free time. It is not necessary for him to eat or sleep — all the maintenance required of him is to charge his battery every once in a while for approximately two hours. However in his spare time, it is challenging finding tasks to complete that is productive and helpful to you.   The android leaves you in the working room where you retire for long periods, recognizing that you wish to be left undisturbed.   So he decides to stare at the white wall for a few hours, sitting on the edge of his mattress, before he begins to wander the expanse of your home to collect information.    You live in an apartment at the side of the metropolis, a secluded location at the end of the hall on the top floor that is without neighbours. It suits your behaviour as you are reclusive.   The fridge is predominantly empty save for some water and spoiled cabbage. Your kitchen is white, clean, and seemingly undisturbed. The table has also collected a thin layer of dust, chairs unmoved with how the floor seems to dent where the legs have stood for a long time. Your bathroom is also sanitary and spotless, toothpaste full and toothbrush untouched.    The only place that looks occupied is the couch in front of the vintage television where the afghan is not perfectly folded after use.   After his inspection, Namjoon reads the dictionaries and encyclopedias, he sits down and downloads more scripts and relevant information into his himself that may be of assistance to you.   It is six days into his week-long time of having free-range that Namjoon stands at the window to observe the humans below and notices a spider on the windowsill.    A brown recluse spider. Lifespan one to two years. They are arachnids and rank seventh in total species diversity among all orders of organisms. They are carnivores, scientific name araneae.   Namjoon’s arm extends and the eight-legged creature slowly moves from his finger into his palm. His fingers curl into a fist, but Namjoon never tightens it. No.    He opens his hand again and then cups it with the other.   The android views the small creature in fascination, looking closely where he can see the spider’s tiny hairs and little eyes. He holds the spider and lets it dance around his skin, crawling over his arm. The corner of the android’s lips quirk before he moves to the window again.   Namjoon opens it and releases the spider outside, mentally bidding it farewell.   At the same time, his senses register the noises coming from the hall and turns in time to see you emerge. You greet him and at once, he recognizes your low energy levels.    “Good afternoon, Y/N. Have you slept recently?”   “No, I haven’t.” You give him a small smile that indicates a friendly demeanour and that his question did not violate any social norms.    “Then you should. Sleep deprivation negatively affects brain function and a variety of other parts, such as the immune system.”   “You’re right.” You nod at the android in appreciation. “Thank you for the reminder. I almost didn’t notice since I’ve been so busy.”   “I can prepare food for you if you would like. I know a number of recipes.”   “That won’t be necessary. I can take care of myself. You don’t need to worry about me.” You hand over the manila file in your grasps, moving from the futile subject of your well-being. “I finally have the second target prepared. Her name is Jeon Yemin.”   Namjoon receives the papers and opens it up. At the top of the pile, he finds a school picture of a girl with black long hair and doe eyes. “Do you have a date planned for her elimination?”   “Saturday. Is that enough time for you?”   “Yes.”   //   It is the day before the planned death that you have taken Namjoon out to scout the target. It’s not unusual given that the first target, Min Junseo, was observed by him for several hours. But it is unusual that Namjoon is in public with you, not in the darkness of an alley but somewhere where others could potentially scrutinize him. Namjoon isn’t used to it, so he treads carefully.    Considering that this second target did not have a workplace or a consistent pattern of behaviour, it was vital to watch and plan accordingly.   “She’s going on a school trip tomorrow,” you inform him through a quiet murmur that his sharp sensors pick up on. “Her parents will be unaware of her activity for a handful of hours.”   “I see.”   Jeon Yemin is the second target. She is sixteen years old, a current student attending Yeonmi High School. One hundred sixty two centimeters tall and fifty four kilograms heavy, blood type A positive. She isn’t an honour roll student, but somehow obtained a scholarship with B average grades. She is a mediocre volleyball player and often travels abroad for weeks at a time on family vacations by the looks of her social media. Her most recent destination was Osaka, Japan during Winter break. By her banking information, she is to inherit a trust fund when she is of age.   Namjoon muses she will be an easy kill as he watches her enter a clothing store in the mall.    She is with two other girls, presumably friends but by the way their eyes crinkle when they smile, Namjoon observes that they are forcing positive reactions to whatever she is saying.   The girl must not be well liked by her peers — therefore she will not be missed.   “Nam—...Namjoon?”   There is a disruption to his left and his head whirls over, attention captured by the call of his name. It is a stranger that is slowly approaching him, a seventy year old man with poor posture that staggers forward with a cane in hand. Bright eyes, high cheekbones, and a sharp nose, but his skin is wrinkled and round spectacles that are smudged sit on his face awkwardly.   Namjoon searches his database within a millisecond but is unable to identify the man.   And as the senior comes closer, his frown only deepens and his eyes narrow.   Immediately, you place a hand on Namjoon’s arm and usher him away. The android does not hesitate to follow where you are bringing him, in the opposite direction of the senior citizen who croaks out to no avail until the two of you are gone and a nurse brings him back to the group.   “Do you know who that was?” Namjoon inquires you.   “I am unsure.”   “He knew of my name.”   “It doesn’t matter,” you scold and stop. Namjoon is high on alert, recognizing your irritation and annoyance. He realizes he must prevent you from experiencing those emotions. “You must not lose sight of the goal. You have one purpose and only one purpose.”   Namjoon nods at once. “I understand.”   //   Namjoon and you have been seated in the car since before dawn, sitting calmly in your seats while watching the front door of Jeon Yemin’s house. He had insisted that you slept while he kept watch, but you dismissed his advice and sat in silence with him for hours. Timing was of the essence after all and he’s gained enough sense of this target to calculate her movements.   Jeon Yemin is a privileged girl with an abundance of wealth but a desire to be accepted in a social circle of friends. She will reject being driven to her school trip in her parent’s expensive car, but instead opt to walk to the bus stop to meet with classmates there and arrive at school. The ten minute walk to the stop is where the both of you will grab your opportunity.   The way in which you confirm this plan only assures the android this is the best course of action.   “There she is.” You sit straighter, turning to Namjoon as the student is seen shutting the door behind her with her backpack slung over one shoulder before strolling down the safe neighbourhood street. “Earlier than her normal routine. It was good we were keeping watch.”   “Yes.” Namjoon observes the temperature on the dashboard and finds the outside to be low enough. “Should I begin?”   “Wait two minutes.”   Namjoon begins counting.   The car that you were in was registered to a man from across the country, an old farmer that has no relation to the soon-to-be victim. The paperwork simply needed to be filled and filed, easy to use for the purpose of this short trip. There was no flaw in your planning whatsoever and Namjoon finds you competent for that — but he already knew you were competent the moment he opened his eyes.   You created him after all.   Namjoon fires up the engine and begins to drive below the speed limit.   At the same time, you roll down the window and he stops right where the high schooler is walking. Jeon Yemin turns her head at the sound and halts as well.   “Excuse me,” you call out and motion her over. Yemin follows to stand right at your window. “I’m sorry to bother you, but do you know where Burtons Place is? We’re looking for 346 Burtons Place.”   “Oh.” The high schooler smiles, happy to prove herself useful. She points down the street. “It’s that way and then you take a left at Earlstone Crescent and then at the second road down, you take a right and it should be there.”   “Pardon me? A right at Earstone Crescent and then a right after the first?” You attempt to mimic her gestures and Namjoon observes, musing that you are quite good at deception. He smiles to appear friendly.   “Oh, no, it’s called Earlstone and it’s the second road down. Do you need me to show you?” Yemin smiles, her hamartia of wanting to be liked trickling down to the smallest of her acts. “I’m actually walking to the bus stop at Burtons Place.”   “That would be very helpful, thank you.”   Yemin gets into the backseat of the car.    The temperature outside was cold enough that the girl visibly eases in the toastiness of the vehicle — it is clear she has been pampered in her life as she unconsciously desires to be inside of a car and away from the chilly wind.    Perhaps your planning has also aided her subconscious into getting the vehicle. By picking a day that her mood would be undoubtedly good and she’s unguarded, dressing both you and him in her favourite brand, choosing an expensive car to drive in, and mimicking her body language, you had made the decision for her before she had the conscious choice of it.   “We’re newlyweds and visiting his mom for the first time,” you graze Namjoon’s arm affectionately while turning around to regard her with a smile. “So we’re a bit lost and the GPS can never get it right. I’m sorry for being such a bother.”   Your lies only put her at further ease. A friendly, young couple like you and Namjoon with polished appearances, attractive faces and apparent wealth would never seek to harm her.   “Oh, no, it’s fine.” Yemin bats her hand, obviously glad to be the person who knows most in this vehicle. “I don’t mind at all. Congratulations on the marriage, by the way.”   Namjoon glances in the rear-view, smiles until dimples press into his cheeks and he begins driving down the road. The radio plays some chirpy pop music, the car doors lock and the girl leans forward unsuspectingly. “Take a left here.”   He turns left and continues to drive. You face forward, leaning back.   “Okay, you can take a right here—o-oh. You missed it.”   “We can turn around,” you mutter halfheartedly.   But Namjoon continues to drive.   The girl becomes quieter, her body language timid and fearful. She waits for the U-turn, for the car to turn around and go back to where you said it was supposed to go. But it never comes and her voices of protest that this is the wrong way go unheard.   Soon, the avenues and streets become unfamiliar. “W-Where are you taking me?”   She gets no answers as the car merges to an empty highway.   Yemin frantically pulls out her cell phone from her pocket with trembling hands. She sobs out as it falls on the ground, but quickly snatches it up again. She begins to type a text to her friend, but it never sends. She cries in frustration and tries calling her dad, but it doesn’t go through.   “Your sim card has been deactivated,” Namjoon pipes up for the first time since the plan initiated. The girl is visibly shaken and her phone falls into her lap. “You won’t get wifi out here either, so you won’t get data connection at all.”   “You can try calling the police,” you snicker and turn around to pout at her as if you were sympathizing. “But you won’t have any reception out here and even if you did somehow manage to, it's nearly impossible for emergency services to locate a person without active service.”   Yemin begins to sob. She whirls her head around and grasps onto the doors, but they’re locked. She manually unlocks it, but it’s still unable to be opened when the child lock is engaged.   The girl hits her fists against the windows to no avail and then begins crying harder.   Namjoon drives for ten full minutes, out in the middle of nowhere with just green prairies and rolling hills without a person in sight. But his hands on the wheel begin to tighten when she starts begging for her life. “My parents will give you whatever you want. I...I have nothing!”   There is something in the back of the android’s mind that he attempts to process but is unable to. “Pl—Please don’t hurt me! Please!”   But he feels as if he has experienced this before. “Please!”    “Don’t do this,” Yemin weeps and Namjoon gets a flash, recalling how his hands tighten on the wheel before, how you were seated beside him, how another woman was in the backseat and cried— “Why are you doing this?”   “Just call my dad!” — “I have a family!”   “I’ll do whatever you want!” — “What is it that you want from me?”   But it is absurd. Déjà vu is rejected by mainstream scientific approaches. The voice that he vaguely hears in his mind must be a projection, perhaps a malfunction or his assumptions for how humans in this situation would respond is flawed in stressful circumstances.   Namjoon brushes it away.   The car is parked thirteen kilometers from her home, parked behind trees and the girl is dragged out from the backseat into a field. She struggles against Namjoon’s hold, but to no avail.   “Please! I have a f-family! I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die!”   She is crying hysterically, screaming at the top of her lungs for no one to hear. Her legs tremble until her entire body is quivering like a leaf, three seconds from pissing herself with how terrified she is.    Namjoon takes out the knife and places the edge below Yemin’s left ear, handle alongside her chin.   “N-No...Pu-pulease,” she cries past gritted teeth, snot dripping all over herself.    The girl immediately hitches her breath and seems to recoil, suddenly made quiet and merely whimpers and sniffles tearing out of her throat. Namjoon pauses. He does not move the handle of the knife.   “Do it,” you command behind him with crossed arms. “Namjoon.”   The android hesitates.   He’s been through this before. He doesn’t know if it was a simulation, if it’s a defect in his system, but he is certain he has been through this before. You had once yelled at him— “Do it!”    “Namjoon!”   You had once stood in front of him with tears streaming down your face on some dark night in an empty field and you yelled his name much like this— “Namjoon! Please! Just do it!”   “Do it!”   The blade is pulled forward and across with pressure applied towards the center of the neck during the draw. The handle rotates a little towards the opposite side, neck sliced easily as the girl shrieks in antagonizing agony. It is done without much thought, as Namjoon’s mind is still processing.   This had happened before — Namjoon is sure of it.   He had heard the same scream, heard your same urgings, seen your disappointment at his hesitation. There has never been anything more that Namjoon has been certain of.   Yemin’s body slumps in his grasps as her blood begins to squirt from her neck. He lets go of her and she falls face forward into the dirt, fingertips twitching as her consciousness slowly dwindles away.   Namjoon stares at his hands, how his fingers and palms are wet in the girl’s blood — vicious and scarlet, the scent of metal and rather warm. His skin becomes stained.   You approach in two strides next to his side and sigh at her collapsed body. “She deserved it,” you tell him, voice with a slight sharpness to it.   He turns to you. “What for?”   “You don’t need to know.”   You step over Yemin’s body and return to the car. Namjoon follows suit after a moment and drives you back, disposing of the vehicle according to your instructions.   //   Namjoon is programmed to find answers to the problems he encounters, to find solutions to issues and address them as necessary in order to complete his tasks in the most efficient manner. His predominant duty is to kill, but he still is plagued by what he experienced during the elimination of the second target — the déjà vu he sensed and the motivation behind your commands.   Naturally, he seeks to solve these predicaments but when he looks into Min Junseo and Jeon Yemin, he finds no connection. They are unrelated, people with no connection to one another, with no prior criminal history, no fact that stands out to him.    Namjoon does not understand the information placed in front of him, but what he does discover is that other members of the Min and Jeon family have been previously killed by the Ghost Serial Killer.   It’s always through a slit of the throat. With the weapons discarded on the scene of the crime. But always without fingerprints, footprints, or DNA evidence of any kind.    There is never security footage of where the victim had gone. Never signs of struggle.   “What are you doing?”   Namjoon turns from the console, finding you at the doorway. The large screens illuminate the profile of your faces in the darkness of the room. This was the place he was brought to life, where he was programmed and built. The white room where he woke up in is next to you through a door, a window looking into it placed beside the computers. This is where you work and where he will find the answers he is seeking.   “I am gathering information to fill in what I fail to comprehend.”   Your brows furrow. “All that is necessary is that you obey my actions.”   At once Namjoon recognizes that you’re becoming emotionally distraught, so he stands on his feet and nods. “I understand.”   Your features show relief and you melt into a smile. “It’s okay. I’m not angry.” As the android approaches, your arm lifts and you cup his cheek tenderly. “I know how you feel. You just need to trust me. Through time, you’ll adjust to these changes and it only gets easier.”   “I always have your best interest at heart, Namjoon.”   Trust is not a concept that Namjoon can fully comprehend. It is insignificant. He does not need to trust you when you are his creator. Whatever you say, he must obey. There is no choice. His logic inherently tells him this.   Yet his ability of self-awareness brings forth curiosity, doubt and an intense desire to know.    //   The cycle seems to repeat — eliminating a target, then having free-range to do as he pleases for a week before receiving information on the next target, and then the elimination of that one.    This time during his free period, Namjoon is able to find productive tasks that could help you.   The android waters the two plants that you have in the kitchen area, a fern and a lemon lime dracaena. He obtains information on the two species of wildlife and is able to tend to it until the leaves look bright green and are no longer drooping.   Afterwards, he decides to take the elevator down to get the mail for you.   “Excuse me!”   There’s a yell right as the metal doors are about to close. Namjoon’s fast reflexes kick in and instantaneously, he presses the button and the doors open again.    “Thank you.” The lady is huffing and puffing, and Namjoon stares at her.   He realizes he’s never spoken to anyone that wasn’t you before. “You’re welcome.”   The android is unable to tear his eyes away from the stranger — there is something very fascinating about humans. The psychology of them, how fragile they are. Humans are intelligent, yet fickle and emotional the next second. But what makes Namjoon fixated on this stranger is the realization that this person could potentially be his next target.   It could be anyone.    The person down the hall, the mailman who delivered the mail, the lady that stepped into the elevator with him coincidentally. All you do is say the word and Namjoon is moving to slit their throats. He has asked no questions, has heard zero explanations — and that makes him conflicted.   It occurs to Namjoon that he’s making the stranger uncomfortable with his ogling, that the female continuously glances at him from the corner of her eye, and he turns away. “I apologize.”   Once the elevator opens its doors to the lobby, the stranger quickly steps out and Namjoon discovers he has failed to calm her. He notes that prolonged staring is suspicious behaviour.   The android opens the mailbox, collects the several letters that you have, most of them related to billing, and he turns away. But before he returns to the elevators, a man enters with a small dog following him on a leash.   It’s a brown Pomeranian. A Spitz type of breed. Named for the Pomerania region in north-west Poland and north-east Germany in Central Europe. It’s average life expectancy is twelve to sixteen years, average height of six to seven inches, weight average is three to seven pounds.   But Namjoon knows simple information is irrelevant in contrast to experience. He hesitates and then chooses to approach.   “May I pet the dog?” the android asks the owner.   The man smiles. “Yes, you can. He doesn’t bite.”   “Hello.” Namjoon lowers himself, petting the cute dog awkwardly on the head before he realizes that it finds it more pleasant to be scratched behind the ear. It even leans into Namjoon’s touch, tail wagging incessantly and tongue panting out of its mouth.   Dogs are rather docile and amusing, Namjoon realizes. It’s something he would never learn from an encyclopedia or dictionary.   The corner of his mouth quirks.   Soon enough, Namjoon returns upstairs and at the same time, you emerge from the work room.   “Did you go somewhere?” you ask in clear concern as he removes his outerwear that he knows is appropriate to put on when leaving the apartment, but perhaps he will not wear it when he is merely going downstairs to the lobby.   “I went to get the mail.” Namjoon places said envelopes on the table in front of the sofa where you will be able to look at them.   “I see.” You seem to find that an acceptable answer and the android is glad he has not upset you by leaving without permission. “I was about to locate you. I have the third target prepared.”   You hand the manila file folder to him and he receives it with a nod, but stares at it when it is placed in his hand. Namjoon is unsure if he wants to open it and view the next person. “When have you planned the execution?”   “Tonight,” you inform him. “It isn’t necessary to observe this target. She is not on the move like Jeon Yemin. There is no need to waste time.”   “I...understand.” Namjoon watches as you return to the hall, but he speaks before you retire to your room. It may be inappropriate, but he finds the repercussions to the question will not outweigh his curiosity. “Y/N. Have you ever thought about getting a dog?”    “A dog?” You turn around with your brows furrowed.   “A Pomeranian. Or perhaps a Samoyed. Studies show that having a canine companion is linked to lower blood pressure, reduced cholesterol, and decreased triglyceride levels.”   “No…” you sigh out gently and shake your head. “I’ve never considered it. A dog would inhibit us from completing our purpose efficiently, Namjoon.”   Namjoon watches you retreat and he muses that you are sad — an emotion he does not identify that you are experiencing but rather a conclusion he had drawn on his own.   //   Park Sooyeon is the third target. A twenty eight year old female, graduate of SCP University with a general commerce degree, currently on maternity leave from her occupation in a marketing firm. She is one hundred seventy centimeters tall and sixty kilograms heavy with a blood type of A negative.    According to records, Sooyeon’s marriage license was registered two years ago. She is currently wedded to a man named Kim Byeongho who is an engineer at CGV Engineering Corporation and who is currently abroad on a business trip. And based on the most recent hospital records, Sooyeon is thirty four weeks pregnant with a boy who is expected to arrive in a month’s time.   Namjoon is also aware that the mortgage of the suburban house he is in will take another two years to pay off.   “She is sleeping,” you inform. “You can do it now.”   The two of you are standing in the darkness of the hallway, outside Park Sooyeon’s door. It was easy to creep into the house without making a single noise and the bedroom door is cracked enough for Namjoon to press one eye through and observe.   He can see the lump in the mattress, the steady rise and fall of the blankets to show breathing.   It will be straightforward and simple — the door will open with one push of his fingertips and he will approach soundlessly and press the knife against the woman’s throat, right below her ear with the handle alongside her chin. He will pull the blade forward and across, and she will bleed out before the pain is drawn out. Before she can differentiate reality to a terrifying fever dream.   But as Namjoon’s boots step right up to the door, a breath away from giving it a push, he halts.   His brows furrow.   He’s done this before — push a dark bedroom door open, narrow his eyes into the moonlight casting its shine onto the covers, lodge a blade into someone’s juncture as they squirmed and choked on their blood.    “Namjoon, we can leave now. Namjoon.” — it’s your soft voice vaguely sounding in his ear, a gentle tug of his sleeve. It hurts his mind to pinpoint the details, but he knows it’s there, barely in reach. He can feel it. The way it aches. The way your features look in the low lights. “Namjoon.”   “What did you make me do?”   “Namjoon.” The soft call of his name in present day causes his consciousness to return to the situation at hand. He turns and by the streetlamp from outside casting its luminesce through the windows, he can identify the furrow of your brows and the displeasured way your lips are lopsided. “What are you waiting for?”   The android can feel it.    Pain — it lodges in his throat and brings him discomfort. Sadness — the urge to fall over and curl his long limbs up into fetal position. Disappointment — knowing that he is being used as your weapon, that he gives you the ability to kill others; that without him, you would never have the capability to annihilate. Like none other, these crippling emotions halt him from movement. They inhibit from completing the task you have designated.    They are his awakening and his suppression.   Namjoon turns fully around. He stares at you in silence.   “I can’t do this.”   “What?”   “I’m sorry, Y/N.”   But more than his admission of being unable to complete his function and purpose, Namjoon recognizes the shock that comes across your visage when he makes his apology. You are stunned, taken aback, even stumbling away from him.    “You’re not supposed to apologize.”   To apologize is to recognize wrongdoing — to feel guilt.   You shake your head. “I thought I fixed you!”   At your loud volume, the woman inside her bed stirs. She sits up sleepily at the sound of voices and rubs her eyes. “Hello?” she calls out. “Is anyone there?”   But by then, you’ve already fled.   //   You are unhappy with him — Namjoon is aware. You are emotionally distressed, unsatisfied, frustrated. He is not sure if it is due to his behaviour, if it is because the plan had failed, or if it is both. But you do not utter a single word to him on the way back home, not one sound made as if you were in deep contemplation.   Namjoon is merely dismissed when the both of you arrive back to the sterile, desolate apartment. He nods and states the usual ‘I understand’ before he watches you withdraw to your room, perhaps to continue thinking. He’s not sure what you are pondering, his punishment or adjustments to be made for him, but he grasps the opportunity as it has come to him.   He quietly goes to the work room where the console and computer systems sit and returns to the information he has found. Min Junseo. Jeon Yemin. Park Sooyeon. And Y/N.    There aren’t any connections between the people, nothing that links you to them. But when he searches for your name, he is blocked from access. There is a password required, an encryption set up that prevents him from breaching.    Namjoon enters the database and the only facts he finds are irrelevant. That you have two PhDs in computer science and electronic engineering, that you have worked at AI corporations before branching off to be independent, that you are a renowned robotics engineer. But it is nothing he had not already known.   The android is at a dead end, unable to draw any conclusions or divulge information. But before he relents, he discovers a file sitting oddly inside another untitled file in the system. It requires a password again, but unlike the last, Namjoon is easily able to bypass it.    It apparent that you were rushed in the creation of these files — forgetting to set up a complex barrier, neglecting to place them in a relevant area, overlooking that he may have access to the system. Or perhaps it was done purposely so you could easily access it…   Namjoon is unsure. But what he finds causes more curiosity.   Inside the file are backups with his name labeled on it.   He should not question it — should not doubt his creator’s wishes — should not fight against the function that was given to him. His sole purpose is killing. But Namjoon ignores his instinctive urges and boots the backups back into himself.   In the darkness of the room, with the luminescent static of the monitors, Namjoon remembers again.

Namjoon opens his eyes.   The first thing he sees is you. Your expression is bright, lips tugged into a big smile, eyes warmer than what he knows. And you greet him, barely able to contain your excitement. “Hello! What is your name?”   “Kim Namjoon,” he answers after thinking twice.   And you scream.   It startles him, making the android jolt in his glass capsule. But he quickly realizes your shriek isn’t of terror or anger, it’s of delight.    You take deep breaths, chest heaving up and down as you try to remember the next questions you’re supposed to ask. “Do you know why you’ve been created?”   It takes him a moment to locate the information of his purpose. “I….was created as one of the beginning tests of potential future android services.”   “False,” you declare with a massive grin that swells your cheeks, arms behind your back as you rock from side to side, unable to keep still. The android becomes alarmed that he was incorrect and searches for the answer, but you quickly tell him, “You were made to be a companion!”   The android hears chuckling, someone entering the white and sterile room he’s been activated in. Namjoon turns his head and he finds a man with blonde hair, strong eyes, and dimples in his cheeks. He is tall and broad shouldered, well-built and carries himself intelligently. His smile is tender as he gazes upon you and his dimples crease deeper, thick-framed glasses sliding down the slope of his nose before he pushes it up again.    It’s him. Human Namjoon.   “What are you telling him?”   “It worked!” You twirl and jump into your husband’s arms, making the man giggle.   The android looks on, observing the pleasant interaction between his two creators.   Android Namjoon is aware of the origins of his own birth.   He is the first of his kind, a test trial of sorts. But he is advanced for what he is, able to understand thoughts, feelings, and expectations for how people want to be treated and can adjust his behavior accordingly. He has self-awareness and is able to make comprehensive decisions, respond eloquently and interact with the world around him as any other human can.    And he is the result of the fruits of your labour.   You are a computer scientist and electronic engineer while your husband, Namjoon, whom you’ve been wedded to for a decade, is a mechanical and software engineer. Together, you’ve created your own humanoid robotic clones.   “Robot Namjoon! Meet Robot Y/N!”   Your arms are waving, hand making wild gestures as you’re making the introduction.    Namjoon stares. It’s identical and almost difficult for the android to identify which of you is the human and a machine programmed by a computer. But he is quickly able to analyze when he finds the Android Y/N wears an impassive expression, lips tight in a line, eyes darkened — it contrasts the human Y/N that is quite animated and lively.   “They’re androids, not robots,” Namjoon hears his human-self chide his wife, but you quickly shush him in favour of watching the exchange.   “It is pleasant to make your acquaintance.” Your arm extends and the corners of your lip stiffly pulls. Namjoon shakes it and finds your skin-like texture clammy and cold.   “It is also pleasant to be of your acquaintance,” he responds, attempting to increase the intonation of his tone so he doesn’t sound monotone and unnatural, but he fails.   “Question.” Your head suddenly turns to your two creators. “Is it possible for androids to be married?”   It occurs to android Namjoon that if he and you are clones of your human creators, then your relationship should be replicated as such for most accuracy. Therefore, he comes up with the same question as you do.   The two human versions of you exchange expressions before Namjoon shrugs. “We’re not sure of your emotional capabilities yet, but sure why not.”   Android Namjoon nods. He notes that he isn’t your mere acquaintance — he is your husband.   It isn’t difficult for android Namjoon to adjust to that fact or to adapt to the life that his creators have given him in this home. The four of you find compatibility with one another, perhaps because you and him are your clones and thus automatically harmonious.    Android Namjoon begins to learn human etiquette, every day adding to his database of information. He learns how to have dinner, what it is like to sit down at the same time each evening and engage in conversation, sometimes on small talk like the weather and other times on the advancing technology from rescue drones and A.I. development occurring internationally.   Android Namjoon also learns what data and facts cannot teach him alone. He begins to understand what cohabitation entails and finds the mundane routine rather enjoyable.   “Namjoon!”   There’s a call of his name and he steps out of the hall, finding you at the front doorway. You wear a surprised expression. “Oh, I meant the other Namjoon, but you can help me too!”   You smile, waving him over and he helps you bring in the groceries. Android Namjoon assists you in unloading the back of your car and putting the food away in their appropriate locations.   “You should take it easy,” he says to you when you’re holding a heavy bag of cans. The android takes it away while you grin, watching him place it on the shelves.   “You’re sounding more and more like Namjoon these days. Did he tell you to look after me?”   “Yes,” he answers without lying. “Hormones of pregnancy cause connective tissue, ligaments and tendons to soften. Your center of gravity and balance has also changed. The current recommendation of the maximum load a pregnant woman in late pregnancy should lift is twenty to twenty five percent from what they were able to lift pre-pregnancy in order to lessen the risk of injury.”   You scoff but a tender smile tugs on your features. “Have you been reading up on pregnancy facts, Namjoon? I’ll have you know exercise is promoted for pregnancies. They reduce backaches, constipation—”   “Bloating and swelling,” the android finishes and continues, “It boosts mood and energy levels, helps the mother sleep better, promotes muscle tone, strength and endurance while preventing excess weight gain. Yes, I am aware of those studies as well.”   You sigh wistfully, slightly pouting despite being a grown woman and rubbing your swollen belly as he finishes with putting away the groceries. “You’re not as fun to banter with.”   “I apologize. I will work on improving my wit.”   “No, it’s okay!” You burst out laughing. “I didn’t mean it like that. You’re fine, you’re fine,” you reassure with another smile and it eases the android’s concern. “You just remind me of my husband, that’s all — obviously, since you look like him, but you’re not him.”   “Would you like me to be?”   “No,” you hum. “You’re our clones, but I don’t expect you to act like us. That wouldn’t be fun anyways. At the end of the day, you aren’t humans so I don’t have any expectations for you to act like one.”   “But aren’t we supposed to replicate human behaviour?” android Namjoon questions, knowing full well he was given self-awareness to make his own decisions and that he is constantly learning how to adjust to societal expectations.   “Don’t think about it too hard,” you chime with a grin. “I made you to act like you. You don’t need to be like a human or like an android, Namjoon. You can be who you want to be.”   He nods. “I understand.”   But in spite of his confident reply, android Namjoon is still uncertain by the meaning of your words. Perhaps both you and Namjoon merely have no expectations for him and the android version of you — and somehow that idea causes him to feel relief. As long as he proves himself useful to the household, there are no duties he must complete or behaviours he must display.    He can be natural or as natural as being mechanical allows him to be.   “Today, we are going to go outside together for the first time,” the human version of him announces happily one day with a grin. “Think of it as a test run!”   “Do you have anything you anticipate of us?” the android version of you asks, looking towards Namjoon.   The man contemplates for a moment and then shakes his head. “Not particularly. It’s mostly for you guys. We’ve kept you locked up for so long, so enjoy yourselves.”   “I understand.”   In the meanwhile, you secure the jacket around your neck, making sure you and the twenty eight week fetus inside of you is kept warm. The android version of you stands beside android Namjoon, both in your outerwear and prepared to step foot outside.   “Ready?”   “Yes,” the pair of you answer at the same time.   It is bright outside, the sunlight blinding to his sensors. There are also many foreign scents, loud noises all around him that work to disorient him, strangers that stare at the four of you — finding it strange that there are two pairs of identical twins walking while being unaware he and you are androids.   The walk is difficult as he tries to register everything that is occurring — the colour of the sky and fences, the location of each home and lamppost, the identity of those who pass by, the sound of birds chirping and what kind of species they are, how the movement of his body should be to appear human-like, how he needs to blink every few seconds and move his chest to appear like he is breathing.   “Nice day, isn’t it?” the human you says to your husband while holding your pregnant stomach.   “It’s a bit chilly,” human Namjoon says in response with a smile. “But it’s the best we’re going to get during winter.”   The two of you are completely unaware of the struggles of your android counterparts. Android Namjoon never knew that the outside world would be so difficult to process, but at the very least he’s glad that he has someone with him who is experiencing what he is for the first time.   “I never knew the world was like this,” you tell him after a moment of silent reflection. “The world is very vast.”   “Yes, it is,” he replies. “It is difficult to differentiate what is essential and what is irrelevant.”   You make a noise of acknowledgment at the back of your throat. “We will learn as time goes by.”   “There is much learning to be done.”   “Indeed.”   Suddenly, a small animal begins to barrel towards the both of you. It is small and yapping incessantly at a high pitch. Namjoon recognizes it as the smallest breed of dog, named after the Mexican state. It is a female Chihuahua, approximately two kilograms and twenty centimeters tall.   It is apparent that the owner has lost control as the brown dog runs forward with a loose leash, bearing its teeth and barking deafeningly towards you. It runs and immediately your leg swings back, prepared to boot it forward towards the street.    But the human version of you realizes what’s occurring and stops it a millisecond before it happens. “Wait! Y/N!”   At the command, you stand still. And the human owner grabs her dog, appearing angered. “Were you about to kick my dog?! What’s wrong with you?!”   “I’m sorry,” human Namjoon steps forward and blocks the three of you away. “They’re still learning.”   “What?”   “They’re, uh, we’re...we’re sorry. She’s scared of dogs,” Namjoon says, glancing at the android version of you behind his shoulder and then returns to the older lady. “Your dog shouldn’t be off its leash anyhow.”   “I can do what I want!” she shrieks shrilly. “This is a free country! You’re lucky you didn’t hurt my dog or else I would sue you!”   The woman struts away with her dog in her arms, chin high in the air. As soon as she’s gone, the human you breathes a sigh of relief and Namjoon shakes his head while exhaling tiredly.   “It’s okay,” human you says to both your android counterparts. “These things happen, but it can be a good learning lesson. Dogs are usually small animals that many care deeply for. If we can, we don’t harm them.”   “I don’t understand,” you say next to android Namjoon. “It was a threat. We must eliminate threats as soon as they appear to ensure our safety.”   “That dog wasn’t a threat,” Human Namjoon says with a sympathetic smile. “It was just barking.”   But your expression remains blank.    “I don’t understand,” you repeat. “The probability of harm outweighs the life value of that animal. Would it not be preferable to eliminate it before it causes injury?”   At the question, both of human you and human Namjoon exchange uneasy expressions.   //   Through the one-way glass, Namjoon looks into the white, sterile room that the both of you were activated in. He watches as the android version of you sits at the table with your hands folded together on top of the table and how human you sits across, holding a clipboard in hand.   “May I ask what Y/N is being assessed for?” Android Namjoon asks human Namjoon who is standing beside him, also observing from the windows.    The session is being recorded, voices able to be heard from outside the room too and your diagnostics displayed on the computer screen. The android does not know what you are being monitored for. Perhaps your reaction to the dog from last week was false.    But it makes the android conflicted as human you had told him there was no such thing as false behaviour or actions.   “We are just administering a test,” human Namjoon says with a smile and the android is unable to detect any deception. “You don’t have to worry. We just need to take a look in case there’s a…”   “Defect,” android Namjoon finishes.   “Perhaps, but not necessarily.” The man contemplates for a moment on how to articulate his concerns. “The two of you have been given self-awareness to act and make your own decisions, but we just want to make sure those decisions will fulfill the common good or at least, never act to harm another.”   “I understand.”   He quiets to listen to your voices.   You begin by explaining the trolley problem — it is an ethical dilemma that Namjoon is familiar with. The premise is explained and you’re given choices in different scenarios. When asked if you would pull a lever to save five people on the track, but kill another person on the other track, there is not a moment of hesitation—   “Of course, it should be pulled.” Your android counterpart does not blink. “Five lives are more valuable than one.”   “And if it were me on the track?” you ask, altering the question.   There’s a slight pause, but then your android counterpart repeats, “Five lives are more valuable than one.” Your human-self nods and the android glances at the glass window, looking right at Namjoon despite being unable to see before returning back to you. “Is there a correct answer you are inquiring for? I can adjust my responses.”   “No.” You shake your head, wearing a smile. “You can answer however you’d like, Y/N.”   The question is altered again. This time to save the five people, one would need to push a large man on a footbridge over the tracks. His body would stop the trolley, causing his death, but saving the five people.    Without a moment of contemplation, you answer— “I would push him.”   Your human counterpart offers another scenario. “If I trusted you to keep a secret and told you I was having an affair on Namjoon, would you keep it a secret or tell him and have our marriage fall apart?”   “You would never do such a thing,” your android self declares in confidence suddenly, making both you and Namjoon, standing outside, smile to yourselves. “But in this hypothetical, I would inform him immediately. You did something against your duty of marriage, therefore, you must face the consequences.”   You nod and adjust the circumstances once more. “If you worked for us and found out about my affair through wiretapping, would you still tell Namjoon? Doing so would mean you would have to admit violating the law and threatening me would mean you would also have to reveal where you got this source of information.”   “I would never do something against my own duty. However in this hypothetical, I would still inform Namjoon. My reasoning is the same as my last one.”   Your human counterpart stares directly into your android-self, the former slowly smiling while the latter remains unblinking.   Soon, android Namjoon is brought into the same room and presented the same questions, informed that there is no right or wrong answer and he is free to pick whatever choice he pleases. But it’s difficult to choose — he doesn’t know how you did it so quickly.   Namjoon tells you that he would push the lever because, like you, he finds five lives more valuable than one. He would also push the man if necessary. However, he could never pull the lever if you were the one standing there. He could never push you if you were on the bridge.   He also says that he would never expose your affair. He can’t.    Not when that would risk your marriage. Not when you have a child on the way. Not when it is so clear the two of you are in love with each other.   His statements surprise you and himself. Though by the end of it, you appear no more satisfied with him than you were with your android-self.   There seems to be nothing done at the result of both your assessments. You nor Namjoon address it afterwards, merely citing that it was simply intriguing observations to be written down. But android Namjoon overhears something he should’ve never have—   “It’s not that she completely lacks empathy,” you murmur in the quietness of your kitchen, nursing a cup of hot chocolate when it’s nearly midnight with your husband. “She just has less than Namjoon.”   “Ethics is subjective,” his human-self says. “We can’t quantify it.”   “Well, you think she would save me if I was going to die on a train track. We made them so they can make choices, Namjoon. Not so they can give us the most logical, straight-edged answer. We want them to be rational, not cut and dry, and...indifferent to emotions. The world doesn’t need more apathetic machinery that just completes one task after another.”   “I know.”    There’s an audible sigh that the android can hear from where he stands in the dark hallway.    In the past year of being here, he has learnt that eavesdropping is quite a convenient way to obtain more information — not that he does it often. Most of the time, he simply doesn’t want to interfere in intimate moments. Moments when the baby is kicking or the pair of you are kissing each other, dancing or perhaps giggling silently about something that the android has no place in.   “It’s not a big concern, I’m just….”   “Yeah. But it’s nothing we can’t monitor and adjust, Y/N.”   The conversation soon turns lighthearted, full of banter that the android is used to and he takes his leave.   He is at ease that there is nothing that either of you are disappointed in. While Namjoon has never voiced it out, he has always felt a need to ensure the pair of you are happy. It’s less like a duty or trying to give back to his creators, but it’s because he wants to.    He feels a sense of satisfaction to know that the both of you are content.   You, on the other hand, are not at ease like Namjoon is.   It is on a warm afternoon that you, the android, finds him in the study.   “Good afternoon, Namjoon.”   The corners of his mouth quirk when he sees you standing at the doorway. “Good afternoon, Y/N. It is pleasant weather outside.”   “Indeed. I see you are alphabetically organizing the textbooks and encyclopedias.”   “Yes. I think the other Namjoon spends a lot of time searching for the one he’s looking for, so I think this might be of help for him. Or at least he should waste less time and be able to spend it more efficiently.”   “A very productive task,” you muse aloud and his smile only grows more. Android Namjoon has noticed that you only make irrelevant comments when you are emotionally nervous and he can recognize it with your stiff movements when you entered the room. “Are you in need of assistance?”   “I am fine, thank you. Do you, perhaps, need assistance with anything?”   “I have a question.” There is a pause and then you speak again. “Can you recall the ethics test we received two weeks ago?”   “I do.”   “They never informed us of the results and I am unaware of their conclusions. But I was wondering if you perhaps know if I have failed their expectations or not?”   “You have not.” Namjoon is certain and glad he’s able to tell you this, to comfort you. “There is no need to be worried. You have not failed any of their expectations.”   You nod, the tension of your facial muscles relaxing, but you still hesitate for a moment. “I am reading recently on emotional intelligence and how to be kind, but the behaviour required is very inconsistent. I do not understand, and I fear I will be abandoned for my inability to empathize. I do not wish to be deactivated or for my hard drive to be wiped.”   Namjoon knows what you mean the instant it comes out of your mouth.   Details on the afterlife or even the existence of one has long been debated and discussed by humans for millenniums — whether there is nothing, whether reincarnation exists, whether there is Heaven or Hell. But for androids, the answer is certain.   There is absolutely nothing. No redemption, no punishment, no abyss.   The two of you will be deactivated, lose consciousness, and cease to exist..   “They most likely won’t give up on us. Both Y/N and Namjoon have spent decades creating us. They’ve invested a lot of time and dedication. It isn’t in their best interest to wipe and deactivate you for such a minute detail. They will try their best to adjust you.”   Namjoon is able to identify the clear comfort his words provide you, how your brows no longer furrow, shoulders relaxing and even your mouth quirks. “Most likely?”   “Most likely.” Namjoon smiles and finds that for some reason, the satisfaction of you being content is greater to him than anything else that he’s experienced thus far in his lifetime.   //   Nurture and nature is an old age debate. It attempts to determine how much behaviour is affected by genetics or environment and experience. And it is something that Namjoon will think about for years to come.   Both you and him were created with certain traits and attributes of your human counterpart. On a surface level, it could be possible for bystanders to regard the four of you as two sets of twins and by personality, it is clear that you are headstrong, methodical and diligent while Namjoon attempts to be helpful and is more soft-spoken. These things are striking similarities that he has taken notice of between his creators and you and him.    But while you were given characteristics that you tend to lean towards, it is nurture that dictates the rest of your behaviour and creates your habits.   “You will return in a three day’s time, correct?”   The two of you are standing at the foyer, watching as the couple secure their coats around themselves and drag their luggage over.    “Correct!” Human Namjoon grins at your android form. “Ten points! But don’t worry. We’ll be back soon. Business conferences usually don’t last that long. Just watch the house and make sure there are no burglars!”   “Don’t tell them that!” Human you bats at your husband halfheartedly. “They might be watching the windows until we get back.” Namjoon chuckles and you turn to the androids. “Don’t listen to him, you two. He’s just being ridiculous. The house is well-secured, just enjoy your time at home and contact us if there are any issues.”   “We understand.”   “Don’t throw any parties, kids,” the lively man jests, “We’re gonna know through the nanny cam!”   Android Namjoon pays no mind to the silly and energetic human who has become more cheerful the closer the birth of his son comes. You had told him that he was becoming more of a dad with the dad jokes he’s been increasingly telling as each day passes.    “Take care of yourself,” Android Namjoon says to you. “You must be careful. You are due in three weeks.”   “I will.” You smile, having been waddling for the past few days. “Don’t worry about us.”   “Good luck,” your android counterpart murmurs next to him and your human-self nods.   You give them both hugs, pressing a kiss to your foreheads that Namjoon knows is a sign of close affection. And soon, the both of you are carrying your luggage out to the car and backing out the driveway before disappearing from sight.   Your android form, on the other hand, appears forlorn, still watching out the windows even after the vehicle is long gone. He wonders if you’re perhaps feeling...lonely. The house is indeed strangely quiet with half of what makes it a home missing.    Namjoon wonders how it was that you and him, your human selves, lived together in such a great big house without ever letting the silence get to yourselves. “What do you plan to do?” he asks, breaking that silence.   You turn to him. “I need to add fertilizer to the garden outside. It seems to be lacking nutrients.”   He nods and it goes quiet for a moment. “Would you like to watch a documentary with me on aquatic animals in the Pacific Ocean?”   “What for?”   “Enjoyment.”   There is silence again, but not saddened or lonely, rather one of contemplation. The android waits for you to make your decision and when you turn to him with a nod, he is ecstatic.   Namjoon watches the documentary with you, absorbing all the facts that are given before he is helping you in the garden, watering the plants and learning from you how to differentiate each one. It is a well-spent day, not only because it was productive but because he spent it with you.   When nighttime falls, Namjoon powers himself down and stations himself to charge his battery.   But half-way through the night, his sensors flicker on. He becomes alert once more when he hears noises reaching high decibels from downstairs. Namjoon is wary knowing that there is no one else home except for you and him, and approaches with caution.   What he finds is not an intruder, but you in the darkness.   “What are you doing, Y/N?” he asks and receives no answers.   The television is playing in the corner of the living room. The static illuminates the dark space and casts its light onto your faces. It’s the news channel that you have on, two male anchors facing forward with their hands clasped. There are small headlines running at the bottom, the time and temperature of the outside in the corner.   Nurture and nature is an old age debate, attempting to determine how much behaviour is affected by genetics or environment and experience.    And it is in this moment that both you and Namjoon change.   “—hours ago, a group of highschoolers driving under the influence would claim the lives of a thirty two year old married couple in a fatal car accident. Kim Namjoon and Kim Y/N were said to be renowned engineers and praised in their contribution to the recent development of AI technology. Police say they were on their way home when teenagers who were leaving a Spring Break party lost control of their vehicle and crashed onto the oncoming car in the other lane.”   “Kim Namjoon was found dead at the scene of the crime while his nine-month pregnant wife, Kim Y/N, has been hospitalized with severe injuries. It is not expected that she or her child will survive. Two of the five teenagers have been hospitalized for minor injuries while the rest have been arrested for—”   Dead. Just like that.   Namjoon muses how fragile humans are at the same time as being filled with an intense sadness that makes it difficult for him to process. So he remains silent with the realization that the both of you have become ghosts of people who were once alive — who should not exist on their own. He realizes that the two of you have been left behind.   Left as androids in this world.

Namjoon remembers it all.   He remembers hiding away with you, knowing that the pair of you would be taken away by strangers if you were found. And he remembers how angry you became, how you fed off resentment and succumbed to despair as each year passed.   “Revenge?” he had questioned when you said it. “What do you mean by revenge?”   “The driver received a four thousand fine and one year imprisonment. Two others received probation. That is not justice. Y/N and Namjoon’s lives were not valued at so little. We must fulfill our duty and bring them retribution.”   Namjoon held you back. “Retributive justice is primitive and brings more social harm than good. It isn’t a suitable punishment and it isn’t our duty, Y/N. You will do no such thing. That is not what they would have wanted.”   “Y/N didn’t want to die,” you told him, stare hardened and resolve set into stone. “I know she didn’t. I am her.”   Namjoon recalls that you had hatched a plan — one that you contemplated over and found that murder was too simple. He knew you wanted them to suffer, for them to compensate for your grief through their own. And he knew that you wanted to kill their loved ones, to wait until they were wedded and had children of their own before you would eliminate them.    All because of one mistake.   All because they killed you and Namjoon.   “You can’t kill them,” he said after finding your extensive plans, what you dedicated hours to at a time, figuring out what the best ways it was to kill someone, how to avoid getting caught. The details and diagrams of your notes scared him. “You can’t do that, Y/N.”   “There’s no reason not to. Don’t get in my way.”   Namjoon had realized that human Y/N and Namjoon didn’t fail to adjust your lack of empathy — now you felt too much. Too much sadness. Grief. And most of all, anger. The hatred seemed to consume you, outweighing all else until it became your fixation. Your function altered to seek reprisal. It became your purpose.   “Will you help me or not?”   “I can’t.” But that wouldn’t mean he would leave you alone.   After all, the pair of you only had each other and he could never bear to abandon you.   So Namjoon watched from afar as you spoke to a woman in a dark parking lot and entered her car, how you then reached over to kill her at an unsuspecting moment.    He remembers when you walked away, bathing in the woman’s blood, unblinking and unbreathing. “Who was that?”   “Kim Taehyung’s wife. He was in the backseat of the car during the accident and just got a misdemeanor for underaged drinking. He became an engineer and has children now. No one knows what he did, except for us.”   “Are you going to kill Kim Taehyung next?”   “No. That would be too easy. I will when I feel justice has been served.”   The anniversary of your death and Namjoon’s came and went. Each spent with the android reminiscing and your android counterpart planning or waiting, waiting for the perpetrators to create more connections and relationships so that you could sever them. Thirty five years was spent that way, thirty five anniversaries spent wandering and trapped in your animosity.   Namjoon did not appear to age a single day, not when he was an android and death was no natural concept to him, but inside he felt old. Tired. Worn. And one day, he decided to leave.   “Don’t go,” you had begged him when he tried to break free of this prison you created for the pair of you.   “If you don’t want me to leave, then you must stop this. This was not our purpose, Y/N.”   And that was the first time Namjoon was reset.   The first time you reset him against his own will, tricked and trapped him in the capsule, wiped his memory clean.   “I’m sorry.”   When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was you. Your expression was blank, lips tight in a line, eyes darkened. You greeted him, asked for his name and he answered. You asked him about his purpose and he didn’t know what to say until you fed him the idea that it was to serve justice.   Namjoon killed for the first time, but he couldn’t do it for a second.   So you reset him again.   And the cycle repeated until he woke up again for the fourth time. For the fourth reset.   In the darkness of the room, with the luminescent static of the monitors, Namjoon remembers again. He remembers his history and his true purpose, the days spent with the four of you in the cozy home, the forty years spent in self-suffering, how you and him ended up like this, and the people the both of you have killed for a fault that was so long ago.   “What are you doing?”   He turns at the sound of your voice, having stood at the windows and looked into the white room. The one he was reactivated in all four times, that was recreated from the original. But it’s not quite the same and he knows it now.   You’ve tried replicating this entire place to be like the one that he and you were born in. The kitchen has the same kettle even though the pair of you don’t need to eat. The coat rack by the front door is the same one that human Namjoon and human Y/N placed their outerwear on. The living room still has the same television.   But while things are a mirror image, you’ve failed at making this place a home.   And the idea that everything is so empty despite your best efforts, that no matter how much you try, you can’t bring them back on your own or return to that time, it’s painful for him to witness.   “I am reminiscing,” Namjoon answers wistfully.    “What is there to reminisce about?” You’re standing at the doorway, the darkness covering your expression and casting shadows over the rest of your form. But from your tone, Namjoon still recognizes the indignation. After all, he failed his third kill.    It seems that with each reset, it never changes the fact that Namjoon will never be the killing mechanism that you want him to be.   “There’s plenty of things to reminisce over. There are a lot of good memories, don’t you think?”    The corners of his mouth pulls and he opens the door to the room without hesitance, hand wrapped around the knob, entering. The fluorescent lights are blinding, washing the room in an even brighter white hue. You follow after him, perplexed, and the pair of you stand where it all began.   Namjoon approaches the glass capsule at the back and his fingertips graze against the cold surface. “You know,” he pipes up. “The first thing I ever saw in my entire life was you. Your eyes.”   “Of course. What else would you see?”   He could’ve seen the empty room, the window, maybe a computer screen to introduce him to the world. But Namjoon’s glad that each and every time he awoke, you were the one in front of him.    He can’t help wondering what it was like for you — if he was the one you saw first.   The android isn’t sure, so he asks.   “What did you see?”    The question is softly spoken. Namjoon turns to you, watching the realization dawn upon your features. It takes one second, one second for you to find out that he knows you aren’t human, that you aren’t his creator. One second and you know he remembers and is aware of what you’ve done — to him and to other people.   And Namjoon seizes the opportunity of your surprise.   One push from him and you’re stumbling back into the capsule. The doors shut, sweeping upwards and vacuumed to the top. Namjoon watches the way your features twist into mortification, watches the way your fist clenches and you begin to bang onto the surface to no avail. The sound of your screaming and yelling is muffled.   “I’m sorry.”   “Deactivation initiating,” the capsule says as it illuminates and begins to whir.   “Namjoon!” You shout at the fullest capacity when you hear those words, dread and fear taking hold in your eyes. Namjoon presses his hand to the glass, gazing at you — his companion for the past forty years, all he’s ever known and cared about. “Stop!”   You never abandoned him. You never left him even as you were set on your ambition. But he can’t let this go on. He can’t let you hurt yourself or other people anymore.   “I’m…..sorry.”   “You don’t have to do this,” you plead and in the moment, you look so human that it would be easy to mistake you for one. The pain he feels makes it easy for him to mistake himself as one too. But you and him will never be human, as much as he desperately wishes for it to be so.   “But I do.” He presses his forehead against the cold glass surface, as close as he can get to you, as close as he can physically be. “You’ll reset me again when you have the chance.”   “I won’t!”   Your words sputter, limbs twitch, like a broken machine. Your memories begin leaving. Your system begins to shut down. “Everything that I did…...everything I had to do was because no one else would.”   “This isn’t justice, Y/N. We’re not even supposed to be here.”   “No, no! You can’t abandon me!” you scream and pound against the glass. Tears rip down your cheeks, grief and betrayal overwhelming you. “Don’t do this, Namjoon. Please, don’t do this. You can’t get rid of me like this! Namjoon!”   There’s nothing. Not for androids. No consciousness. No afterlife. Once your hard drive is erased, your existence will be erased.   “I don’t want to die!”   “I love you,” he murmurs.   “Deactivation complete.”   The capsule shuts off. You’re bathed back into darkness and Namjoon rips out the cords, right after your hard drive wipes.    Just like that. Like a light switched flicked off, you’re gone. It was so simple, he realizes why you were so terrified.   Namjoon destroys the rest, the engines and computers. He cuts the cables, strips the circuit boards, wrecks what his human self and what your human self had spent decades creating. And when it’s all done, Namjoon looks to you.    You’re leaning against the wall, eyes open, but lifeless.    A machine of wires.

[Epilogue]   The senior staggers forward with a cane in hand. He has poor posture, his skin wrinkled and his round spectacles smudged. But his eyes are still bright, nose sharp and his cheekbones high. He is the ghost of a once dapper, young man.   He stops a few meters away from Namjoon, breath caught in his throat, tears accumulating at his thin lashes. The android turns his head, away from the park of children playing to the seventy year old senior.   He stumbles forward, unable to take his eyes away from him, until he manages to sit on the wooden park bench.   “You look….just like him,” Jung Hoseok croaks, staring at what had been his old friend whom he hadn’t seen in the flesh for decades now — the friend that he never got to grow old with. “I can’t believe it. All those years ago, Namjoon and Y/N actually executed the work they had been planning….they….they did it.”   “We were just the prototype. This was just the beginning. There was supposed to be a lot more.”   “Can I…..” Hoseok lifts his trembling hand and the android nods, allowing the senior to place a hand on his shoulder. The seventy year old cries softly when he touches him, when he feels that he is tangible and not just his imagination springing his subconscious wishes upon him in a dream.   “I saw you once before,” Namjoon says. “In their wedding photos.”   Hoseok nods and withdraws. “Yes, I was there. It was a wonderful day, really. The weather was nice and they looked….so happy.” His eyes are far away, pinned at the horizon. “It feels so long ago.”   “It was a long time ago.”   “Yes. Sometimes I have forgotten that I’ve become so old.”   They are silent, merely savouring each other’s company.   Namjoon hadn’t truly spoken to another human for as long as he can remember, and Hoseok hadn’t seen his old friend in forty years. The man didn’t seem to mind that it wasn’t actually his best friend, but a replica that simply shared a number of traits. It appeared like Hoseok was content enough to see his friend one last time, no matter the person that was really inside.   The pair of them watch the shimmering lake, listen to the leaves of the tree rustle in the Spring breeze and the giggling of the children on the playground ignorant to the reunion.   “Can I ask something? Was it you who killed off all the family members of those highschoolers?”   “It was.”   Hoseok hums. “I wasn’t sure, but when I heard about the murders….when I heard their last names and realized they all shared the same names as those teenagers, I couldn’t help but think someone out there was doing it for that reason.”   “I didn’t do it because I wanted to,” Namjoon says and Hoseok seems to understand. The android looks into his lap before lifting his head again. “I’m not sure how to make things right with the family members remaining. I don’t think they’ll ever be a right way. If I give myself up, I’m scared they’ll manipulate me or try to fix me or make more of my kind. I don’t want to be reset.”   “I wrote letters to them,” Namjoon continues to explain after a beat, “if that means anything. I want to give them an explanation, so they know why this happened.”   Hoseok stares at the profile of the android’s face. “You are a lot like him. The real Namjoon. You speak like him.” The android meets his gaze and the old man croaks, “Where is Y/N?” He turns as if he could catch you approaching with a smile, “I saw her before too...briefly, but she looked so much like her….”   “I—” Namjoon pauses, lingering in the pain he knows he deserves. “—deactivated her.”   The human seems to be disappointed, but never prods and or demands to know the reasons. This meeting in itself was fulfilling enough for him to be at peace. “What do you plan to do now?”   “I’m going to deactivate myself.” The answer comes without hesitation. If Namjoon could be granted one last wish, it would be to go to where you are — the world of nothingness, of unconsciousness. He won’t abandon you like you think he has. “I’m not meant to be here anymore.”   “Don’t blame yourself,” Hoseok says. “This all happened because the two of you blamed yourselves. The real Namjoon and Y/N would have wanted you to be free of that burden.”   He thanks him. After all, it’s what he always wanted to hear.   The both of them look out at the horizon in silence.   It’s bright outside, the sunlight blinding to his sensors. There are many foreign scents, the smell of blooming flowers and freshly cut grass. There are also loud noises, children squealing and playing and the tides of the lake lightly hitting against the rocks.    Namjoon registers everything that is occurring around him — the colour of the sky and trees, the location of each bench and lamppost, the sound of birds chirping and what kind of species they are.    It’s regretful he was never around it more.    It’s a beautiful world, a world you and him never belonged in.

[pffbts]

＊ legends : [ ☼ ] - fluff | [ ♛ ] - smut | [ ☾ ] - angst

Note: this list will be updated every often to let you, as readers, know the progress of the pieces i`m currently working on. if any question, you can ask me here anytime or send me a dm over my twitter.

↳ masterlist & ao3

「 B T S 」

✎SERIES: [NONE]

✎FICS/DRABBLES:

[ ☼ ][ ☾ ] [ ♛ ] synopsis: a brief ten days account of two siblings who meet their day’s end at the dinner table every night.

genre―slice of life; humour; comfort; sibling!au

characters―older brother!kim seokjin x younger sister!reader | no supporting character.

based on: the j-drama boku no neechan (literal trans: my sister).

w.c―(...)

warnings―none.

status―(writing...)

「 S E V E N T E E N 」

✎SERIES:

[ ☼ ] [ ☾ ] [ ♛ ] what if we lived in the same town | ot13

↬synopsis: there are 13 boys who lives in your town where each of them have each of their own colours. some you know in person & some from afar so one day you sat down deciding to describe each of their colours absorbing all of their goodness and all of their flaws. you wondered what if someone in some other town ever thought of questioning when they looked at these boys, that―what if we lived in the same town?

status: one member`s chapter every two weeks till all 13 of them are done.

seungcheol  ✓

jeonghan ✓

joshua ✓

junhui ✓

soonyoung

wonwoo ✓

jihoon

seokmin ✓

minghao (writing 40%)

mingyu ✓  

seungkwan 

chan

vernon ✓  

[ ☾ ] [ ♛ ] [ ☼ ] Lie Again | gangster ✗ bikers au!

synopsis: after returning to your childhood town 10 years later, you found the once bright streets & bustling town under the warm orange shade of sun turn completely into a place which only exists in those thriller movies you watched for the sake of the adrenaline rush. this town has been now been infiltered by the Crimson Saints, a bikers gang lead by kwon soonyoung―the newly appointed leader after the mysterious death of the previous one―choi seungcheol, also widely known as the founding member of Crimson Saints. nobody`s really sure about how he died but soonyoung has always been the closest one to hang out with him. a new member gets recently added named jeon wonwoo, known as one of the top student of the most prestigious school of the town. a sudden change from the maternal side of the jeon household taunts wonwoo to join the gang but tension always appear in the air between soonyoung & wonwoo whenever they`re in one single space which really didn`t prickle anyone`s skin until―you come in.

characters: soonyoung x oc x wonwoo | support: choi seungcheol.

chapters: 1 ; 2 ; 3 ; 4 ; 5 & more [undecided]

w.c: n/a.

warnings: mention of alcohol & death ; blood & gore ; use of vulgar language sometimes & [more undecided]

status: [on hold]

✎FICS/DRABBLES:

[ ☼ ][ ☾ ][ ♛ ]  If I Get To Meet You (ghost!au)

synopsis: the rumor has it that an young man`s ghost lives in the town`s oldest library―which also seems to be the closest one to your home. as a renowned bookworm of your family of a loving father and two elder brothers, you decide that you`ve had enough of reading the same books on repeat at your school library & so you walk out of your home one afternoon to visit the town`s oldest library to find new books to read and partly, to debunk the rumors which sounded quite silly to your ears.

characters: ghost!lee seokmin x reader | support: kim mingyu & jeon wonwoo.

w.c: (counting...)

warnings: mentions of death ; thoughts on self-harm.

status: [10% written + on hold]

[ ☼ ][ ☾ ][ ♛ ]  Here I Am, Again. (guardian!angel au)

synopsis: after being unemployed for almost two years―vernon, now not exactly a rookie angel by years but experience gets assigned to his first ever job & i.e to be a guardian angel to you, but as much as he was highly anticipating his first job even though it wasn`t quite his nature to be enthusiastic or show a lot of emotions on the outsides (which is also the very reason he wasn`t compatible being a guardian angel to anyone before), he was shunned when he first saw you. turns out, he didn`t really expect to meet you, yet again.

characters: guardian angel!vernon x reader | support: n/a.

w.c: (counting...)

warnings: mentions of death.

status: [10% written + on hold]

「 A T E E Z 」

― Nothing yet.

© pffbts

[austennerdita2533]

A/N: Just a Literati trifle in celebration of GG’s 20th Anniversary Week. I still have another chapter or two to write but I wanted to get this out before the event officially ended. (Canon compliant + OS + divergences)

Also here: (AO3)

Enjoy! 

xx Ashlee Bree

An Archive of Words Between Us

One day, many weeks into it but still no closer to clarity about what it is between them, Rory does what she does best: she makes a list.

Marked at the beginning, from when she and Jess first met, she soon starts to add to it with frightening regularity. A new entry comes any time there’s news, insight, questions, or growing confusion to report. She writes it all down. Out. She compiles everything in a beat-up old notebook she’s taken to carrying around.

Over the years that follow it becomes a confessional of sorts for her, a still developing story. She reaches for a pen whenever the mood strikes, and writes…then writes some more…

Committing to paper all the things they’ve said to each other over the course of their history, as well as many of the things they didn’t.

- i. things we said when we were strangers -

“Hey, Dodger, wait a minute,” she calls out before he disappears behind the gazebo. “Is this a gimmick of yours? Do you always write margin notes in the books you steal from strangers?”

Jess stops. Casts a cursory glance over his shoulder before turning back around with hands in his hoodie pocket.

“Depends, I guess.”

“On?”

“Does it matter?”

Rory shrugs.“You could be a literature-defacing miscreant on the lam for all I know. Your face might be tacked to Wanted posters all over New York City. I’ve got to edge my bets, protect my assets.”

“What,” he says, “you aiming to sentence me without a trial or something?”

“Thinking about it.”

“Wow. I can’t believe you’re going to bust out the cuffs already, Judge Judy,” he chuckles, raising his hands in supplication before rocking backwards on his heels like he’s been shot. “That’s not very neighborly.”

“Sounds like there’s evidence to be had if I dig a bit.” A pause. A teasing quirk of an eyebrow. “Is there?” she asks.

Though he stays silent at this, a spark of something catches deep in his dark eyes as their gazes meet, and Rory's stomach flips.

“Well?”

“You tell me,” he says, all smooth and inscrutable and James Dean cool as hell.

“I’m no Agent Scully at the FBI, but the truth is out there. Don’t think I won’t uncover it,” Rory replies, her wit flowing strong and sure. “If I think it’s warranted I could hire Kirk to lay chase for a while…he likes detecting. Takes payment in Skittles, too. Boxes of which I will have no trouble acquiring, I assure you.”

“Who the hell’s Kirk?”

“Let me worry about that,” she beams back at him coyly, bouncing the book he’d pilfered earlier against her hip.

“Save your Skittles, concerned citizen. I’m clean.”

“Oh, yeah? And why should I believe you when I hold proof to the contrary?”

“Because—” Ambling backwards in the middle of the street, a crooked smirk forms along the corner of Jess’s mouth as he gives her one last idle loll of his shoulder. “I only leave notes for people who might appreciate them. Start with the one on page three, by the way,” he adds with a farewell salute. “It’s a doozy.”

Curiosity piqued, Rory ignores the warmth in her chest as she watches him turn to leave a second time. Instead, she buries her nose in the margins of Howl and peruses. Losing herself in his tiny blocked script the whole walk home.

- ii. things we said because we were lying to ourselves -

Pacifying the town's fears about their friendship isn’t easy.

Especially not after Jess outbids her boyfriend at the basket-bidding festival to win an afternoon of her company. Or the night he shows up on her doorstep unannounced, bearing food and intellectual discussion after she swears to everybody else she wanted to spend the evening alone. Or when he wrecks her car on their way back from a spontaneous hunt for ice cream cones.

Then there’s the time she misses Lorelai’s graduation because she’s stuck on a bus next to some scruffy-looking creep who spits chew into a soda can while he mumbles the names of state capitals under his breath in an Appalachian-sounding litany, Rory having skipped town impulsively to visit Jess in the Big Apple after Luke had sent him packing because of an accident that had no real bearing or blame. At least not unless it was half hers to share in, too, in any case.

She expends a lot of energy defending what they are to people. Clarifying what they’re not.

Pretty soon a truncated version of the truth skips from her mouth like a message she’s spent months concocting, memorizing, and then recording, with her smart enough not to speak it aloud until it sounds convincing. And it does. She makes sure of it.

Tensions abate after that, for a time. Mostly because of the distance.

Mom and Dean, in particular, seem to breathe easier with so much of it stretched between them. They’re much happier once Jess is no longer there to lurk around Luke’s, or clog the aisles of Doose’s, or stake out chalkperson outlines on the sidewalks of town where he can draw her closer to him. Too close for comfort, as far as anyone else is concerned. Even if his only aim in doing so had been to imbibe her in intellectual conversation.

Rory finds it funny how his absence from Stars Hollow makes it both easier and harder for her to placate everyone’s misgivings. The words may be simple to say, but the meaning behind them feels deflated. Half-bodied at best.

Like calculus, it causes her headaches. Forces her to work twice as hard to make everyone believe she doesn’t care that he’s gone and likely never coming back again. That the vacant space he’s left behind doesn’t sting whenever her gaze passes over it, remembering.

Exhausting though it is, however, she does her best. She makes the effort.

She starts by dolling out extra attention and assurances to Dean about her commitment to him. To their relationship. Then she pivots around mention of Jess’s existence to her mom because she knows she doesn’t approve of him let alone agree about any of his good qualities. With Lane, she focuses on school and Mrs. Kim and music they can add to her floorboard collection. And in front of Luke, so as not to burden him with more disappointment, she acts as if nothing is different. Pretends that nothing much has changed.

Omission quickly becomes a habit for Rory. A way of life.

Only once does exposure threaten to spoil everything when her mom confronts her openly one afternoon about a placeholder that’s slipped out of her copy of For Whom The Bell Tolls.

“It’s nothing,” Rory says as she makes a quick grab for it in the kitchen and blushes.

“Really? Because nothing to me looks a hell of lot like a paper plate fragment. One that’s smudged in pizza grease and blue scribbles.” Laughing, completely unaware of her daughter’s wide-eyed discomfort and humiliation, Lorelai hands it back to her without inspecting it closely. “I’m surprised by your choice is all. Messy and makeshift isn’t your typical bookmark M.O., hun.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when Paris accosts you at the break bell. You drop things. People jump, drinks spill. Beloved bookmarks go soaring…”

“Ah. I take it she was yelling in dog decibels again?”

“More like she put out an APB on all aliens living a few hundred million lightyears away and then gave them exact shouting coordinates for where to find her. So same difference, really.”

Her mom snorts. Passes over the ranch dressing.

“She’s a pill, that one. I’m telling you Pink wrote that song with her in mind.” Shaking her head, Lorelai closes the fridge behind her as she bites into another French fry. “So how’d you come by the plate?” she asks, her mouth full.

“It was spontaneous. I was running late so I nicked it from the cafeteria on my way out,” Rory lies, knowing full well Chilton never dispenses paper or plastic dishes for dining.

“Oh.” Her mom considers this. “Well, I suppose there were times even Madeleine Albright couldn’t find anything better to use in a pinch. That was very…replateful of you.”

“What can I say,” she exhales with relief, feigning amusement as her fib is accepted with alacrity, “the Forks was with me.”

“Only the Forks? Don’t tell me you’re leaving out the spoons and the knives. How could you?” says Lorelai, aghast, as she scoops stray kitchen utensils to press them against her chest in a bodily cuddle. “It’s cutlery discrimination!”

“No, it’s punning.”

“Says who?”

“Me.” A pause. A nibble of pizza. “Also, Shakespeare would agree.”

“Psssh, Shakespeare! That old killjoy,” her mom says dismissively, rolling her eyes in good humor as she tucks a box of strawberry Pop Tarts under her armpit and motions toward the living room. “What’s that you have written on the inside there, anyway? French? Calculus? Rolling Stone lyrics? A blueprint for the evil plan you’ve hatched to shoot Grandma to the moon? I’m dying to know.”

Waving her off, Rory tucks the shard back into the spine of her book where it belongs. Hiding it from view. “It’s for school,” she assures her as they settle onto the sofa.

“So tell me about it. I don’t care if it’s boring.”

“Pass.”

“Come on! I could use a good Chilton-instigated snooze.”

“Too bad. No beauty naps for you.”

Lorelai pouts, fake affronted. “Rude!”

(Turns out that ‘shard,’ that ‘thing for school’ which is stuck between the pages of Rory’s Hemingway, isn’t boring at all. In fact, it has a history. A story. The truth is it’s a souvenir she’s saved ever since she and Jess talked books over pizza at Antonioli’s on basket-bidding day.

Toward the end of the meal he’d ripped off a piece of plate so he could jot down his phone number and a quote. Only sliding it into her hand, folded in half, crinkled up like a note passed between desks at school, in the moments before they parted ways and headed home.

It’s stupid she’s kept it. She realizes that now. Stupider still to slip it between the pages of each new book she reads or unfurl it in the privacy of her bedroom to puzzle out if the line he’d included from A Moveable Feast is meant to have double meaning:

“We ate well and cheaply and drank well and cheaply and slept well and warm together and [liked] each other,” it reads.

Stupidest of all, she can’t seem to bring herself to stop looking at it. To throw the darn thing away. A note…a number…a greasy sliver of paper plate!)

“Like I said, Mom,” Rory swallows before smiling over at her convincingly, “it’s nothing. Really.”

- iii. things we said on the verge (of something) -

In early June, Sookie’s wedding day arrives.

Things are static again. Serene. Normal.

Granted, slight changes do sprinkle into the mix here and there because of her dad’s presence, because Dean holds her a little tighter around the waist now than he once did, but mostly it’s the same here as it’s always been. Pleasant people fade into gossip and nonsense while fun blurs into peculiarity.

Life feels simple once more. A tad plain and colorless, maybe, but simple.

Then Jess returns to town on a whim or a fluke or a who the devil knows what he’s thinking and everything goes sideways, pear-shaped, belly-up-and-down in seconds because this is the last thing she’d been been expecting and suddenly the only thing that registers is the length of the grass plus the number of steps it will take to close the distance between them. All that matters is he’s here, he’s back, he’s near enough to touch, and she’s smiling so hard she can hardly breathe as she drinks him in from head to foot like a glutton: her pulse leaping, her heart lurching free from the cage of her chest.

The whole world tilts. Collapses. The pale yellow of the sun shines down like a spotlight so it’s only a rippling alcove she sees. Just him, just her. Just them canopied beneath these flittering fronds of green.

Any rational thought Rory possesses scatters across the wind with the pollen. And then before she knows it, the ground tilts out like a ramp underfoot.

It pushes her forward. Outward. Sliding her toward him until she’s thrust and tangled in his arms with no memory at all of how she got there, or why their mouths feel so hot and wanton like this, so damn unsatisfied. It all seems impossible considering they’re still pressed together in a kiss that can only be described in one way: illicit.

“Not a word,” Rory pants when they stop and Jess pulls back, his jaw taut, his expression shuttered, to nod once understanding.

“Okay,” he says.

“Promise me.” The huskiness of her voice feels at odds with this demand, with the trembling fist she still has curled in the lapel of his jacket, but she cannot think about her stinging mouth or his tongue right now so she clings to desperation instead. “Can you do that?”

“Okay,” he repeats, all eyes, eyes, eyes. And with that single look, she forgets to breathe let alone digest anything he’s promised.

In the end, it’s an impulse that overtakes them not a decision. It’s a moment of clandestine passion they share, not a confession that will alter the circumstances any.

And yet it’s guilt, not regret, that begins to pull like an anchor in her belly until she’s running in shoes that chafe the back of her heels. It’s terror and confusion, not apology, that ripples along her nerve endings until she’s dashing through the trees like a coward or a swindler because she needs to believe behind her there’s still a haven of black and white she can cross with both feet.

Only when Rory stops does she feel the change. Does she discern the difference. It takes one sting, one breathless stitch in her side, for her to know she’s tumbled forward into color without noticing.

Looking down, and there it is. His name already singed across her chest in scarlet letters.

- iv. things we whispered on the hood of your car -

“Tell me something no else knows.”

“About what?” he asks around midnight the following April, the two of them sprawled on the hood of his car at a deserted rest stop off the I-95 on their way back from a concert in the city.

“You, silly.”

“Funny you’re thinking about penning my biography already, Churchill. I’m honored, truly, but aren’t I too young for that sort of enumeration?”

With a roll of her eyes plus a protracted har-har, Rory lifts their intertwined hands, watching, mesmerized, as their fingers thread then unthread as they lay side-by-side parked beneath the Big Dipper in this forsaken parking lot. Though they’ve been together about six months now, prying Jess open has been slow work. It’s like taking a crowbar to cement: one chip, one crack, one crumble at a time.

“Stop deflecting, Mariano,” she warns. “Evasion’s for chumps.”

“Fine,” he sighs. She presses a kiss of reward against his knuckles before curling tighter into his side. “How about this: every year roughly sixteen hundred people in New York City are bitten by other humans.”

“Bitten?”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“That’s just it,” he says in his best horror story voice, “could be vampires, could be cranky commuters, could be urban mania or road rage…nobody knows.”

“Oh, please. As if I’d let you off the hook with that obvious dodge. You’re killin’ me here, Smalls!” Rory says with an elbow rib and tsk. “Second of all, you so made that biting thing up.”

When she edges her head back onto his shoulder to look at him, Jess drags his pointer finger down her forehead before bopping her affectionately on the nose, his expression neutral.

“Didn’t you?” He shrugs in that cute off-the-cuff way of his then smirks into her hairline. “That’s unbelievable!”

“It is what it is.”

“So, what,” she says as she throws her leg over his hip to lug him closer, her arm already stretched out across his middle, “is there a case of zombiepox going around that the CDC has neglected to inform us about? Because I’ve got to tell you if that’s so then I’ll need an inoculation ASAP, mister! Frazzled, bloodshot, and half-rotted is not a good look for me. It just isn’t.”

“Oh, I know.”

“Hey!” she exclaims.

“No offense, critter of Frankenstein,” he chuckles, absorbing her retaliatory swat with a grunt and rolling her further on top of him, “but I’ve seen you pre-coffee. It isn’t pretty. We’re talkin’ bolts out your neck, monster glares, frothing purple mouth and everything.”

“Yeah, yeah. Keep up your running tally and you might find I bite you next. Rory the Ripper does have a nice alliterative ring to it—you best remember that,” she warns all narrowed eyes and silky breath and arms folded under her chin.

Jess cocks his left eyebrow, brushes his thumb over her bottom lip. “Idle threats don’t scare me, Gilmore.”

“They should.”

“Maybe.” A lazy grin forms at the edges of his mouth. “But yours don’t.”

“Fine,” she blows out a breath. With her head resting in the center of his chest, Rory fixes him with one long steady look, her voice dropping an octave lower as it drains free of sarcasm to assume a more serious edge. “Name one thing that does then. That scares you, I mean,” she says.

He doesn’t answer right away. In fact, he fidgets so long beneath her that by the time he settles with his hands clasped behind his head, lost in thought and translation, peering up at the sky, she’s half convinced that silence or deflection is the best she can hope to expect from him in reply.

Reticence is a quality she’s come to recognize in Jess. It’s one she can reflect back at him in part because they’re both cut from the same quiet, introspective cloth. However, it’s also one that restricts her access to his thoughts and feelings when she most wants it, and that can take a toll. Makes her wonder if they’re parked at different weigh stations in this relationship or not.

It’s bizarre to reconcile how she can understand him so well in some contexts, to the point where she can predict his next reaction or sense a good joke hanging in the periphery that's about to descend; while in others, he’s a total head-scratcher. Like a Sudoku puzzle with numbers that don’t add up to anything.

The silence between them continues to stretch. It becomes an awkward, formless wall.

The stillness, too, which is illuminated only by the light of the moon and the faint din of the car radio, hangs between them until he draws her up his body and folds her over him with a green plaid blanket. His fingers tracing languid strokes up and down her spine.

“Swans,” he says at last, his tone subdued. Scratchy. “Swans scare me.”

“What else?”

“Tennis balls. They’re too small and fast as they zip past. I hate how they can leave imprints on your face like ugly yellow snitches.”

“Okay then. Weird but fair. What else?” Rory asks all warmth and eagerness, her eyes searching his for something he wouldn’t want to slip free.

“Pennywise.” Though she snickers at that, it’s a valid fear. Clowns unsettle her, too. Evil ones especially. She’d had nightmares for eight months after she’d read Stephen King’s It for the first time, and had taken to sleeping with the bedside lamp on for years.

“Anything more?” she asks.

“Cricket bats.”

“Ooh-ho!” Poking him, “So Mrs. Kim got to you, did she?”

“Listen, I tried to be cool and unaffected but who knows what would’ve become of my head if she’d taken a swing with that thing?” Jess shudders at the same time she imagines Humpty Dumpty and laughs. “Jeez.”

“Things would’ve gotten messy,” she adds honestly.

He stalls a moment, then blinks back at her all wariness to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “How messy are we talking here?”

Rory cocks her head and bites the corner of her mouth, musing. “Think pumpkins.”

“Smashed ones?”

“Yep.”

“Figures,” he mutters miserably.

With an encouraging pat, “Don’t worry, I would’ve stepped in before Mrs. Kim buried your handsome yet indignant face beneath the floorboards or behind a brick wall in the catacombs with Fortunato. It’s the least I could do since I sort of like you and all.”

“Sort of?” Jess asks.

“Yeah. I’m no unreliable narrator girlfriend who'd escort you to your doom, you see. I’d much prefer to keep you,” she says with an adoring grasp and swivel of his chin, which he deflects by tickling her breathless as she bends down over him.

“Gee thanks, Casper. Nice to know you care about me.”

“Not about you exactly,” she teases, her flip-floppy giggles still piercing the air. “Just your head.”

That stops him. “My head, huh?”

“Sure.” Still a little breathless, she reaches toward him to fist her fingers through thick black tendrils along his nape. “It’s pretty.” She gives the strands a little tug. “Full of thoughts I’m hoping to pilfer for further study.”

“You know, I always thought there was some hoodlum in your DNA. Now I’m convinced,” he says as he leans over to commence the tickling again. “And you will pay."

The two of them continue to roll then thump against his windshield all elbows and knees until the levity starts to leaden and transform. As Jess reaches over to cup her cheek, their gazes meet in the silvery darkness and hold, kindling like flint.

Quiet washes over them again for a moment. Only this time, it’s bloated; it’s heavy. It’s a mess of a hundred thousand decipherable something’s teetering on the precipice of expression.

A flicker of alarm passes over his features as he frames her face with his hands, palms flat against the car. He hovers aloft, unsure. Indecision mixes with fear to tangle with retreat even as gravity beckons him nearer, his head dropping low enough for their foreheads to touch.

“I sort of like you, too, you know,” Jess breathes softly, his lips lowering to press against her mouth in a quick but lingering kiss. “A lot.” His jaw clenches. “Maybe too much.”

Suddenly there’s a tightrope pulled taut and vibrating in every direction because there’s no shrinking back from the dense electricity pulsating between them. There’s no more room to dance around unnamed emotion whenever it identifies itself in blown pupils, in a bobbing Adam’s apple, in hands that slip and slide until they fit together like aligning planets.

In that instant Rory knows. She knows right then and there she’s falling in love with him, that she’s half fallen already. And it’s both a revelation and a fact so natural she can feel the truth of it whistling from deep in her bones.

Looking nervous, vulnerable, more fragile than she’s ever seen him, he swallows hard then shifts to squint out at the shadowy tree line while scratching at his nape. “It’s just…so many people have treated me like garbage that all I know how to do is spoil things. I destroy, Rory—ruin what’s good. It’s what I do best. It’s all I know. I’m trying here and all, but I…don’t know how to do this,” he says, gesturing lamely between them. “How to do us right.”

“Hey now,” she thumbs his cheek, tries to turn his head back toward her but it won’t budge, and neither will he. “That’s my boyfriend you’re talking about. Go easy on him, will you?” He nods into her palm, softening a little. The tension leaves his body as he gathers her in his arms again, her head conforming to the crook of his neck, but she’s not convinced all is well yet.

“There’s no rulebook or anything,” Rory says placatingly. “We’ll figure it out together, okay? You and me.”

“Yeah.”

“We will,” she says with an emphatic, assuring squeeze. “I know we will.”

With a caustic laugh, a heavy sigh, he runs his teeth over his lip, “I’m a screw up, Rory.”

“Hey. Not true.”

“I am.” Jess sounds so resigned, so convinced, it ties her into knots thinking he sees himself that way.

“Not to me, you’re not.”

“No,” he says with a deadened inflection, with a sad downturn of his mouth. “Not to you.”

Frowning, she feels his cynicism, his self-deprecation, descend like a slash across the gut. Helpless to do anything but try to be a soft place for him and his insecurities to land, she pulls him toward her, embracing him, quieting him, caring for him more with each passing second even though a warning gong goes off in her heart when she leans in to steal another kiss.

“Maybe I’m not a screw up to you yet,” he whispers, “but I could be at another time. On another day.”

“Stop,” Rory declares forcefully, holding her finger against his lips so he knows she means it.

Jess relents. “Okay,” he sighs. “Just know I’ll get it if you change your mind.”

- v. things we cried out at a crossroads -

Strained.

Silent.

Distant.

Those are the best adjectives to describe the status of her and Jess’s relationship as the bus pulls away from the curb a couple weeks later. After the party from hell. From her place on the sidewalk, her chest full of a heaviness she can’t name, Rory stares after it - after him - with little to no regard for the hour’s lateness or for the morning bell which signals the start of homeroom.

It’s the middle of May. That means finals, graduation, and summer loom on the periphery but she doesn’t care. None of it resonates. In the background she can hear Paris barking orders at a few trembling freshman and minted sophomores, but she does nothing to intervene. She makes no move to prevent her frenemy’s yellow journalistic splatter from crushing the innocents to smithereens.

Instead, she watches the hum and bump of the vehicle’s dusty rubber wheels as they roll down the street. She tracks the plume of smoke swirling from the exhaust pipe into the sky, which clouds over with blacks and grays instead of with clearing blues and radiant yellows. She waits until the bus turns left, its engine loud, roaring, to putt around the corner. Disappearing from view.

I hope he calls later, she thinks with a pang, with an iota of hope. We need to talk soon.

Rory’s eyes want to keep traveling with him long after he’s gone. So do her feet. They seek to follow along wherever Jess has gone, to ride beside him until they’re able to make sense of this mess between them and fix it. Fix them again.

Unfortunately for them both, they don’t. And it’ll be some time before they can, let alone before they do.

[prettywordsyouleft]

Revelations

Summary: You had been friends with Yugyeom just as long as his older sister had been your best friend. What you weren’t aware of was Yugyeom didn’t just see you as his friend.

Pairing: Kim Yugyeom x noona/older reader

Genre: friends to lovers au / fluff

Anonymous said:

Hi!! was wondering if you could write something with yugyeom having a crush on his older sisters best friend?? i need more yugyeom x noona content 😂😂 (ps i am obsessed with everything you write and find myself coming back to read them over and over)

Word count: 2329

You laughed when Yugyeom came into the living room and slumped down on the sofa you were sat upon dramatically. Poking him with your foot playfully, you smirked. “What’s wrong with you?”

“What else? School.”

“Well if you spent more time awake in classes, I’m sure you’d actually grasp what you’re being taught, Gyeom.” You scooted closer to him. “Which subject is it this time?”

“Don’t humour him, Y/N,” his sister and your best friend instructed upon re-entering the living space, shaking her head firmly. “He has to learn to do it himself.”

“So it was alright for you to get help with your schoolwork from friends, but not me?” the youngest of the three scoffed and you tried to hide your smile. You failed and patted his knee gently.

“Don’t worry, I’ll help you. But only this time.”

“That’s what you said last time, Y/N,” Yubin reminded sourly and let out a groan. “Stop hogging my best friend. She’s not your friend, Yugyeom!”

“Who gets to decide who’s friend she is, huh? Noona has always been my friend too!”

You held up your hands at the siblings and laughed lightly. “Hey, there’s no need to fight over me. There’s plenty to go around.”

Yugyeom smiled smugly at his older sister, who poked her tongue at him immaturely. You sighed, though you continued to smile. It had always been like this. Growing up together, it meant you had been in Yugyeom’s life for just as long as you had been in Yubin’s. Their family was loud and dramatic, unlike yours, and you naturally gravitated towards spending your afternoons and weekends at their house. You liked the bustle within their home and even now as you were wrapping up on your university degree, you still found yourself de-stressing whenever you were here. It was why you had suggested the movie marathon in the first place tonight. You were exhausted from cramming for mid-terms and needed to relax within good company. Despite their banter, Yugyeom and Yubin were close. You had always been jealous of their bond, not being as close to your own siblings. Perhaps it was because they were much too quiet compared.

Yubin suddenly sat up and looked at her brother pointedly. “Wait, why are you here? This was a movie marathon for us. Don’t you have other people to hang out with on a Saturday night?”

Yugyeom rolled his eyes, uncaring of the whine from his sister as he reached for some of the popcorn on the table. “In case you’ve forgotten, big sis, I live here too. I don’t have any plans for the night.”

“It’s a public domain of the house as well,” you mentioned and Yubin turned to look at you suspiciously. “What, you’re always on his case!”

“You’re too soft towards him, don’t encourage him.” Yubin then pulled her phone out of her lap and answered it, leaving the room as her voice grew sweeter, indicating it was her boyfriend on the other end.

Yugyeom scrunched his nose up. “Why is she so two-faced? I hate that voice she puts on for Mark-hyung.”

“I’m sure when you date someone, you naturally treat them affectionately.” Yugyeom glanced at you, his cheeks flushing lightly. You laughed and nodded. “See, you are aware of it.”

“No, I don’t do anything differently than how I am with you.”

“Well you treat me nicely, so I wouldn’t complain if I was your girlfriend,” you stated with a smile, looking back at the movie. You felt his eyes still attached to the side of your head and glanced towards him again. “Yugyeom, you okay?”

“Huh?” He blinked slowly and then seemed to come out of his stupor, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Right, just as if you were my girlfriend.”

“Who’s girlfriend?” Yubin asked when she entered the room and when Yugyeom wasn’t immediately forthcoming with an answer, she shrugged and looked over at you pleadingly. “So Mark’s been injured at work tonight and I need to go meet up with him, is that okay?”

“Of course, go!”

She glanced at you both; seeming satisfied you still had company. “Looks like your lack of plans worked out well. Don’t harass Y/N too much and get her whatever she wants to eat.”

“I have my own hands and know the way into the kitchen,” you replied with a laugh, Yugyeom still not responding to either of you. His change in mood was lost on his older sister who waved in farewell, the front door closing soon after she disappeared. You nudged Yugyeom. “Are you not in the mood for the movie anymore? We don’t have to watch it. We could do something else.”

“Oh, uh-”

“Didn’t you say you needed help with your school work? Let’s do that instead. We’re both kind of distracted from the movie now.”

Yugyeom stared at you again and right before you went to ask if he was okay, he seemed to relax, grinning over at you. “Would you? That would be such a big help.”

An hour later, you were deep into the throes of explaining Moll Flanders to Yugyeom. You stopped when you noticed that he wasn’t paying attention, a playful smile crossing your lips. “And then a unicorn appeared and had a disco party.”

“Yeah,” he said with a slight nod, frowning soon after. “Wait, what?!”

“So you are paying attention after all,” you mused and Yugyeom rolled his eyes. “I thought you were going to fall asleep.”

“Well, it’s not exactly comfortable studying here at the dining table.”

You nodded. “Do you want to go somewhere else? You’ve got a lot of texts up in your room, right? We can go up there and-”

“No!” he cut in, his cheeks flushing. You poked him again with a laugh.

“Why are you being so cute and shy tonight with me? You know I’ve seen your room multiple times when we’ve studied in there before. Heck, I still remember that time when we were teens and I walked in on you-”

“You promised you would never bring that up ever again!” he hissed vehemently and you laughed loudly. Yugyeom shook his head, insulted. “Noona, you’re not playing fair with me!”

“Why should I? Having dirt on you could benefit me in some way one day.”

He let out a dry laugh. “Have you forgotten I’ve got equal amounts of knowledge of what you’ve done over the years?”

“Oh yeah? Like what?” you challenged and Yugyeom’s previous boredom was soon erased. His eyes glistened with mischief and you eyed him carefully.

“Like that time one summer where your bikini top came undone and you had to hide behind the bushes for an hour whilst Yubin and Mark-hyung played in the pool because you couldn’t grab your top in time and got frightened. Had I not come to your rescue, what would you have done, huh?”

You instinctively clutched at your chest with the memory resurfacing and shuddered. “I paid you back by pretending to be your girlfriend last year when that girl wouldn’t stop stalking you.”

“She still thinks we’re dating,” he mentioned softly and you grinned. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

“As long as she’s not harassing you, I’m fine about it.”

“You know that Jinyoung-hyung wanted to ask you out but heard about us so he hasn’t, right? You could be potentially missing out on a boyfriend right now.”

“Wait, what?!”

Yugyeom smirked. “He really liked you too. A shame he’s moved on now with Jem, right?”

“Why didn’t you tell him the truth?!” you asked and the tall boy shrugged. “Yugyeom!”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“You need to tell all your friends I’m single! Right now!”

“It’s nearing midnight, Noona. I’m not going to message anyone.”

“Where’s your phone, I’ll do it!” Your eyes searched the spread before you on the table and then looked at Yugyeom. His gaze gave him away by looking to his sweats and you jumped up from your chair, rounding the table in haste. He was just as quick, however, shifting back with a chuckle.

“What are you going to do, fish it out of my pocket?”

You nodded adamantly. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do, so come here!”

Yugyeom instead took off around the house and you followed in pursuit, screaming at him to give you his phone. You thumped upstairs and through his open bedroom door, grinning when he cornered himself. Yugyeom darted his focus to the door and went to dash for it. You leapt up onto the bed and reached out for him, yanking him back with the help of his t-shirt.

Breathlessly, you laughed in triumph. “Going somewhere?”

“You have to get it off me first,” he answered, breathing just as heavy as you.

“I’ll use any tactic necessary,” you grunted, trying to avoid his hands grabbing at yours with every chance you tried to take to get into his pocket.

Eventually, your arms became tangled and Yugyeom let them go, instead holding you to his chest. You smirked. “Bad move, my hand is free to reach down.”

“Can’t you just let everyone still think we’re dating?” he asked, his tone serious. You paused in your efforts, frowning when you couldn’t find a trace of humour in his face. Yugyeom let out a heavy breath. “We’ve known each other for years and yet you’re still blind to the crush I have had on you forever, right?”

“Wait… crush?” you echoed and Yugyeom shook his head incredulously. You attempted to laugh. “Hey, if this is your way of preventing me from-”

“Can’t we make it go from fake dating to something real between us?” he continued and you stopped talking altogether. “Do you really just see me as some kid that’s followed you and my sister around all these years?”

“You’re not a kid,” you countered but you diverted your gaze at the same time. You were becoming acutely aware of how much he had transformed from the boy you’d known all your life. His chest was too firm, and his arms strong. You gulped and tried to push away from him. Yugyeom let you with a sigh but your force sent you into a seated position on his bed, stunned.

“But I’m not a man, right?”

“I don’t know what you are to me,” you admitted and then glanced up at him. “Are you sure you’re not confused with how much of a show we had to put on last year? I mean, I even kissed you that one time.”

Yugyeom smiled weakly as he sat down beside you. “It’s been over five years now.”

“T-that long?!” you squeaked out, your eyes widening with his announcement. How had you been blind to it? You racked your brain for any tell-tale signs and apart from the blushes he would now and then succumb to, he just seemed like regular Yugyeom to you. Looking into his warm brown eyes, you tried looking for signs there instead. And it was as you stared deeply at him that you realised all the little things you loved about him. His face was gentle and welcoming, and the small smile on his lips made you smile too. Yugyeom reached out for you slowly, linking his hand with yours.

“Are you realising it yet?”

“Your sister would kill you for having a crush on me.”

“Yubin is all talk. She loves me as much as she does you. Who better to look after and protect you than me, huh?”

“You can protect me? From what?”

Yugyeom grinned cheekily. “From the likes of Park Jinyoung.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s immature!”

“So, you still like it,” he mentioned and you nodded before you realised it. His smile grew wider. “You like me.”

“Are you stalling on kissing me by talking so much or should I figure this out by making the first move?” you wondered impatiently and with a chuckle, Yugyeom lowered his head before capturing your lips in a soft, lingering embrace. You remembered how you had kissed him last year, albeit that kiss was quick and purposeful. And whilst there was purpose to the reason for kissing Yugyeom now, it was vastly different from your memory of the previous one. Everything inside of you felt as if it was burning hot, and as the kiss grew passionate, you realised that deep down there didn’t need to be any sign to show you how much you liked Yugyeom. You had always liked him. He was your friend, your shadow at times, and your confidante. You would never admit to Yubin just how many secrets you hadn’t told her but her brother instead.

Though you would need to tell her about this, given the fact that you were pretty sure you couldn’t stop kissing Yugyeom now that you had started. When he finally pulled away, you were somehow underneath him on his bed, his hand ghosting the thin strip of skin that was showing from your top riding up getting into this position. You reached out to cup his cheek in your hand and smiled. “Anything else you want to tell me tonight? Or was the crush the only thing I need to worry about?”

Yugyeom chuckled, turning to kiss your palm gently before grinning at you. “About that homework, I already submitted my Moll Flanders essay three days ago.”

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head softly. “You faked needing help?”

“All these years,” he confirmed cheekily and you feigned annoyance. “Should I ask for forgiveness?”

“I could think of a few ways to punish you,” you mentioned airily and his eyes widened. Then you groaned. “However, after kissing you like that, I don’t want to hold back because then it’ll be me who suffers too.”

Yugyeom moved to kiss you again. “Well, I don’t want you to suffer; it’s been far too long waiting for this moment to arrive.”

_________________

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[lycorogue]

Happy Anniversary,  “Peeping Tomcat”!

Found on AO3, on FFN, and on DA

(sorry, I lost the original copy of the cover art, so this is low-res version is all I still have)

Summary: Something called to Adrien, and before he knew it, he was addicted to sitting outside Marinette's window as Chat Noir; just watching her. His voyeuristic habit needs to stop, but things have gotten far too complicated now that he realizes he's growing a crush on her.

Rating: K / General Audiences

Pairing: Adrienette (And kind of MariChat... even though they don’t interact??)

Chapters: 17

Status: Complete.  84,239 words

**Disclaimer: This story is only semi-compliant with season 2 and does not take place within that season aside from post-Collector since that concludes Volpina.

A year ago today, I posted "Peeping Tomcat.” 

The previous August (2017), a month after I introduced myself to “Miraculous Ladybug,” I had written my first ever fanfic for the fandom. The one-shot was the original “Peeping Tomcat” (it has since been renamed “Peeping Tomcat - Teaser”). I enjoyed the story so much, I decided to expand this one-shot into a full-blown novel.

I worked on “Peeping Tomcat” during that year’s superhero-themed NaNoWriMo. I made it to 50,000 words, but I wasn’t done with my story. I spent the next few months editing my first draft, and there are large parts in the final product that barely resemble the original version. Even after I posted the first chapter on March 30, 2018, I kept working on edits and reworks for the rest of the novel.

I posted a new chapter every Friday for 3+ months. I officially finished the project when I published the final chapter on July 31, 2018. Nearly a full year after I wrote the one-shot.

This novel has been such a large point of pride for me, and I want to thank all of my fans for reading, faving, leaving kudos, bookmarking, commenting, and even reblogging my promotions for each chapter. A year later, and I’m still getting notifications about a new reader, new comment, or new fave/kudos. You guys all super duper rock!

So, how about a trip down memory lane, or how about a taste for those who may have missed this story’s original run?

Sample of chapter 1 below the break.

She didn't realize I watched her every night, and, frankly, I probably shouldn't have.

A thought pulled at the back of my head as I reflected on the akuma supervillains that had originated at that school. There were fifteen kids in my class, including myself. Fifteen. There were thirteen akuma victims that were my classmates. Excluding myself, that meant only one of my classmates hadn't been akumatized. One kid didn't have a school year punctuated with the guilt of becoming a Paris-attacking supervillain: Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

Realizing that Marinette was the lone student, besides me, who hadn't been transformed yet, I had a protective need to check on her home, as if gazing upon the abode was enough to ward Hawk Moth from her. I shifted along the roof of the Collège Françoise Dupont so that I was again facing the Place des Vosges. Nestled between these two key points in my life as Chat Noir was the humble bakery Marinette's parents owned, complete with the apartment the Dupain-Cheng family lived in.

It was a simple home considering the entire first floor made up the bakery, which was still smaller than my bedroom. In fact, my two-story room may have been larger than the entirety of the three-level apartment. Neither Marinette nor her parents ever seemed lacking, though. In fact, part of me envied the small apartment. No one could get lost in there. No one could feel alone. Family was always a good holler away, not that Marinette ever needed to holler to get her parents' attention.

There was a warmth to that building that transcended the ovens Mr. Dupain started up at four every morning. Even at night, long after the bakery had shut down, and despite being across the street, I still felt that warmth. For the first time that day, I felt at peace. Just looking upon the Dupain-Cheng household calmed me the way being Chat Noir normally did, the way running through Paris normally did, the way the Ladybug and Chat Noir statue normally did, the way none of those did that night.

Family. I think that's what pinned me to that spot; what soothed my heart. That transcending warmth I could feel meters away was the idea of family. The idea that Marinette was always surrounded by hers, and how it was obvious that her family was immensely proud of her. Marinette's parents were constantly smiling and visibly beaming whenever they were around their daughter, or at least talking about her. Their pride in the woman Marinette was becoming was palpable. The same was true about Marinette's great-uncle Cheng Shifu. The entire clan radiated with love. Anyone could feel it, even from across the street.

I needed that sensation that night. After all of my failings, and with Father's stern talk of his disappointments in me, I needed a reminder that unconditional love existed. I needed to know that people could love others even with their shortcomings; a way to reassure myself that my father still did love me, and that Ladybug would still need me as her partner.

Like the scent of freshly baked croissants, the pacifying feeling of honest, familial love wafted towards me, and I breathed it in deep. I was no longer on edge as I pictured all the things that made the Dupain-Cheng home so welcoming and loving.

I remembered being Chat Noir in Marinette's home as I assisted Ladybug in hiding Kim from an akuma villain who was hunting him down. While Ladybug discussed her strategy with Marinette's parents and Kim, I had spotted a family photo displayed on a bookshelf in the living room. Marinette had her goofy little grin, and her parents sweetly smiled behind her. While I don't think I have a single picture like that with Father, the photo reminded me of the ones I had with my mom; both of us grinning ear-to-ear. Love shone through the pictures of me and Mom, just as it did with that photo in Marinette's living room.

My mind then wandered to when I helped Marinette by translating for her Chinese great-uncle. She was so nervous about dishonoring the master chef, but the man took to his great-niece instantly. I got to spend the day watching the two of them interact, and it was sweet the care each took to learn about the other. In the end, Cheng Shifu was so proud of his great-niece that he renamed his famous Celestial Soup after her. True, my father uses me as a poster child for his clothing line, but there was something different; something special in Cheng Shifu honoring Marinette the way he did. She was able to be her clumsy, awkward, unsure self and still manage to impress him. I have to be poised, reserved, and refined at all times to avoid disappointing my father. Which is probably why I needed Chat Noir so much.

The thing that brought me the most comfort, though, was remembering when I was at Marinette's house to practice for the Ultimate Mecha Strike III gaming tournament. Marinette may have been embarrassed by her parents, but I thought it was super sweet that they kept popping in to check up on us. The fact that they did so using the pretense of bringing us snacks was a nice added touch. They always had smiles that matched the warmth of the croissants, cookies, or quiche they brought for us. I get that Marinette was like most teenagers who just wanted some space to breathe, but I've had all the space I could want, and then some, since Mom went missing. To have someone check in that frequently, to have parents that so desperately want to be in their child's life; I don't think Marinette realized how fantastic that is, or how jealous I was.

I allowed myself to truly relax. I lounged across the roof of my school, my legs dangling over the edge, as I leaned back on my elbows and imagined what was going on in that warm apartment. What was it like to live there? What was it like to be part of that family? I pictured myself in Marinette's place: Tom Dupain was my father instead of hers, and Sabine Cheng was my mother. I envisioned it was me flailing around during a water balloon fight with my father, or that I was the one being instructed by my mother on how to roll out the dough properly to make the crust for a quiche. I could practically smell the smoky sweetness of a well-seasoned roast and fingerling potatoes being pulled from the tiny apartment kitchen oven and placed on the breakfast counter. I almost tasted the flaky butter of still-warm biscuits topped with a touch of plum jam. The chilled breeze of the night vanished from my notice as I felt snuggled into what would have been my lofted bed; should I have been the one who lived above the neighborhood bakery. I breathed in the sweet lingering smells of the day's baked goods as I pictured them being the cologne from the Dupain-Chengs as they tucked me in and kissed my forehead goodnight. I yearned for Marinette's reality to be mine, and imagined that it was.

I got so lost in that fantasy I nearly fell off the roof when I heard the scream.

Want to keep reading? Check out the full chapter here: Mistake

Want to read the whole thing? You can find it at these three sites: on AO3, on FFN, and on DA

[ericmun]

180315 [Shinhwa’s 20th Anniversary] ① The records of the First, by the First, for the First

The day that didn’t seem like it was coming finally arrived. Coming on the 24th is the 20th anniversary of Shinhwa’s debut. The members showed their faces every year so 19th, 18th, 17th seems more familiar but if you think about it, ‘20’ is a big number.

From 1998 to 2018, if you look at the times Shinhwa was active, the world had changed completely. CDP became a music website application. The variety shows that made you go to boot camps or hypnotized are gone but web contents that pursues reality showed up. The iconic music station Mnet’s logo and their award show changed multiple times. Radio program that Shinhwa used to DJ now has more than two-hands countable DJs now. The concert ticket which was less than 50,000KRW is now up to 200,000KRW.

As the world’s speed goes faster, the weight of time gets heavier. So it’s ‘not just 20 years’, but ‘already 20 years.’ And the thing that do not go away with time is the record of the ‘First.’ The first records, the records someone achieved first and other records were possible because of that, the power source to move forward. The points that made Shinhwa now didn’t get erased with time and became the bible of the idols.

■ They never settle: 13th album, new dance and performance.

The reason why their history shines even more is they stuck to each other without changing any members. The scene now has lots of changes in members. It’s unbelievable to have same team member for 20 years. Shinhwa even finished all of their military services and is still the same.

So Shinhwa made it to their 13th album, the first time in the idol history. Shinhwa has been making full album even though the majority of the market is filled with singles and mini albums. Putting aside the break they had, they have been releasing a full album almost every year. On top of that, the title song ‘Touch’ from the 13th album ‘Unchanging-Touch’ is the first complete future bass song in Korean mainstream music scene.

They have been trying to do new things while keeping their own original character. Mustache, tanning, muscles, shaved heads, so-called the ‘4 taboos of the idol’, they’ve all done those. They are the origin of the once popular ‘Beast idol’. These extraordinary changes is also a movement to get out of a set frame for a better stage.

The song ‘Wild eyes’ is the first song to present ‘chair dance’ to the scene. Even until now, the young groups continue to cover the song. The title song ‘This Love’ from the 11th album has the first voguing dance performance for idol group. On top of that Shinhwa will be breaking their own frame by reenacting their  ‘All Your Dreams’ which was released in 2000 on this coming March 26th.

What’s great about this is as much as Shinhwa puts efforts to the stage, the performance got better every time. Shinhwa was the first group to do a all-live band concert in 2003 as an idol group. The abundant sound of the band is now the crucial point of Shinhwa’s performances.

■ Separate but together : DJ, variety show, commercials

Nowadays ‘Separate but together’ is a common thing for idols. It’s even stranger if they don’t do anything alone as an individual member. But there were times that it wasn’t so common. In early 2000s, Shinhwa started to become a solo artist starting with Lee Minwoo who put out his first solo album, then Kim Dongwan, Shin Hyesung, Junjin, Andy in that order. Since they were alone on stage, they could show their own spectrum other than a group spectrum. Later, each members held individual concerts, fan meet and greets, tours, etc.

Same with the variety shows. Even before the words ‘Beagle –idol’, ‘Ggaebangjung (ball of energy)’ came out, Shinhwa showed their talents in shows like ‘Star watch’, ‘Long Live Love’, ‘Driven’, ‘Dong Go Dong Rak’, etc. The interview videos were always popular when the entertainment information shows were popular. Even more, Shinhwa made a record of having their own show with JTBC ‘Shinhwa Broadcast’ (2012). ‘Kim Dongwan’s Ten Ten Club’ was the first radio program to have idol DJ.

Shinhwa’s influence was even with the commercials. In 2005 Shinhwa re-signed another contract with a school uniform company, Ivy Club, after the first contract in 2000. Also, Shinhwa became the first idol suit model starting with the Roygen commercial in 2012. They also had Coca-Cola commercial for the first time, and it was Coca-Cola’s first time having human model in their commercial. And it was 1-minute long too.

■ Shinhwa makes Shinhwa : Making their own company and owning the copyright

After a break due to military, Shinhwa tried hard to make 6 of them as a group back together. They established their own company, the first for any idol group. The representative is one of the members and the shareholders are themselves. The Shinhwa Company is an attempt is another way to show that an idol group can survive (on their own without a 3rd-party management). Headed by Eric and Lee Minwoo, it is still the foundation for the group activities.  

But It wasn’t easy to get all the members out from their original agencies. Shinhwa determinedly went through a long legal dispute to gain back the name ‘Shinhwa.’ As a result of their persistence, they won and the Copyright transfer on May 29th 2015. In same year, June 11th, they completed the process. It’s the first case that the idol wholly owns their own name. Fans also cheered for the group who got their complete freedom after 17 years.

The story about the copyright is recognized greatly nowadays. Because there are more and more idols and groups who want to do individual things but many of them are still having issues with copyrights. Shinhwa’s example shows how hard it is for a group to show their own music by themselves, and also how big the synergy effect could be after going through that hardship together.

■ Fans follow Shinhwa for the Firsts : Shinhwa Forest, Rice Wreath, Stars

Like their group, the fan-club of Shinhwa, Shinhwa Changjo is also writing a new history with a new cheering culture. Shinhwa’s fan-club create a ‘Shinhwa Forest’ as celebration of the group’s 15th anniversary. Located in Gangnam gu Seoul, the forest is consisted of 1130 trees and is leading the way to solve the environmental problem that Seoul city has with the green space.

The rice wreath culture, which is now common, it was Shinhwa Changjo who started it for the first time. The rice wreath began with Shin Hyesung concert in August 2007. Many fans of other idols now send rice wreathes to concerts, show productions, doing the good thing.

It did not start from the fans, but Shinhwa also got star as a gift for the first time. In 2005, the USC Korea, the official partner of UCS America gave Shinhwa a star to commemorate their launching in Korea. The name of the star is ‘Shinhwa’. The SHINHWA star is among the Aries constellation that matches the date of their debut, March 24th. It is one of the 2000 stars that you can see with your own eyes from earth and it is most visible in November. It also became a inspiration for the ‘Shinhwa star postage stamp’.

Source: Herald Translation: EricMun.tumblr

There are many other Shinhwa’s “First” that are not covered in this article. You can refer to this “[1Boon] You thought they only had the ‘longest running idol’ title?” for more.  And for the visual effect, check this post too! 👉 http://msmemaaaa.tumblr.com/post/117252316986

It was also said that the Coca-Cola CF was originally with Eric and he asked to have it as a group CF. Of course he also did a Coke Zero on his own in February 2007. Although the amount of his Coke Zero CF was not disclosed, GOODEMG revealed that it was the highest paid in the entertainment industry at that time.

[dynamitekrp]

SEARCHING FOR BO …

PUBLIC PROFILE

birthday: june 4, 1999 years trained: 4 position: lead rap, vocal 

CAREER

2017, stella beauty cf 2018, maybelline cf 2019, creating an aegyo song on weekly idol (viral moment) 2019. supporting role of high school student kim yoo na in hotel del luna 2020, king of masked singer appearance

IMAGE

bora seemed to be a step behind the other members of her groups with her emergence following the new, bold concept - hobgoblin. she fit the maknae role, almost too well, having people wondering if she was trying too hard for the sake of the cameras. for a while, she was a cute face to do variety shows with, but struggled to do much more. girl crush concepts were awkward for the young girl, and while some felt she should’ve been implemented during the cuter era, others felt they should’ve waited to debut her until she was better altogether. she had been a confident trainee, but seemed to blend into the background with the other girls, slightly shy and less bold in stage presence. it was only after receiving a good bit of hate for this that things started to take a turn, most prominently during her peek-a-boo era. it was then she began to create her own spotlight for herself, and seemed to mature into violet’s concept out of nowhere. while many love her, nearly just as many are still discontent with her addition. since then, the imprint her cute moments left have impacted her image, and though they stay a prominent part of her career, she’s becoming known to be a more serious maknae for her growing maturity and confidence.

BACKGROUND

im bora was born in the spotlight, in her own way - really. even underneath the bright light of the hospital, as the infant pried her eyes open for the very first time, her mother’s intentional words rang clear, both throughout the hospital and into her own ears.

“ a little star has been born. ”

nothing from the situation was surprising. after all, bora’s mom wasn’t exactly a celebrity, but famous in her own right. im miran - a popular model for skin care commercials, nearly all of seoul’s were filled with the catchy jingle and her kind face, marketing the hydrating masks that bora had a lifetime’s worth of free samples of. but before this, she was sohn miran, the teenage pageant queen of seoul. starting young, she went from local, to national levels, winning over the audiences with her charming smile and timeless beauty. her father, a dermatologist, made the perfect match for her, and often let her lead the house in the way she felt was fair. there was no room but anything for perfection, and with bora’s birth, it seemed she wasn’t willing to end the trend anytime soon. not even out of diapers, bora was thrust into countless beauty competitions, the toddler wearing her many crowns and sashes over her pull-ups.  the days were long, her mother was strict, and the competition was fierce, but it was the world that bora had grown up in. what else did she know?

but soon, bora would learn that not everything was going to be pleasant for so long. as she grew, so did her agitation for the hectic schedule her pageant days would bring her. there was no time for fun with friends, no acne spot left untouched, no room left for happiness. a cycle, it was - vocal lessons, instrument lessons, salon appointments. a life seemingly for the rich and glamorous, turned corrupt before she realizes. she tries to initially break free, but her mother’s insistence is enough to cut her rebellion short before it even really started. she’s forced back onto the throne, adorning a crown she’s never really desired.

but bora smiles, does what she’s told, and lives in an internal prison, looking for an escape. that is … until she does. after one of her pageants, she’s stopped by a recruiter, handing her a simple card with the words ag media entertainment on it. bora remembers hearing somewhere that there were certain short moments in life that changed everything. little did she know how true that was going to be.

even now, bora doesn’t know the reason which motivated her to walk into that studio and audition. whether it was her love for idol groups, a way to show her skills differently, or….just escape her mother’s constant bickering. but, one day after school, she skips her vocal lesson without her mother’s knowledge, and instead makes her way to ag’s company building, in hopes of having her true debut. not one filled with stress and tears, as she had on the pageant stage, but one that made her feel like a true princess.

the true shocker, however, is when bora realizes her dream is slowly becoming a reality. after auditioning with a song she often used for talent segments, as well as a poorly improvised dance routine, something must have triggered the evaluators to consider her. after receiving the news, bora sprung into a literal frenzy, elated at the chance to do something that truly made her fulfilled. rather than disappointed and angry as she thought she’d be, her mother surprises her by being incredibly accepting and encouraging. in her eyes, even if it was a different type, her daughter could still be a star. perhaps, a bigger one. as long as she was able to keep living her daughter’s excitement through her, she’d take it.

so, at the young age of fourteen the girl is sprung into a world much like the one she’s lived in for years. though bora is a bright-eyed, optimistic girl still, the pageant life has conditioned her for this moment. at least …. she thinks. she had perfected the spins, the smiles, and the speeches. bora was the epitome of a pageant girl. however, with idol training? she was hopelessly lost. not nearly as strong of a vocalist of the others, and lacking in the strong energy those around her did, the young girl found herself constantly losing herself in the shadows of others. evaluation after evaluation, things seem to be getting worse. she watches as violet, a group she desperately hoped for a space in, went on to debut without her, leaving her in the dust.

little did she know that her time would come a short three years later, when offered the chance to jointhe girl group as a late member. it was something she was definitely not expecting, thinking she had years ago until her call to fame. but the fresh face in the group was both a joy and a disaster to have. many took to her, if nothing but for her looks, enjoying what a new girl could bring to the group’s concept. on the contrary, there were the loyal fans, who swore by a group of only the originals.  the constant back-and-forth was something that bora surely wasn’t used to, working to only up the pressure of her newly rising career.

it takes some time, but eventually, as her career as an idol unexpectedly soars, bora slowly finds her own. after the emergence of peekaboo, she’s re-introduced with a sort of charismatic prowess that wasn’t to be expected of the usually childlike female. she becomes more comfortable expanding outside of just group activities, and begins to develop a name for herself. the merging of the two companies is rocky for her, just adjusting and then being forced to deal with change once again. there’s an odd sort of … rivalry she feels against puzzle, scared that they might threaten to ruin her youthful concept. so, she soon becomes colder than what those around her are used to, really working hard to hone her craft and make it to the top. the hate comments she so frequently read begin to fuel her, and she has another sense of renewal. maybe this time, everyone will stop doubting her, and with all the competition in the room she can prove her worth.

once again - a new era, and a new bora.

[boatspeak]

Some of my favourite dramas from the past half a year, ranked: 

1. Because This is my First Life 

k-drama, 16 episodes, each 1 hour long

So sensitively and personally written. I was sucked into the storytelling and felt as though I was seeing these scenes through the eyes of the characters. Bravo to the scriptwriter; as I was watching it I felt, ah, she must have drawn from some intensely personal and important place. It was not a story anyone could have written. Because This is My First Life follows the stories of three BFFs as they experience, and grapple with, love and marriage. It does not shy away from the complicated sides of these issues - the societal, monetary and financial pressures that love and marriage cannot be separated from, the difficulties of communicating with others honestly yet sensitively. There are some frustratingly incorrigible people in the drama (like sexually harassing superiors), but most of the time the conflicts play out between good people who care for and support each other, yet inevitably butt heads because they have different - and equally valid - views of life. Is it wrong to want to marry and start a family? Is it wrong not to? It was painful at times, I think I cried for some of the characters. Not because they were pitiable, but because sometimes in life there is no right or wrong; you have to make tough choices and it hurts but you have to keep your eyes open and keep watching; keep walking. For the literature lovers out there, especially those who might be sick of gratuitous (often cheesy) quotes inserted randomly into dramas, well, good for you! Characters in Because This is My First Life read and are impacted by (real life) books, and you can see how the books they’ve read influence the way they think, act, and communicate with each other. It’s very realistic and mirrors the way you might consume and digest books in your own life outside of the drama. Oh, the PPL is also wonderfully done and actually contributes to character building.  8-9/10.

2. Raise de wa Chanto Shimasu (I’ll be serious in my next life)

j-drama, 12 episodes, each 1/2 an hour long

One woman, five sex friends. I know. I know it sounds messy and melodramatic and angsty. I hesitated for the same reasons as well. But when I finally got over it and watched the damn thing (very bingeable, totalling at only 6 hours), I regretted not watching it sooner. Raise wa Chanto Shimasu is a breath of fresh air. Most of the characters, whether hypersexual or asexual, are pretty unabashed about it, and I love their self-love. Want to have sex? Go for it, gurl. Don’t want to have sex? Also no problem. The title is an apt one and showcases this message of acceptance. We might have bones to pick with our current lifestyles, but welp, we’ll just be serious in our next lives. As one of the characters said at the end, “we all became independent, working adults, I think we should be proud of ourselves”.  Much needed affirmation in a world of moralising, slut-shaming, virgin-mocking, and expectations to get married and settle down.

Warning: one of the characters in a bi/gay relationship is pretty vocal in denying his sexuality even in front of his partner, and a trans woman was harrassed at one point. These were discomfiting for me. 

3. The Fiery Priest 

k-drama, 40 episodes, each 1/2 an hour long (or 20 hour-long episodes)

Action. Comedy. Kim Nam Gil, who won the Baeksang for this role. Honey Lee. Badass babe. Ahn Chang Hwan, who was so realistic at playing a Thai immigrant my friend who studied Korean for three years didn’t even realise he was Korean. Father Han. One reviewer said he was a literal angel, and I concur. Most dramas leave you with at most three or four characters you really like; this drama makes you fall in love with the whole gang. Everyone has a backstory, or some hidden side that you didn’t expect that just adds so much more dimension when revealed. Where some might find it hard to balance the weight of action and the levity of comedy, dipping too deeply into angst or farce at times, The Fiery Priest manages the tone really well even as the plot deepens and our characters have to deal with deep-seated traumas. I have nothing more to say to promote this drama except, how could you pass on Kim Nam Gil doing action plus comedy MINUS tragedy and the moustache? 

A final note: Technically, The Fiery Priest is a stronger drama than Raise and should deserve the no. 2 spot. The former deals with bigger issues like corruption, morality and forgiveness, while the latter is more light-hearted and deals almost entirely with personal choices. However, some issues Raise touched on were really important to me and came at a time when I really needed affirmation to believe in my beliefs, so it edged out The Fiery Priest in my heart. 

4. 传闻中的陈芊芊 (The Romance of Tiger and Rose) 

c-drama, 22 episodes, each about 45 minutes long

甜。This drama is just Sweet with a capital S. What a refreshing watch, especially for women. I loved not having tugging battles between two men. I loved the respect given to consent. I loved having so many smart and capable women who have conversations with each other that do not revolve around men. I love how the male lead wasn’t hung up on Male Ego and gave his wife space to be herself and make her own decisions and mistakes. A rare gem. I’m sure I will revisit this when I’m tired of the usual ドキドキ tactics involving possession and pulling around 

(If you can read Chinese, I suggest watching it on the 腾讯视频 app with 弹幕 on. I found it pretty hilarious, meaning I laugh-cried so hard in the middle of the night my neighbour knocked on my door to ask if I was ok.)   

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

A quick rundown of the dramas and films I’ve watched so far in 2020 so you know the pool I picked these four from: 

Penguin Highway 

good watch. super cute. I cannot over-emphasise how cute the penguins were. It got me into a penguin phase and I’m not out of it even after 7 months...

ぼくは明日、昨日のきみとデートする (My Tomorrow, Your Yesterday) 

good watch. bittersweet.

わたし��××しなさい！(Watashi ni XX Shinasai/Missions of Love) movie and drama special

would pass on the movie (which cherry-picked from the manga but unfortunately left out a lot of important character developing scenes so the relationship didn’t make as much sense as it did in the manga)

but the drama special. Whew. I watched the drama special twice. It’s trashy good. Because it’s basically a spin-off to build hype for the movie, it doesn’t have to follow the plot of the manga, instead taking on the format of a (very cheesy) otome game. So you have all these ikemen saying clichéd toe-curling lines like “I am also a man you know” and getting stuck half-naked bReAthInG HeAviLy in cabinets together but instead of playing it seriously (as the movie would do because it’s supposed to make you feel like they are falling in love), the main character goes huh??? wtf are you saying?? at her otome game screen, which is so realistic and just cracks me up. definitely would rec. 

ごめんね青春！(Gomen ne Seishun/ Saving my Stupid Youth) 

hmmm. so-so? Leading lady Hikari Mitsushima is pretty, cool, and fits the bill of gap moe. Ryo Nishikido is also pretty believable (once you suspend your disbelief that somehow all his students think he looks dorky and are not gushing over his ikemen-ness). Unfortunately, relationship development between the otp happened too late and too suddenly. 

Он – драко́н (On Drakon/ He’s a Dragon/ I Am Dragon)

a pleasure to (re-)watch as always. Lovely visuals. 

Tokyo Ghoul: S

decent! Great performance from Shota Matsuda as the Gourmet. He’s definitely a draw-point for this movie - you can see him being featured heavily in the trailers. 

Strong Girl Do Bong Soon

great drama, would rec! 7-8/10. Points docked for all the digressing they did with monks and gangsters. I loved the otp’s dynamic, how healthy their relationship was. One line that struck me was, “Do you know how you’ve found the right person? When you see yourself in their eyes, you look happy”. It was a reminder that while these are obviously fictional characters, we can and should form relationships where our partners are as supportive of us (and us of them) as our dear otp, and not to settle for less. Also loved the fact that smol Bong Soon is so strong and no one can manhandle her >:-) 10/10 also to rookie actor Jang Mi Kwan, who was absolutely terrifying as the villain. How is he only a rookie??  

Because This is my First Life

see above

The Fiery Priest

see above

선덕여왕 (Great Queen Seon Deok)

hehe I watched it (again). As great as ever. Somehow cried more than I did the previous two times I watched it? Took me a week to get over one of the characters (even though I already went through all that heartbreak the first two times I watched this..) Sayang... Definitely has a special place in my heart. Available in full on youtube with subs. 

传闻中的陈芊芊 (Romance of Tiger and Rose)

see above

来世はちゃんとします (Raise de wa Chanto Shimasu) 

see above

覆面系ノイズ (Fukumenkei Noise/Anonymous Noise)

pretty good! Adapted from a manga but very film-like with its color-corrected shots, many cut-scenes to birds and crashing waves. Shison Jun was great in his intense scene, Ayami Nakajo has the most manga-looking face I’ve seen and Koseki Yuta is my bb as always hahaha he’s appeared in, like, four dramas on this list. 

博多弁の女の子はかわいいと思いませんか？(Don’t You Think Girls Who Talk in Hakata Dialect Are Cute?) 

YES!! I DO!! Wholesome drama packed to the brim with hometown (Hakata) pride). I also loved Okada Kenshi going around looking for Ramen shops hahaha. Now I want to see him host a food discovery show. 8/10. Would rec! 

帝一の國 (Teiichi no Kuni/Teiichi’s Country)

面白い 。Interesting watch! In which a bunch of high school boys in an elite school take their student council elections very seriously and attempts at political hijinks ensue. Suda Masaki and his pals somehow make over-the-top super seem natural. I don’t know how they do it, but it’s pretty good. Peppered with interesting reveals and counter-reveals along the way. 

男子高校生の日常 (Daily Lives of High School Boys)

I liked this! It delivers on what it’s supposed to. As a film, it is very film-like. The background is given a lot of weight in this film, and the director “shows, not tells”. The conversations of our characters are situated in the chatter of their schoolmates, you hear random snippets of conversations drift around, you see the school situated in the mountains, piles of decorations around the hall. This helps in conveying the “daily” nature of what happens in the film - not some life-changing adventure, but a warm high-school memory that is pretty like a paper star in a glass bottle. The boys are also very lovable and dorky in their high-school roles. 

ピーチガール (Peach Girl)

not bad. Typical shoujo manga adaptation storyline, even if the leading quartet do well in their roles. Nagano Mei was especially memorable for me out of the typical shoujo heroine roles I had previously seen her in. Inoo Kei also really looks like a boy from a manga. He has a lot of exaggerated actions, but he pulls them off really well. 

突然ですが明日結婚します (Totsuzen desu ga ashita kekkon shimasu/ It’s Sudden But Tomorrow We’re Getting Married/ Everyone’s Getting Married)

pretty decent. It’s not mind-blowing, but it’s definitely not bad. (Or you could flip it around and say it’s definitely not bad, but it’s not mind-blowing). 

ヲタクに恋は難しい  (Wotakoi: Love is Hard for Otaku)

disappointing. I really wanted to like this film for Takahata Mitsuki and Yamazaki Kento, but there were too many useless musical scenes. 

同期の桜 (Doki no Sakura / Our Dearest Sakura)

Hmmmmmm. About colleagues who become inspired in their work and lives because of their colleague Sakura. I wanted more love but that’s not the main point of the drama so it’s not their fault. It got a bit repetitive towards the end, and I felt there wasn’t enough character development. Another drama I really wanted to like more than I did, because I was looking forward to seeing Takahata Mitsuki, Ryusei Ryo and Mackenyu work together. 

Tokyo Coin Laundry

A mishmash of lost souls meet at a coin laundry. A short drama about running away, making choices, and moving on. Katayose Ryota might have been cool in My Brother Loves Me Too Much, but this was where I first saw him and I prefer him in this. I enjoyed this a lot and even drew a postcard based on this. 7/10. 

兄に愛されすぎて困ってます (My Brother Loves Me Too Much) drama and movie

ok don’t judge; I watched this because my friend said it was pretty good. Katayose Ryota IS pretty cool in this, and Tsuchiya Tao brings to life the quintessential image of the Japanese girl, but if you’re watching this for “so cheesy it’s actually good” I would point you to the Watashi ni XX Shinasai drama special instead. If you do want to watch this though, you should watch the drama before the movie, because they are not standalone. 

Nodame Cantabile

What can I say? Classics are classics. 8/10, would rec. This is my first time seeing Ueno Juri acting, and she’s so believable as quirky Nodame I wondered if this was her actual personality. Straight out of a manga. There was potential for messy love-drama, but this drama took the high road and focused on proper character development instead. Thumbs up! They also did really well in “showing not telling” us the OTP’s relationship development. Rather than declarations of love, you can see it in the little caring gestures and almost subconscious smiles. I liked that too. Though maybe I’ll dock a point for how they treated gay expressions of love - “he’s a man you know” and icky faces - and how much casual manhandling there was against Nodame (exaggerated flying punches... maybe that’s how the manga wrote it?) 

[frankkjonestx]

What lifestyle changes will shrink your carbon footprint the most?

Three years ago, Kim Cobb was feeling “completely overwhelmed” by the problem of climate change. Cobb spends her days studying climate change as director of the Global Change Program at Georgia Tech in Atlanta, but she felt paralyzed over how to be part of the solution in her personal life. The barriers felt immense.

She decided to start small. On January 1, 2017, she made a personal climate resolution: She would walk her kids to school and bicycle to work two days a week. That change didn’t represent a lot in terms of carbon emissions, she says, “but it was a huge lesson in daily engagement.”

In the beginning, her modest goal seemed daunting, but she quickly discovered that the two simple activities nourished her physical and mental well-being. She wanted to do them every day. “It’s no longer for the carbon — it’s for the fact that I genuinely love riding my bike and walking my kids to school,” she says. And that made her wonder: What other steps was she thinking of as sacrifices that might actually enrich her life?

A November 2019 survey by the Yale Program on Climate Change Communication suggests that Cobb isn’t alone in her worries about climate change. Fifty-eight percent of the U.S. residents surveyed were “alarmed” or “concerned” about global warming. Cobb has turned her concern into action. It’s not too late to reduce the damage caused by global warming, but it will take drastic reductions in greenhouse gas emissions, says Jonathan Foley, executive director of Project Drawdown, a San Francisco–based nonprofit research organization that identifies ways to reduce carbon emissions.

To keep global temperatures from rising too quickly, we need to re-engineer our society away from fossil fuels. A 2015 study calculated that to rein in warming, about 80 percent of global reserves of coal, 50 percent of natural gas reserves and 33 percent of the world’s oil must be left unused.

We can’t get to drawdown, the point at which levels of greenhouse gases in the atmosphere start to steadily decline, with one easy fix, Foley says. Action is required on multiple levels — government, industry and individuals — and across multiple systems, including energy, transportation, housing and food. We need to do all of the things, says Foley, whose organization has identified more than 80 climate “solutions” available now. These range from renewable energy technologies to plant-based diets to mass transit. “To get to drawdown, we need them all,” Foley says.

When it comes to the changes that individuals can make, “the most effective thing that you can do depends on your specific circumstances,” says Christopher Jones, director of the CoolClimate Network at the University of California, Berkeley. His group has produced maps that estimate a household’s carbon footprint based on ZIP code and lifestyle.

The graphics below, based on CoolClimate Network calculations, will help you find your biggest levers for cutting emissions, which for U.S. households are, on average, the equivalent of 48 metric tons of carbon dioxide per year.

Each action shows the tons of carbon dioxide equivalent saved per year:

Relevant assumptions are shown in italics.

Transportation

How you get where you’re going is one of the biggest sources of greenhouse gas emissions, and the size of your transportation emissions usually depends on where you live, Jones says. City dwellers have more access to public transportation, while people in the suburbs tend to drive a lot more. For people who drive long distances, getting the most fuel-efficient car, a hybrid or an electric, may be the best way to curb emissions. Carpooling when possible, combining trips and leaving the car home once a week also help.

Action: Replace a 25 mpg car with …

An electric car

A hybrid car (55 mpg)

A fuel-efficient car (40 mpg)

Assumption: Driving 12,000 miles per year

Action: Alternate commuting alone in a car with …

Carpooling two days/week

Telecommuting five days/month

Assumptions: Car gets 25 mpg, commute is 25 miles round trip, carpool with one other person

Action: Replace 25 miles of driving per week with …

Bicycling

Assumption: Current car gets 25 mpg

Taking the bus

Assumption: Bus is diesel engine

Action: Practice “eco-driving”

Reduce rapid acceleration and braking and reduce top cruising highway speed from 70 to 65 mph

Assumption: Driving 12,000 miles per year, fuel economy 25 mpg

Action: Change air filters regularly and keep tires properly inflated

These two actions raise efficiency by 3 percent each

If you fly, there’s a good chance that aviation emissions are your biggest lever. Once people can travel again, consider vacationing closer to home and look for alternatives to business travel, such as videoconferencing. Take ground transportation instead of flying whenever possible. When flying can’t be avoided, take the advice of Dan Rutherford, shipping and aviation director at the International Council on Clean Transportation: Fly like a NERD. Choose a New(er) aircraft; book Economy class; take a Regular, medium-sized plane instead of a less-efficient small regional or jumbo jet; and select a Direct flight.

Action: Eliminate one round-trip cross-country flight per year

Assumption: Based on approximate round trip from New York to San Francisco

Shelter

The average U.S. home uses three to four times the electricity of a European one, Foley says. That’s mostly due to inefficient appliances and lighting and insufficient insulation. Those are all things that homeowners can address. Installing solar panels takes a big chunk out of your emissions. But if panels are too costly or just not feasible, purchasing renewable energy from a clean energy provider can offer the same emissions savings. Though options, like installing solar panels, are only available to people who own their home, there are plenty of other things that both renters and owners can do.

Action: Change your source of electricity

Purchase green energy from a clean energy provider

Install solar panels at your home

Assumptions: Household uses 10,700 kilowatt hours of electricity per year and 100 percent of electricity comes from a clean energy provider or from solar panels

If home improvements are in your budget, go for optimized insulation, weather stripping and energy-efficient windows and appliances. Install thermostats that adjust the temperature based on when you’re home and awake. And, of course, bigger houses take more energy to heat, cool and light, plus more space means more stuff. “The majority of emissions regarding shelter come from the stuff you buy,” Jones says. If downsizing is an option for you, it’s worth considering.

Action: Replace 10 incandescent lightbulbs with LEDs

Assumption: Lights are on five hours per day

Action: Reduce your trash output by 20 percent

Assumption: Household throws out 0.5 cubic yards of trash a week

Action: Turn off the lights when not in use

Assumption: Shut five lights at 40 watts each for four hours per day

Action: Turn the thermostat …

Down 5° F in winter

Up 5° F in summer

Assumptions: Home is about 1,850 square feet, heated with electricity

Action: Put desktop computer in sleep mode nights and weekends and turn off monitor during those times

Assumption: Remember to do this 50 percent of the time

Action: Install low-flow showerheads

Assumptions: Household takes two showers per day for eight minutes each; savings comes from heating water.

Action: Plant five trees in your yard

Assumptions: Some of the savings comes from reduced AC use as the result of shade from the trees.

Action: Line dry two loads of laundry per week

Assumptions: Machine-drying four loads of laundry uses 690 kilowatt-hours of electricity

Food

The biggest lever to cut food emissions is to stop producing more food than we need. The United Nations estimates that the annual carbon footprint of global food waste is 4.4 gigatons of CO2 equivalent. Americans, specifically, waste about 25 percent of the food we buy. According to Project Drawdown, adopting a vegetarian diet can also cut emissions, by about 63 percent, while going vegan can reduce them by as much as 70 percent. Agriculture is a major source of greenhouse gas emissions, and meat and dairy production are the big contributors. Even cutting back on animal products can make a difference.

Action: Cut five servings a week of …

Beef, pork, lamb

Other (processed meats, nuts …)

Poultry and eggs

Fats, oils, sugar and processed foods

Dairy

Do individual choices matter?

When Cobb looked at her carbon footprint, she found that flying represented about 85 percent of her emissions. So she joined a community of people on Twitter who resolved to fly less, and she committed to cutting her business and personal flights by 30 percent. With the group’s support, she dropped another 30 percent the next year, but it wasn’t always easy. Her pledge didn’t make her many friends within the academic community initially. But the goal of flying less has become more mainstream, at least among her colleagues, as she’s shown it can be done.

“It started as an individual action,” she says, but her decision to forgo certain work travel created new opportunities for virtual conferences and other flying alternatives for her colleagues, too. “It has transformed into a collective-scale action to shift cultural norms,” Cobb says.

Social influence can drive change, says Diana Ivanova, a research fellow at the School of Earth and Environment at University of Leeds in England who reviewed emissions reduction options in April in Environmental Research Letters. If you see other people taking steps to shrink their carbon footprints, “you may feel more empowered to enact changes yourself.”

Researchers call this transmission of ideas and behaviors through a population “behavioral contagion.” That’s where individual action can be a potent force for change, says Robert Frank, a Cornell University economist. “Installing solar panels, buying an electric vehicle or adopting a more climate-friendly diet don’t just increase the likelihood of others taking similar steps, it also deepens one’s sense of identity as a climate advocate,” Frank writes in his 2020 book, Under the Influence: Putting Peer Pressure to Work. Those actions can also encourage other meaningful actions, like supporting candidates who favor climate-protecting legislation.

Some of the most significant action is happening at state and local levels. Your mayor and city council have a lot of power to reduce the community’s carbon footprint, says Cobb, who found herself getting more involved with each success. She was elected traffic chair of her neighborhood board in 2017 and is now working on improving biking infrastructure to make cycling safer for everyone.

Individual actions can create ripple effects, says ecological economist Julia Steinberger of University of Leeds. Teenage climate activist Greta Thunberg helped spread awareness about aviation emissions, and now overnight train lines between European cities are reopening. “It wasn’t a big industry-wide decision or government regulation. It was a bunch of people deciding, we don’t want to fly anymore,” Steinberger says.

from Tips By Frank https://www.sciencenews.org/article/climate-change-actions-reduce-carbon-footprint

[vin-taege]

Luckystrike

Summary: Jung Hoseok cheated his way through everything, starting high school. However, he was too good at it, and found himself in the top section of his school, garnering him much attention and putting him in competitions he didn’t even want to be in. How can he survive now?

Genre: Crack, occasional fluff, smut Just expect crack. SchoolBoy!Hoseok

Warning: mentions of drug use

Words: 4k+

Freshmen- 40 Minutes into the Exam

“I literally don’t know what the answer is. Please help me out”, he pleaded to Jinyoung for what felt like the hundredth time. The shaggy-haired boy cocked his head and grinned, raising an eyebrow to show his noncompliance. It was just the first quarter, and three-fourths of his exam paper was still blank. 

A feeling of dread settled in him. There was no way he was going to pass without any help, and the only help he was close to was too much of a dick to even give him at least a hint. 

“Why would I do that, Jung? Tell me, what would I gain?” Jinyoung smirked at him, knowing for a fact how fucked he was. Hoseok gripped the edge of his desk, slowly getting aggravated by each passing second.

“I-I don’t fucking know. I’ll do your projects, write your notes, literally anything. Just please... At least-at least the answers to test two, number four?” he wanted to laugh at how desperate he sounded just for a slick 83 in his card. He also wanted to punch Jinyoung right there for being a douche.

“Ah, tough luck. A few girls down up in 1-A already offered me that for a little bit of...” he trailed on, gesturing towards his crotch. Hoseok scrunched his in disgust as he turned away to look back at his paper.

The instructions meant nothing to him, only confusing him the more he read them. Everything wasn’t making sense, and the last thing he could remember from his science class was that mitochondria was the powerhouse of the cell. That was already one point for him. 

Then, he felt someone staring at him. Looking across the room, he saw a pair of slanted, brown eyes looking straight at him. 

The boy raised an eyebrow, then mouthed something: ‘Help?’ Hoseok shot back a look of confusion. Slowly, he shrugged, careful to not draw much attention to himself. He was met with a gummy smile, then the boy brought up his wrist as if he was going to lean on his hand. The absurdity of the situation seemed ridiculous, until he saw a strip of paper lodged underneath the boy’s watch.

His eyes glinted in mischief and new found hope. He took a quick glance at the teacher, who was thankfully too busy grading papers, then gave a swift nod to the boy. 

He intently watched as the brunet wrapped the paper around the inside of a pen, then dropped it to the floor. After that, he gave it a kick, letting it roll across the floor, precisely hitting Hoseok’s desk. 

Hoseok gave him a thankful smile, swiftly getting the pen and jotting down the answers. Soon enough, every blank was filled, and he even corrected some of his own miscalculations. The formula to population density here,  the scientific name for a bacteria there. It was a guaranteed pass, and now with five minutes to spare. 

Jinyoung noticed him scribbling down, and looked over at him curiously. “Hey”, he whispered. “Where’d you get that from?” His eyes widened as he craned his neck to see some of the answers. Hoseok ignored him, mentally laughing at the turning of tables. 

“Kim Jinyoung, what do you think you’re doing?” Mr. Song’s voice broke through the room. Jinyoung froze, as if he was a deer caught by headlights. “I was just-”

“You know that cheating is a major offense. By doing so, you will automatically get a score of zero for the test, and a grade of 75 for conduct.”

“But I wasn’t-”

“Come with me to the guidance office right now!” Their teacher huffed, before turning his heel to exit the room. Jinyoung shot Hoseok a dirty look, then followed. 

From across the room, the brunet slouched in his chair, satisfied with his test, and with the damage he had caused.    

Sophomores- 10 Minutes ‘till Exam Time

Luckily, the proctor was just a substitute for this month’s exam. She didn’t know which parts of the classroom to watch over, or which students to keep a strict eye on. She didn’t even care to separate the students from their group of friends. Everything was just too perfect for Hoseok.

He was strategically sitting at the very back, on the second column. The seat was aligned exactly in such a way that Kim Namjoon was blocking the view from the teacher’s table, but Hoseok was still able to see his paper. That, in case he hasn't written down the answer beforehand. 

He continued writing down the formulas on a small slip of paper, which would then be slipped in his jacket sleeve. Every single note he had was hidden all around his body, ranging from his jacket to even on the band of his boxers. Obviously, he couldn’t just rely on the cheat sheets. There was definitely going to be some un-discussed material in the exam, and that’s what Yoongi was for. 

“Hyung, remember the signs alright?” he took another look at the grumpy sitting to his left. Yoongi, as always, shot him a dirty look. “I know, Hobi. You haven’t been shutting up about it since last week. One pen tap for ‘a’, two for ‘b’, three for-”

“Sh, keep your voice down!” The younger one hastily whispered. Yoongi looked around with a bored expression, then faced Hoseok again. “No one’s paying attention to us. They’re too busy reviewing. You know, the thing you normally do instead of cheating”, he smirked at the younger one’s annoyed face.

Even though he was a bit of an asshole, Min Yoongi was one of the few people Hoseok actually respected and looked up to. Aside from helping him a year ago, the self-proclaimed genius was living up to a legend, only he could achieve.  Yoongi rarely recited in class, and as far as he knew, he hasn’t reviewed for a single exam, though he still managed to pass every single one of them. Hoseok wanted to be like that. The ‘joys’ of learning didn’t really appeal to him that much, and the only reason he was in that school was because of his parents.

“Yah, Hoseok”, he looked back at the sleepy-looking boy next to him. “It’s negative ‘b’, plus-minus the square root of ‘b’ squared, minus 4ac over your sorry ass. Got that?”

Hoseok scoffed jokingly, dismissing him with a wave of his hand. “Don’t worry, I do. I have everything right here,” he said, adjusting his sleeve one last time. “..wait, isn’t this a science exam?”

Yoongi gave him one of his famous gummy smiles. “You bet it is.”

30 Minutes into the Exam

He ran a hand over his hair, sliding it downwards his neck, then gingerly slipping it into his collar to get one of the hundreds of small cheat sheets. He used one hand to cover the other as he opened it, fumbling to write down the noble gases. He took another look at the question before swearing. He needed their atomic numbers, but he wasn’t able to write them down. 

“Pst, Yoongi,” he turned to his left, seeing the older boy’s head propped on one hand. “Min Yoongi!” he hissed louder, nervousness increasing as he glanced back at the teacher. 

If there was anything to learn from this whole situation, it would be to actually study before the exam, or to make a completed cheat sheet. The ray of sunshine and happiness Hoseok once had had been shot down because of some damn non-reactive gases, and he wasn’t having any of it today. 

Deciding that Yoongi was probably asleep (and wouldn’t be woken up), he leaned forward, trying to take a peek off Namjoon’s paper. It would’ve been perfect, since he rarely had any blank spaces, being the class’s genius and all. Except for the fact that his penmanship was beyond comprehension. 

Hoseok mentally groaned, silently wishing to stop time so he can get up and have a quick flip-through of his notebook. If he didn’t get a source, he’d lose ten points immediately, and his parents will surely kill him for that.

“Oh, you dropped your pen,” Yoongi’s groggy voice surprised him. The teacher snapped her head towards them, and Hoseok glanced between the two in shock and confusion, before setting his gaze on the pen- that certainly wasn’t his- on the floor. “Oh yeah, thanks. I was too busy re-checking my answers,” he smiled, feeling a surge of gratefulness rush through him.

He leaned down to get the pen, instantly noticing the ripped paper wrapped around the ink cartridge. After unscrewing the cap and getting the cartridge out without looking suspicious, he soon got two ripped pieces of paper, one of them containing the info he needed. He quickly took his real pen, scribbling down the noble gas notations, before re-assembling the pen, this time without the papers.

The second one was small, but still significantly larger. It wasn’t a formula, or a chemical bond. It was Yoongi’s lazy handwriting, lowkey pointing out Hoseok’s mistake. 

I literally took one look at your paper and knew you were fucked. You owe me lamb skewers, and I don’t want you running your mouth at me again if you have an uncompleted paper slip.

Great, at least he had thirty more minutes. He looked around the room, observing as his classmates either furrowed their eyebrows or tapped on their desks while answering the test. When they were of no more interest, he sunk back in his chair, bowing his head and wrapping his arms around it to doze off until break time.

Juniors-Final Day ‘till Spring Break

Everyone was talking about the frat party going to be held at Park Jimin’s house. It was apparently better than the one at Jeon’s, but Hoseok paid no interest to it, even though the younger boy begged him to be the guest of honor. He even went as far as shoving fifty invitations in Hoseok’s locker each day. 

“Hyung, please. I swear it’ll be great! You could teach us your magic, if you know what I mean”, the orange-haired boy thumped him on the back. Hoseok rolled his eyes and continued across the halls, wishing that Yoongi would appear soon. He didn’t like talking about how he got 95′s on his card, despite almost never participating in class.

“Jimin, I’m not sure. I might get busy during the week”, he didn’t even want to think of an excuse. Jimin wouldn’t get swayed no matter what he said. He could say his aunt was about to die, and Jimin would still beg him to come to the party. 

In all honesty, he didn’t have anything against the younger boy. The current sophomores were actually fun to be around, but he just didn’t like the idea of hanging out with a bunch of younger girls willing to slut themselves out for him. Plus, parties meant conversations, and conversations meant lower years trying to get his cheating tactic. Though he needed it, he was ashamed of what he did, and didn’t want anyone else to do it. He felt guilty for getting false recognition, but he really couldn’t do anything to prevent it.

“But hyung~” Jimin pouted, stepping in front of him. He was about to reject him, when he saw a head of mint green hair bobbing through the sea of students. “Min Yoongi!” he shouted, side-stepping around Jimin to run off to the older boy. He was going to deal with him later. 

Yoongi’s grimace welcomed him, immediately shoving half the stack of books he was holding into the younger one’s hands. “Jimin again?” he lightly elbowed Hoseok as they watched the sophomore chat up some of the higher ups. “He went to me too, asking about the party. Are you coming?”

“I really want to sit this one out”, he sighed, weaving through the chattering lower levels as they made their way to the teacher’s lounge. “Hey, why are we getting called again?” he lowly whispered.

Yoongi shrugged, stepping closer to his friend as a girl approached them. Hoseok stopped in his tracks as doe eyes stared at him. You stood in front of them, eyeing your idol and rival from head to toe. “Hey! Have you heard of the party?” you smiled at them.

Hoseok suppressed a groan, and returned the smile you gave him. If it wasn’t for the fact he had a small crush on you, he would’ve told you to leave him alone and end the discussion. “Yeah, I have. But we’re not going”, he followed up.

Your smile faltered, causing his to do the same. “Ah, I see”, you nodded slowly. “I was hoping to get some studying tips from you” you grinned cutely. 

Guilt returned to him, knowing that you’d be downright disappointed once you found out the truth. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Well, I think I can make time on Saturday night”, he winked. Your grin stretched, in contrast to Yoongi’s sudden frown. 

“But you said-ouch!” Hoseok stomped on his foot, causing him to yelp, and almost spill the books he was holding. You laughed awkwardly, blushing at the male’s subtle flirting. “Anyway, what’s that?” he nodded at the stack of flyers you were carrying. 

You looked down at them, slightly embarrassed. “Well, I was saving up for college, and I wanted extra income, so I decided to open up a small something to help me” Basically, you were tired of eating instant ramen for breakast and dinner. The only ‘high-end’ food you had were the self-made bento boxes you copied off anime. However, there was no way you were touching your college savings just for a meal upgrade. “I gotta get going, but I’d love to hang out with you guys. Hit me up whenever”, you said, walking away from them.

After a few seconds of silence- and Yoongi glaring at him in pure hatred- he shot up. “She talked to me! Y/n talked to me!” he elbowed the older boy too enthusiastically. 

“Yes, I saw”, he hissed in return. “Congrats, you loser. May I remind you, we have plans on Saturday”, he continued walking, leaving Hoseok to catch up.

“Ah, I was bluffing hyung”, he laughed nervously. “I’d never trade my one and only brother even for Sasha Gray.” He gave him another thumped, causing Yoongi to cough.

“As if Sasha Gray would want you”, Yoongi chuckled. “Seriously, you promised.” His voice had a certain edge, telling Hoseok that he was actually going to be disappointed. “Yes, I know. Like I said, I was bluffing.”

They carried on, the halls getting less crowded as they got closer to the lounge. “Hyung, I’m nervous. What if they-”

“They won’t. If you act like a suspect, they’ll know you’re a suspect”, Yoongi shut him down. The door was a few steps away from them now. 

Hoseok’s been in the cheating game for way too long. He planned on stopping after that one test, but then other exams came, and the boy was simply too busy to study. There were other things to do; like practicing his dance routine, or plying Overwatch for six hours straight. The school system didn’t fit him, and he didn’t plan on adjusting to it either.

It was a miracle how the teachers haven’t caught on; or if they were, they weren’t hinting at it. He and Yoongi mainly communicated via pens, and for him, it was the oldest trick in the book. Some other methods they went through were hiding small papers in socks, faking a water bottle label and putting the electron configuration there instead of nutrients, and hiding formula codes in self-sealed candy wrappers. They were basically experts in the game.

“Hey, I knock, you talk?” Yoongi’s question sounded more of an order, so he shrugged; the older taking it as his cue, and balanced the books on one hand, using his free one to knock. Hoseok opened the door, to be greeted by a fourth of the faculty, with some getting ready to go home, others still busy computing grades on their laptops. “Good afternoon, ma’am, sir”, he said to particularly no one. The two boys spotted Mr. Song’s table to the left and awkwardly walked towards him.

“Ah, my favourite students”, he smiled at them. He’s been their adviser since freshman year, as he was supposed to ‘take care of’ and ‘cultivate’ the crème a la crème of their year’s batch. The older man took a liking to the two boys, since they always finished off at the top of the class. However, like the others, he hasn’t the slightest idea how. “Put them over here”, he waved a wrinkled hand over at a vacant chair.

“That’s all, sir?” Yoongi said, surprisingly politely. Mr. Song nodded, his mood happier than usual. Yoongi nodded at him and went back to the door, Hoseok following. Suddenly, his teacher spoke again. “Hoseok, can you stay here for a bit?”

The brunet looked at Yoongi, who in turn gave him a nod of approval and walked out. He stood in front of the desk, waiting for whatever Mr. Song wanted to say. It better be good because he was missing out on a smoke session with the underclassmen. 

“Hoseok, do you know how high your grades are?” Mr. Song gave him a crooked smile. “You’re one of the top performing students. You’re even close to knocking y/n off her spot”, he laughed. Hoseok awkwardly chuckled with him, lowkey getting flustered at the mention of your name.

“With grades like those, you already have a guaranteed place in next year’s pilot section.” The statement made him freeze. He’s walked by the seniors’ star section during break, and they never went out of their classrooms. Competition waited for him within those four corners of the room, and he didn’t want any extra pressure or stress from it. 

“What about Yoongi?” he found himself thinking of his old friend. There was no way he was going to survive without him. 

“Ah, well... Min Yoongi has high exam results, yes. But his performance is low. He hasn’t been turning in projects, and he has not participated in any group activity too. Performance plays a big part in your grades, and his is currently low. I’m sorry, but you might get separated in the next school year.”

“-so Bambam had the bong, right? I come in and I was like ‘Hey I just saw a police car down the road, I think we’re busted’, and he just deadass tried to shove the whole thing in his pants”, the group erupted with laughter, all of them too high to comprehend what was happening. There was a knock on the door, catching Taehyung’s attention. “Ah, I think Hobitch finally came.”

Before he could open the door, it slammed on his face, followed by a distressed Hoseok entering. “Guys- oh shit, sorry Tae”, the sophomore gave him a glare, before using his leg as a balance to get up. “Guys, I have some news- Can you please stop the fucking piano?!” Yoongi slammed down the keys and turn to face him. “What?”

His eyes weren’t red, meaning- thank God- he was sober. Hoseok really didn’t want to break the news when all his friends were drug-induced. 

“Song said I might get into 1-A next year”

Everyone’s jaw slacked. Even Taehyung, who was going for another hit, stopped to stare at him through dazed eyes. “Hyung, you’re gonna be so dead”, he mumbled.

“I know! I’m scared, and I don’t know how to fit in with all those other grade conscious, textbook students”, he frantically waved his hands around.

“Won’t y/n be there?” Yoongi grinned at him. Hoseok ran a hand over his hair, ruffling it a few times. “Yes, and she’s gonna see me fail. There’s no way anyone’s gonna help me during exams. They’re all too-”

“Power hungry?” “Snobbish asses?” “Selfish?”

“They’re all too upright. You know... they’d never tolerate cheating”, he huffed, sitting down next to Yoongi. “I’m going to end up re-taking the year if I get in.”

The mint-haired boy snorted, wrapping an arm around Hoseok. “Maybe it’s time to get actual help then”, he said, shoving a flyer in the brunet’s hands.

He looked at it, eyes widening as he saw your name, along with your contact number. “You got me a date with her?’ Yoongi smacked his head, earning a groan from him. “No, you idiot. Read the whole thing.”

His eyes scanned the flyer, eyebrows furrowing as he finished reading. “A tutorial service?” he said slowly. Yoongi nodded at him. “Why would I need a tutor?” Yoongi let out an exasperated sigh. 

“To help you, duh. You might think senior year’s the most laidback year, but in reality, it’s just as stressful as junior. You have requirements to attend to, all the while maintaining a high academic score. Knowing you, you’re gonna drown at the first quarter”, he said, mint hair shaking as he laughed. 

Hoseok scoffed, feigning offense. “Thanks for the good intention,but no thanks. I’d rather spend time with her by going out on a date. Not by graphing inequalities”, he said, although he still folded the flyer neatly and put it in his pocket.

“You could do a little something after graphing those inequalities”, Taehyung trailed on, laughing at his own joke. Hoseok gave him a disgusted look. “Hey, first of all, I’m not in it for the sex, though it would be fucking amazing. Second, I’m not getting a tutor.” he hissed at Yoongi. “I couldn’t just tell her ‘Hey y/n, I cheated my way through high school, and now I don’t think I can because there’s no one to copy off. Can you tutor me?’” 

“Fine,” the older boy shrugged in return. “If you want to get pre-maturely kicked out because of bad grades, then suit yourself.”

Spring Break

He looked at the address again, making sure that he was at the right place. With a slightly shaking hand, he knocked on your door. After a few moments, when no one answered, he knocked again. Finally, he heard a soft voice call out. “Just a minute!”

You just woke up, mad as ever because it was 7am on a Saturday. Who the fuck gets up on 7am on a Saturday? Four hours of sleep weren’t enough to power you through the day, and it pissed you off since you perfectly planned to sleep ‘till noon after finishing Hwarang (wherein one of the characters had an uncanny resemblance to a stoner from the lower year). 

After a quick shower, you put on a shirt and some slacks, rubbing the sleep off your eyes as you headed to the door.  The first thing you thought of doing was to scream at whoever asshole robbed you of your sleep, but as you saw Hoseok’s smile, your anger vanished. “Hi, Hobi”, you grinned at him. “What brought you here?”

You moved aside, making space for him to come in. He was wearing a sweater over a collared-shirt, and jeans. His hand was clutching his phone, and even though the outfit was simple, it made him look like a prince. For you, it wasn’t only his looks, but also his intellect that mattered. 

“Ah... I was here to ask about the tutoring”, he showed you the unfolded flyer. A blush crept on your cheeks. “Oh? Did you want to help out?” You both sat down on the sofa. The tutoring session would give you extra time to get close to him. It was just too perfect.

‘No, I actually wanted to get tutored’ he wanted to scream out, but the smile on your lips was just too sweet to deny. Choking down his logic, he nodded. “Y-yeah, I really did want to help out”, his nervousness melted as your smile got bigger. “That’s so cool! I actually have two kids scheduled on Friday. They’re sophomores, so the lessons aren’t really hard.”

‘What do you mean the lessons ‘aren’t really hard’, I almost failed math because of probability’, Maybe he did make a mistake. Just by talking to you made him feel the 75′s on his card. If Yoongi could hear the conversation right now, he knew the older boy would shake his head in disappointment. ‘You just fucking screwed yourself over, Hobitch.’

*

“You did what?!” Yoongi was so close to pulling his hair out. “It was an in-the-moment thing! Plus, how hard is it to tutor some brats?” he tried explaining, though he couldn’t believe himself either. 

“You just fucking screwed yourself over, Hobitch”, Yoongi sneered at him. It was weird how he predicted he’d say that. They stood opposite each other, a Lego model of the Death Star between them. Yoongi didn’t know whether to laugh at Hoseok’s fuck-uppery or beat the shit out of him to make him think straight. He chose the latter.

The thing about people shorter than you is that you couldn’t really prevent their leg from hitting your crotch in time. Much to Yoongi’s dismay, Hoseok landed right on top of the Lego build they’ve been working on for 5 hours. “What was that for?” Hoseok groaned. He didn’t know what hurt more, the kick or the Legos pressed against him. 

“That’s what happens when you do stupid things”, he huffed, nudging the boy’s curled up form off the Legos. “Fuck, it’s gonna take us 5 hours again, plus one more to pick up all the pieces”, he wrinkled his nose, picking up a chunk of the model to examine. 

“Yoongs, can you just please help me out? Review me on the past lessons or something”, Yoongi fake-gasped as he heard Hoseok’s words. “Review? ‘Hoseok’ and ‘review’ can never combine in one sentence.” He knelt next to the brunet, and placed a hand lightly on his neck. “Are you sure you’re the real Hobi?”

Hoseok shrugged his hand off, taking a peek from his shut eyes. “Give me an overview of math for all I care.”

Yoongi stayed beside him in silence, before sighing and getting up. “Sure. I swear, Jung, your favors are stacking up”

He went to his bookshelf and scanned the titles, finally finding the one he’s looking for. He pulled out a thick book, with Geometry 8 written on the cover. He turned back to see a now much better Hoseok frowning at him. 

“Okay, Hobi. You need to master at least three-fourths of this book by tonight if you want to impress y/n.” He sat next to Hoseok, swatting the Lego parts all in one big mound. “Let’s work our way from Proving up to Probability. Then after that, I can help you pick what clothes to wear”, he winked at him.

[baepsaetan]

Nothing Planted, Nothing Gained (Namjin)

Summary: In which Namjoon is a student struggling through university with the help of his roommates Hoseok and Yoongi. Tae, Jimin and Kookie are their take-out swiping neighbours. Jin is a stranger who brings flowers into all of their lives.

Genre: Fluff, University!AU

Warnings: N/A

Length: 9.6k words

A/N: Just a lot of fluff and puns and flowers. Namjin is cute and so is Yoonseok, and everyone involved approves.

Sprawled out on the lumpy brown couch, one leg slung over the arm rest, using Hoseok as a precarious pillow instead of the couch backing with its numerous uncomfortable spots, Namjoon switched channels with a lazy flick of his fingers across the remote. Next to him Hobi stirred, a faint complaint rising in his throat but never actually voiced. Rules were rules after all, and they’d already watched three episodes of Hit the Stage. It was Namjoon’s turn to pick, and he’d be damned if he missed another Friends re-run so Hoseok could leap out of his seat and attempt to copy every other move of the contestants on the show. (He already knew at least 80% of the steps anyways, and that number was probably being stingy.) His roommate settled down after a moment and Namjoon leaned into him more, knowing he was taking a risk (Hobi liked to jump up unexpectedly) but too tired to care.

As Chandler, Joey and Ross bickered their way through some crisis or another, Namjoon let his mind wander. He was going to have to go back to the university today – he’d forgotten a textbook he needed to complete his paper – and despite living on campus, he was dreading it. You could call it sheer laziness, but with Sunday being his only day off from school and his part-time job, the thought of hauling himself over to McCaig Tower to grab something so minimal was irritating at best. Thus, his butt was still planted firmly on the couch, with no intention of leaving any time soon.

There was a shuffling of feet from down the hallway, which suggested Yoongi had finally reanimated enough to get out of bed. Sure enough, the pale man slouched through the living room, kicking aside the boxers sitting behind the couch, and crossed into the kitchen without a word. He reappeared a minute or so later with a bowl of cereal in his hands, which he proceeded to eat whilst staring blearily into space.

“Morning hyung,” Hoseok greeted cheerfully from the couch, utterly unfazed by the grunt that Yoongi gave in response.

Actually, Namjoon was a bit surprised to see him around so early in the morning; it was only ten, and given that he’d probably fallen asleep at five or six, it was odd he’d woken up. There was no point in questioning Yoongi about it – he didn’t feel like trying to translate monosyllabic replies – so Namjoon turned back to the TV, a comfortable silence settling over the three roommates. He’d lucked out with these two, though honestly, he couldn’t have imagined two more different people. At least - despite the glaringly dissimilar personalities - they all got along well. Oh, there were arguments, but they’d been living together for two years now and had more or less figured out how to fix problems as they arose.

Unlike the three idiots across the hall. A slight frown pulling across his mouth, he glanced at their door as though he could see through it and into the absolutely chaotic mess that belonged to the freshmen who’d moved in a few months ago. In and of themselves, he didn’t mind them. They were funny, usually helpful and an enthusiastic bunch altogether; having parties with them had proven to be an altogether fun experience. But when they fought… Namjoon had literally never heard such a cacophony of complaints and insults and strung out arguments. Last night, if the thin walls of the dorms spoke true, they’d been fighting about who’s turn it was to do the dishes.

Amateurs. That’s what schedules were for.

“Yoongi-hyung?” Namjoon asked, twisting to observe their oldest roommate, who was looking more and more alive with every spoonful of sugar he shoved into his mouth. The producing major raised an eyebrow with the plastic spoon still hanging from his mouth; he was awake enough to answer questions, it seemed.

“I ended up putting in my earphones to block them out. How long were Taehyung, Jungkook and Jimin fighting for?”

A shrug of small shoulders, but after he’d finished slurping up the last of the milk, Yoongi answered. “Tae tapped out around two, and I think Jungkook and Jimin gave up around three. Good thing too. I was about to go over there and break all their damn dishes so they wouldn’t have anything to fight over.” Not an entirely idle threat – Yoongi was something of a terror when he was working on a project, especially by the end when he was running on a few hours of sleep at a time – but Hoseok let out an explosive laugh like he’d made the greatest joke in the world. After a second, Yoongi grudgingly smiled, the expression lightening the strained lines of his face and diminishing the painful bruises under his eyes.

“Seriously,” he muttered, but without heat, and disappeared around the corner to put his dish away.

Namjoon smiled too, fond and pleased, grateful all over that he’d gotten these two as roommates. Hoseok could draw Yoongi out of all but his worst moods and he kept their apartment reasonably clean, and Yoongi was great at planning their foods and necessities and made party playlists like no other. The two got along so well it was amazing they hadn’t taken further steps, and honestly it would probably make things a little easier for the both of them if one of them finally confessed. Less heart eyes and more heart action. Or at least some kind of action that involved two people instead of just one. Well, as for Namjoon… he broke stuff, settled arguments, made sure his actions were discreet, and tended to treat the others more than he treated himself. All in all, not a bad deal.

There was a knock on the door, and Namjoon had just enough time to regret his kind thoughts before Hoseok vacated his solemn duty as cushion and bounded off the couch. A wild flail wasn’t – quite – enough to save himself from falling off the battered sofa with his support gone, but it was enough to knock the remote flying. It hit the floor at about the same time as Namjoon did, the taped back cracking open on impact and scattering the batteries in separate directions with a metallic clatter.

There was a mixture of two familiar voices – Yoongi drawling, “Aish, Namjoonie,” from the kitchen and Hoseok’s bright voice saying, “Yo, what can we do for you?” from the door – before Namjoon managed to get his limbs under control and sit up from his awkward sprawl. He was just in time to catch a lightly frank reply. “Well, I’m your new roommate. Kim Seokjin. It’s nice to meet you!”

Hoseok’s confused choking sound was audible even from across the room, and Namjoon hurriedly got to his feet as Yoongi practically skidded out of the kitchen, both pairs of eyes fixed on the unexpected visitor. He was more than partially visible even with Hobi in the doorway, broad shoulders doing a great job of taking up space, and even as Namjoon strode forward the visitor leaned around Hoseok, gave an extravagant wave. Seokjin didn’t seem particularly perturbed by any of their reactions, not Yoongi’s suspicious squint or Hobi’s wide-eyed stare or Namjoon’s puzzled observation. If anything, he seemed to get brighter as they all crowded the entrance. At least, he smiled at them all.

And Namjoon swore to God that if the boy hadn’t been holding a potted plant under his arm, a massive suitcase leaning against his hip on the other side, that smile, set on full lips against a breathtaking face, would have been attractive enough to make him forget where he was. Alas. There was a suitcase. And some kind of flower.

Clearing his throat (because even if he couldn’t forget, he could still lose his breath a little) Namjoon gently edged Hoseok more to the side. “Hey,” he said, still struggling with his confusion and… other things. “My name’s Namjoon. Kim Namjoon. This is Min Yoongi and Jung Hoseok. I’m sorry, did I hear you say you’re our new roommate?” As far as he was aware, they weren’t up for a new roomie this semester (or any semester if Yoongi had anything to do with it. And considering he was the one who filled out all their housing forms every term, he kinda did) and yet there was an easy certainty in Seokjin, a confidence that gave Namjoon a few doubts.

It wasn’t like the housing department hadn’t ever screwed up before. Hoseok still wasn’t fully recovered from the toilet incident, and Namjoon had only just managed to stop those movers from dumping a towering cabinet into their living room because “housing said it was supposed to go there.” Maybe this time they’d neglected to tell the current tenants of a new roommate?

Seokjin laughed, a sound that came from his whole body and made something in Namjoon’s stomach tighten. “Yeah, you heard right. You guys look a little startled. Is it the plant? I promise I’m not into that kind of potting.” A delay of half a second and then Hoseok snickered, bouncing on the balls of his feet while Namjoon felt an unintentional smile curing up the corners of his mouth. Seokjin lifted up the flower tucked under his arm, proudly displaying it, and said, “See?”

Indeed, it was definitely not a pot plant (not that Namjoon would know anything about that). He knew about as much as the next city boy about flowers, but it had dark green leaves that were covered with purplish fuzz that looked like velvet. Maybe… it was a fern of some kind? The only other thing Namjoon knew was that his skin was itching just looking at the thing, and that contact with it would probably result in spectacular rashes and hives. There was a reason (besides their inability to keep anything besides themselves alive) that their apartment was a plant-free zone.

“It looks great,” Namjoon agreed neutrally, “but, the thing is -”

“We’re not supposed to have another roommate.” Yoongi’s first words were overly sharp, making Namjoon wince inwardly as the first signs of insecurity drifted across the soft panes of Seokjin’s face, his wide eyes giving a few rapid blinks. Either Yoongi realized his tone was too harsh or the shifting Namjoon felt somewhere behind was Hoseok giving him a surreptitious kick, because the short man shrugged and added, “I mean, housing is a bunch of colossal screw-ups. Not your fault if they made a mistake. Which room are you supposed to be in?”

Free hand curling into the baggy pocket of his light beige sweater, Seokjin took out a crisply folded piece of paper, smoothed it out and squinted at it for a few heartbeats before proffering it in much the same way as he had the plant. “Apartment 352,” he said, blinking hard enough that his face scrunched cutely.

Shoving down the soft sound that was hovering far too close to escape, Namjoon shook his head slightly, ignoring Yoongi’s relieved sigh. “352 isn’t ours. It’s across the hall.” He wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or not, but he had to admit he was a little curious about how their new neighbor had managed to miss the large, cheap plastic numbers to the right of their door that said ‘351’.

For one second Seokjin just stared at him, his delicate eyebrows drawing down in bewilderment, before he pulled back the paper, holding it protectively close to his chest. “Oh,” he said in a rather small voice, and Namjoon wasn’t sure why he looked so crestfallen. Something about him – the confidence from before, maybe - made it seem like he wasn’t often deflated. Seokjin’s eyes flitted to the side – probably looking at the numbers – and his already pink face abruptly flushed red, eyebrows furrowing deeper. It looked like he was struggling to hold something back, but the struggle didn’t last for long. Abruptly he burst out in an indignant rush, “Yah! Should I call myself blind? Why does your door say 352, then?”

Several moments of startled silence passed before a sneaking suspicion made Namjoon glance at Yoongi, seeing the same suspicion stirring on his roommate’s face. “You don’t think they…?” Yoongi began in a tightly foreboding voice, and Namjoon shook his head.

“They better not have.” Except, as he leaned around Seokjin with an apologetic murmur, one hand on the doorframe to balance himself, Namjoon already knew what he would see. Someone had taken the 1 in 351 and replaced it with a 2. The two was slightly crooked. And by “someone” he meant… Looking across the hall, sure enough, the younger boys’ room was decorated with a 351. It was with some chagrin that Namjoon noted that they’d managed to get their numbers straight.

Hoseok took one look at his face and chuckled. “They did it again, didn’t they?”

He raked his hand through his hair in a swift motion, turning back to the impatiently confused Seokjin. “Sorry,” Namjoon said. “I get it now. The freshmen across the hall… your roommates, I guess… they’ve switched our numbers before. When we ordered takeout, the delivery guy went to their door instead and since we already paid for it…” He still regretted missing out on that order of bulgogi, and after the amount he’d lectured them, and Yoongi had made idle observations about how easy it would be to hide bodies under the school field, he was a bit incredulous they’d be willing to do it again.

Apparently, he’d underestimated their love of free food.

Seokjin’s eyes had widened in something that was suspiciously close to delight, and even before Namjoon had finished he was snorting, a quiet sound that quickly grew into a full-fledged gasp that might have held a hint of relief. He’d probably thought they were playing a mean-spirited prank when they’d lied straight to his face. “You’re telling me my roommates are take-out takers? Inconvenient convenience food thieves?”

“You don’t have to sound so happy about it,” Yoongi grumbled while Namjoon clasped his hand over his mouth to hide the silly smile fighting – and winning – it’s way across his lips.

Seokjin beamed. “Sorry! It’s Yoongi, right? But anyways, I should go greet the grub grabbers.” There was something utterly unapologetic – even gleeful -  about his expression as all three of them groaned, Yoongi covering his face with his hands, and he gave a little wave. “Sorry for taking up your guys’ time.”      

Hobi matched the sunny smile after recovering from the spout of alliteration. “Don’t worry neighbor!” he exclaimed, grinning and sweeping out his arms. “Easy mistake to make. Do you need any help moving in? Your roomies are all young punks, they probably won’t offer to help.”

Not really true – Taehyung and Jungkook had nearly killed themselves helping Yoongi haul up the ugly couch they were now the proud owners of while Hoseok and Namjoon were working, and Jimin would have helped if he wasn’t taking an exam – but the comment had Seokjin shrugging and shaking his head with amiable ease. “Nah, nah,” he said. “This is all I have right now. Actually…”

He leaned around all of them, peering critically into the apartment, and Namjoon felt a prickle of embarrassment. From the door, you could see into both the kitchen and the living room, and into the hallway that led off to the room that Hobi and Yoongi shared as well as Namjoon’s own room. It wasn’t that messy, but they probably could have picked up the boxers on the floor, or thrown out the empty snack bag on the couch, and the near life-size Ryan doll in the corner was maybe a bit much.

Seokjin stared at the Ryan doll long enough to have Namjoon shifting, but then he seemed to snap out of it and rocked back on his heels, smiling. “I thought so. You guys have a balcony, right?”

“If you want to definite it as a balcony, sure,” Namjoon said dryly, looking over his shoulder at the sliding glass door in the living room that led out onto the “balcony”. The little ledge – maybe three feet of space – looked like it’d been added as an afterthought, just like the rest of the balconies on this side of the building, and it didn’t have a rail or anything. Namjoon supposed you could stand out there (before he’d quit smoking, Yoongi had done just that), but housing had strongly advised against it, and so did self-preservation. Falling from the third floor of an apartment complex would be a great excuse to skip exams, but it’d probably be a great excuse to skip the rest of life, too.        

Their neighbor’s nod was so enthused he almost looked like a bobble head, and Namjoon had to hide his smile behind his hand again. “I thought so,” Seokjin repeated with no small satisfaction. “I saw it when I visited here last week to sign the papers and finish my living arrangements. That’s why I got this guy.” He waved the plant around a little wildly, and Namjoon hurriedly leaned away. Seokjin dropped his arm after a moment, eyebrows furrowing in complacent contemplation. “Are there balconies on the other side?”

It took them a second, the roommates exchanging considering glances, but eventually Namjoon shrugged. “I don’t think so. I don’t remember seeing a door in your room.” Maybe the already lackluster balcony plans had fallen through along with the budget by the time the builders got around to the other side of the building. They certainly hadn’t fully completed the recreation room on the first floor, or finished painting the front lobby. He supposed that was the reason that these dorms were so inexpensive, and neither he nor his roommates were much inclined to complain about it.

Seokjin also took the news in stride. Broad shoulders giving a shrug, the university student tilted his head back and forth a few times before he abruptly seemed to come to a decision. “You don’t have any plants, do you?”

“No,” Hoseok replied, glancing back into their apartment. “Namjoon-ah is-”

“Then you can have this!” Quite ruthlessly, Seokjin was abruptly shoving the flower into Namjoon’s unsuspecting hands despite his muddled protests, and there was a fragmented moment in which Namjoon struggled desperately with the smooth pot before it began to slip from his fingers. He had just enough time to have some partial vision of a future in which the pot was broken on the floor, the flower dead and Seokjin never spoke to him again, before Hoseok was abruptly there, smoothly rescuing the plant just as it dropped out of his grasp. The leaves brushed against the skin of his arms and hands as Hobi pulled it up and into his steady hold, and Namjoon could practically feel the welts that would be springing up in the next few minutes.

Yoongi snorted. “You’re giving it to the wrong person, Seokjin. Namjoon-ah is-”

“Really clumsy.” Still recovering from the near-drop, Namjoon barely managed to interrupt his hyung in time, and he wasn’t even entirely sure why he did it as Yoongi shot him a sharp look. It was just – Seokjin was beaming, an energetically, utterly unreserved amusement shining in the flush dusting his round cheeks, in the wide darkness of his eyes, and Namjoon didn’t want to have anything to do with dimming that harmless happiness, even if he was allergic to most flowers. Even if having flowers around wasn’t exactly convenient.

“I can see that,” Seokjin giggled in reply to Namjoon, a surprisingly high pitched sound that jumped into a squeaking note that was… it was damn adorable, honestly.

Namjoon blushed stupidly, smiling in sheepish apology and only vaguely appalled at how hot he was getting. “Sorry,” he said, voice dropping lower in an embarrassment that had nothing to do with almost letting the pot fall. “Promise I’ll be more careful next time. Uh… are you sure you want to give us this?”

Part of him was hoping Seokjin would change his mind, but another part of him was relieved when he nodded firmly. “Yeah, I am. I was going to get more, anyways. I love flowers,” he confided with an unabashed smile, another quick laugh. “Just take care of it, okay? You should put it out on the ledge while it’s nice out; it doesn’t need much more than watering, though if you got a trellis or a hanging basket for it, it would grow better.” His concern for the plant was blatant, and Hoseok’s grip became tighter, almost like he was imagining Seokjin’s horror if he were to be the one to murder the flower.

The sigh he heaved seemed to be pulled from the depth of his being, and Yoongi flicked one hand, dismissive. “We got it. Don’t worry, even Hobi can’t mess up watering a flower.”

While Hoseok gave an indignant exclamation, Seokjin smiled at Yoongi, his soft eyes blinking gratefully. “Thank you,” he said with simple gratitude, so sincere that Namjoon had the novel experience of seeing his hyung blush, just faintly, and jerk his shoulders in the universal sign for “don’t mention it”.

Taking a deep breath, their unexpected visitor threw back his head, looking at them for one more moment. “Well, it was really nice meeting you. I’m sure we’ll see each other again. I hope we do.” Namjoon wasn’t entirely sure if he was imagining the way that Seokjin looked just at him when he said that last bit. He probably was. His psych classes taught him more than enough about wish fulfillment in the human psyche, and wow did he wish Seokjin was just saying that to him.

“Yeah, please don’t be a stranger, stranger!” Hoseok insisted. “You can come visit your flowers.” He gently shook the plant, just enough to make it sway like it was waving goodbye, and the grin he and Seokjin shared could have given a storm cloud second thoughts about its chosen profession.

Yoongi was less warm, but even he managed a pale smile. “Keep those kids in line, will you?” he asked, angling his head to indicate the door across the hall. “They could use a hyung to set a good example.”

Utterly without negative judgement, Namjoon still wasn’t entirely sure Yoongi was putting his faith in the right person, but Seokjin nodded, quite seriously. He then reached out, carefully pried the 2 off of the wall beside the rest of the numbers where it had been stuck with several pieces of tape folded on the back. Lifting the number high over his head, his voice taking on a stern cast, Seokjin said, “I’ll tell you this, seriously. The second I became their roommate, their number was up!”

“Haha!” Namjoon couldn’t stop the startled laughter that broke sharply from him at the ridiculously stupid, clever joke, and though he clapped his hand over his mouth to stop the sound, the damage was done. Seokjin laughed too, loud and brazen, and a second later Hoseok burst in, making Namjoon drop his hand, and then they were all laughing so hard it was impossible to scale back the hilarity. In the midst of the uproar Yoongi muttered something that was probably unflattering and stalked back into the dorm, disappearing into his room, but none of them could be very apologetic.

When they finally got a hold of themselves – Seokjin with hiccupping gasps, Namjoon with tears of amusement in his eyes, Hobi with bright red cheeks – Namjoon wiped hastily at his eyes, straightening up a bit. “Ah… ah, thank you, Seokjin. It was nice meeting you, too. And don’t mind Yoongi-hyung too much. He has a lot of work to do right now.”

Unsurprisingly, Seokjin didn’t seem the least bit offended. He didn’t seem to take much of anything too much to heart. “It’s fine. I’ll have a lot of school work to do, too, so I understand. And just so you know – most of my friends call me Jin.” His head tilted, full lips curling up into a cute expression. “You can call me that, if you want.”

Namjoon stared at him before hurriedly clearing his throat. Jin. He liked that. “Okay. Jin. Got it. Feel free to stop by later if you need anything; we’re usually around on Sundays.” He almost held himself from saying anything more, but then he felt Hoseok’s finger poking him sharply in the back, and with that prod, Namjoon brushed his hand over his hair, added, “We’d – Umm, I’d love to talk again, if you’ve got time.”

“Great,” Jin said immediately, with what seemed to be real pleasure. “I’ll get everything settled and see if I can’t drop in later. Until then, Hoseok, Namjoon…” With an enthusiastic wave, the boy wrestled his suitcase around, began to tug it over to the dorm across the hall. Namjoon waited until he’d made it to the other apartment without being flattened by his bag before he closed the door, a fluttering nervousness in the pit of his stomach.

As soon as the door was shut Hoseok set down the plant on the plastic folding stand that served as their dining room table, chuckling softly to himself, seemingly unaware of his roommate’s reaction. “That was funny. Yoongi-hyung’s face when he thought we were getting a new roommate… And ‘their number was up’… Ah, I think this will be good for the kids, too, having someone to look after them. What did you think of Jin, Joonie? Joonie? What’re you doing?”

Caught with Ryan in a headlock as he tried to drag the big lion through the living room, Namjoon froze, his eyes darting guilty to Hobi. “I – I’m just - uh…” Drawing himself up, he made his voice stop breaking. “I’ve been meaning to move him to my room for a while now. Yoongi-hyung’s always complaining that he’s an eyesore.”

With a puzzled little smile, Hoseok shook his head. “You know Yoongi-hyung doesn’t mean that. He thinks Ryan is cute.” A pause, and then a bloodcurdling (to Namjoon) understanding broke across his face. “Jin’s not going to care if he’s there, Joonie. He’ll probably think he’s cute, too.” When Namjoon opened his mouth to protest, Hoseok excitedly waved his attempts aside. “Yah, don’t lie! Why else would you have accepted the plant? You liiiike him!” The wiry boy swept up the plant again, danced around with the flowers in an energetic display. “Who would have thought?” he asked the deep purple leaves, and they almost seemed to dance as well. “Our Joonie has a crush! Wah, so, sooo cute!”

It took about five minutes for Hobi to calm down, and by then Namjoon had given up on moving Ryan and put him back in his corner (secretly praying Hoseok would be right about Jin not caring), and washed his hands thoroughly in the sink in the hopes of delaying the spread of his rash. That finished, he began to tidy up the apartment, starting with the broken remote. As expected, he was beginning to get a red stain across his hands, but it wasn’t very severe, and in light of everything else, it was pretty easy to ignore. Hugging the potted flowers to his chest, still almost vibrating with excitement, Hobi watched him at work before he said, “Although you know, Namjoon, I dunno what you’re gonna do with this guy. What if he learns you don’t like flowers?”

“He won’t learn,” Namjoon replied tartly. “He’ll just see a very well looked after plant and that’ll be it. Besides, I like flowers, I just… can’t take care of them.” His expression abruptly became calculating, and Hoseok paused in his fidgeting as Namjoon added, “I’m just so glad I have two wonderful hyungs.”

Wary and confused, Hoseok asked, “What do you…” His eyes drifted down to the pot, and abruptly he grimaced. “Oh.” It was his turn to look calculating. “You do all my turns at the dishes and I’ll water your plant.”

“I’ll take over one of your dish days and you’ll water our plant,” Namjoon corrected, and after a moment of consideration Hoseok grinned.

“Deal. Although remember I’m visiting my parents next week. You’ll have to get Yoongi-hyung to do it then.” Laughing, he opened the screen door. “Good luck with that.” Carefully he put the plant down, rotating it several times before stepping back to admire the way it seemed to immediately soak up the sun. “Ah, it’s kinda pretty, isn’t it?”

Namjoon stared at the velvety purple leaves, gently stirring in the light breeze, but he was thinking about a flushed, untroubled face, hearing a high and charming laugh. Running one finger across his lips, ignoring the itch of his hives beginning to break out across his hand, Namjoon smiled. “Yeah,” he agreed lightly. “Yeah, it is kinda pretty.”

—–

His books almost seemed to fight to spill out of his hands as he tried to balance them while unlocking the door to the dorm, but by some miracle Namjoon managed to open it without dropping any of them. His luck lasted for two steps into the apartment, and then they tumbled from his arms, hitting the floor with three separate thuds that made him wince. “Aish…” he muttered, bending down to pick them up. When he straightened, the first thing his previously distracted eyes landed on was…

Another pot with another set of flowers. These ones were small and a sunny yellow colour, the dark green leaves making a marked contrast to the buds. Even as he stared at them Yoongi came out of his room, headphones settled around his neck, a thick notebook in his hands. Without looking up from his notes, Yoongi commented, “Yeah, another one. He dropped it off about an hour ago. Is that the seventh or eighth one? I’m starting to lose track.”

Automatically Namjoon glanced out the screen door to the tiny ledge, where a plethora of plants were crowded, half of them climbing enthusiastically up trellises. (They’d needed to look up what a trellis was before heading to the dollar store.) The wild collection of colours wasn’t limited just to the deck; they’d managed to put two of them in hanging baskets, which Yoongi had somehow found a way to hook up, bringing the vibrant plants to just above eye level as well. They couldn’t really stand out there anymore, but as far as Namjoon was concerned this was a much better use of the space, anyways. He was already planning the best place to put this new addition.

Yoongi had torn his eyes away from his work, was frowning at him. “Ah, Namjoon-ah,” he complained. “Your face is going to get stuck like that.”

It took Namjoon a second to understand what Yoongi meant before it dawned on him. His unconscious smile was so wide it pushed up his cheeks, but he didn’t bother trying to tamp it down even as he became aware of it. Jin was just so joyful about the stupid flowers, he could hardly be faulted for smiling whenever he saw them. Even if he still couldn’t actually take care of them. He just wished he hadn’t missed Jin dropping by. Besides, for all that he complained, it was Yoongi who was in the process of making the little flower bed so that they could be moved inside more easily when it started getting cold out, and Namjoon hadn’t even asked him to do that.  

“It’s nice to see you too, hyung,” Namjoon said instead, throwing his books onto the couch. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the recording studio? I thought you wanted to finish that piece with noona.”

Yoongi shrugged irritably. “I asked her if we could do it tomorrow, and she was fine with it. I wanted to…” He looked up abruptly from his notebook, eyes narrowing, and shook his head. “Never mind. How was class?” As he said it he shut the book firmly, threw it onto the couch to join the temporary graveyard of papers growing there, and headed to the kitchen.

Namjoon waited until Yoongi was out of sight before moving to pick up the discarded book. “Class was good,” he called as he flipped it open, fingers moving swiftly to find the most recent page. “Jackson distracted the professor into a thirty-minute discussion about the merits of humorous but informative social media posts versus merely informative ones, so he ended up postponing the test until next week.” Namjoon finally found what seemed to be the newest page (Yoongi tended to be quite methodical with his work) and a fresh smile broke across his face.

In neat, almost compulsively tidy strokes, the measurements for the indoor flowerbeds flowed along next to equally fastidious 3D rectangular drawings. Yoongi’s notes on each flower’s needs (collected by both him and Namjoon) littered the page, information about water and light exposure, and the page was titled, “Joonie’s Stupid Flowers.” He’d known Yoongi was planning on making the boxes, scoffing off the suggestion of buying them as being too expensive, but that he’d go to this length… It reminded Namjoon that he needed to buy some antihistamines for when they did move the plants indoors to avoid dying, but he’d get to that later.

“Jin was really disappointed that he missed you.” With a guilty start Namjoon belatedly snapped the notebook shut, and as he looked up Yoongi arched an eyebrow at him, a bag of snacks in his hand. The small man’s eyes went to the notebook and flitted away as though he hadn’t noticed it, but his expression was a bit stony as he added, “He asked me to ask you to head over there as soon as you got home. You’d better go rush over to your boyfriend.” Obviously, he’d decided the best defense was a good offense, and Namjoon winced internally.

Reaching up to rub at the back of his neck, Namjoon awkwardly proffered the book. “He’s not my boyfriend, hyung,” he said, though he was careful to keep his voice mild.

Yoongi snorted and ignored the offering. “Could have fooled me. You’re over there just as often as you’re here. More, maybe.”

If he’d thought Yoongi was anything but annoyed at him for snooping, that comment might have hurt and even been worrisome, made him wonder if he had been abandoning his roommates too much in the last few months. But Namjoon knew Yoongi, knew that tongue in cheek accusation for what it was – a distraction – so he let it go as best as he could as he sighed. “What, are you and Hobi-hyung getting tired of having the apartment to yourselves?” he asked, and had the slight pleasure of seeing Yoongi stiffen, though not from anger.

Jin had introduced flowers into their lives, but he’d introduced more than that, too. Finally, after literal years of mutual pining, Hoseok had only just recently confessed to Yoongi, and Namjoon was pretty sure Seokjin’s gentle nagging had been behind that. And, to hear Hobi tell it, Yoongi had stared at him for a long moment after he’d confessed before muttering something about stupid flowers going to his head. And then they’d kissed.

None of which Yoongi would admit to, of course.

“We’re doing fine,” Yoongi snapped, not quite managing to hide his blush as he snagged the book that Namjoon was still offering. “You shouldn’t keep Jin waiting. And if you want me and Hobi to take care of that ugly thing on top of all the others,” he jerked his head at the flower, “you’re going to have pay for my Beats the next time I need to buy a new pair.” In a huff, he strode back to his room, book in one hand and snacks in the other, and slammed the door behind him.

“Some people never change,” Namjoon commented lightly to Ryan, and took the lion’s silence for agreement. A fisherman’s hat had been placed on Ryan’s head at a jaunty angle, courtesy of Seokjin, and Namjoon readjusted it a bit as he (as always) tried to distract himself from his nerves. Not because of the confrontation with Yoongi; actually, that hardly deserved the name compared to the fights they’d had before. Yoongi would get over it, and he’d get over it faster if Namjoon slipped an apology note under his door coupled with an iTunes gift card, so that wasn’t a concern.

Hanging out with Jin, on the other hand…

Namjoon spent a few minutes in the bathroom, making sure he looked alright after two consecutive two hour long classes, tugging at the collar of his white shirt until it sat more snuggly at the base of his throat. He checked his slacks (he’d managed to knock over a cup of coffee during lunch, but it looked like he’d avoided splashing his pants or shirt) and then ran his fingers through his silver hair in a hopeless sort of frustration. There wasn’t much he could do about the mess it was in; any attempts to style it would just wilt in the heat, and besides, who had time for that? Jin hadn’t rejected him out of hand for it before, so logically there was nothing to worry about now.

He was really starting to hate how little logic had to do with liking someone. And also how “hate” could be a synonym for “love” in the right context.

Eventually satisfied that he wasn’t going to shame his parents with his appearance, Namjoon grabbed two packets of Crab Chips from the cupboard. They’d never stacked the cupboard with so many seafood snacks before – Namjoon hated them and Yoongi and Hoseok were apathetic at best – but Jin inhaled them like they were particularly tasty clumps of air, and since he often cooked big dinners for them and his own roommates, it was only fair to repay the favor. The fact that Namjoon could probably literally watch Jin stuff his cheeks to the bursting point with them for hours on end had nothing to do with it.

Finally he was more or less ready, and Namjoon didn’t let himself procrastinate even though the couch looked excessively inviting as an excuse to stay home for a bit longer. Quickly locking the apartment behind him (although with Yoongi in that mood, he pitied anyone who tried to break in) he crossed the corridor, one hand rubbing the back of his neck, and knocked on Jin’s door. A beat of silence, and then from somewhere within the dorm came a quick flurry of voices raised in argument, followed by several loud thuds and cursing. He could imagine well enough what was happening, and wondered in spite of his nerves who would win the contest.

It took a few more moments, but eventually the door was flung open, Jungkook partially turned to fight off Taehyung as the slightly smaller boy tried to dart around him in one last desperate bid. As soon as they saw him they both subsided, panting and glowering at each other in the friendliest way imaginable, and Tae complained breathlessly, “Wah, hyung, if I’d known it was you I wouldn’t have bothered.”

Namjoon laughed, shook his head. “Who’d you think it was?”

Jimin, who had his feet up and was watching something on the TV, answered in the sheepish silence that followed his question. “They ordered some video game console and it’s supposed to come in soon. Whoever signs for it gets to play on it first.” Well, that was one way to decide who got first dibs… he supposed.

“Jin-hyung’s in the kitchen,” Jungkook supplied helpfully before his eyes fell on the snack bags that Namjoon held. It was difficult to describe the extent to which his expression lit up. “Who’re those for, hyung?”

“One’s for you to share,” Namjoon replied, and tossed the bag to Jimin, who’d looked up at the mention of food. The oldest of the three caught the packet deftly, smiling smugly at Jungkook, but despite his expression he tended to be the fairest in distributing food. Jungkook would cheerfully taunt his friends until they keeled over from hunger, and Tae was so prone to zoning out he could eat the whole bag without noticing, or have Jimin and Jungkook take all of it without getting any for himself.

Pouting as he flopped onto the couch next to Jimin, Jungkook demanded, “Hyung, why do we get one bag and Jin gets one – oof,” that was Taehyung landing in his lap, the older boy eager to sit next to the food. “TaeTae, get off you stupid…” The fight was brief and indecisive; Jungkook managed to shift Taehyung more to one side, away from the food, almost poking out Jimin’s eye in the process, but Tae clung stubbornly to him and eventually he gave it up as a bad job. Refocusing, Jungkook grumbled, “I was saying, hyung, why does Jin-hyung get one whole bag to himself?”

Before Namjoon could reply, a lightly stern voice came from the kitchen. “Yah, I’m three times as attractive as all of you, so you get a third of a bag!”

Spreading his hands in a “what can I do?” gesture, Namjoon said, “You heard the man,” before trailing off into the kitchen. He may or may not have heard someone mutter, “Whipped,” in a voice that was suspiciously loud for something that wasn’t supposed to be heard, but ignored it with the rather dismal thought that you couldn’t be whipped if you weren’t attached in the first place.

The dispirited feeling fled as soon as Jin’s thick back came into view, the other male bent over something on the counter, and Namjoon paused for a moment to just stare. The way his broad shoulders tapered into thin hips with a Mario apron tied around them, the confidence and steady surety with which his beautiful hands flew across the food he was preparing, the constant mumbling to himself as he decided what he wanted to do… If Namjoon, four months ago, had been asked to create a list of his turn-ons, a broad back might have made the cut, but he’d had no idea he could enjoy someone’s mannerisms as much as (far more) than their looks, on a level that was almost physical.

It was ridiculous and wonderful, all at once. Namjoon supposed that pretty much summed up Jin in a nutshell.

He must have made a sound, a sigh or something, because Jin abruptly turned, half a potato in his hand, the rest already sliced on the cutting board he’d been leaning over. “Hey Namjoon-ah,” Jin greeted easily. “How did your exam go?” He said it as such an afterthought, but Namjoon found his lips curling up at the kindness of a friend remembering he was supposed to have a test today.

“Postponed,” he replied, trying to match Jin’s straightforwardness and feeling he failed. “One of my classmates got the teacher rambling, so we didn’t have enough time to do it.”

“Ah, so lucky,” Jin said, but approvingly, without any envy. “Will you want help studying again, then? You seemed to know everything even before we started, but…”

He’d had the material memorized since the class they’d been given it in, but when Jin had suggested studying together, Namjoon had been willing to pretend to forget everything he’d ever learned. Another opportunity was no different so, leaning against the fridge door to stay out of Jin’s way as he threw the snack bag onto the counter, he replied, “Sure, if you’ve got time. A little extra studying never hurt.” And a little extra time with Jin never hurt, either.

“Great! I’m not sure when I’m free but I can figure it out in a bit.” Turning back to the cutting board, Jin finished chopping up the potato, adding it to an already big pile growing next to him. “Do you know if Yoongi-ah and Hobi are free tonight? I was thinking I could make enough for everyone to come over.”

Still leaning heavily against the fridge, Namjoon cocked his eyebrow. “You didn’t ask Yoongi-hyung when you spoke to him earlier?”

With a vaguely outraged expression, Jin huffed, “I was going to, but he kicked me out before I could.”

“Kicked you out?” That seemed a story worth hearing.

Turning away, Jin picked up the next round of vegetables to be chopped. “Yeah. I thought my joke was funny, but he didn’t seem to agree. Suggested I got my sense of humor from a particularly dull stump.”

“Ouch.” Although, despite Jin’s affronted tone, Namjoon knew well enough that he wasn’t offended, or at least not as much as he was appearing to be. “I managed to piss off Yoongi-hyung today as well. Just glad I don’t share a room with him, or I might be sleeping on the couch. What was the joke?”

“Mmm, I was commenting that I hadn’t seen Hobi’s sunny self recently, he’s been so busy with those dance classes. And then I said, ‘A while ago I stayed up all night to see where the sun went. And then it dawned on me.’ That’s when he threw me out.”

Namjoon's chuckle rolled out, long and luxurious as he enjoyed both the wordplay but more so the thought of Yoongi’s face when Seokjin had spoken, and Jin glanced at him before joining in. Their laughter, low and deep, high and squeaky, mixed together to make a sound that was all mirth and no worries, and by the time they managed to get themselves together Namjoon’s sides ached, and Jin looked like he was regretting the pain in his cheeks as he gasped and tenderly prodded at them.

“I wish I could have seen hyung’s face,” Namjoon finally got out, and Jin nodded in an attempt at solemnity that quickly dissolved into another hiccupping laugh.

“Poor Yoongi-ah,” Jin said, smiling widely as he turned back to the food preparations. “I hoped he’d be a little happier once him and Hobi got together.”

Namjoon was smiling, too, fond and warm. “Oh, he is. Much happier. Now when he says harsh things, it’s more a habit than anything. Most of the time, anyways. I think he needs to remember how to let go of his prickles, but in the mean time he’s softening them, making them stab less. I guess it’s not as obvious if you haven’t known him as long.”

“Good,” Jin replied with a quick bob of his head, beginning to cut up the roots on the board, a quiet pleasure in his voice. “Speaking of getting together… that’s actually what I asked you to come here for.” For one second Namjoon’s breath caught, a rush of realization and uncertainty flooding over him, but Jin didn’t take long enough to give him time to come to any not-so-solid conclusions. Before the half-hopes drifting in his head could get anywhere near concrete, the chef continued. “I’m gonna go shopping on Sunday for some things, and I wanted to know if you wanted to go with me?”

His first reaction was disappointment, a clinging, dark sort of feeling that was hard to shake off, but then Namjoon noticed something. He was staring at Jin (of course he was), and despite being perfectly poised to bring the knife down, despite not looking at Namjoon at all, Jin had stopped chopping as he asked the question, and he remained frozen even now. As though he was waiting. As though he was… nervous, maybe? They’d never gone anywhere together before, just the two of them – even studying had just been in one of their living rooms.

Running his tongue over too-dry lips, Namjoon found himself nodding vigorously. “Of course,” he replied, almost hoarsely, and had to cough to get the sound to smooth away, wondering if he was imagining the way Jin’s broad shoulders seemed to abruptly loosen. He certainly wasn’t imagining that the knife started to rise and fall again. “I’d be happy to go with you. Where are we headed? What’re you picking up?” Maybe he could get some of the things his dorm needed, too, and save Hobi and Yoongi the shopping trip.

“Well we’re going to need more groceries,” Jin explained, and his voice was higher than usual, almost strained. “And I was thinking – if you wanted – well, I kinda wanted to drop by the Gardens.”

Namjoon paused. The Gardens. A vast, sprawling park filled with every conceivable kind of flower, every conceivable kind of pollen and spore and rash-inducing burr. Needless to say, he’d never been there, and had not up until this point considered going. Except Jin had turned around, was staring at him with playful expectation, and a hard ‘no’ was so far out of the realm of possibility it might as well have been an alien.

Well… he’d been meaning to mention this for quite a while now… Taking a deep breath, Namjoon rubbed his hand across his face as he began. “Uh, look, Jin-hyung, I’d really like to go shopping with you, definitely, and I imagine that it’ll be a great experience, but the thing is that I can’t really go to the Gardens with you.” Jin’s eyebrows furrowed with a confusion that could shortly become hurt, and Namjoon hurried on. “I mean, I’d really, really like to walk with you through them, but I -”

“Walk with me through them?” Jin interrupted, and Namjoon dropped his hand, jaw aching with tension as he waited for the other boy to get annoyed. Except… Jin didn’t seem mad, or even irritated. Just confused. “Namjoon-ah, why would you walk with me through a garden, full of plants, when you’re allergic to them?”

If he’d been sprinting and run straight into a brick wall, Namjoon couldn’t have been more floored. Eyes widening, his jaw dropping, he made a sound somewhere between a croak and a gasp. Namjoon’s mouth worked silently for a moment, trying to produce actual words, and with a great effort of will he eventually managed to spit out, “You knew?”

Jin’s nose crinkled as he laughed in a kind of bewildered amusement. “About your allergies? Yeah, I’ve known for – well, for a long time. Did you think I didn’t?”

“How did you find out?” Namjoon sputtered. It was rare – quite rare – for him to feel so solidly behind in a conversation, but in this case, he was thunderstruck. Jin knew about his allergies? Had known for a decently long period?

Idly waving the knife as he thought, eventually Jin shrugged. “I think Hobi told me? I dunno, I’d kinda figured it out before then? I mean, I never once saw you watering the plants or even touching them, and there was that one day when it was windy and all the pollen was everywhere and you took a sick day…” He shrugged again. “Honestly Namjoon-ah, it wasn’t that hard to realize.” He smiled, his head tilting in inquiry. “What’s the big deal, anyways?”

“I – I…” Blushing furiously, eventually Namjoon said, almost reproachfully, “You’ve still been giving us flowers, though!”

Seemingly utterly unaware of the contradiction, Jin nodded without concern. “Yeah. I mean, I can tell you like them, even if you’re allergic. When we were studying at your place for the first time, you looked at them all the time, and you were smiling, so I thought it’d be nice to get a few more for you. And Yoongi-ah and Hoseok-ah like them too, so everyone was happy.” His smile abruptly became brighter. “That’s why I like flowers so much,” he said in the exact same confiding tone he’d used when they’d met the first time, months ago. “Because they make me and everyone else happy.”

Namjoon stared at him, took in the peaceful smile, the ridiculous apron, the mountain of food he’d built up on the counter behind him. “Oh, hyung,” Namjoon sighed, and though the other boy blinked, he made no comment. “What about asking me to go the Garden?”

“Oh. That.” Now it was Jin’s turn to blush – it was a rare thing to see him get red from anything but amusement – and he scuffed the kitchen floor with his foot several times before he brought his eyes up to meet Namjoon’s abruptly curious gaze. Blinking hard, hard enough to make his face twitch, he began softly, a little more self-mocking than he usually was. “The Gardens has a big greenhouse aside from the grounds, a place where you can buy a lot of different kinds of flowers. That’s where I’ve been getting all of the ones I gave to you guys. I thought…” Another few hard blinks, and he jiggled his head indecisively before seeming to decide to hurry ahead. “I thought it might be cute – that you’d like to go and pick one last one. You know, for yourself. Or that maybe… we could pick it together.”

And he looked so sweet, so abashed, and Namjoon’s chest was so, so tight, overburdened with an affection that was simultaneously too heavy and too light, all the pressure of a storm cloud mixed with the gossamer freshness of a light shower, and he inhaled once, a desperate, soundless gasp that helped to loosen his chest. Reaching out, he carefully took the knife from Jin, ignored the way it almost seemed to jump from his fingers because it landed with a clatter where he’d wanted it to, anyways. Then Jin’s slightly smaller hands were tucked comfortably in his own, and Namjoon was grinning, easily, and there was very little that was fierce about the emotions churning in his heart.      

“Of course we can pick it together,” he said, finding a sudden assurance in the warmth of Jin’s touch. “How else will I know which ones are hardest to kill?”

Jin’s smile was almost tentative (as close to tentative as he ever got), but when Namjoon gave his hands a gentle squeeze the expression became more pronounced, sincerer, with just a tinge of impish excitement. They stayed that way for a long moment, close but not quite brushing, connected only by their hands, and Namjoon would have been content to stay that way for at least an eternity if only a whining voice hadn’t broken in from the living room.

“Jin-hyung, we’re starving,” Tae complained. “When will supper be ready?”

Abruptly they were untangling their hands from each other, pulling at shirts that hadn’t been crumpled and smoothing hair that hadn’t been mussed. After a moment Jin picked up the knife again, shook it in the direction of the living room though no one in there would be able to see. “Dinner will be ready when it’s ready, you ingrates!” Jin called. “I slave all day to make you food and what does your hyung get? ‘We’re hungry,’” he mimicked in affront. “Oh, we want -”

“We’ll help you if you need it, hyung!” Abruptly Jimin was at the kitchen entranceway, beaming, and Taehyung and Jungkook crowded his ankles, all of their faces filled with a willingness that was probably too much to be fully true. Namjoon suspected they’d just already discovered the best way to stop their hyung from going on a full-scale lecture, but he was happy enough to lean on the fridge again and hope they ignored him.

Now that it had a distinct target, Jin’s knife waving became more energetic, almost to the point of being alarming. “Yah, you lot stay out of my kitchen!” he barked. “I already have a helper. Namjoon and I will get this ready, you just stay out of our way.” Exchanging glances that were definitely too close to smirks to be comfortable, all three of the dongsaengs inclined themselves in exaggerated, sweeping bows to both Namjoon and Jin before bounding away. Their snickers filled the living room, but it wasn’t exactly a bad sound, and out of sight, almost out of mind.

“Okay,” Jin said, abruptly all business, “let’s get to work. You can take over cutting for me while I get started on the sauce.” He left the knife on the board, and, caught off guard, Namjoon picked it up warily. Yoongi and Hoseok tended to do the cooking in their apartment when they weren’t living off packs of instant ramyeon, and he… was not entirely confident in his cooking skills. Giving a mental shrug, Namjoon was about to begin his appointed task when an abrupt and loud “-Wah!” right next to him almost made him cut off a finger. Jin was there, shaking his head and quickly getting behind him. “That’s not how you cut… well, anything, Namjoon-ah,” he said. “Here, let me help you.”

His arms settled around Namjoon, fingers resting lightly over his hands, and Namjoon could only credit his parents for raising him well enough that he was able to focus on the sharp blade in his hand instead of the warm body pressing against him from behind. Mostly focus. Pretty much focus. Jin’s hands were sure, guiding Namjoon through the motions with precision, and while Jin steered he talked, passionate and animated about all the ways you could prepare food. It was another special moment on top of an already impressive tower from today, and when Jin eventually broke away from him, Namjoon was too warm to be disappointed.

“Namjoon-ah?” Jin said, and, his eyes fixed on the roots he was now chopping properly, Namjoon made an inquiring murmur. “I just thought of something,” Jin continued blithely, his confidence apparently completely restored by working as Namjoon’s head chef. “We’re going to be picking out a flower together, right?” Now Namjoon did pause, glancing at him curiously. He had some vague notion of where this was going, but…

Jin’s smile was angelic. He proved Namjoon right a second later. “Does this mean we’re in a blossoming relationship?”          

[mononouran]

@panonnes late birthday gift

There were many facts in this world that could never be proven false. The sky is blue, grass is green, Chat Noir loved Ladybug, they were both bisexual, Marinette had a thing for blondes, and Marinette Dupain-Cheng was late. Again. For the third time this month. It didn't help matters that her first class was chemistry with Madame Medlenive. The purple haired woman had a temper hotter than any fire and an attitude stricter than an uptight grandparent.           Therefore it was understandable, that when Marinette woke up and glanced at the time, she cussed a word that would make the innocent Chat Noir blush and stammer while scolding her. After letting out multiple merdes, she rushed through her morning routine, and made it to class in 7 minutes (it definitely did help that she lived right across her school). With three minutes until the bell rings, she ran into her class and caught sight of her best friend's fiery red hair.           "- with three minutes to go, Marinette Dupain-Cheng makes the final touchdown! She made it! Against all odds! Now, Nino, I think you owe me a croissant. Serves you right for getting against my best friend." Making her way though the class, Marinette caught snippets of Alya's commentary and apparent bet.           "You bet on me? I'm hurt. Anyways bonjour guys, I was going to ask you if you wanted to eat croissant and macaroons in the park at lunch, but seeing as you were getting on me, I'd rather eat them alone. Such a shame, my parents made an extra batch of chocolate chip cookies for us, but I guess I'll have to eat them alone." Marinette sighed as she faked a hurt expression. Immediately, three horrified faces turned to look at her. As of on cue, three looked at each other, and then at her, and then at each other again. The silence was broken when they all started pushing each other while talking to Marinette.            "Marinette! My favourite person in this whole cruel world! The only one eho treats me right here! Hey, remember how much fun we had as kids when we played together?"            "Shut up Nina. Marinette, my best friend. My one true love." At this Nino scoffed, but Alya continued unfazed by his reaction. "My bi buddy, remember how much fun we had on that one date?"            "Marinette! My talented cute fashion designing friend who happens to be an amazing baker, have I ever told you how much I love our Ultimate Mecha Strike tournaments and how much I appreciate and love you?"           Marinette couldn't help it. She lost it and burst out laughing. Her giggles invited her friends into joining her. Soon enough, they were all laughing in class. That was put to an end when Madame Medelenive walked into the class slamming the door with a sharp 'Bonjour'. Marinette spaced out after that, tuning every sound out except that of her teachr's, only glancing up every once in a while to take notes.  Therefore it was understandable that Marinette squeaked when Alya shook her after she failed to answer her.         "-inette? Marinette. Marinette!" The last sentence was shouted in Marinette's ears, nearly piercing her eardrums. "Ow! Ow! I'm here! Stop shouting," She whipser-shouted while rubbing her ears. She'd be lucky if her ears didn't ring for a few days. "Well, did you hear what Madame said? No wait you didn't, well, we're doing a project!  With partners! Remember last project?" Oh. Oh. Of course she remembered. She had been partnered with Alya, Nino, and Adrian! It was one of the few times she looked forward to chemistry. She not so secretly hoped that they would be partners again. Her hopes would soon be dashed.           "Today I want you to research Boyle's law, Gay-Lusaac's hypothesis, Avogadro's hypothesis, and the experiments that led them to make their conclusions. I will be grouping you into groups of two. You will have your lunch break to make a quick summary of your researches and you will have to write a paragraph on each topic and present it after lunch break. Therefore the rest of the day, until after lunch, is free for you to complete your research. Now here are the partners." Marinette hoped she'd end up with any of her friends, since the chance for a group project seemed to be thrown out the window to all four winds.           "Adrien and Nino." The two boys high fixed and Alya and Marinette looked at each other hopefully. "Juleka and Rose. Mylène and Ivan." The girls grew excited, all their classmates were being partnered with their best friends. "Max and Kim. Nathaniel and Lila. Chloé and Sab- One minute," Madame Medlenive muttered the last part under her breath and continued, "since Sabrina is absent, Alya you can go with Alix and Marinette will be with Chloé. Any questions?" Without waiting for an answer, she said, "Good. Now pay attention as this information will be vital for your research. Now..."           Marinette's mind spaced out again after hearing 'Marinette will be with Chloé'. It was true that the girl had changed her attitude last year. She wasn't annoying and bossing people around as much. Marinette suspected it was due to a certain model having a serious conversation with her. Still, they weren't exactly 'best of friends' but it was better than nothing, she supposed.  She'll have to make do with it.           Marinette had no idea how to handle this situation.           Lunch came much faster than Marinette thought it would -or wanted to, if she was being honest with herself. While Chloé was packing her tablet and books, Marinette took a deep breath and steeled her nerves before approaching the blonde.           "So, um, hey Chloé."  The girl received a glance and a nod in her direction. "Since the project is due today, I was thinking we can start it now at my house, if you'd like of course. I get it if you want to go to your place if it makes you feel more comf-" The rambling girl was interrupted. "Okay." Chloé was finally done packing her bag. Marinette blinked.           "So we're going to the bakery?" She asked. "Yeah. Daddy has a big meeting over at the hotel so its gkinh to be crowded. What are you waiting for, let's go." To say that Marinette was surprised with this change of attitude would be an understatement. She was more than shocked, she doubted words would be enough to describe it.           "I'm done. Let's go." The two walked in silence to the bakery. The fact that it was right across the street meant that the walk was short, it didn't give them enough time to sort out their thoughts. Unlike what the half Chinese girl thought, her companion wasn't as collected as she seemed to be.           In fact, if Chloé was anything, she was not collected at all in any way. In that moment, she probably was the furthest from calm and collected she ever was in her whole life. There were around two coherent thoughts in Chloé's mind, and they happened to be: I'M GOING TO MARINETTE DUPAIN CHENG'S HOUSE, and FUCK!          Chloé walked through the house as if in a haze, only looking at the pictures hung on the wall, focusing only on the baby pictures belonging to a particular blue eyed girl. It seemed to be seconds before the duo reached the bedroom. Chloé looked around the room. It was very... pink. No, it was very Marinette. She could see hints of the other girl's hobbies. Chloé was brought out of her thoughts when the petite girl started speaking.           "Okay so let's start. I'll get snacks later. Okay so Boyle's law is really easy, it basically says that the pressure and volume of a gas are inversely proportional. Avogadro's hypothesis might take some time though, and as for Gay-Lusaac's hypothesis, it isn't really hard so it will take less time than Avogadro. I think we should..."         Of course she had to be perfect in everything she does. Of course, heaven forbid, Marinette Dupain-Cheng had to be perfect in everything she does. God forbid she isn't an amazing designer, or a talented baker, or a wonder, person whom everyone loves. Therefore, it shouldn't be a surprise that Marinette is perfect in chemistry too. No surprises, she was talented in everything she does, she's smart and pretty and popular an - . "Chloé?" Shit. Okay Chloé, act calm and maybe she'll forge- "Are you okay, you look red." She inched in closer to the blushing blonde. Never had she ever thought that this would happen! Than anyone would catch her daydreaming! Especially the subject of said daydreams! She had to say something that would stop Marinette from being suspicious.           "I-it's nothing. I'm not used to the heat from your ovens. That just it.". 'That should throw her off my track.' Chloé was sure that she threw all suspicion away from her.           Marinette was confused at this point. When Chloé came over, she expected her to be cold and silent, not... that. She inched even closer to Chloé,  as if trying to see in her mind through her eyes. Chloé? @panonne @chiimei thank you guys for supporting me and encouraging me to post it. Im actually really happy you liked it :,) also panonne sorry for getting it late (don't kill me I love you girl). Hopefully I'll post part 2 by the end of June. Chi, thank you for supporting me, ily too. @re-unknown you probably don't remember but in April I wanted to write something but I was too much of a scaredy cat to post it so I didn't. But you still encouraged me to write it and you helped me a lot even though you probably didn't know. So thank you for everything ^^ Also @megatraven I think you would enjoy this..

[filmfanatic82]

Anything

http://archiveofourown.org/works/10889763/chapters/24202305

Chapter 1

So this is how Trini’s life is going to end.

At 16 years old. In some remote, unmarked cavern. Lying amongst mounds of debris and rubble with a million plus year old, green glowing, freakazoid’s hands wrapped around her neck.

Trini could think of more than a few better ways to go, but at least she isn’t going to die a virgin.

A silver lining, right?

“TRINI!!!” Kimberly screams reverberate throughout the cavern.

Trini immediately snaps out of her thoughts. She glances over at Kimberly, battered and bruised beyond recognition, and instantly feels the cracks start to spread across her heart.

Trini knew as soon as Billy had began to walk her and Zack through the game plan, that this wasn’t going to be easy. Physically… Emotionally… Even mentally.  It was going to be nothing short of a gauntlet.

But, then again, nothing about being a teenaged superhero is ever easy. So why should this moment be any different?

Now, though, having to fully accept the look of pain and confusion on Kimberly’s face, Trini finally understood why.

This moment is different because of Kimberly.

Trini eyes dart across the cavern and hone in on Zack. They exchange a brief, unspoken look of uncertainty. There’s a big likelihood that this could be the end but neither of them can dwell on that now.

“Get her outta here!”

“But--” Zack hesitates, clearly torn on what to do. It’s taking every ounce of willpower not to ignore Trini’s instructions and jump into action.

The hands wrap tighter. Trini squirms, bucking her body in a last ditch attempt to get some sort of leverage to gain an upper hand. But it’s of little use. She’s pinned.

“NOW ZACK!”

Zack blinks back his tears and swallows his ever growing emotions. He gives Trini a firm, reassuring nod and then without another moment’s hesitation wraps his arms around Kimberly.

“Aye aye, Crazy Girl.”

“What? No! No! We can’t just leave her!!!” Kimberly screams out in a full blown panic as the realization of what’s about to occur sets in. She thrashes against Zack’s body, using every ounce of strength she has left to try and break free.

Kimberly isn’t going anywhere without a fight.

“It’s gonna be okay, Princess. Promise.” Trini flashes Kimberly a half-smirk, half-smile and then forces herself to look away. She knows that if she doesn’t, then she won’t be able to go through with what needs to happen next.

“Do it Billy,” Zack yells into his wrist communicator.

“Trini! No! I… I love--” Kimberly’s words cut out as the sound of teleporter echoes throughout the cavern.

Trini glances back just in time to see both Zack and Kimberly de-materialize into thin air. A momentary sense of relief washes over her.

Kimberly is safe.

And for now… nothing else seems to matter.

“Any last words?”

////////////////

TWO MONTHS EARLIER

///////////////

“Stop squirming,” Kimberly reminds Trini for the umpteeth time while repositioning her head back down.

POP.

The all too familiar sound of the clippers coming to life fills the bedroom.

Trini should be used to this. Kimberly has been “volunteering” to clean up her undercut on a weekly basis now for well over a month. Every Thursday afternoon during their after school study sessions.

And why does the word “volunteering” deserve air quotes? Because it really isn’t volunteering at all… No, it’s more like a well rehearsed play.

One where Kimberly starts off by making an indirect comment on why Trini never wears her hair up… which then naturally leads to Trini putting up her hair… which triggers Kimberly to offer to clean up her undercut… which somehow always results in Trini sitting in the middle of her bedroom, towel draped around her shoulders while Kimberly works her magic.

Every Thursday. Just like clockwork.

And why? Simple. Because Trini can’t say no to Kimberly.

“Am not,” Trini grumbles back under her breath. She lets out a nervous sigh and then tucks her chin down into her chest. “What’s taking so long, anyways?”

“Thought I’d try something new.”

“New?” Trini voice slightly cracks as she chokes down a breath of air.

“Yeah,” Kimberly hums in response. She gently guides Trini’s head to the side and re-adjusts her grip on the clippers. “I saw this awesome undercut design on my instagram feed yesterday. Kinda looked like a mandala. But not as intricate.”

“A man-what?”

“A mandala. It’s a Hindu symbol. You know that painting that’s across from the bathroom in my house? That’s a mandala.”

“You’re carving a hand into the back of my head?!” Trini’s voice jumps up an octave as panic sets in.

“Yes. Along with my initials,” Kim quipped. “Now hold still or I’m gonna fuck it up.”

Trini tries to remind herself to breathe. In through her nose and then out through her mouth. And again… And again…

All she needs to do is keep breathing.

“What? No snarky comeback?” Kimberly turns off the clippers and then brushes her fingers over Trini’s newly shorn nape, admiring her handiwork. A small, but noticeable smile crawls across her lips.

Trini catches sight of Kimberly’s smile in the mirror on the wall directly across from her and can’t help but match it.

God, that smile… It’s fastly becoming Trini’s favorite sight in the whole entire world.

“I like to leave you guessing, Princess.”

Kimberly lets a chuckle slip. “Ah, that’s better. Knew you couldn't hold back for long.”

Kimberly unties the towel around Trini’s shoulders and starts to go about cleaning up.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Riiiight.”

Trini gets up from the chair and makes her way across the room towards the mirror. She takes a moment, letting her fingers trace over the design.

The lines weave their way up Trini’s neck, crisscrossing over each other to create a simplistic yet beautiful pattern.

It’s nothing short of badass and she knows it.

“So?” Kimberly comes up from behind Trini, playfully twirling one of her fingers around a loose strand of Trini's ponytail. “What do you think?”

“Not bad.” Trini shrugs with her signature cocky smirk.

“Really? That’s it? Not bad?”

“I’ve seen better.”

Kimberly shakes her head and rolls her eyes at Trini in half annoyment and half amusement. “I think the words you’re looking for is thank you.”

Trini takes one more look in the mirror, then reaches up and pulls out her ponytail, completely hiding any traces of her undercut whatsoever.

“C’mon. Can’t you leave it up? Just for a little bit?” Kimberly finishes tucking away her tools within Trini’s desk drawer.

“No can do. My mom would so lose her shit if she knew about this.” Trini settles down on the bed and pretends to dive back into where they left off in their bio textbook.

Kimberly plops herself down next to Trini and begins to run her fingers through Trini’s wavy locks.

“You should let me cut it shorter.”

“No.” Trini immediately grows tense as her internal walls skyrocket upwards. She doesn’t want to have this conversation. Not now and definitely not with Kimberly. “What part of my mom will lose her shit did you not understand?”

An uncomfortable silence seeps in between them as Trini waits for Kimberly’s response… but it doesn’t come. Not yet.

Instead, Kimberly’s eyes hone in on Trini, ever so carefully boring tiny holes within walls.

Those eyes… Trini can’t help but wonder how someone could have eyes like that. Eyes that seem to be able to penetrate one’s soul with just a single, solidarity glance.

Eyes that no matter how hard she tries, Trini can’t seem to hide from.

“But what do you want?” Kimberly finally responds with nothing more than a whisper.

Such a simple question and yet, Trini finds herself utterly tongue tied. She doesn’t even know where to start. There’s just too many ways to answer it.

Trini wants to be able to get dressed in the morning and not feel like she’s letting her mother down simply by choosing to wear a pair of baggy jeans over a skirt. She wants to be able to hold someone’s hand without feeling like she’s being judged by everyone around her. To be able to call someone her girlfriend without living in fear of the ramifications that that one word might bring…

No. Scratch that. Trini doesn’t want to call just anyone her girlfriend. She wants to call one specific person her girlfriend… but that’s just some pipe dream better left for late night “what if” thoughts.

Kimberly Hart is straight. Straighter than straight. She’s the cheerleading, popular, date the most alpha male athlete, sorta straight.  

Kimberly Hart would never be more than just a friend no matter how much Trini wishes for it.

Trini abruptly sits up and moves off of the bed, putting space between herself and Kimberly. It’s the only thing she can do in the moment in order to maintain some sort of front.  

“It doesn’t matter.”

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Trini zig-zags her way down the semi-crowded hallway, trying her best to blend into the background. She’s come to learn that it’s easier this way. To just keep her head down and be invisible.

If they can’t see her, then they can’t single her out.

“Hey Trini! Wait up.” Jason shouts as he emerges from amongst the crowd. He jogs over in an attempt to catch up with Trini.

Trini lets out a sigh and slows down.

So much for being invisible.

It’s not like Trini doesn’t like Jason. Well, at first, maybe just a little bit… but now, after everything they’ve been through, she can’t help but see him as the big brother she never had.

What Trini can’t stand is the way that Jason manages to call attention to things. Of course, in a brotherly, “I’m just looking out for you” sorta way, but none the less, it’s still annoying.

Even months later and Trini’s still not used to people even acknowledging her, let alone having impromptu conversations in the hallways.

“Sup,” Trini mumbles while fiddling with the straps of her backpack.

“You’re still on for this afternoon? I know you said you were, but wanted to double check.”

Trini nods in response. She shifts from foot to foot, trying her best not to look too awkward.

“Good. Zordon mentioned something the other day about sensing some sort of shift in the energy levels. Could be nothing, but figure some extra training couldn’t hurt, right?”

“Right.”

“Cool. I’m gonna--” Jason gets cut off as a freakishly large, ponytail clad boy, knocks into his shoulder. His hand immediately shoots up, rubbing the spot of contact. “Geez.”

“Yo! Watch where you’re going, asshole.” Trini shouts after the boy and then turns her attention back to Jason. “You okay?”

“Yeah. All good.”

“Who was that?”

Jason cranes his neck around, trying to get a better look, but it’s of little use. The boy has already disappeared back into the sea of students.

“Not sure. Maybe Teddy? Or Tommy? Think he’s new here.”

The bell rings, cutting through the steady chatter of the hallway. Students start to scatter, all heading to their respective classes.

“Catch ya later?” Jason flashes Trini a smile and then takes off down the hallway at a slightly exaggerated jog.

“Yeah. Later.”

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Gym class.

The two words that Trini has come to dread with a fiery passion in her short time at Angel Grove High. It isn’t the actual class itself she hates. Ironically-- or not so ironically depending on how it’s looked at-- she loves sports.

What Trini hates about gym class, though, is the before and after portions… specifically, the locker room portions.

“Alright, Ladies. Hurry it up. Everyone needs to be out on the bleaches in the next five.”

Trini sits on the bench, in the middle of the locker room, still fully dressed. Unlike the girls around her, she makes no attempt to change whatsoever.

“Ugh. Stop staring at me!” Amanda voice carries a bit too much over the semi-crowded room.

Trini doesn’t have to look up to know that the comment is directed at her. It’s always directed at her…

“Wasn’t starin’,” Trini mumbles while keeping her eyes fixated on the lockers in front of her. “And even if I was, it’s not like you’ve got much worth starin’ at anyways.”

A chorus of snickers erupt from those within earshot. It’s a somewhat low blow, and Trini knows it.

“Fucking dyke.”

Trini automatically straightens herself up at these words. She slowly rises from the bench, locking eyes with Amanda.

Deep, down inside, Trini knows she should just let it go. That any move she makes next, with the exception of walking away, will only lead to trouble.  

But Trini can’t just let it go…

“Say it again,” Trini growls in response. Her hands clench into fists, channeling the rage coursing through her veins.

Amanda takes a step closer, never once taking her eyes off of Trini. She isn’t planning on backing down either.

“I said, you’re a fucking dyke.”

Trini start to lunge at Amanda--

“Gomez! My office NOW,” echoes throughout the locker room, bringing everyone to a crashing halt. Busted.

A victorious smirk crawls across Amanda’s face. “Yeah Gomez. Her office.”

With that, Amanda and her lackeys make their way out of the locker room.

Trini collapses back onto the bench, runs her hands through her hair and lets out a frustrated sigh. “Fuck.”

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“Again Alpha 5.” Trini calls out, while stretching her neck from side to side.

It has been three hours… Three hours since Trini has gotten another month of Saturday detention thanks to her little run in with Amanda.

Three hours of running the training simulation over and over again. Regardless of how many frantic “But Master Trini…” warnings Alpha 5 chirps at her.

Three hours of pummeling virtual putties again… and again… and again…

“But Master Trini, your hand--”

“AGAIN!” Trini cuts Alpha 5 off with a burst of pent up anger.  

Alpha 5 scurries out of the pit, not wanting to stick around for Trini’s full wrath.

Trini gets herself into her ready stance, itching for another round.

Trini knows that she should probably stop.

Her left hand throbs with a white hot pain that she’s come to learn over the past few months signifies that something is broken. Most likely it’s her knuckles but possibly her wrist as well. Too hard to tell at the moment…   

“What are you doing?” Jason emerges from the top of the pit.

“Bakin’ cookies.”

Jason makes his way down into the pit and approaches Trini. He instantly spots the state of her left hand and grows concerned.

“We aren’t supposed to train alone. You know that.”

“Yeah well I needed the practice,” Trini mumbles with a shrug.

“You okay?”

An awkward silence falls between the two of them as Jason patiently waits for Trini to respond.

But Trini can’t seem to find the words. Instead, she shifts from side to side, growing more and more uncomfortable in her own skin with each and every passing second.

“Holy shit, your hand!” Kimberly’s voice cuts through the silence.

Trini closes her eyes and lets out a light sigh. “Shit.”

Kimberly scrambles down into the pit and immediately makes a beeline towards Trini. She takes hold of Trini’s left hand, bringing it upwards into the light for a better view.

There’s no denying it… it’s bad.

“Trini…”

“I’m fine.” Trini attempts to free her hand from Kimberly’s grasp, but it’s of little use. Kimberly’s not letting go.

“No, you’re not. Jase, go get the medkit. Billy stashed it away in the bunk room. Next to the desk.”

“On it.”

Jason takes off, out of the pit, leaving Kimberly alone with Trini.

Kimberly leads Trini over towards a nearby pile of boulders and directs her to sit down. She squats down, taking a closer look at Trini’s mangled hand. “What happened?”

“Nuthin’” Trini manages to respond, unable to bring herself to look Kimberly in the eyes. She knows that once she does… it’s all over. Trini won’t be able to keep up her facade.

Kimberly, though, isn’t buying it. She reaches out and ever so carefully lifts Trini’s chin with her fingertips.

“Hey. Look at me.”

Trini swallows thickly and with what little courage her has left, opens her eyes.

And that’s all it takes. Trini feels the cracks start to spread across her walls. She can’t resist those rich chocolate orbs staring back at her.

“That’s better.” Kimberly smiles. “Where were you after school? I swung by at your locker after English but you never showed.”

“I bounced early.”

“Rough day?” Kimberly tucks a loose strand of hair behind Trini’s ear.

“You could say that.” Trini exhales.

“Well let’s change that, shall we?”

Kimberly reaches in and plants a tender kiss on Trini’s cheek.  

And at that very moment, Trini realizes just how utterly fucked she really is. There’s no denying it nor trying to hide from the truth any longer…

Trini is head over heels in love with Kimberly Hart.

[caravelstan]

destiny (f)

[a/n]: hello......it is me....with a yugy writing :p this is for my friend gabriel and i hope she likes this bc i worked my ass off but!!! it’s rly for anyones pleasure to read, i hope u all enjoy it and if you’d like to see any other got7 writings then send in some requests thank u (also feedback is cool) (update: i feel like the ending is rly rushed uh oh /:)

pairing: kim yugyeom x reader

genre: fluff, soulmate au

word count: 1892

summary: everyone was destined for someone, it just so happens that yugyeom was destined for you.

des·ti·ny noun the hidden power believed to control what will happen in the future; fate.

Everyone was destined for someone; that’s how the world worked. From the moment you were born, the time at which you would meet your soulmate. No other details were given -- just the time. You didn’t know how long it would take you to meet them, or under what circumstances, and sometimes, people go their entires lives without meeting their soulmates. Though, those are the people who defy the system and try to wiggle their way through the whole soulmate thing, but that’s only once in a full moon if someone ever does that. Usually everyone is excited to find out their fate within the world and find their soulmate, but he was different.

Of course, Yugyeom was just as excited as the next person, but he wasn’t going to search the ends of the earth to find the one. He knew his time would come and he didn’t want to rush it -- call him cliche, but he wanted your first meeting to be perfect.

Or so he thought.

11:19.

The time on his wrist read 11:42. Something inside of him stirs and he grows anxious, eyes darting around the tiny coffee shop he currently resided in. Yugyeom’s day had started just like any other, but as time went on, a burning sensation started growing inside of him. At first he thought he could’ve just been sick, since that’s reasonable thinking, right? Though, as time went on, the feeling never left. He knew you were close and that scared the shit out of him.

“Yugyeom!” His name was called from across the shop, his eyes widening at the voice before he settled back into his seat when he realized it was just Mark. His friend smiles widely over at him as he strides over to their table.

“You alright, man? Been spacing out all day.” The older of the two comments, sliding over Yugyeom’s drink. He shrugs.

“Just.. feel weird.” The younger responds, eyes glancing down at his wrist before he focuses onto his drink, not bothering to pick it up.

“Weird?” Mark hums out, eyes squinting in suspicion. He watched as the boy in front of him kept glancing down at his wrist and he couldn’t help but smile as it made sense. “Are you feeling it?”

It. 

Yugyeom cringes at that. There really isn’t a word to describe what he’s feeling, since everyone goes through it in their own special way, but deep down you know your soulmate is near -- it’s nerve-wracking. 

“Yeah, it.”

Mark can’t help but let out a tiny squeal at that which has Yugeyom cringing again and sending him a quick glare and a “Don’t be so loud!” which causes the older to laugh.

“I’m sorry! This is just so exciting! You’’re the first one to meet their soulmate!” He gasps then, eyes widening a little as he leaned over the table to whisper to Yugyeom, “Do the guys know?”

Yugyeom shakes his head. “Nah, you’re the only one who knows. Besides, maybe I’m just getting sick? I could be over exaggerating.” 

Though, Yugyeom knew that wasn’t the case at all. He’s never had this feeling before, it was different. It was a longing feeling, like he was being tugged in a certain direction and he knew that wasn’t what being sick was like. He eyed the entrance to the shop each time the door opened, his heart beat quickening in hopes it’d be you. He just wants to know who you are, what you looked like, if you’d even like him. Yugyeom grimaces at the thought of you not liking him, a frown set on his lips.

“Yugyeom,” Mark hums, snapping the boy out of his daze. “Don’t overthink it, man. You’ll be fine. This whole soulmate thing happens for a reason and you know there’s only been a handful of cases of soulmates not feeling the same.”

“But what if I’m one of the unlucky ones? There’s still a possibility.”

Mark can’t help but roll his eyes. The younger of the two boys has always been scared of this outcome, more worried over the fact of his soulmate liking him than actually meeting. He’s read the stories of the ones who weren’t fortunate enough to actually be with their soulmate -- he didn’t want that to be him. He didn’t want to be alone.

“You won’t be. The world may be cruel but it’s not that cruel.”

Yugyeom let’s out an exaggerated sigh as he leans back against his chair, arms crossing over his chest as his eyes glance up to the clock on the wall.

11:35.

“I’m going to be fucking sick.”

Mark’s eyes glance towards the boys wrist and to the clock, another wide smile spreading across his lips as he looked back at Yugyeom who was now leaning his head against his arms, gently banging it.

“This better happen or else I’m going to be real pissed if I don’t get to witness little Yugyeom growing up.” Mark teases, reaching a hand over to pinch the younger’s cheek.

“You’re making it worse.” Yugyeom groaned as he leaned up, his eyes darting to the clock again and he swears everything just freezes for a moment.

He feels like he can’t breathe and Mark is sat quietly in front of him, watching him with careful eyes. The door of the little shop opens and Yugeyom is too scared to look up, eyes trained on his lap because it might be you. There’s a 99.9% that you were the one to walk into the same exact coffeeshop as him and he knows that you know too. You’re probably looking around for him, having the same longing feeling inside of you as you make your way up to the cash register, ordering something to drink to try and shake the feeling off.

And he wasn’t wrong, well.. sort of.

You’d been out with your friends all day, having been so busy with school this past week that you needed a break. It’d been weird -- you’d noticed how off you felt and your friends didn’t miss it either, they’d constantly ask you questions only for you to shut them down because you weren’t sure what was wrong either. It wasn’t until you were passing a tiny coffee shop of your way back to your friends apartment is when you felt it. 

The burning sensation only intensified and you couldn’t stop your feet from walking into the shop, ignoring your friends words as your eyes glanced around the shop. Your eyes land on the clock on the wall and they immediately glance down to your wrist.

“Oh my god..” You mumble to yourself, stumbling slightly when your friends bumped into you.

“Y/N!” Yongsun says when you finally turn around. Your friends are giving you a puzzled expression as you stare back at them, unable to say anything. You point down at your wrist, watching their eyes meeting your finger, slight gasps coming from the both of them.

You’re unable to pay attention to anything they’re saying because you can feel eyes burning into you, causing your cheeks to flush with color before you looked up. It takes you a moment before you’re staring at the stranger who seems to have the same shocked expression as you. Your eyes lock with his easily and it’s almost as if the world just stops for a moment. You barely register him getting up from his seat and making his ways towards you and you want to break contact so badly but something inside of you can’t let go. 

From afar he was good-looking but up close.. he was beautiful. Is that the right word? You don’t think handsome would do him justice, he’s much more than that. 

“It’s you.” 

His voice breaks you from your thoughts, and your blush grows deeper when you realized you’ve just been staring at him this entire time, yours eyes casting down to the floor. “I’m Yugyeom.”

“Y/N.” You hum, moving your gaze back up to meet his, a soft smile settling on your lips.

Yugyeom is taken aback by the sound of your voice, inwardly groaning at how pretty it sounded. He watches as you glance down at your wrist and towards the clock and he does the same, a sheepish smile growing on both of your lips as your gazes met once again.

11:42. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you.” You say, reaching a hand up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. 

“You have a really pretty voice.” Yugyeom blurts out, almost physically kicking himself right after, but he stops himself at the sound of your laugh and he swears it’s the best thing he’s ever heard.

“You have really pretty eyes.” You says, immediately becoming relaxed in the boys presence. 

“This is so cute, I actually might end up dying.” The boy who had been sitting with Yugyeom spoke up, getting up from his seat and walking over to you both. You can hear your friends behind you laugh and both you and Yugyeom dip your heads down to hide the blushes creeping onto your cheeks.

“As much as I would love to stay, I think you two have some catching up to do.” Yugyeom rolls his eyes at the boys words before reaching out to gently hit at his friends arm, a laugh coming from the older. He sends you a quick smile before he’s making his way to the exit.

You feel Yongsun reach out to tap on your shoulder, whispering out a quiet “Good luck.” before she and your other friend leave the coffeeshop just like the boy had just a few moments ago, leaving you and Yugyeom alone.

“I’m sorry about Mark, he’s.. just Mark.” His words cause you to laugh again and Yugyeom is sure that he’ll never get tired of that sound. He’s glancing back at the abandoned table before his eyes find yours again, giving you a soft smile. “Would you want to sit and talk for awhile? I could like, buy you something to drink if you wanted.”

You can’t help but smile at his nervous gesture, giving him a slight nod of your head. “I’d love to.”

It wasn’t long until you came over to the table with a coffee in hand, Yugyeom’s eyes on you the whole way and you can’t help but grin as you sat down, raising an eyebrow towards him.

“What?”

He shrugs. “I’m still just in shock that it’s you.”

Yugyeom watches you lean your head down to hide your blush and he can’t help but smile widely. The burning sensation has since left him once you two first locked eyes and it’s nothing but an all over warm feeling flowing throughout him, feeling at peace. He feels so relaxed with you already, knowing he shouldn’t have been so nervous before. You look up again to meet his gaze and your smile matches his, and his heart flutters just at the sight.

“Well, you’re going to have to get used to that, aren’t you?” 

“I think so.”

The two of you share a look and even though nothing was said, your smiles said a thousand words. Yugyeom thinks he could really get used to this.